Chapter 13: Advice to a Straw Man

Chapter 13: Advice to a Straw Man

Amacus folded her wings behind herself. She walked down the steps, each dull thud somehow telling Craft he was in trouble — even though he’d done nothing of the sort.

He snapped out of it and stood up to greet her, but he paused. How should he approach her? They knew each other, but they were acquaintances, not friends. On the one hand, he had the impression she was a business-like person, so it might be a safe bet to act along those lines.

He extended his hand. “Amacus,” he greeted.

“Mr. Bowen,” she greeted back. She continued walking, however, not extending her hand — and her shoulder went right through his. He stepped aside, dodging on instinct the moment the temperature fluctuated, but there hadn’t been any force. It was just like the passing sweep of an air conditioner. “I’m only here with a spiritual body today,” she said.

Something like an astral projection? Craft thought. Even if the mechanism might be different, he was familiar with it. “I’m a little surprised.” His jaw hung loosely, but he shook his head. Her visit had been too sudden. “What gives?”

“I had only wanted to see how you were doing, Mr. Bowen.” She fixed her gaze on Nightshade, then looked back at him, a halo-like shine in her eyes appraising him. “But it seems you’ve been doing more thinking than doing.” She tilted her head towards Nightshade, and only then did Craft realize she was still passed out on the floor.

He jogged over to her side, checking her pulse. It was only in the middle of doing it that he realized it was unnecessary; true death here was hard to come by. Regardless, he did it for his own peace of mind.

He held her wrist and felt her neck, feeling rhythmic bumps against his fingertips. “Well, she’s alive.”

“Of course she is,” Amacus said. “If she weren’t, she’d have respawned by now.”

He pulled away. “It’s still weird how that works.”

“And strange that you haven’t befriended her yet.”

Craft looked up at Amacus, furrowing his brows. A part of him knew what she was talking about, but the other part required confirmation. He rarely acted without it.

“You’re making it sound like I haven’t.”

“Because you haven’t.” She held his gaze on him, piercing right through him. The swiftness and directness with which she’d answered was enough for him to fill in the rest of the blanks, intuiting that she wanted to move the conversation in a particular direction, but that needed to wait. Nightshade was still on the floor, and he’d feel bad for her neck once she’d woken up — that, and he wasn’t ready.

He carefully scooped her up. “She said something about a guest room a while ago. Let’s get her settled in first.”

Amacus said nothing. He took that as a go-ahead and took his first steps out of the room. Nightshade was lighter than he’d expected, but holding her like this and with Amacus’ words hanging at the back of his mind, he began to wonder why he wanted the “perfect distance” between himself and Nightshade in the first place.

It was a reason he recalled easily: he just wasn’t ready. It wasn’t as if he intended to divorce himself from the possibility of any friendship. Rather, wasn’t taking things one step at a time the obvious and sane thing to do?

He came out to a long hallway, at the end of which was an arch-shaped exit. He could see grasses and branches swaying with the wind and set aglow by the sun of the outside world, but that wasn’t where he wanted to go for now.

Stopping by a door halfway down, he bumped into it with his back, proving it was shut closed. With his hands preoccupied, he considered kicking it open, but the building manager in his hands wouldn’t appreciate day-one damage to public property.

Just like in a horror movie, the doorknob turned on its own, and the door swung open. It gave him visions of near-death, and he took a quick step back, expecting an axe to come out swinging.

“I can still open doors for you,” Amacus said. Craft spun around to find her putting her hand down, a small cloud of magic around it dissipating into the air. She gestured towards the door. “Walking through them, however, is your prerogative.”

He took a moment to calm down. “Right. Appreciate it,” he said, and he carried Nightshade inside.

He set her on a bed beneath a window, kneeling down to pull a blanket over her. They were in a simple but generous room with the bed in the corner, a wardrobe set against the foot of the bed, and a circular dining table for four offset from the middle. There was an odd amount of extra space, probably for another bed that’s been tucked away in storage.

“I’m surprised,” Amacus said. He turned around to find her leaning on the wall beside the door, arms crossed.

He furrowed his brows and got on his feet. “What’s surprising?”

“You treat her so carefully. Don’t you actually have a favorable view of her?”

“Well, I don’t hate her.”

“So you do?”

“That’s” —

“Be definitive, Mr. Bowen, or you won’t know how to act around her in the future.”

He furrowed his brows. She was being unexpectedly pushy. Just what was she doing?

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is it possible that you’re aiming for the ‘perfect distance’ ?”

His brows shot up. It was like she’d pulled the words straight out of his brain.

Even so, what about it? He had a fresh start, and no one here knew about his past. Until the day he found someone he could trust with his full story, wasn’t it reasonable to feel out his next step before taking it?

“I’m just taking things slowly,” he replied. “Maybe one day she’ll show up to my barbecues, but for now, I’m just confused as hell” —

“And I’m telling you now, that is a mistake.” She pointed at him, lining up her eye, a knuckle, her fingernail — putting Craft at the end of it. “Are you afraid of proving that no one can understand you, Mr. Bowen? Have you come to believe that you are somehow special and set apart from everyone else?”

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The finger she used to point at him, she brought closer — and pointed to herself. “The proof isn’t far. Thinking yourself out of confusion is a trap.”

‘Don’t think; just do’ — was it? It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this kind of thing. It was generally good advice, but he wasn’t the type to just take it. “Don’t think; just do” only really worked for people whose knowledge exceeded their practice. He wasn’t such a person. He knew approximations, but not the things themselves, making him a person who knew nearly nothing.

Because this was the first time he’d ever encountered such thoughts, he had to think about it first, or else every inevitable mistake he’d make would have consequences he wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

A mistake he couldn’t learn from was a mistake best left avoided.

He opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a pained groan. A twisting knot of hurt had shot through his brain, and he clutched the side of his head. How many times has it been today?

Amacus’ expression loosened. “Are you alright?”

The headache subsided. “No, I’m okay.” He shook his head. “I’m okay.”

“How many times?”

He looked at her. “What?”

“How many times have you had that headache?”

“I” — he shook his head — “this is the second time, I think?”

Amacus cupped her mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, then back at him again, lowering her hand. “Have you had any hallucinations?”

Hallucinations? His encounter with the impostor came to mind, but was that really a hallucination?

“I’ll take that silence as a yes,” Amacus continued.

He shook his head. “There was something. It felt so real, though. I’m sure it was real.”

“Post-summons hallucinations are very common, Mr. Bowen, and they all say the same things. If you don’t believe me, then answer this: did it have anything to do with your insecurities? Anything to do with how you would fit in this world?”

“That’s… That’s right.” He nodded. Had it all just been his fears taking hold of him, after all? No, that can’t be. When it came to illusions, he had been subjected to lifetimes of them. It was always difficult to tell, certainly, but a better-than-a-coinflip chance of distinguishing between illusions and reality was something no one else had accomplished, and to be capable of that in the first place, he had to trust himself more than he trusted anything he heard or saw — more than he would even an ally.

Amacus lazily extended an open hand. “Give me your hand,” she said, curling her fingers to beckon him.

He looked at her hand, then at her. “What for?”

“Three days. If the hallucinations don’t stop after three days, contact me, and I’ll do something about it. I’m giving you a channel to do so.”

He approached her. As soon as he was close, Amacus took his arm and took out a stamp, pressing it against the back of his hand. It left a simple pentagram in purple ink.

“I think I just instantly got transported back to grade school,” he muttered.

“Touch this star and say my name. Use it like the ‘phones’ of your former world.”

Making light of a bad situation was also a survival tactic. He chuckled. “I’m glad user experience is designed into the magic here.”

He’d chuckled, but Amacus didn’t. Her expression turned somber. “I had only wanted to check on you, Mr. Bowen, but the moment I saw you pick up that child, I witnessed the moment a soldier chose to be a warrior.” She chuckled to herself. “Seeing ghosts of yourself from a long time ago — you know how that feels, don’t you?”

He couldn’t say he did. He’d only watched his life play on a silver screen once, but that was nothing like what she’d described. And he and she being the same once upon a time? Well…wasn’t that just silly?

She glanced over his shoulder. “You are still a burdened man, Mr. Bowen, and it is frankly impossible for you to work through it alone. Although that child isn’t a sage of wisdom, among everyone in this town, she is the most willing to open up to anyone about anything, and she will not take offense to your history, believe it or not — and you know I know your history.”

Her gaze flittered to him. “Go your own way as much as you like. Make your own mistakes and discoveries; just like the ghost, I’m certain you’ll learn the ropes the end of it. Befriend that girl, however, and you won’t have to head down that ghost’s millenium-old path.”

She had it hard too, huh? But it’s exactly because of that that he found her words hard to believe. She may have been experienced and wise in the ways of problem-solving, but she had overlooked one crucial point: they weren’t the same people, and they weren’t facing the same problems.

He looked over his shoulder, half to look away from Amacus’ judgment, and half to see if Nightshade was okay. He found nothing wrong about the witch, but if he turned his inquiries inwards, he found everything wrong about himself.

He believed relationships should be equal, yet he had nothing to offer Nightshade; the only end he could see was one where only he reaped any benefits. Certainly, he hated nothing about her. In fact, a future where he confided in her seemed almost magical, like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Life, however, had taught him that looking for the ends of rainbows was a fool’s errand: rainbows were infinite, and by thinking he’d find happiness at the end of one, he would doom himself to working hard for no good end — even getting himself killed.

This wasn’t just about himself, but also about someone else. “I’ll be happy once I befriend her” ? He knew that to be wrong. Depending on someone else for his own happiness didn’t sit right with him. Burdening other people with a load that he couldn’t even begin to weigh…was wrong.

That was why, he thought, a superficial relationship would be enough; working slowly would be enough; a low-stakes, small-talk-only acquaintanceship would be enough.

But one-sidedly closing doors was also wrong, which was why until the day he figured it all out, it should be enough for everyone around him to know that he didn’t hate them at all.

…Save for this angel, but hate was too strong of a word. Displeasure, annoyance, off-putness — whatever it was — he didn’t appreciate how she thought she knew him, and if this went on, she’d just keep doing this. He had to draw a line.

“You said I should be definitive.” He faced Amacus again. “Yeah, I’ve got my definition. What you’re asking me to do” — he frowned and shook his head. “You don’t even know me that well. Only Enty’s taken a peek in this thing” — he poked the side of his head — “so it bothers me you’re so confident in saying the lady behind me’s ought to be my first good step. Deciding what’s best for me isn’t something you can just do with a few glances. Draw your cards and prophesize the weather all you want, but if you aren’t looking at me, then it’s not me you’re giving advice to. You and I both know that.

“I don’t even know myself that well yet, and you’re telling me to tell her about myself. ‘One plus one equals three’ just isn’t something I can do. So I won’t. This speed is just enough for me.”

Amacus narrowed her eyes. For a moment, he was afraid he’d angered her somehow — but then he didn’t care. He believed his own words, and there was very little anyone could tell him to prove him otherwise.

“You’ve given me…a lot of work, Mr. Bowen,” Amacus continued. “Very well. Go your own way, but remember, I’m not your enemy. If you find there’s too much on your plate” — she began to sink backwards through the wall — “call me, and I will be there.”

She had gone, leaving him alone facing a blank wall. I can’t believe I said that, he thought, and she took that so well. He could probably stare at the wall for a while longer, thinking to himself just what he could’ve said better, comforting himself that he could’ve done worse.

He looked at the star on the back of his hand. Amacus had given it to him if the ‘hallucinations’ didn’t stop. The impostor’s real, he assured himself. If he assumed they weren’t, then he’d only feel regret if the impostor went back on their word and dragged Nightshade into a fresh mess.

Of course, the possibility of the mess could have ceased to exist if Amacus had just believed him, but that would just be too convenient. She’d made hallucinations out to be like the common cold around here, and there wasn’t any reason for her to think it was anything else. In her place, he would have made the same judgment.

On the bright side, should the impostor show up again, he’d be able to call for Amacus’ help — but damn it, he was the one who’d rejected her, and now here he was thinking ‘how convenient she’s here’ ? The balance was off. No matter how much her approach upset him, it didn’t change the fact that he felt real gratitude and deference to her and Enthusia for having given him the time he’d needed.

He owed everyone around him more than what he could pay back. How could he possibly ask for even more?

The bedsheets ruffled, and he turned to find Nightshade getting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Hey,” he called. At least he didn’t owe this one that much. He approached her and pulled a chair along with him, flipping it around and sitting down, resting his arms on the chair’s backrest to talk to her. He forced a polite smile. Regardless of how near or far he’d be from her, he wouldn’t act like a stranger.

“W-what happened to the Law?” she muttered.

A couple of things clicked for him, and he knocked on the side of his head. Screwing up twice in a row wasn’t that unusual, at least. He resigned himself to the outcome. “She — er — she left.” He sighed.

Nightshade glanced at him. She had a slight frown. Craft frowned, too. What did I do?

“Did… Did you mean it?” She looked at him, and his eyes widened as he realized why she’d said that. “I-I’m sorry,” she continued. “I’ve been awake for a while…”