(II) City

29 (II)City

As they passed by shop after shop, Shiv saw that many Umbral outfitters also had a weaver section, and it seemed like there were groups everywhere on the streets—many Umbrals walking in groups, mostly all female, sometimes several females with one male. There was also almost always a Weaveress with the group; sometimes weavers trailed behind her. Most of the weavers seemed to be doing laborer duties—attaching things to buildings, cleaning walls.

Shiv found this odd. Automata usually got the harder, more manual tasks back on Blackedge. Things were different here. An oddity in the social dynamic he hadn’t grasped yet. Because she had a tendril of magic resting in his thoughts, Uva started to explain. “Umbrals are created,” she said. “We were made by the Court of the First Blood.”

Shiv blinked in surprise. “The vampires?”

“Yes. Our pigmentation and our dimorphism are a reflection of that.”

“Your dimorphism?”

“Our females are… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they tend to be bigger than the males, or around the same size. This is to preserve our capacity for reproduction while also maintaining labor and other services. There are also more female offspring on average, because it only takes a single Umbral male to achieve continuation.”

The way she spoke revealed cultural wounds—little wonder why Nomos hated the bloodspawn so much.

“The Weaveresses seem to be the opposite,” Shiv said. “Not a lot of them in general, and far more weavers.”

“Yes,” Uva said. “I think that’s a matter of their biology as well, but I can’t speak to that for certain. This is for the Composer to know. She is the creator, not us.”

Shiv noticed a reverence in her voice, but also a level of suspicion she let slip—she wondered why the Composer simply didn’t change the nature of her Weaveresses to adapt their biology and end the strange breeding requirements. But she often chided herself mentally for such thoughts and let Shiv know as much. Because what was the place of an Umbral to criticize their savior goddess?

“Ah, we’re here,” Uva said, gesturing at a storefront. Shiv saw a squarish building made of black marble, brightly lit inside. He reached into his cloak to pull out his reading glasses. A second later, a translation of the store’s name appeared before him: Fel’s Cuts.

Before they could enter, Adam reached out, catching both of them by the shoulder. Uva paused and reflectively stepped away from the Young Lord, but Shiv turned and saw something in Adam’s expression. The Young Lord was focused—there was no sneer, just eyes closed in concentration. He was listening, sensing.

“What? What’s wrong?” Shiv asked.

“Shh!” Adam said. “I’m trying to push through the crowd. There’s… there’s something… There!” He pointed.

A few steps away, Shiv found what he was indicating. A weaver stumbled among the crowd—his body shaking. Shiv focused his Biomancy field on the creature; the weaver was heating up and starting to lash out at the people around…

“Oh no,” Uva said. She let out a sigh and projected her thoughts: Her will and magic crashed down on the weaver, just as he reared his head back and let out a silent scream. A second later, the weaver collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

she declared mentally. Everyone on the street stopped, turned, and stared at her

At that, people cleared out of the vicinity in record time.

Shiv thought.

Uva said.

Shiv blinked.

Uva shuddered, then looked Adam up and down with a slight smile. “Good work, Adept Adam. These things happen, but responses are rarely this timely.”

“Yes, well.” The Young Lord peacocked with pride. “I told you, I’m used to the capital. This is nothing. This is nothing,” he repeated.

Shiv patted Adam on the arm. The Young Lord scowled at the spot Shiv touched.

A few minutes later, a Plague-Cager team arrived—a group from the Order specifically focused on extracting the sick and establishing quarantine measures for the infected. They had a few Biomancers with them, but those seemed focused on sterilizing all the small moving biological particulates in the air.

Shiv thought as they went into the store.

Heads turned to regard them—Umbral, Weaveress, and otherwise. However, Shiv found himself noticing a specific individual in particular. Behind the desk was a woman with much longer hair, who looked somewhat like Uva. He approached, and Uva and the other Umbral shared a moment of eye contact: indifferent expressions, façades of stony silence. Inside, though, connected to her mind, Shiv felt a little warmth.

“So, these are the surfacers,” the woman behind the desk said.

“They are,” Uva replied, looking first at Adam and then at Shiv. “Blue for the smaller one. Do you have something dark red and durable for the other?”

“Hmm,” the woman intoned. “I will check.” She gave Shiv a final look, then tilted her head back to Uva. “Oh, I see.”

Uva’s mind reeled in surprise, but she betrayed none of it on her face. The Umbral behind the desk, meanwhile, was smirking. “Ah, finally. I can’t believe it. And I can’t believe you.”

“Save it,” Uva said, her voice thin. “Go get what I told you to.”

“Yes, .” The woman rolled her eyes before departing, telling them to wait a moment.

“So, who’s that?” Shiv asked.

“My sister,” Uva replied.

“Your sister?”

“I have many sisters,” Uva said. “She and I used to be the closest.”

“Used to be?” Shiv pressed.

“Now I’m closest with my work,” Uva finished. “Or so she complains every time we see each other.”

“She didn't complain this time,” Shiv noted.

“That is because she has ammunition against me this time—an article of mockery, finally, against Uva,” Uva drawled, wrinkling her nose. She looked slightly annoyed, but there was pride underneath.

Seconds later—far sooner than Shiv expected—Uva’s sister returned with two full bags of clothing. Shiv blinked as he sifted through them: dark brown, hardened leather for him, sky-blue silks for Adam.

“You’re not even going to bother to fit us?” the Young Lord asked.

“I did that the moment you walked in,” Uva’s sister said, leaning back.

“Ah,” Adam murmured. “You must be quite skilled.”

“Oh, that’s not skill.” Uva’s sister shook her head. “Perhaps if you hang around longer, I might show you what is, surfacer.”

She grinned at Adam, then looked at Shiv, lifting an eyebrow. “Hm. Quite the flavorful surfacer you picked. I can see why…”

Uva stepped between them. “Thank you, Fel. We are finished here.”

Shiv placed the bags in his cloak, and Adam tried not to seethe at the convenience on display.

“Oh, running away so soon? Back to your work? Or something else? Maybe else?” Fel taunted.

“Come on, boys,” Uva said, turning away.

“Someone else it is, then,” Fel—apparently—called after her. “I will be talking about this when we all gather this weekend.”

Uva practically shoved Shiv and Adam out of the store. “I hope you catch the plague,” she called back. “I will see you then.”

After a few more stops for shoes, gloves, and accessories, they found themselves seated on the outside porch of a barbecue restaurant—one that specialized in bugs. Shiv knew some cultures ate fried insects, spiders and all, but he’d never tried them. Georges had said anything could be fine food if the ingredients and taste aligned.

As Shiv stared at the roasted beetle before him, he inhaled its scent, intrigued but unsure. He readied his fork and knife. “Well, let’s find out,” he growled, challenging the beetle with his gaze.

Uva was already eating slices. Adam, meanwhile, hadn’t touched anything.

“Are you sure this is fine?” Adam said, leering at the food.

“I’m eating it, aren’t I?” Uva said.

Adam was still reluctant. “Your stomach might be different from ours.”

Shiv bit into his beetle with a loud crunch. “And this one can’t die,” Adam complained.

“I might actually kill myself if you keep whining,” Shiv said, chewing as he spoke.

“Well, that’s the exact wrong thing to say to me now, isn’t it?” Adam snarled, clenching his teeth.

Shiv paused and glared at Adam. “Oh, what would be the right thing to say? That you’re a coward—that I have no problem eating this, but you—despite attending a fancy academy and being Roland Arrow’s son—can’t?”

Adam’s scowl returned. He gripped his knife like he meant to stab Shiv, his fork poised to carve into his throat, then unleashed his hatred on the beetle.

“Well, that was disappointing,” Shiv said, frowning down at his half-eaten insect. “Meat’s underdone. Seasonings worse than shit and the appetizers might as well be literal shit.”

“What the hells are you talking about? It was great,” Adam said, rubbing his stomach and groaning as he leaned back.

Uva stared between them, and ever so slightly, she chuckled.

At the end of lunch, Adam declared he wanted to scout more of the city himself—to fly free without being held down. Shiv suspected Adam simply didn’t want to be cooped up in a crowd that overwhelmed his Awareness. It made sense. It also made sense when Valor asked Shiv to hand him over to Adam for a while.

The two still didn’t seem to like each other, but after last night’s incident, they shared a mutual purpose: to avoid Shiv and Uva after dark. Shiv handed Adam his keys and the Young Lord departed with Valor, soaring on fiery wings.

Meanwhile, Shiv and Uva made their way to Cradle.

Shiv intended to see a Master Biomancer about their arrangement; Uva was due for a checkup. She was on medical leave for lingering mana strain and recently-treated hemorrhaging. Shiv headed to Dven Falseflesh’s office while Uva visited a general practitioner, promising to find him again afterward. When Shiv asked how she’d know when Dven was free, Uva simply smiled and brushed his mind with her Psychomancy.

In Dven’s office, the automaton learned of his brief encounter with the Sculptor—and found itself impressed.

“So, you made it through the first chapter without stopping. You must have strong tastes—or an absence of morality,” it said.

Shiv shrugged. “I think I’m more interested in the study.”

“That is good,” Dven said. “Let me show you where we keep the specimens.”

“The ?” Shiv echoed, uncertain.

Moments later, Dven led him down many winding staircases, down to the very bottom of Cradle. There, living beings were placed in warded cages: chimeras—engineered life forms developed for the city’s benefit; experimental specimens—mice, ape-like insects, even Plague-Bearers—feral weavers in minor fungal ecosystems behind reinforced glass; and finally, vampires.

Shiv felt his stomach churn at a host of mind-hollowed vampires strapped in dense manacles, moaning for blood as armored Weaveresses and Umbrals extracted fluid ichor from their hearts.

Dven hummed. “Since you finished the first chapter, you now know somewhat how a vampire’s heart works,” Dven hummed.

“Doesn’t seem right,” Shiv said.

Dven regarded him. “Odd. I did not expect you to have compunctions about this.”

“I don’t have compunctions about killing with my Biomancy or opening myself in battle. This just seems like torture.”

“We are not torturing them.” Dven shook its head. “That is a byproduct of our attempts for discovery.”

“Discovering what?”

“Discovering the plagues they’ve inflicted on us, and their foul techniques. Their Biomancy develops so differently from ours—brutal yet intimate, like a scalpel cutting deeper than most are willing to go.”

“And you think I can Skill-Evolve in that manner?” Shiv asked.

“Yes,” Dven replied without hesitation.

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Shiv said. “But I don’t think I’ll evolve into whatever the Sculptor had. He manipulates blood on a fine level and creates things from it. I mostly just leave wounds, broken bones, and cancer.”

“Whatever the case, you still hold the potential to reach deeper and match them. Attain a parallel skill, at least.” The automaton paused. “Perhaps there is something in the Sculptor’s talk of novel design, but that’s a long-term project.”

It then asked him to demonstrate his new learnings on a mouse. He did—only he used himself instead. He peeled away parts of his skin and, amid immense pain, pointed out vessels and the heart’s function.

Dven studied him with its head tilted. Shiv, too, found himself surprised by the automaton, but mainly because he noticed something about it: his Psychomancy reached only flashes of numbers and electrostatic impulses when he brushed its mind—nothing like the memories he accessed from Uva or Adam.

“You’re willing to open yourself, inflict such pain so casually—yet you refuse to touch the mice,” it said, fascinated.

He looked at the mice, their little eyes and white fur. Shiv shrugged. “I don’t see why they deserve it—or why they’re more expendable than me. Frankly, I’m mostly renewable, and as a Master Biomancer, you could probably prevent my death.”

“Prevent you from dying? Perhaps. But if you mishandle your heart, you could die instantly. I am no Necromancer.”

“That might be to my benefit.”

Dven observed him and craned its Umbral-like visage. “Is that true? So the Umbrals—the survivors from the tunnel incident—weren’t lying. You possess the Dichotomous Soul.”

Shiv considered full honesty, then chose to withhold some truths. “Not exactly, but close enough. Let’s just say death isn’t permanent for me.”

“Wonderful. This is… better than I expected. Well then,” it said, “do continue. Also, you seem to have confused an artery for a vein. You’re also pinching it too hard, the blood flow there is about to…”

A vessel burst. Shiv suffered a stroke while Dven was mid-sentence.

A few moments later, he returned from the dead after draining vitality from a high vampire. He disliked Dven’s methods, but since the vampires were already comatose—and he despised them more than the mice—they proved a better option. Shiv always played the best hand he was dealt.