Shell Game

Ah, the refreshing innocence of childish impetuousness. “What’s it like to have a mountain on your back, mister?” the Turtwig asked while bounding around me. Wisps of my steam curled in his wake as he straddled the precipice of curiosity, personal boundaries be damned, and staying just far enough away to keep the swaying leaves on his head from igniting.

“Turtwig, dear, don’t bother the poor Torkoal!” a haggard-looking Grotle called as she caught up, the multitude of berries in her back-bushes swaying with every lumbering step. There was a distinct softness to the start of the name, coming out more like Tortwig. Most likely he wasn’t her only child, differentiation born from necessity for scolding. “Sorry!” she got out breathlessly while wrangling him. “He’s just been so excitable since my mate evolved.”

I let out a good-natured chuckle, accompanied by some hearty white steam puffs from the top vent. Tortwig stamped his feet in appreciation; even in a world without trains children were delighted by it. “Really, it’s quite alright,” I replied before drawing my legs in until the bottom of my shell took the weight of the ‘mountain’. “Tell me, little hill—what do you feel like having a mountain on your back would be like?”

Tortwig scampered over, finding a spot where the dirt path’s trees didn’t cast their dappled shadow. His mother followed suit, berry blossoms opening up to drink in the noon sun as she took advantage of the reprieve from child-rearing. “Uhh, well, it’d be super awesome! I’d be so big I’d have snow on the top like Pa but berries at the bottom like Ma and-and-and all my friends could be in my shade when it’s hot—”

I couldn’t help but amuse myself at the thought of him going until it was harvest season, but him taking a breath was a rare opportunity to interject and I took it. “Those are all fine things indeed, but that isn’t how it feels to have a mountain on your back, is it? That’s what it looks like and what you can do with it.”

His leaves wilted for a moment, as if I had admonished him. Of course, it might have very well felt that way; corrections usually nipped the heels of childish mistakes like forgetting a chore. I merely smiled and waved my leg, a gesture he picked up on immediately.

“Uhh…” This time he furrowed his brow, taking time to sort out the fantasies from the realities. One could tell from the look of flickering sadness or disappointment when suddenly asked to look at other sides of dreams. “Well, it’d be really big, wouldn’t it? An’ big means heavy, so I wouldn’t be able to run through mud or jump on the bed no more. I’d get it stuck in doors or burrows, too,” he added with gravitas befitting a tragedy.

I barked out a laugh with a great plume of steam. “I’ve certainly dented a few doorframes in my time.” Indeed, it was a facet I hadn’t given consideration to before, merely accepted. Leave it to the young to teach the old on appreciation for the mundane! Even his mother took a glance at the edges of her shell as we shared the epiphany.

Tortwig basked in the moment before continuing. “I guess it’ll get harder to balance, too. I keep tilting right when I race with the other kids. Mom says that side of my shell is thicker ‘cause I practice Tackle with it,  but it hurts more to use the left side!”

I nodded in sympathy. “I can remember denting my shell quite a few times while Tackling with it. But! Did it not hurt when you were first practicing with your right side?” Tortwig nodded and I tapped his shell. “Then you have already proven to yourself that you can do so with your left side as well, even if it’s difficult. The difference, then, is that it’s easy to rely too much on strength you already have. One way to push past that is to think about why something that’s difficult is worth doing.”

Tortwig quickly picked up on the implied question and spent a few moments mulling it over, even shaking his body to each side as if bumping into something. “Uhh, momma told me that Ithe bigger kids might pick on me for not running straight. I guess sometimes I gotta hit something on the other side as well?” he finished, voice trailing off alongside the rhetorical question.

“And if that something hits you…?”

He made an O-face at that. “Yeah, yeah, if I want to protect Pokémon like my dad does I need my shell to be tough! Trees don’t hit back, ‘cept that one time I bumped that Sudowoodo, but I’ll need to be ready when things do!”

I let out a trio of steam chuffs. “Precisely! Even if it’s hard, often the things worth doing are. To make it look easy like I’m sure your father does is even harder, but that didn’t stop him, now did it?”

“He tells me about all the training he had to do when he tucks me in. It’s cool to hear about, but also makes me tired!”

“My mate isn’t the most experienced talker, but he certainly has a lot to say once you get him going,” Grotle offered with a warm smile, berry blossoms opening more as she did so.

I returned the warmth before bringing my attention back to Tortwig. “Then you also know how much he had to work to make his shell into a mountain, yes? So, that brings us back to the start; how does it feel to carry a mountain on your back? Think of all the things we’ve talked about; sometimes a mountain on your back is more than just the physical weight or denting door frames,” I hint.

By now the day’s clouds had cast a shadow over his spot and the grass-type instinctively trundled over beside his mother, headsprout perking up in thought and fresh sunlight. Time passed in its leisurely way, as it was wont to do on a pleasant day, as he chewed on his lip and the question. Some false starts, clipped words as he spoke then paused to reflect in forethought, along with a few grumbles of worry that Grotle soothed with gentle nuzzling. It was quite possibly the first time he’d been asked a multi-layered question with the expectation of a multi-layered answer and given the time to properly consider it. Native Pokémon relied more on rote memorization than critical thinking in their schooling and a question’s answer, even if it was only half-formed, was better delivered quickly than with deep deliberation. Battles didn’t leave much time for navel-gazing, after all.

For my part, I gently rocked back and forth like a metronome, releasing white clouds in rhythm. Unobtrusive to deliberation, but also predictable and calming; life was simple for the un-touched Pokémon population, with sun-up to sun-down schedules dictating their day-to-day lives. To introduce complexity, even in the form of considering their own motivations and goals beyond the surface level, made ripples across what had been a calm and serene pond. When one was used to seeing their perfect, glass-like reflection in those waters, even that ripple could be as a crashing wave.

I drew his attention up from that disturbed mirror to cheery, even puffs, the rhythm reflecting the order Tortwig had lived with up to this point.

Twenty puffs, or a minute, had passed; to him, it must have seemed an eternity in a life of running about with friends and finding every new and wonderful discovery the world had prepared in advance for them—time enough to answer a whole math quiz’s worth of problems rather than this single, deeply personal essay he’d suddenly been tasked with—and so he briefly looked up at me with a faint crease of worry, as if he was depriving me of the entire day. I simply smiled and let out puff twenty-one.

I didn’t bother to count past that, for this was an answer he’d be adding new parts to for the rest of his life; none could time that even with all the puffs in the world. Besides, it would only spoil the break from marching the whole day, and I was loath to not appreciate the breeze caressing my weary body and a fine conversation occupying my mind.

“It…” he started, wavering again, then steeled himself. “It feels like a lot of realsponsabilerty.”

“Responsibility, my sprout~” his mother corrected with a chuckle.

“Y-yeah, that! Responsibility! ” He stopped, unwittingly keeping his elaboration to himself; popping a leg out to motion for him to continue did the trick. “My dad’s mountain keeps him safe, but he’s used it to keep me safe as well, like when there’s big storms and loud thunder a-an’ it’s real cold, he lets me hide under him so I don’t get wet. And he carries other Pokémon when it floods or they’re hurt. And-and if it’s wilty-hot out his tree gives them shade.” Tortwig took a deep breath. “Dad’s shell-mountain keeps us safe, even when he needs to get up and it’s super dark or lots of dangerous stuff is happening, ‘cause he feels responsible.”

I nodded sagely. “That is an excellent start, young Tortwig. To carry a mountain on your back is more than just its weight, but that of others as well, from those who rely on it.” I cocked my head. “Tell me, have your parents asked you to do something new and important to help out?”

He bobbed and looked at his mother. “Yeah! Yesterday she asked me to help snip some of the berries from her shell for the first time! Usually my bigger brother does it, but I’m finally tall enough to reach them from the stool!”

“You did a wonderful job, sweetie!” Grotle added, her bush swaying gently as if expressing its thanks as well.

Smiling, I continued with, “Did you feel nervous while doing it?”

“Y-yeah, I didn’t want to hurt mom, or do the wrong thing, or bruise a berry.”

“Then you have felt a little bit of the mountain’s weight, of expectations and duty, and it will get heavier.” Tortwig wilted under my words but, to his credit, remained attentive as I continued. “However, carrying those—like weights or practicing—will make you stronger too, until what’s unknown and frightening are things you can lift or protect as easily as your father does.” He perked back up, undoubtedly envisioning himself as a proud Torterra. “It will not be easy, though, just as helping your mother with her berries was difficult the first time. Have you watched others do it before?”

Nodding, he replied, “I always thought it looked easy when my brothers or sisters did it, but when I tried it was, umm, real hard? It was hard to see when I got my mouth close enough to bite off the branches, and then I had to close my eyes so they wouldn’t get poked, and one time a stick went up my nose…”

The last portion came out unsure from him, not in the sense of what was being said, but that admitting as much was wrong, or at least not right. One quickly learnt that expressing doubt or weakness could invite exploitation, whether it be through schoolyard bullying or in a battle against another ‘mon. First-time mystery dungeon delvers often marveled at how resilient feral Pokémon seemed to be, not knowing that the creatures that’d been unable to hide their limp didn’t last long enough for them to encounter.

Resilience was an important skill to develop, but dosage made the poison as well; to not have others to confide in or seek advice from would injure him just as surely as being an open book. “Things often look easier than they really are when we watch others do them. Would you be interested in an old human saying?”

His sprout shot up in attention, and even Grotle leaned closer; given their status as often being saviors of the world chosen by Arceus, pah, human knowledge was coveted by the native ‘mon of the world. “‘Making things look easy is difficult.’ Why do you think that is, young Tortwig?”

 “Uhh, well my friends say I’m real good at tackling, but that’s ‘cause I got my shell like you, Mr. Torkoal. Spoink says it’s cheating to have one, but it’s not like I can help having a cool mountain on my back!”

I tapped the shell, making a rich sound not unlike elderberry clappers from the Tournament celebrations of my youth. “Never be ashamed of your gifts, especially when they will help you help others in the future like your father’s mountain, but remember that not being ashamed is different from being a braggart. Having that protection to tackle makes it easier, but you didn’t start being the best amongst your friends, did you? And if they ask for help, since you’ve done it the most, you help them, yes?”

“Yep yep! I show them how to turn at the last step to hit with their shoulder, and make sure they don’t bite their tongue, although that’s hard for Lilicky, hehe. Oh, and yeah, my favourite tree is just over there!” he said while bounding a few steps over to point at a much-abused oak trunk that had been stripped of bark. I gave a whistle of appreciation through my vents, one that was well-deserved, given it was hardwood. He beamed and did a little spin at the sound.

“Then you have already learned that lesson, so congratulations!” A follow-up toot-toot helped punctuate it. “Now, remember that your siblings can teach you how to help clip berries and much more besides. If they’re making it look easy, chances are they know a few tricks just like you do with your tackles,” I guided with a wink. “And don’t forget to ask your friends to show you their best tricks, it lets them know you value their help as they do yours, and it’s one of the best ways to strengthen that bond.”

Stars in his eyes, he reverently nodded. “Y-yes, I will!”

“Good lad,” I praised while giving him a blast of warm steam that he danced through in celebration. “Now, all of that said, I did ask you what it feels like to have a mountain on your back, and sometimes the best way is to learn through experience, so why don’t you try tackling my mountain-shell for a bit while I talk to your mother?”

She raised an eyebrow, holding out a leg to keep Tortwig from immediately taking up the offer. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want him to hurt you after all you’ve done to help.”

“Ohoho,” I guffawed with great plumes of smoke. “This old shell of mine is getting too heavy for these old bones anyways, so he would only be doing me a favour if he knocked a few chunks off.” I looked his way. “In fact, if you do it with your thinner side, you can keep any you manage to knock loose. Just try to keep it even so I don’t start leaning like you are!”

The melodic bump of wood into stone against my side was answer enough. The dirt path’s rocks crunched as my shell tipped onto them, with some hissing as greenery suddenly found itself burning under the heat of my body. Turning to Grotle, I said, “You look like you’ve had some questions waiting to be asked.”

She nodded. “Just one, actually. Are you… human?”

Pity, an incurious native. Not that such a trait was uncommon in the un-touched, but I’d hoped being part of the conversation would help expand her horizons as well. It seemed like Tortwig’s own inquisitive nature was coming from his father or friends in the meantime.“I am merely human-touched,” I lied as smoothly as a Seel slid. Leaning over, I whispered, “My partner’s gone ahead to investigate reports of an outlaw wild. We’re trying to avoid tipping them off that we’re on their trail, so if you could keep my passing discrete, that would be most appreciated.”

Eyes wide, she solemnly said, “Of course. Should… should I be worried for my children?”

Shaking my head in time with my tackled shell’s rocking, I replied, “Just to be safe though, bring them in before dark.”

“Thank you for the warning, Mr…?”

“Franklin.” I hadn’t used that name in a while, even though it was a personal favourite. It tasted familiar on the tongue, like vanilla ice cream, and about as generic; I’d counted no less than a dozen other human partners over the centuries sharing it.

“Even named by a human…” she intoned. “Thank you, Mr. Franklin.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Grotle. One more thing, though.” I slipped a card from my travel bag. “I see a lot of promise in young Tortwig. If your son is still interested in following his father’s footsteps when he Blooms, give him this. It’s a recommendation for the Arcing Boughs guild, with it he’ll be able to join without the usual waitlist.”

Her sharp gasp was covered by the thrummp of another tackle, which also let me know he hadn’t been listening in to the hushed conversation. “This is… I don’t have the words. Thank you, truly.”

“The world needs Pokémon as driven as he is. Please, though, do remember to only give it if he’s still interested, and don’t do more than try to encourage him in the meantime. A child forced onto a path they aren’t ready for is a tragedy.”

“Of course, of course. To be honest, I’m already worried about him like I worry about my mate. Tortwig still buries his face in my leaves when there’s too much thunder! I don’t think I could talk him out of it if I tried but still, his happiness is the most important thing in the world to me.” Grotle looked to my side to see him triumphantly lifting a small shard he’d managed to knock loose, a smile eternal on her face.

I shifted a little so he’d start hitting a fresh plate; I’d had to focus heat on that part of the shell to make it soft enough for him to break and didn’t want the lad to get burnt on the now-exposed portion. “He’s lucky to have a mother who cares as much as you,” I replied earnestly. Too many unprepared recruits had been forced in by well-intentioned parents. I wasn’t innocent of that either, a lesson hard learnt when giving guild recommendations.

She mouthed ‘Thank you’ again, her blush traveling into the berry blooms as they turned a slight tinge of pink.

I looked back. “You’ve got one more hit before I need to get going, champ!” I encouraged with a wink, using the distraction to heat up the fresh target.

Tortwig tucked his head down and took a few extra steps back before digging his feet into the soil. Dirt spat out like a crashing wave as he launched himself at full-tilt before planting his leg in just in front of me, using the momentum to swing his shell on it like a pivot. Honestly, I imagine he could have knocked the chunk loose even without me helping it along, but then it would have lacked the spectacular burst of steam launching it into the air. Grotle took a step back but Tortwig was simply even more excited at the explosive success, scrambling back up and snatching it from the air with a delighted ‘Toooor!’

“Well, I’d say you certainly earned that one, and my mountain is feeling much better now, so you have my thanks for that as well,” I said, continuing the encouragement. It would, undoubtedly, be an integral memory and defining moment, a story to share with his friends and use to motivate himself when training in the future. He would, I imagined, make for a fine candidate. Perhaps the best of those I’d already referred to the guild.

“Thank you, Mr. Torkoal!” he exclaimed, tucking the mementos into his shell so they stuck out like a pair of obsidian daggers.

“Don’t cut yourself on those,” I said with a smirk as I caught his mother’s realization that her son suddenly owned two extremely sharp edges that he would be loathe to part with. “Make sure to give them to your mother so she can keep them safe and cared for,” I added with a wink for her benefit, which she returned with a grateful sigh of relief.

“Awww, okay. I wanna try helping you and dad chop veggies with them, though!” he exclaimed while trundling over to her side.

“I’m sure we can find some wood to make a handle with…” I could tell Grotle’s heart wasn’t in it, but I couldn’t hold that against her.

We shared goodbyes, along with Grotle providing some berries for my supposed tracking expedition and a promise from Tortwig that he’d show me how big his mountain was when he grew up. It was, all things considered, one of the most pleasant experiences I’d enjoyed in some months and I couldn’t help but express it with some more steam puffs as I made my way down the path again, magma leaking from my vents to cool and harden over the fresh gaps in my armor.

Without wayward eyes about, my shadow, Vergil, emerged from the forest. A sharp sense of smell and the ability to sense aura made the Riolu a natural sentry. “The others went ahead to prepare. I felt a few wilds, but none approached the path.”

“Your attentiveness is appreciated as always,” I replied as we marched down the path. The canopy had thickened quickly, until only rays of sunlight peeked through the ceiling of spring leaves. Without the touch of the sun to chase them away, the last nips of fleeing winter hid here, even if the snow had long since melted. “I imagine you’re curious what I was doing. Were able to overhear us?”

“Yes, besides when you were whispering to that Grotle. Something to do with the cell?” His curiosity, like Tortwig’s, was insatiable, but that was no surprise. The speed on which he picked up on details and made connections was, though. Despite being the most recent Facet added to the group, Vergil had quickly come into his role as a scout and, I expected, he’d soon grow well beyond that.

“Indeed. Before we left, Fleur announced he’d felt the Call of the Roots for the first time, and thus is now in need of a successor.”

“The Guild Master of Arcing Boughs?”

I nodded. “A Facet taking the role of Guild Master provides both potential recruits and intel on the comings and goings of the Guild Network, not to mention funding. If he answered the Root’s Call without a replacement already arranged the results could be catastrophic, to say the least.”

A moment passed as Vergil processed the information. “That’s when grass Pokémon want to find somewhere to bury themselves and connect with the plants around them, right?”

“Yes. It is akin to death as we know it, even if in some respect they continue on in perpetuity. These hills and their trees are, most likely, formed of the ancestors of that Turtwig, for example. If one were to attack them here they would invite mudslides and trees crashing upon them, as if the very fates stood opposed.”

“Which they are.” The Riolu examined the gentle rolling hills and peacefully swaying trees with newfound focus. Not wariness, which would be a wasteful strain, but undoubtedly already considering what would need to be done to mitigate risks to fight on such hallowed grounds.

“Correct.” I looked up at the sky through one of the breaks in the canopy. “One of Arceus’ many interdictions, better thought out than most others, to its credit. But I digress. Fleur will need to tie roots with his successor, lest his knowledge and skills be lost. A decade or two remains, although the longer he’s made to wait the more he and his memories will wilt. Thus, the fresh need to direct promising recruits to him for evaluation and training.”

“And what of who he chooses? Is it just a transfer of knowledge, or…?” The implied question hung ominous, a possibility the Riolu could see but was still not hardened enough to accept as being, sometimes, an uncomfortable necessity.

“For the most part, yes. If all goes well, it will be as if Fleur’s memories and personality, along with those who shared roots before, can be called upon. If the recipient’s will is weak, though, they would be subsumed and instead of existing in symbiosis, it would be a parasitic relationship.” I saw the fleeting look of distaste on his face and headed off the next question before it could be asked. “It has not happened in many, many cycles, only twice before we better understood the process. It is why Fleur and his forebears run the Arcing Bough guild, so he can personally train and prepare his successor. They will be chosen, informed, and granted the choice. All have accepted thus far, and all have succeeded.”

The weight visibly lifted from him. “That’s… good to know.” He bit his lip for a second. “Am I being prepared for a similar role?”

“No. Fleur is unique amongst the Facets—an aspect of his symbol of Flourishing and the cycles of growth. You, I and the others are simply gifted with lifespans that let us work on scales otherwise impossible.” I locked eyes with him, their brilliant blue aura briefly flashing from his in surprise at the intense contact. “We are still finite, fallible, and able to meet fatal ends. Do not let it infect your pride.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied gravely.

I let the intensity decrease to a simmer. “I believe you when you say it, so instead lend half of that diligence to the other Facets. They are not all so grounded and might need the reminder.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I chuckled, letting the tension bleed out as wispy steam streams curled around the broad leaves covering the path. “Still need to work on cutting out the ‘sir’s. We are equals with roles that give precedence, not absolute authority.”

“Thank you, Mr. Franklin, then,” he quipped.

I guffawed. “I suppose I walked into that one. So long as there aren’t any ‘mon outside of our group around, though, you may use my name.”

“Of course, Victor.”

Ah, it was nice to hear it again, even if it had only been a few hours. Carrying so many other names only made the truest one sound all the sweeter.

“So, what now?”

“We greet what will either be the newest Facet, or a loose end. From there, I deliver the news to Fleur and we start vetting his current and incoming students for candidates. I have a feeling Tortwig will be amongst them.”

To look so far into the future was something even I had difficulty with, for even the perfect personality could be waylaid by happenstance. Still, none of the others I’d examined were as eager to carry a mountain on their back, and whoever was chosen would lift it high on the mantle of triumph, or be buried to the mantle by it. Yet another child that wouldn’t even know I was putting such a weight upon him for years.

I worried it was starting to come too easily, now.