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I am a snail shaman.
That is what they say I am, at least.
My body is soft, and my shell (also soft) rests upon my head. The other scholars come from within the City, but I am from somewhere else. I don’t remember where. What came before does not matter.
I have always been adept with the use of soul. The scholars say this is invaluable to their research. I can do naturally what they must focus and train for. Some would sacrifice their bodies to do what I can do; some already have.
Occasionally, I wonder what I would be capable of if I wasn’t the marvel of the Sanctum. How powerful could I grow, if I had another shaman to teach me?
But there isn’t any use lingering on it. There aren’t others like me out there.
So I have been told.
And why shouldn’t I believe them? Everyone I’ve ever seen is very different in form from me, but with great similarity to each other.
Supposedly, Ansem the Wise, who watches over the City in his tower, looks very different from the common bug, or even the scholars, but I have never seen him.
I think about how he must be able to see me.
I don’t have many chores, since my body is so small and fragile. I have been told that I may grow with age, and that is all I can hope for. I’m too important to waste on chores, anyway.
They have me demonstrate my abilities, asking me to twist my soul in various ways, and then they write it all down. Sometimes, I can’t carry out their requests, but sometimes, I reach the end of the day having learned something new about myself.
In exchange for casting for them, they teach me: the history of the City, engineering, literature, how to be persuasive, and other various things I might find useful to know. I’m so fortunate to have such great teachers, even if they can’t teach me everything.
…There is one thing they say that I don’t believe, though.
I am permitted everywhere in the Soul Sanctum, save for a single room. The door is locked, and the key is kept in the Master’s study. They tell me I am too young to enter this room.
I have already witnessed countless experiments, failed and successful, and seen the horrors of what can go wrong. I have assisted in these experiments. Yet I am too young now?
If it were the fragility of my body, would they not have told me as such? If it required a certain level of proficiency with soul, would I not already clear the bar?
I can’t stand not knowing what they’re keeping from me.
It takes little effort to enter the Master’s study and find the key without being detected. I already know my way to the forbidden room, having stood outside the door many times. I encounter no one on my journey.
The key slides in nicely, the door opens, and—
…
…Oh.
That’s what is too sensitive for me to see.
There is another snail— a shaman— strapped to a machine. It doesn’t look like one I have ever seen in use elsewhere, so I can only guess what it does. Nothing pleasant comes to mind. Nothing I would want done to me.
The soul still beats. This snail is alive.
Their white eyes crack open and I know they are fixed on me, unmoving in the doorway.
“Child…” the shaman creaks. I have long since accepted my differences, but I dislike being referred to as a child. “Free… me…”
Soul glows and whispers around the chamber. It occurs to me that they would be much more valuable alive than dead.
How long have they been here?
Ansem the Wise, you must be able to see this… so it’s the right thing to do for the City, isn’t it?
I understand why I shouldn’t have come here. Fears flood my mind.
Am I too important to experiment on like this? Maybe a willing snail is better than an unwilling one. Or it could be the opposite; am I too useless? They said I was too young— will I gain more power as I grow, and then I’ll be ready to be strapped into the machine?
They wouldn’t do that to me, I have to remind myself. Not after teaching me so much. That’s why they like to pick up test subjects from the poor side of the City—
But they lied. They said there were no others like me, but there was one right here!
There are so many gaps in my knowledge, I now realize. I know ancient history, and I know why the soul experiments are necessary, but I don’t know the extent of what’s out there, or what’s happening in the world. They didn’t teach that to me.
They have a whole class of warrior scholars, but didn’t teach me how to fight, either.
Did they plan for me to see this? Is it a warning, for what will happen if I don’t know my place?
But I have never been disobedient.
…Until breaking into the one room I am not permitted in.
But they wouldn’t do that to me. Some of them like me. Like Aeleus. Even would be furious if his teachings went to waste. And the Master, too… They wouldn’t do that to me.
I have only been standing here blankly. The snail shaman shifts slightly. “Child… Why… hesitate? Why… are you here?”
…Because I have always been here.
The snail shaman must think I want to escape, or that I am here specifically to rescue them. But I’m… from the other side.
I am a snail, but can I really be called a snail shaman? I have been raised by the Soul Sanctum. If I free the shaman… I would have to relinquish that. I would have to flee with the shaman and build a new life. But would that make me a shaman, too? Or would I just be left with nothing?
That thought scares me more than the experiments the Sanctum does on snail shamans that are not me.
So I don’t free the other snail. The questions I could have asked them seem unappealing now. Instead, I close and lock the door, and return the key where I found it. I never get punished for taking it.
Because I never do something worth punishing.