Random 17

On closer inspection, it turned out that three of the monsters had survived the battle.

Many of my comrades argued strongly that we should kill them straightaway, by beheading, or burning, or ideally both. Though I sympathised, it seemed to me we would be better off learning what we could from living specimens. I had them caged and posted guards; and they and I watched, appalled, as the creatures' wounds healed and they regained their vigour with unnatural speed. Within twenty-four hours even the most careful observer would have been hard-pressed to discern that the fiends had ever been hurt at all.

At first they were silent and watchful in the cages, biding their time and strength; then, for awhile, they raged and howled and battered their bodies against the heavy iron bars, spitting and hissing, eyes dark with fury. That stage didn't last long; they were clearly not mindless, these monsters, and realised the struggle was fruitless. Falling quiet once more, they brooded, exchanging strange, uninterpretable glances; watching and waiting.

It was impossible not to be aware of them, in that hall; not to feel scrutinised and judged and found wanting. I had to change the watch every hour, and at the end of each shift the men were restive and uneasy and homesick. They didn't want to be here, in this place, for this purpose; no-one did.

Not even the fiends, probably.

They watched, and I watched back, willing myself to see, to understand these creatures, what drove them, what their weaknesses might be. We had come through our first encounter by blind luck, nothing more, and I knew we could not rely on that again. We needed to know this enemy, intimately, if we were to have any hope of survival. Even then, it would be a flimsy hope.

So I watched, and I endured their watching, and I changed the guards, and eventually the sun rose beyond the walls, casting beams of thin light from windows high above down through the dirty air. And as I slumped in my chair before the cages, bathed in this feeble illumination, exhausted but a million miles from sleep, one of them finally deigned to speak.

"I remember being that tired," he said. "Not clearly, but I do remember it, just about."

I looked up at him, and laughed weakly. "Does that give us something in common, monster? A touchstone of shared experience?"

His gaze was wary, measuring, still. "Perhaps. We are all flesh and blood; I suppose that is shared."

"The meat is merely clothing for the soul."

"As your clerics say."

"They have to say something to earn their keep."

"I don't doubt it. To earn keeps for all your kind."

I shrugged.

"Have you spent much time in cages, human?"

"Can't say that I have."

"You should. It is instructive."

"I'll take your word for that, if I may."

"Good for the soul, you might say."

"A benefit lost on you, then?"

A little incline of the head; the creature looked almost wistful. "If you like."

I spat. "Like? Ha. I daresay none of us have much to like in this."

"You and your men are not prisoners, at least. No iron bars compel you to remain. When you are done with your pillage and plunder you will go home."

"If we live that long."

"While we shall remain here, caged in the ruins of our own land."

"If you live that long."

"Well, that's rather up to you, is it not? The choice is yours. All the choices, it seems."

"Appearances can be deceptive."

"Oh, how true."

Though only one of the creatures spoke, there was a strange rhythm to the conversation, as if each were taking the focus in turn: one, then the other; one, then the other. I wondered what they were saying between the words with the ceaseless rustle of their wings, like a whisper in the shadows.

"We -- I -- do not have as many choices as you might think."

"Because your clerics tell you what to do?"

"Clerics? No. They have their uses, but we do what we must, to survive. In body and soul. We do whatever we must."

"How do you measure the survival of your soul?"

"That is a question that could only be asked by creatures lacking one."

That look again; sadder even, this time. "And can you answer it?"

How strange it was, in that foreign hall, in the dim morning light, to be engaged in philosophical debate by this dreadful being. A thousand miles and a dozen years from the reassurances of home; from the spiritual life I grew up in.

"Oh, I can give an answer. But I cannot make you understand it."

"You think I -- we -- won't understand?"

"I know you won't. You aren't equipped to do so. No more than a man without eyes can understand what it is to see."

"How can you be so sure we lack eyes?" The voice sounded different, and for a moment it seemed like the other had spoken, but it was always the same being. His companion never said a word.

"How do you know it is warm or cold? That you stand on solid ground? Which way is up? How do you know you are hungry, creature, or sleepy? If your kind sleeps, that is."

The creature gazed at his fellow, and the two had tears in their eyes, a perfect symmetry. The two.

"Is that what it is to have a soul? To be so certain? To just know?"

"Perhaps it is."

They turned to face me, this pair, and their expressions were piteous beyond measure. Black eyes held mine between the bars, and I felt a welling sense of shame, as of something long buried, something misunderstood. I tried to look, but I could not. I was outnumbered. It was two against one.

Almost too late I remembered it should have been three. Almost. His whisper was seductive, his hands gentle around my throat, but in the end it was not enough. I had learned their weakness.

I had them beheaded and burned. When we were done with our pillage and plunder, we went home.

The creature was right about that, at least.

We do what we must, to survive.
Posted by matt at March 10, 2006 11:09 PM