Only Shallow

“Someone help me, please!!”

It wasn’t like Piper to panic. Her hair was a mess, her scales were scratched, her outfit was rumpled and ill-fitted… nothing accentuated the strength and grace she usually wore like armor.

Because right now, she didn’t care.

The sound of her tail scraping the stone floor couldn’t have been as loud as the heart hammering against her chest. The moment she burst into the hallway, heads turned and fully understood once they saw why.

She was carrying a body.

She nearly tore the rickety door off its hinges when she finally reached the infirmary.

Unfortunately, she only found it empty.

“No, no, no, come on—!”

She was about ready to send the chairs lining the infirmary flying when the door creaked behind her.

“Piper?” came the voice. “What’s the matter?”

“Mother Martha!”

Piper rushed up to her only last and only hope.

“It’s C-Cotter! He just… collapsed. We were training and he said he didn’t feel well but I egged him on and—and now he’s not waking up and—gods, I’m so stupid!”

Mother Martha caught Piper; just as her body almost gave way from carrying Cotter for so long.

With gentle coaxing, the boy was carried to the infirmary table.

“Breathe, child,” Martha said gently. “One breath at a time. What were his symptoms?”

“I don’t know—he said he wasn’t feeling great, but I thought he just needed to sweat it out. I pushed him to train and then I tried magic for the first time and—”

“Magic?”

“I thought I could handle it!”

With a steady hand, Martha felt for all the typical pain points on his body, analyzing every inch.

And they all pointed to one grim diagnosis.

“I’m sorry, Piper. It is worse than we could ever have expected.” Martha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The rate of recovery for the Chills—”

“No!” Piper snapped. “He doesn’t have the Chills! I swear! He was fine this morning.”

The lamia took a shaky breath, but there was no grounding herself here. “Please—do we have any Ointment berries? Surely we have some saved up?”

“They’re not in season till next spring,” Martha said. “You know that.”

“Then do something else! Gods, just—just help him! We can buy those Ointment berries, I know we can afford them!”

She was sobbing now. Even she didn’t believe what she was saying.

“We can’t delay this any longer than we need to, Piper. Unless we’re willing to risk the whole orphanage falling with him.” She exhaled through her nose and stepped forward. “He needs to be placed in the Spirit Room. Now.”

Piper stared. “W–what? No!”

“As cruel as it sounds, we have to take that chance. If he carries it… and we don’t act fast…” She didn’t finish the sentence.

For the good of all.

She promptly rushed to Cotter’s side and began wrapping his body in linen strips the infirmary bay carried, checking his pulse, brushing sweat from his forehead with the back of her wrist. His skin was still cold but clammy.

Piper’s tail coiled tightly around her body.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," she whispered. "We just wanted to feel strong. Even f-for a second. B-but I got too excited, and…"

“For what it is worth…” Martha didn’t soften. Couldn’t afford to. “He would have contracted the damn thing eventually. Go now, girl, before you contract something. We haven’t the coin to pay for both of us at the healer’s.”

Piper didn’t move at first, hearing that simple fact. Simply stood there for a while.

“Where’s Posteria, Mother?”

Martha’s breath caught in her throat.

“Why is she so quiet?”

Without another word, Piper turned and slithered out the door.

\\

Cotter wasn’t particularly heavy to carry to the Spirit Room—none of his kind were. But even so, it was surprising he’d fallen to the disease.

Martha tied the last knot around his small body and stood. Despite the chill, she felt a strange warmth from his skin, but she couldn’t tell why.

When she finally turned around, it was a relief to see that there was nobody nosy enough to come and risk the integrity of the orphanage. 

She shut the door quietly behind her.

Cotter was far from the only one sick in that room.

Every child who fell to the Chills received the only treatment she was equipped to distribute: bundles of linens and the desperate hope the Chills would simply spirit away. 

The good nun simply didn’t know how to treat it, and neither did East Gate’s best healers. It evaded common sense, and not even an experienced paladin like her can compensate.

When those same healers told her to keep them in a separate room isolated from the rest—cold, alone, in the middle of winter—she felt the urge to slap them.

She knows more-informed healers existed in the Capital—she had seen them during missionary training!

But East Gate was a dead-end for any Expert healers with an ounce of self-respect.

Who would want to deal with East Gate’s myriad of problems, anyway? Rife with crime, its people poorer than dirt, its nobility a joke, not even an adventuring party in sight. East Gate couldn’t afford them.

“Your Holiness Posteria… why won’t you help me? The children?” Martha muttered, closing her eyes. She felt streams come down her face. “We don’t receive enough coin to save them all. We don’t even make enough coin to try.”

Even as she sobbed, there was no answer.

“You don’t just play-fight with your friends and steal extra rolls of bread when you think no one’s looking and die!”

Martha stood there for a moment longer, listening to the sound of the wind slipping through the wooden slats. Then she wiped her eyes and turned.

She took the cloth from the shelf, the one she always used. Her legs moved on their own now, past the hallway lanterns and through the creaky door that led to the garden path behind the Spirit Room.

Supposedly, this place used to be a beautiful garden.

It’s hard to imagine that now. The soil here had frozen uneven from too many graves.

\\

Little did Mother Martha know, fate would stir that day—and a god’s hand would guide it.

Just not for the fairest reasons. Or the right god.

There was an old saying in this world: the right soul in the wrong place at the right time can make all the difference in the world.

And for one soul, he would soon find himself in a rather interesting predicament.

\\\\\\\\

Today was going rather well for me.

“Thank you so much,” the woman in front of me beamed. 

“What a kind young man,” her husband said. “Persuasive too.”

I offered them my cleanest, most humble bow.

“It’s been a pleasure. If you’d like to upgrade your stay next time—perhaps the Dorogawa Onsen spiritual cleanse or the Black Label concierge experience—just call. I’ll handle everything personally.”

With two simple bows, my latest customers were already on their way to the black cab waiting for them at the entrance.

My head should have been held high. Another record-high package. Three upsells. And for good measure: a personal chauffeur service thrown in the mix.

I would’ve already hit my sales commission target twofold by now.

So why did it all feel so hollow?

Straightening my posture, I turned and walked across the familiar marble floors of the company flagship service center.

This wasn’t supposed to be my job. I studied an MBA in college and was originally brought on for an office role. Company strategy, boardroom brainstorming, a desk. The ones that can really make a splash.

Just as I reached the counter, I noticed my boss.

Mr. Tanabe.

“Endo-kun,” he said warmly, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Great job with the Fukudas. Heard you moved them to the Black Label tier in under thirty minutes. It’s admirable how you never let your unconventional appearance and mannerisms prevent a deal from going through.”

Maybe it's because you don't treat people like people, you rich prick. I gave the expected smile. “Thank you, sir.”

He sighed.

“I was wondering if you could stay back tonight,” he said. “Just a couple hours. The clerical team’s underwater, and you’ve got such a good eye for details.”

He said it like a compliment.

I waited patiently.

“I wouldn’t ask,” he added, “but it’s my son’s birthday tonight. I promised I’d be there this year.”

There it was.

I bowed slightly. “Of course.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Knew I could count on you, Endo-kun. You’re a real asset.”

He walked off, already pulling out his phone.

I rubbed my face as I stared at the desk in front of me. It's not like I had a choice, anyway. You couldn't say "no" in Japan. 

The other staff passed behind me as they chatted about their interesting lives. Upcoming bonuses, commissions, family get-togethers, reservations at bouldering spots.

None of them were working late.

I looked down at my nameplate.

Client Relations Associate

My name was Endo Takuya.

And despite recently entering the workforce, I felt like I was due for a career change.