The Word of Flesh and Soul by Ruthanna Emrys

Author:Ruthanna Emrys
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor.com
Published: 2018-11-14T00:00:00+00:00

“He didn’t kick me out,” I tell Rish. “Yet.” I grab a couple of naproxen tablets from the bottle on the bookshelf, and soda to swallow them with. Two kinds of caffeine before breakfast feels like a good idea right now.

“And cramps, too?” she asks. My period’s been irregular with the stress of study and sleep deprivation; I think that happens in every department.

“Not this week. Can you look at my back?” I tug off my shirt, wincing. Nothing, I want her to tell me. When’s the last time you saw your chiropractor?

“Ooh, these are nice.” Rish strokes cool fingers down my spine. “I don’t know how to describe them. They’re sort of wavy? Aoriivoi.” A poet’s word for ripples on water. The originators, far from any ocean, were fascinated by the way rain and stone disturbed placid mountain lakes. It’s a nice way of thinking about it.

“Theiaroneie,” I counter. Rish has always been fascinated by Lloala’s alterations, and the new-dyed fur on her neck made her smile for days. I’ve been able to cope with most of my own, but having one where I can’t see it wigs me out. “Can you take a picture?”

My phone is nearest; Rish inscribes my pain-curved flesh into its memory alongside the moonshadow words that marked it. I take the device by the edges like some brittle artifact. The screen shows the almost abstract sculpture of skin stretched over spine. Across my ribcage, watermark-pale lines waver like moiré. It makes my eyes ache.

“Does it hurt you to look at that?” I ask.

“It feels strange. Not bad, though, just weird.” She traces the lines, and I lean into her touch. It feels so comfortable, and so very far from the sacrifices demanded by our study. We consent to that sacrifice knowingly, when we begin, and yet it comes as a shock every time.

“Is love enough reason for this?” I ask. “The language can’t love us back. Why do we let it break us?”

“If anyone’s trying to break you, it’s Rallis. And you aren’t broken.”

“Him, too. He still thinks ‘Rochaol is allegorical, by the way. A ‘scapegoat figure.’ Maybe he’s right. All these scars the language leaves on us, maybe that’s where the originators put their imperfections. That would be a trick, wouldn’t it? Achieve enlightenment by passing all your flaws, all your impurities, to everyone who tries to follow you to the top.”

“You’ve barely slept,” Rish points out. “Rallis must have said something horrible—what was it?”

I sigh. “He figured out that I’d been in the office—so I told him I got obsessive and came in to look at the stone again. I dropped a hint about what we figured out—what we thought we figured out—and he basically said that any time I believe I’m right and my elders are wrong, I’m being an idiot.”

“If we’re only right when we’re just like everyone else, what’s the point of training more people?”

I curl into her lap and close my eyes. I feel exhausted. “To carry on the originator’s legacy, and to approach their greatness.

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