Per the last round of reporting, the policy workgroup has recomnded that the experints with sub-subunit doctrine be widened to include the entirety of our continental forces. The model of one ensouled as the core of a mundane fire-team has been an unqualified success. While elite units composed entirely of ensouled have been undeniably effective, soul attrition reduces them to limited functionality within the first half-year of operation.
The effect of trauma-induced emotional bonds on soul affinity has been well-docunted and is reproduced easily in a controlled setting; the new data are the first to experintally validate a theory that has until now only had anecdotal support - that the effects extend to active use of the soul and not just its postmortem disposition.
The reorganization will be disruptive in many units, but an ergency deploynt of Institute personnel has been authorized to perform wide-scale emotional state managent for infantry units while simultaneously inducing the required emotional bonds for unit cohesion and soul retention; a tentative deploynt plan is outlined in the tables below.
- Institute Circular #3350, 32 Seed 693.
A few days passed after their hunt, during which Michael learned more than he cared to about the process of butchery and curing. Jeorg proved to be a font of information both culinary and biological, detailing the precise uses of each organ and muscle to its forr and current owners.
But despite the bounty of at curing in the smokehouse, Jeorg looked up over his supper and inford Michael that tomorrow he would be traveling to the nearby village to visit the butcher.
Surely we have enough sausage, Michael laughed. Or do you an to sell so of it?
Jeorgs face remained serious. Our purpose wont be the at, he said. He gave a significant nod to the rifle, which now hung mounted on the wall.
Oh, Michael said. He took a sip of wine, wetting his suddenly-dry mouth and giving him a few seconds to process the implications of Jeorgs offer. The long days of preparation and cookery had served as a welco distraction from the insight into his soul, but distraction was not his purpose here. His soul required death, and Jeorg ant to provide it.
Finally, he looked back across the table at his host. What will I be doing? he asked.
Only watching, Jeorg said. Observing. Listening to what your soul tells you.
Michael looked to the side, uneasy. Im not sure its saying anything at all. When I killed the hog, there was only this - pain, like straining a muscle. I didnt have any control over it. Im not sure how to listen to my soul.
Jeorg leaned back and took a draw on his pipe. ntioned before that souls are personal, he said. Individual. So itll be different for you than . He pursed his lips, then shook his head. So things might be similar. A starting point.
It was several more seconds before he continued, filled only with the crackling of the fire and the low sounds of the evening forest outside. Michael waited, and slowly drank his wine. Finally, Jeorgs eyes narrowed.
Have you seen my soul? he asked.
Michael nodded. Flashes, he said. Once or twice. It looks like - mirrors, or shards of glass. A lot of little images, each different.
Surprise flickered into Jeorgs eyes, gone so quickly that Michael half-wondered if it had been a trick of the light. Interesting, he said. Not wrong. Takes years of practice to see souls clearly.
Another thing to study, Michael said ruefully.
Jeorg chuckled. You misunderstand, he said. Youve had years of practice. Learned to watch for souls. A soul. Most people dont have motivation to start so young.
A little thread of ice coiled up in Michaels stomach as he understood. He chased it away with a gulp of wine. Oh, he said. I never really thought of it like that. Its not common, being able to see souls?
Not at your age, Jeorg grunted. Doesnt take talent, just dedication, practice. He gave a lopsided smile, shaking his head. So yes - its rare. Useful.
Ill have to thank my father, Michael said, the words coming with a bit too much forced cheer. He looked to the fire for a mont. Can you see souls? My soul?
I can see, Jeorg said. Not yours, though. Still not - solid, not fixed. He waggled his fingers, his lips curving into a frown Michael had learned to associate with carefully-considered speech.
Souls let you see a glimpse of reality, he said. But - they also see through you. The living model of the world your mind creates. He tapped a finger against the side of his head. You build your own reality, every mont. Your soul looks to that model to understand - the world, but also itself. Its form is what you give it.
And I dont understand it well enough yet? Michael asked.
Jeorg nodded and puffed on his pipe. It acts only through you, what your mind sees it to be. Easier for sothing less abstract. Form and Light just need a target. The rest need guidance on how to act, not just where. They need to know how theyre ant to exist. In understanding your soul your mind reconciles it with the world you know. It forms a path that the soul can follow, to make itself felt.
Michael frowned. That seems too simple, he protested. Youre saying I just have to find out what my soul does and then, what - imagine it working? It cant be that easy.
Is it? Jeorg asked. He gave a knowing smile and leaned back. Thoughts are slippery things. Less solid than you believe. When you think of an apple, what do you see?
Its an apple, Michael said. A fruit. Reddish, sotis yellow. White flesh, tastes sweet.
Jeorg rocked forward in his chair, his smile spreading into a full, toothy grin. Michael had the distinct sense that his answer had been expected.
Not wrong, but not enough, Jeorg said. You see the parts that are important to you, but not the parts important to the apple. He held his hand up, cupping it as if holding an invisible fruit. Feel its weight. The water in the flesh. Channels for it to flow, leading back to the stem. The part that was once a flower, and the promise of what might be a new tree held in each seed.
His voice took on a deep rhythm, slow and smooth, like it was the only sound in the world. The taste of it, Jeorg said. The sll, the texture. The feeling of the flesh cleaving against your teeth. The snap of the skin. The life still pulsing in it, waiting for its chance to grow. Every part joined to a whole.
Michael felt as though he could almost see the apple in Jeorgs hand, weighing it down. Even the sll of it seed to tickle his nose - but then the old man snatched his hand back. The spell broke. Beyond the window a bird trilled its evening song - Michael was surprised to see the deep purple twilight outside, the stars winking from their perch. Had they been sitting that long?
He looked back to Jeorg, still smiling at him past his upraised hand. I think I take your point, he said. But how could a person keep all of that in their head at once? It seems impossible even with an apple, and youre telling I have to understand death that deeply?
Not impossible, Jeorg said. Difficult, yes. There are tricks to focus the mind - repetition, practice. Pictures, sotis, or songs. Little rhys. Things that add structure to your thoughts, help guide them to the right shape.
I dont think Ill feel like singing at the butchers, Michael said. Intimate knowledge of death just doesnt seem that pleasant.
Jeorg shrugged. Right now you dont know it at all. Be open to surprise, to change. Easy to miss a truth you dont want to see. Even easier to miss one you think you already know.
Fine, Jeorg, Michael sighed. Everything I know is wrong. Up is down, cold is hot. Death is lovely. Im sure I wont spend all night sitting up having horrid thoughts about dying pigs.
Truths are odd things, Jeorg chuckled. They seem to be good or evil, great or horrible in our minds. But you rule your mind. You learned that on the first day you arrived - that the mind can change itself, to help itself.
Thats hardly the sa, Michael protested. Its easy enough to convince myself to be content while stuck in an orchard. Happiness is a nebulous sort of thing, death is rather more concrete. You cant think yourself free from it, or there would be fewer dead n.
But youre more than just a man, Jeorg said, lowering his hand to the table. You have a soul, which looks to your mind to understand certain truths. Free your mind. He spread his fingers to reveal a small, perfectly-ripe apple, which he placed on the table. Your soul will follow.
Michael stared at the apple, then reached out to touch it. He was jarred from his rapt observation by the sound of Jeorgs door closing - the old man had escaped with his usual silent alacrity while Michael was engrossed.
He took a bite. It was delicious, just as Jeorg had described it.
In the early part of the evening, three days later, Michael sought Jeorg out. The house was empty, but his door was shut and Michael could sll pipe smoke from within. He walked up and knocked on the door.
Co in, Jeorg said. Michael did. The houses other room was not that different from Michaels own in size - small, and made smaller still by a chest of drawers that he lacked. Small trinkets were scattered across the top - wood carvings, curious little boxes and a small figurine of a woman in ndiko dress.
There was also a window, which Jeorg had opened to let the heady, humid air take away so of the smoke. The old man sat looking up at the trees and sky through the opening - and waited.
What happens if I never learn to use my soul? Michael asked.
Jeorg shrugged. You stay here, he said, still looking out the window. Or you leave. You find your way through life like everyone else, and hope none of the folks looking find their way to you.
Will they? Michael asked.
There was a pause. Spark wont stop looking, Jeorg said, shaking his head. Hes a driven man. Right or not, he thinks you hold answers hes hunted for years. Hell hunt for years to co.
Michael tilted his head. You sound like you know him.
I didnt, Jeorg grunted. But he will keep looking. And if he finds you - thats it. Hell have you.
Even if I had my soul? Michael asked.
Jeorg turned away from the window to look at Michael. Youd probably still lose, he said. Spark is insidious. He inspires others, makes them feel good - makes them feel right. Dangerous. It would take a soul of uncommon strength to contest him or evade him.
The old mans eyes narrowed. I cant see your soul, he said. But I can see other things. Your soul has a weight to it that most lack. It bends the paths around it, makes itself felt. Its - not sothing Ive seen, before this. His gaze focused on Michaels face, then slid aside.
I wont say you can best Spark. Cant see enough to say. You might have power enough to run, though. Find a life that never crosses his path.
That seems like giving up, Michael said.
Jeorg chuckled. Its not so bad, he said, raising an eyebrow and looking around. Its freedom. A fools freedom, perhaps, but you already know all about that.
Michael looked around the room, following Jeorgs gaze. The ntos scattered throughout the room stood out in sharp clarity from their humble surroundings - pieces of another life, now contained here. Pieces of a wider world fated never to leave this clearing.
Until it was ti to face the void again.
I cant, Michael said, his voice a quiet rasp. I cant just hide and wait, either for Spark or for death. It all needs to an sothing, or whats the point? He clenched a fist. I have to think theres sothing out there that will make the ti in between now and then worth living, and - I need to be free to follow that path if I find it.
A slow smile spread across Jeorgs face. Now that, he said, is a good answer. He took a draw on his pipe, then chuckled. Very good answer. But walking your own path takes strength. Strength you cant borrow.
Michael nodded, slowly, feeling sweat on his palms. The butcher, he said. Ill go back.
Jeorgs face grew solemn once more. If thats what you want, he said. His voice echoed oddly in the small room, and the last words struck with more weight than they should. The old question, one last ti.
It isnt what I want, Michael said. But I wont get anywhere if I spend the rest of my life with my head down, waiting. He t Jeorgs eyes, and saw the shifting reflections there condense into one face - his own. I want to know my soul.
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