Victory is not permanent, any more than defeat is.
Adon knew this in his heart, but he couldn’t help doing a little jig once the Ladybug Larva had fallen out of striking range. He watched the monster as it tumbled into the darkness, staring after it until it was out of his sight.
In the near darkness, that wasn’t particularly far. Adon was kicking himself a bit for still having crappy eyes. But then, what would he have given up to improve his vision? The Silk Spinner had already proven its worth in dealing with the Ladybug Larva. At least temporarily.
Adon knew it was possible the monster could come back to fight him, and it would probably be hopping mad if it did.
He hoped the Ladybug Larva would be smart enough to leave well enough alone.
I would like to hold onto this high ground without a fight, if I can.
But for now, it was time to enjoy the fruits of victory and forget about what the future might hold. It was time to recharge his Biomass and collect some more juicy Evolution Points.
Adon clambered down to where the rest of the Ladybug Eggs were clustered, and he started eating. Once he began, he found he was quite ravenous. The eggs tasted fresh and rich. Packed with protein and dense energy. The flavor reminded Adon of how his own egg had tasted.
He quickly went into the feeding trance that he was becoming accustomed to by now…
Munch munch. Chomp chomp. Gobble gobble. Gulp.
Before he knew it, not only the two dozen or so eggs that had been in front of him, but even the leftovers that had resulted from the Ladybug Larva’s own messy eating, were gone.
Yum yum! Adon thought. He extended his tongue out of his mouth as far as it would go and licked the nearest part of his mandibles. These eggs were probably the best thing he’d eaten so far, although he was glad that generally, his insect body was well adapted to finding any protein tasty.
Adon climbed back up to nearer the top of the plant and settled on top of a few of the upper leaves a tier beneath the topmost layer. He had to choose a big, thick set of leaves to lie on and settle his body on the petiole connecting the leaves to the main stem. Otherwise, he thought that he might fall off in the night.
It’s like I’m getting bigger or something, he thought, half proud of the accomplishment and half worried about gaining too much weight. Soon he would probably have to spend his nights clinging to the stem itself, or even hiding at ground level. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though. The ground was undoubtedly going to be a locus of great danger at night, as it was during the day.
He peered out over the edge of his bunch of leaves one last time before he started trying to sleep. Despite his slight trepidation, he didn’t see the Ladybug Larva climbing back up. And he was pretty sure it couldn’t fly in its current form. So it seemed Adon was safe for now.
Taught him a lesson! he thought.
Then he made himself comfortable on the pillow-soft bed of leaves, and he began to drift away. It had been less obvious while he was in his egg, but Adon didn’t sleep anymore. Not quite. Structurally, his brain was different than it had been as a human.
He didn’t exactly lose consciousness. He just became significantly less aware of his surroundings and allowed his mind to rest. It continued to work, but very slowly and without much focus.
In that mental state, with his strangely high Intelligence and Will in the body of an insect, Adon entered a state that was not quite dream and not quite wakefulness.
A scene floated through his mind unbidden. There was no visual component except for the dark opaque liquid that he’d been surrounded with when he was in an egg.
Later, he would come to the conclusion that what he heard in this state was, in fact, a memory. One of those conversations he’d heard during his pre-hatching stage, which he’d been lucid enough to hear, but had lacked the comprehension to understand.
Two men were speaking.
The language they communicated in wasn’t English or any language Adon had heard in his last life, but he immediately understood it as the conversation played out. The words were Claustrian.
“I am, of course, grateful for my wife’s decision to send for you, Lord Baranack,” one of the speakers offered. “I am glad you have spent some time studying the particular needs of the Kingdom. Your reputation for diplomacy precedes you.”
“You honor me by the implication that I might be of service in any way, Your Majesty,” Lord Baranack replied, his tone simpering. “I will do my utmost.”
“I hope you may consider your proximity to the garden as you work to be of spiritual benefit, my lord,” the King said. “Only a few high officials, including the Princess, enjoy rooms that overlook the garden. It is one of our great treasures.”
“Truly, the rumors about this place were not exaggerated,” Lord Baranack agreed. “A vast space, beautifully layered with every desirable form of flora to be found in the hemisphere.” The men had been walking, but now he stopped to smell a flower. Then he let out a sudden breath in what sounded like a panicked huff.
“Is something not to your liking, Lord Baranack?” the King asked.
“Your Majesty, I see eggs here,” Lord Baranack replied in a slightly panicked whisper.
“It is a garden, my lord,” the King replied, in a tone that suggested he was beginning to think Lord Baranack was not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.
“Yes, well, of course,” Lord Baranack sputtered. His voice seemed to Adon to be very close to Adon’s body, because it had become quite loud “I mean to say that these eggs are monster eggs. Once they hatch, they grow into—”
“I am well aware of the life cycle of this particular insect, Lord Baranack,” the King interrupted. “The butterfly is on my family’s coat of arms, if you recall. We traditionally regard it as the national animal of Claustria. I am very relieved to see that some still exist in this country, after past unfortunate events.”
“Past unfortunate events?” Lord Baranack asked. He seemed to have forgotten his courtly manners. His voice was incredulous, as if he thought he was talking to an idiot. “Your Majesty, the destruction of monsters with the potential to develop magic powers still seems to most countries in this region a wise policy. Given the reports of monsters fighting alongside the Demon Empire in the last war—”
“Lord Baranack, you are repeating arguments that I have heard repeatedly over the years. The historicity of that claim is doubtful at best. Given the lack of any evidence to support them beyond the words of a few priests centuries after the fact, I do not consider them in making policy. Given that these creatures are endangered, and represent this country, I have made it a crime to slay them. They face enough threats in nature already. I would be unsurprised if some other creature in this garden eats some of those eggs.” He seemed to think this would put an end to the conversation. Adon heard the voice moving further away from him.
But Lord Baranack hadn’t given up. “Please, Your Majesty, reconsider a policy of extermination. To think of your own daughter living so near these dangerous creatures—”
“The Princess, and the late Queen, are and were extremely fond of this garden, with all its creatures,” was the last Adon heard from the King. The words were spoken in a tone that suggested that this Lord Baranack was exhausting the King’s patience.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
But their semiconscious eavesdropper was less concerned about courtly politics and more wrapped up in the implications of the conversation for himself. As the exchange had gone on, it had become obvious they were discussing the pros and cons of killing him specifically. And possibly some siblings that he might have had nearby, before a ladybug or some other predator ate them.
Oh Goddess, thought Adon. Are butterflies hated in this world?
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, if he hadn’t heard it from Lord Baranack’s mouth.
—
While Adon hovered in the hazy mental space that approximated sleep for him, the sun was rising in the East.
As the pale shadow of day began to assert itself over the horizon, Princess Rosslyn stole into the palace garden.
Her maid had mentioned a suitor coming today and that her father wanted to see her. Rosslyn didn’t want to see anyone just now, so she came here.
She had hoped the conversation she’d eavesdropped on meant that there would be some respite between those annoying would-be social climbers, at least while her father corresponded with the Duke. But it seemed she’d been naive.
Lord Baranack was continuing to do his duty and find eligible bachelors, based on his personal definition of eligibility.
The soothing sights, sounds, and smells of the garden wafted over Rosslyn, but their effect was almost lost on her.
As she stepped forward, her eyes darted around furtively between the mansion and the distant garden walls. An image came to her mind, one of those hazy half-remembered memories whose origins she was never quite sure about. It was a scene in a play, where a fugitive was escaping from a prison. She remembered the prisoner pausing and looking around, standing in the same pose she’d adopted.
Was it something she’d seen in a previous life? Or a moment from this life, perhaps at her mother’s side, watching a traveling company of actors perform? Rosslyn often found herself asking those questions. Though she had a few clear memories from her previous incarnation, she didn’t even know her past name for certain.
Whatever its origin, the mental image had a tone of the farcical about it. As if there was a joke being made at the prisoner’s expense. In this case, at her expense. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her lips.
Look at me, a prisoner, escaping my own home, Rosslyn thought. She felt suddenly silly and small. Far too young to have the responsibilities that she held. And perhaps a shallow, foolish, stubborn child. Considering that the burden of this ordeal came with the incredible privilege of being a princess. While over eighty percent of her people were peasants, she, their Princess, was trying to evade the onerous demand to choose a husband.
It really was laughable.
Then again, some days she thought she would do almost anything to be free from this obligation. She wouldn’t willingly become a peasant, but she wasn’t so fond of being royalty that she wouldn’t become a priestess or some lower ranking noble. If she had her life to do over.
I imagine that in my past life, I had more freedom, somehow. I was neither royal nor peasant nor noble, and somehow, I had freedom. She didn’t know why she believed this, but the idea carried the ring of truth for her. And her love of freedom couldn’t be that different from one life to the next, anyway, could it?
She had literally put her life in danger to taste freedom. Part of why she had volunteered for military service was to get away from these walls and demands. Another part was to understand the needs of her kingdom and its people better. The third and most important reason was to establish herself, build her own reputation as a military asset in her own right.
Rosslyn had even been vain enough to think she’d accomplished her goals.
Then she came back, and reality asserted itself again.
Personal power was all that mattered. Tactical brilliance wouldn’t defeat a powerful individual on the battlefield. Individual differences in magical and physical might were too vast to broach with mere cunning. History had shown again and again that both the aristocracy and the people only bowed to the strong.
Rosslyn sighed and kicked a loose stone in the garden path. Ruminating was getting her nowhere. She ought to get back and—suddenly she spied movement in the corner of her field of vision.
It was a small motion, but her hand went immediately to the dagger she always kept at her waist. One could never be too careful.
She looked down, ready to draw and wield the dagger if the source of the movement was anything bigger than a field mouse.
There she saw a tiny bug. It was so much smaller than a field mouse that she almost burst out laughing. She wouldn’t even have noticed it if she didn’t have exceptional eyesight.
This is how worried you are about something silly, she thought. Jumping at baby insects!
She bent down to take a closer look.
Oh, a baby ladybug, she thought. I forgot how ugly they are right after they hatch…
“Hello, little fellow,” she said under her breath. “What are you doing?”
The creature turned its head to look at her for a moment, then seemed to decide she was either not a threat or too large of a danger for it to bother worrying about. Probably the latter. Either way, it returned to what it was doing. She quickly understood what it was up to.
Over and over again, it tried to climb a plant stem. Each time, its feet didn’t find their purchase properly, and the poor thing tumbled back down.
Rosslyn picked it up without hesitation and held it in the palm of her hand to examine it more closely. She could see the problem immediately.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed sympathetically. “Seeing you, I understand how silly I really am. Here I am, stewing about having to meet suitors, and you have real problems. Who broke your feet?”
Rosslyn expected no answer to her question. She had never met an insect that could speak, although she had heard that such things were possible. She speculated to herself.
Perhaps the little Ladybug Larva had just fallen from the plant he lived on and landed badly. Bugs didn’t usually injure themselves falling, she knew, but it wasn’t impossible. And its two front legs were definitely unnaturally bent.
That would keep even the most determined of these simple creatures from climbing up. Their tiny brains are incapable of realizing that their bodies are broken. Hopefully it poses less of an obstacle if the back four legs are already in a stable position.
She set the insect down on top of the plant it had been trying to climb.
It immediately started moving to climb downward. She groaned. I helped a very stupid bug, she thought. If he manages to get to the bottom, how will he climb back up again?
Then she realized that some ways down the stem of the plant, another insect was resting. The Ladybug Larva was climbing towards something.
“I see,” she said aloud, smiling a little sadly. “It seems my little friend has a grudge.”
Too bad, she thought. If I had realized he wanted to go attack that caterpillar, I would not have bothered helping him up. Butterflies were such elegant creatures.
“I always liked butterflies,” she whispered to herself. “They remind me of—”
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and wiped a single tear from her eye.
Damn it, mum. Ten years had passed, and the feelings were still sharp.
Rosslyn tried to bury the feeling. She made her face into a stoic, regal mask. In case anyone else wandered by, she refused to be seen in such a state.
She had felt a temptation to separate the two insects, an emotional impulse that she didn’t care to explore.
She would not yield to it now.
“Sorry, stranger,” she said, directing her quiet words to the unmoving caterpillar. “This is just the circle of life. If death comes for you, you should not expect help. No one can save you. Even all the King’s horses and all the King’s men.” She had intended the words as tragic in some way, but there was something farcical about them in retrospect. Some reference she didn’t quite grasp.
Then a part of the caterpillar’s body drew her eye.
He has some kind of defense, at least, she thought. Those spines looked like they would at least wound her little ladybug friend. Maybe this one has what it takes to live. He seems to be more than he first appeared.
“Live through this, little butterfly, and maybe I can bring you a treat,” Rosslyn said.
She shook her head at the foolishness of making a promise to an insect. Yet she knew she would do it. She hated to break her word. And Cook would probably know what caterpillars ate.
She turned and left without waiting to see what would happen between the two insects.