Fomite Identified

[Fomite Identified.]

[Fomite: Treadplague Contaminant.

Blight Type: Treadplague Blight.

Fomite Type: Accessory.

Fomite Description: A.]

“A...”

I read it over and over, trying to force the letter to transform into a fully fleshed out sentence.

Frustratingly, it stayed the same.

Singular and alone.

The wagon rumbled along. On my left shoulder a roll of fabric bumped into me intermittently, but I was hardly aware of it.

My knees were tucked against my chest.

Cuddled in my palm—which itself was covered by the bunched-up folds of my pinafore—was the Flare-pin.

The lone letter that perplexed me was shown in black against the bright green screen before me.

'A'... the first letter of the Foreman Language.

It left so much room for interpretation.

But there was one interpretation that stood out to me, a conclusion that left me chewing my lower lip:

It was deliberate. It couldn’t be anything but deliberate.

Had it been by accident, the description field would have stayed empty, leaving me to stare at nothing but a sequence of question marks.

That was the usual protocol in such cases.

I remember the time I accidentally puked on the orphanage carpet, staining and scorching it so badly.

I flipped it and never told anyone or apologized, all because I was too scared of Meryl's reaction.

Back then, I hadn't considered that the carpet had become contaminated.

As a result, there was no notification from my Immune System.

Well, to be fair, I was only eight at the time. My immune system had yet to unlock the ability to send out a notification anyway.

Two years later, another kid—let's call him B—flipped the carpet over and... licked the dried vomit.

It was gross, and it was only then, at the sight of poor B lapping away at my long-ago puke, that the realization slapped me: the carpet was a fomite.

The perfect breeding ground for Burnwake bacteria.

In response to this epiphany, an intangible screen popped-up before me, demanding something of me, something simple, really, just a single character... at the very least, before it would allow me to close it.

Meryl had asked that the hurling culprit confess their crime on the carpet's description field—a request from the Immune System I'd just then gotten.

And yet, I balked. I hated being in trouble, and I knew admitting my mistake would lead to some serious punishment.

But then I saw the look on B's face when he realized what he had to do next...

I took a heavy breath.

Anyway, I'd entered a single word: My name.

Aya had entered a letter.

My hand clenched around the pin.

I wanted so badly to believe it was accidental.

“Perhaps she carelessly let it become contaminated. I mean, Aya hasn't been particularly diligent with her behavior thus far. Her lax attitude regarding her Blight could potentially suggest... carelessness.” I half-heartedly whispered to myself.

Up front, the person in question whistled off-tune, untroubled and un-bothered.

“It's not out of the question to entertain the possibility that she could be careless in this scenario as well.” My fingers fiddled aimlessly with the Flare-pin, flipping and rolling it in my palm.

“Seriously though, just the letter ‘A’?”

I scoffed.

“It wasn't even a word, she didn't even try. All she gave was the laziest effort needed to clear the screen and be done with it. That must've been it.”

“Or perhaps she just never thought it was important enough to mention.”

Anything.

Please, anything but that it was done on purpose. I silently begged.

I looked as the wind rustled the tarp.

You know what...

The Flare-pin settled in the center of my palm.

Why don't I just ask her?

I drew in a breath. Either now or I never ask.

My body leaned forward as I reached over and pulled the tarp aside.

I winced as the sunlight flooded in.

Fresh air whooshed past me, whipping my hair about.

It was a welcome break from the musty air inside the wagon.

Squinting, my eyes adapted to the view of Aya's back.

I began to speak:

“Aya, there's something I want to ask y—”

The wagon rattled.

My words died on my tongue.

Not because I was thrown off balance, but because I caught sight of a particular object sat snugly underneath a hammock.

It was a crate.

The wagon hit a bump again, and the crate jostled, producing the sound of a thousand tiny metallic clinks.

I frowned.

Carefully, I extended both my hands, my fingers wrapping around the edge of the crate, lifting it slowly.

I stopped.

My well-mannered nature told me it wasn't my business to snoop, that I should respect Aya's privacy.

...

I lifted the lid off the crate anyway.

Just as I'd thought—More Flare-pins.

I swept my eyes across the crate, a shudder running through my spine.

“There must be at least a hundred... no, several hundred here.” I whispered.

Beads of cold sweat ran down my chin threatening to stain the glittering pins.

I quickly caught them with the back of my hand.

I need to be careful—

“Hey, Yori, you good back there?”

My hands began to shake.

I swallowed. “Um.”

A pause.

Err.

“Uh... yeah, I'm...” I fizzled out, frantically trying to come up with a good reply while my fingers tugged away at the hem of my pinafore.

Damn it—

This thing...

Curse the quality, damn Burnwear!

Ri—p!

Thank goodness, a scrap finally came free in my hands.

“What, did your feet fall off back there? I can't imagine you'd be this quiet otherwise.”

“Haha, no, no, my feet are very much still attached,” I cringed at the embarrassingly high-pitched sound I'd produced.

Sure, I hadn't known Aya for very long, but I did have a baseline level of trust in her. After all, she had been nothing but cordial to me since we met.

But... it was better to be on the safe side.

“I was just, erm, wondering about something,” I added, fumbling to put on my makeshift mitten.

“Is there a Treadplague custom about punishment by foot amputation? Is that where the saying comes from?”

“Ah, no, it's not a punishment per se," Aya clarified.

“I see,” I replied, hoping to keep Aya talking while I quietly got to work. “That's good to hear.”

As my covered fingertips reached into the crate, pinching a Flare-pin, Aya began speaking again:

“Well...”

Please, let me be right.

“It's not exactly good news.”

A sickly green light bathed my face.

“No...” The word barely made it through the tightening of my throat as I read the letters:

[Fomite Identified.]

“No, it's not.”

“Yeah, it's more like, some folks who can't afford Provisional or Absolute Tonics for the Treadies kinda take the easy way out and cut off their own feet.”

“Mhm.”

Despite the evidence right there, telling me Aya was not the person I thought she was.

I still wanted to hold onto my former beliefs... to my naive hope that Aya was not capable of something like this.

That she was a good person.

So I set the pin back down and picked up another.

“Yep. And when they end up in that state, they technically become immune to Treadplague, since it affects only the feet. Though, I guess you can call it a good thing if you like. The saying just stems from that.”

“R-right.”

[Fomite Identified.]

I closed my eyes, forcing myself into a peaceful state of mind, or at least I tried to.

Please, not all the pins were infected, right?

Yes, surely this next one will be clean.

For now, I needed to buy time.

“So, um...” I cleared my throat, my hand rummaging through the crate. “That, uh… that thing. Earlier.”

“Thing?”

“You know. The, uh... the floor.”

Aya giggled. “What about it?”

“You were on it.”

“Indeed, I was.”

“...Why?”

Aya let out a really long sigh before responding:

“Well, let's just say that a certain someone—me, specifically—got a little greedy.”

“G... greedy?”

[Fomite Identified.]

[Fomite Identified.]

[Fomite Identified.]

Too many.

Too many.

I swallowed.

“C-come on, it can't all be bad... Uh, I mean. You can't be that greedy.”

I continued to sift through the pile in my lap that spoke otherwise...

Maybe one or two I could lie to myself about, but a whole crate?

No...

My shoulders slumped. I can't ignore the evidence anymore.

“Unfortunately, I was. You see, my roly-poly has a really great back.”

I tried to muster a laugh at the mention of “roly-poly,” but my heart wasn't in it...

“Seriously, I could probably build a house on him, and he wouldn't even complain! I swear he's made of steel.”

A low grunt sounded.

“Okay-okay. Maybe a whole house is pushing it.”

“Aya... why? Why... why...?” The sound was so soft, so soft that I doubted she could hear them.

I fidgeted, and an insane idea popped into my head:

I hastily poured the pins from my lap back into the crate, closed it with a dull click, and sat back in my original position, trying to look as innocently normal as possible.

My mind was a mess. All I could think was: I really just did that... What next? Act as if nothing ever happened.

Yep, that was precisely what I was going to do: Act as if nothing ever happened.

Regardless, I felt my heart eager to break free from my ribcage.

“Calm down,” I murmured to myself. “Just breathe.”

You had no obligations to Burnwake anyway. No family to worry about. No friends to concern yourself with... nothing.

The Flare-pins would go there, and, in time, a good chunk of the Burnwake Population would become infected with Treadplague Blight.

The Inquisitors would begin a campaign of fire. The sick would be stripped of Burnwake Blight and burn, of course, but...

So would the healthy, too.

I gulped.

Innocent people who'd so much as breathed the same air as the infected would be condemned to screaming and pleading as they burnt on a pyre.

The suffering that would follow... the loss, the pain...

Just because of a few infected pins.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

But... if those innocent people were to be infected, it was because of the actions of many... Not my own inaction here and now.

The crate was simply an accelerant, speeding up what was going to happen eventually.

I'm sure Aya's not working alone.

This is probably the doings of the Treadplague God, maybe even the entire pantheon of Octagon City.

Yes. I nodded. This was bigger than me, more than just a matter of my own conscience.

So simply closing the crate and walking away, forgetting all about this nightmare, wasn't such a cowardly move.

Smack!

The sound of my hand connecting with my forehead rang loud.

Louder than I intended...

“Yori? Is everything alright back there? I heard something. What was that about?”

Oww! That was definitely going to leave a palm-print. I frowned, finger tracing along the reddening skin.

“I'm... fine.” I called back, a smile on my face.

Damn, did it hurt!

But serves me right...

How could I even consider for a second letting it go?

Yeah sure, maybe the crate was just an accelerant, but if innocent people ended up infected... I'd still bear some of the blame.

And if Aya wasn't the only one pulling the strings, if this had anything to do with the Treadplague God, or even the entire pantheon... I couldn't just sit back and do nothing!

Yes, this was bigger than me.

And I could not be a coward. Not now!

Otherwise, I could never forgive myself...

“I just... I just hit my head on something.”

“That sounded like a pretty hard hit to me. Are you sure you're alright?”

I hated how genuine her concern sounded.

“Yes, I'm fine. You, um... were saying something about roly-poly?”

“Right, I was... uh... so, the thing is, the cart was chockfull. And I thought to myself...”

The guilt in her voice only made me angrier.

How could she feel guilty about me bumping my head when she was planning something so monstrous?

My brows furrowed, but just as quick they relaxed.

Maybe Aya was a victim herself. Maybe she'd been forced to smuggle the pins.

I quickly shook my head.

Enough with the guesswork!

I needed a motive, something concrete to go on.

My eyes landed on the crate....

“And so, all that weight pressed right on its boils... Well.”

I flung the lid away and grabbed two pins, ignoring the warnings flashing green on my face.

My eyes moved right to the description field on one pin: [I].

Then on the other pin: [N].

It hit me, like a bolt from the blue: the letters!

'I' and 'N' were just letters. But put together, they had another meaning: IN.

Together, the letters formed words! And with enough of them... they formed sentences!

Excited, my heart began to race.

All in all though, you couldn't be completely sure that Aya had actually put words on them.

My optimism quickly deflated, and I was brought back down to reality.

Still... There was only one way to find out.

It was a tall order: there were more than a hundred pins, which meant more than a hundred letters...

Aya was still talking, affectionately soothing the Plaguebeast:

“I already said I'm sorry, okay? I should never have overloaded you like that. You are such a good, strong boy.”

A grunt.

“I'll make it up to you. Promise. I'll feed you all the best gulaca's you could ever want. Forgive me, okay?”

I poked my head out of the tarp.

“Whoa!”

A startled Aya turned to look at me.

I put on my best smile, hoping she didn't notice how sweaty my forehead was—hopefully she'd blame it on the heat, not my nerves—and asked:

“Hey um... How long until we reach the checkpoint? Just wondering, that's all...”

“See Heatwell Spire over there?”

I frowned.

Reluctantly, my eyes left Aya's face to follow her finger that pointed to the right.

I squinted up at the familiar sight of an iron skewer that stabbed through the clouds.

Well, not familiar from this height, at least.

Yep, that was Heatwell Spire, the tallest building in Burnwake Ward, spewing out steam like any other day.

I'd be more surprised if it wasn't.

In other Wards, they could get away with one. Maybe even none.

But in Burnwake, with its sweltering Blight, every building had at least three chimneys.

They were there to help release heat, like any sensible place.

Even so, chimneys alone weren't enough for the buildings here.

It wasn't just a few floors that'd burn off your toes, no, whole houses would melt even the hardest boots.

You'd still always have to install some form of air conditioning in every room, otherwise you'd suffocate.

Bless the miracle of engineering—Vents, massive iron bellows. Like yawning mouths, they devoured air on one end and spat out coolness on the other.

Though, the magical machines true function was more extreme.

The heat was pulled directly from the rooms, funneled through a network of underground tunnels, and sent...

I marveled at the gigantic structure in my view.

All the way to Heatwell Spire.

The Heatwell Spire then sent that piping hot air where it needed to go.

Most of the heat was blasted skyward, of course. While some streams were re-channeled to the forges and glassworks—so the factories never had to stop producing.

Another portion was even redirected to colder districts.

I imagine they used it as a way to keep the other side from freezing to death.

I suppose it was a two-way system. That is, without their cool air—with no aid from Heatwell Spire, the side of the Ward I live—I sighed—lived in, would bake day in, day out.

This was where I used to live, a place that needed Heatwell Spire, and for that, I was immensely grateful.

But I guess with people like Aya around, that doesn't matter, anyway...

“Once we pass by Heatwell Spire, the checkpoint should be about a half-hour away. And don't worry, once we get there, we'll take a quick break so you can stretch your legs.” She finished her spiel with a smile.

I nodded, then retreated into the darkness of the wagon.

Now alone, a shuddering breath left me, my heart still beating too fast.

I was still nervous, after what I had just learned.

Thankfully, Aya still seemed completely oblivious. Either that or she was just a good actress...

I shuddered again, choosing to believe in the former.

My heart thudded in my ears as I switched over my attention to the crate.

According to Aya, it would be about thirty minutes until the checkpoint. That is, once we passed Heatwell Spire.

“So, forty minutes,” I murmured. “Maybe a bit more, maybe less... either way, that's not much time at all.”

I slumped back, my head spinning.

I still had to figure out what Aya was thinking. And in just forty minutes, I'd lose my chance.

And once we do reach the checkpoint...

I had no idea what would happen.

“No,” I murmured to myself.

Closing my eyes, I grabbed my wrist and put all my focus into breathing.

In... and out. In... and out.

My heart began to slow, my mind clearing.

There was no time for panic.

I opened my eyes then raised the lid off the crate.

Taking a big breath, I took stock of the task at hand:

Hundreds of pins... perhaps more.

All of them infected.

Each one carried a letter.

These letters together would—might, spell out a message: A message that possibly revealed an inter-god conspiracy.

And I needed to decipher it before we got there, all without paper or ink...

I giggled.

Then rolled up my sleeves and prepared for the most difficult task of my life...

***

A/N: Hello, hello. So, this chapter is about doubt. Or rather, I should say self-deception.

Yori is convincing herself, rationalizing, grasping at straws, even though her body knows the truth and behaves like it. I really wanted to get that vibe right in her conversation with Aya.

I also wanted Yori's reluctance to believe the worst about Aya to gradually fade away, not with a single massive revelation—though that was on the table—but through accumulation instead.

The flashback to the puke incident was to foreshadow the theme of moral responsibility, which Yori had to confront on whether to stay silent or take action.

For the most part, I think I reached my goal.

That said, there are places where I feel things could be a bit better. But this is the best I could do for now. Anyway, thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. 💚