“Their requests are to be denied. All of them.” Lead Guardian Rooted-Place grunted its disapproval, not even bothering to look Golden-Streak in the eye as it delivered its judgment.
“All of them?” the leopard rumbled. It had expected the Lead Guardian to be harsh, but not this harsh. “I understand that examining the Beacon is out of the question, but the others-”
“Diverting a supply caravan to address dietary preferences, not necessities, is wasteful.” The large tortoise stamped a heavy foot on the wooden platform, making a loud enough thump to interrupt its subordinate. “Allowing them unmonitored movement within the city is an unnecessary risk. The fact that they have to conform to the schedules of volunteer Seekers and Guardians willing to accompany them is immaterial, they will simply have to make do. As for joining the search for the fugitive…” Rooted-Place finally turned to look Golden-Streak in the eye. “You must be a fool not to find that suspicious.”
“Forgive me, but you have not even seen them, much less conversed with them,” Golden-Streak protested, its tail lashing about in frustration. “If you did, you would immediately be able to tell that none of the five of them are a threat, or hold any ill intent.”
It had been five days since the afflicted creatures had arrived. After the second, Golden-Streak had been approached by Quiet-Dream with a request. It wanted to find any other afflicted wandering the wilderness, and provided a rather reasonable explanation for the assumption that there were even more out there to begin with. But obviously, all of them were to be kept under strict surveillance at all times, and rather than ask to simply be let go, it made the far more reasonable offer that some of them accompany Seekers in their search for the more violent individual of their kind that had yet to be apprehended. Unfortunately, the Lead Guardian had set up incredibly entrenched bureaucratic procedures to deter citizens from approaching it with non-emergencies. This meeting had been in the works for several days now.
“If I have learned anything in the eighty years I have cared for this city, it is that a creature is at its most dangerous when it has your full attention.” The tortoise took a few steps forward. “We are empathetic beings. It is the nature of our Gift. We experience, we Understand, and we feel. When we converse with another creature, we are inclined to feel for them, to believe them, because Understanding does not lie. But people do not always express the truth.”
“We have been watching them for days, and have a multitude of accounts from those who found them, do you truly believe them to be lying?” Golden-Streak had never been angry at its superiors before, but right now it desperately wanted to swipe at its head with a forepaw, to try to get it to see sense. It flexed its paws, extending and retracting its claws repeatedly in a bid to keep its cool.
“No, I do not.” Rooted-Place made the statement as if it should be obvious. “But there is a kind of person who will express falsehoods without lying: Someone who truly, sincerely believes everything it expresses, no matter how wrong, because its perception of reality is incorrect. In some ways they are even more dangerous than a liar. Delusional creatures cannot be predicted, and are a danger to themselves and others. Their sincerity leads others to trust them, to become attached to them, and when the strain of their condition finally causes them to break…” The tortoise drew a foreleg into its shell, causing that corner of it to slam down for emphasis. “Their actions may harm far more than themselves.”
“What do you propose we do, then? Keep them confined and isolated for the rest of their lives?”
“I do not intend to treat them so cruelly. With any luck, they can be cured of their condition and return to their former lives. And with regards to that…” the Lead Guardian gestured to its assistant, a very timid lemur, directing it to fetch a note from a nearby shelf. The quality of the paper and the distinctive feather-brushed markings immediately identified it as being from the Lead Scholar. “We’ve been given instructions for a potential treatment. If Delving-Thought’s theory holds, this method will either correct their delusions or else produce vital information about their nature, provided it is executed properly. I would like you to assist in performing it.”
“I do not think that any of them want to be cured,” Golden-Streak pawed at the floor nervously. The only reason Guardians would be involved in the “treatment” would be if Rooted-Place expected resistance. “Whatever has happened to them, their current identities and memories feel real to them. Excising them is… killing them.”
“Very well, let us entertain the notion.” The sheer condescension contained in the tortoise’s expressions caught the leopard off-guard. It truly thought this line of reasoning was foolish. “If we pretend that these personalities are their own people, and that their erasure is their death, then what of the lives that they erased? Each of them would have killed the creature that previously inhabited their bodies. Through no choice of their own, perhaps, but even accidental killings require justice. However, their deaths may yet be undone, which is a far more effective justice than anything as low as retribution or revenge.”
“You want to trade one life for another.”
“No. I would never want to do that, even if I believed that I was. I often sincerely wish that no creature in this world would ever have to do that. But we are Guardians. We act to preserve the lives of others, and sometimes that requires making a choice of who lives and who dies. You know this. If you can only save one person out of two, who do you save?”
An ugly feeling gnawed at the leopard’s conscience as it contemplated the question. It knew the answer, of course. It knew it agreed. But as Rooted-Place said, this is something that no person should ever want to do. No matter how correct or right it was, it would always feel wrong.
“All else being equal, you act on instinct. You make a snap judgment of who you value more and save them, because inaction may result in losing both.”
“And who do you value more? These strangers, who may not even be real, or the citizens that you took up the role of Guardian to protect?”
It knew the answer, but it wasn’t either of those. Scholar Ink-Talon had been its friend. Golden-Streak just wanted its friend back.
----------------------------------------
“I take it back. I am not ready to try this.” A nervous series of squeaks echoed from the tiny window in the wall separating the bat’s room from the central courtyard. A series of wooden blocks formed a makeshift set of stairs that the bat could use to ascend or descend from the ground, but right now they were working on an alternative. “There has to be a way to learn this without risking my life.”
“You’re not risking your life,” Ink-Talon cawed back up from the ground outside. “We’ve laid out plenty of blankets for padding, and the fall isn’t far enough to hurt you anyway. The neat thing about being small is that we really don’t hit the ground that hard unless we fall for quite a distance or were already moving fast for some other reason.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“And you’re absolutely sure that this is the right way? Didn’t Black-Leap suggest this a few days back? She’s just a kid.”
So were you, last time I checked. Ink-Talon would have chuckled if he was capable, but the bat’s ears almost certainly would have picked up on it, so he was glad that he couldn’t. “Turns out her instincts were pretty close. There’s a whole ton of medical and biology texts in the library, it wasn’t too hard to track down information on bats. Your wing muscles aren’t strong enough to get you airborne from a standing position like a bird’s. You need to start by falling and turn that momentum into lift. It’s why bats hang from things.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m working up to it…”
“Ink-Talon?” A familiar growl nearly made the crow leap out of his feathers. “I apologize, I always forget that you are not used to my presence.” Guardian Golden-Streak crouched down as best it could to reduce its profile and get closer to eye-level with the bird. Unfortunately, all this did was make it look like it was coiling up in preparation to pounce. “I need your help with an important matter, if you are willing to accompany me.”
“I would be, but I’m in the middle of something important,” Ink-Talon clicked his beak, turning around so that he didn’t have to look directly at the crouching predator. There was always something… desperate about its interactions with him. It was far from the first of the animals at the college to express that it had been close with his body’s original occupant. Scholar Ink-Talon had apparently been popular, as well as extremely open and physically affectionate with a great number of people, intimately so in several cases. But typically their interactions with him in the present were mournful at worst, and just kinda wistful or nostalgic more often than not. Golden-Streak was an outlier in that regard. Even his dulled perception could pick up on the leopard struggling to remind itself that the Scholar was gone and that the person that replaced it was not to blame. “Are you willing to wait for a day-phase? I promised my friend here that I’d help them learn how to use their wings.”
“Actually, I think I might be able to do this easier if you aren’t watching,” the bat chirped, sticking their head out the window. “I have all the tips I can get from you, and I’m definitely going to fail a bunch of times. I’ll feel better if the only person watching that is the Seeker on the roof over there. It doesn’t judge, at least not out loud.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. Good luck!” Ink-Talon cawed back, before turning to the Guardian. “I guess I’m free to help, then! How long will we be?”
“This will likely take the rest of the day, but you will be back not long after sunset, if all goes well.” Something about the statement felt… off. Not to his Understanding, its tone was perfectly benign as far as he could tell, if somewhat more reserved than usual. Instead, it was his normal human intuition telling him that there was something suspicious about the way the idea was expressed. If actual words had been spoken, he would have thought that Golden-Streak was being very particular about its phrasing to obscure something without actually lying.
“Sure, lead the way,” Ink-Talon nodded, dismissing the unease. He had no reason to mistrust the Guardian, and it’s not like “human intuition” was ever going to be applicable in this world. He’d need to work on unlearning it. “What do you need help with?”
“It is a private matter, concerning your namesake,” The leopard waved a paw matter-of-factly as it turned and began walking towards a door at the far end of the courtyard. “It has been decided that you should be involved in the process, but that is all I can say in public.”
“Oh, that makes sense, I guess.” The crow took to the air in short bursts to keep up with the brisk pace of the Guardian without overtaking it. “I don’t envy whoever has to sort out property rights and other legal things in this situation. I certainly wouldn’t have any idea what to do.”
Golden-Streak led Ink-Talon down an unfamiliar series of corridors, into a section of the College that it explained was primarily used for storage and occasionally space for testing or research, and didn’t get many visitors. Much like the library, this part of the building lacked sky lights and had solid doors on each room for climate control. Their destination was just one door among many, though at one point it seemed to have had some kind of signage on it, judging by the blank square on the wood where a layer of dust hadn’t yet settled.
“It will take me some time to unlock the door, please do not wander off.” Golden-Streak began manipulating a small series of levers and turn-keys along the side of the door with its mouth, a process that seemed rather tedious for someone with her body plan, and further complicated by the fact that it seemed to be a combination lock of some sort. Each part was being engaged in a specific position in a specific order. Whatever was behind this door was something that they didn’t want anyone touching without permission.
“What about the Scholar’s effects requires this level of security?” Ink-Talon asked, clicking his beak nervously. “That’s what I’m here for, right? Some sort of property transfer? Or is there something else related to it stashed away in a storage closet?”
“This room contains the result of some research Scholar Ink-Talon began several years ago. It was recently completed by Lead Scholar Delving-Thought in its absence.” Once again, something about the leopard’s phrasing was making him uneasy, as if there was something it was leaving out.
“What kind of research? And why are you giving it to me?”
“It is difficult to explain,” the Guardian growled, finally disengaging the lock with a loud wooden thunk. “But it will become apparent once you see it.” The leopard grabbed a handle in its teeth and pulled, swinging the door open rather slowly. It was extremely heavy for some reason. The room inside was dark, lit only by a single lamp on the inside of the door frame. “Please step inside.”
Movement in his peripheral vision caught Ink-Talon’s attention, and he glanced to his left to see someone standing a ways down the hall. It was the monitor lizard Guardian often stationed near their rooms. A second glance in the opposite direction revealed a large eagle standing a similar distance in the opposite direction. Neither of them were approaching. Just watching. Watching him. Making sure he didn’t run.
“Not before you tell me what’s going on,” he squawked, fluffing himself up defiantly. “Something isn’t right here, and you know what it is, otherwise you wouldn’t have backup to box me in.” He waved a wing down the hall to indicate that he had spotted the extra muscle. “I’m not dangerous, you can trust me.”
“I know you aren’t,” the Guardian rumbled its reply as it turned to face the crow, once more crouching down to eye-level. “But your treatment does not allow for trust.”
“Treatment? What are you-”
Before he could even finish the question, Golden-Streak sprung forward, spinning and swinging a massive paw at him in one smooth motion. He couldn’t even unfurl his wings before he was struck in the side and bowled over, the blow knocking the wind out of him as the leopard’s follow-up scooped him off the floor and tossed him through the doorway like a ragdoll. He hit the ground hard, letting out a feeble squawk as the impact and subsequent slide across the rough floor painfully plucked several feathers from his breast.
“I am sorry. This will all be over soon.” The heavy door to the room scraped closed, slamming into the door frame from the hurried force of the Guardian’s push. The lock clicked back into place a few moments later.
Ink-Talon struggled to his feet, gasping for breath as his panicked gaze darted around his prison. It was a completely barren room, its only distinguishing feature being the dull gray tiles covering every surface of it, even the inside of the door. The way his talons clicked on the floor made him think it was some kind metal, but he couldn’t tell what kind.
His mind raced for a few moments as he tried to put together what had just happened, but he didn’t need to think for long. The answer was obvious. Golden-Streak had called this his ‘treatment.’
He was going to be erased.