The Rank of Trust

Kōshi’s tongue was in the fourth jar from the right this time. As always, he tried not to stare at it too closely, but instead to pay attention only to his master’s orders. Once again, he failed.
Does it look more faded than the last time? Kōshi wondered. Certainly the color, which not so long ago had been a healthy pink, was now greying, as though the life was slowly bleeding out of the preserved organ, day by day.

Not that Kōshi saw his tongue every day. Or even every week. Perhaps that was why he could never quite bring himself not to look, his eyes drawn to the row of jars. Maybe his stolen glances were also a way of reassuring himself that he still knew which tongue was his among all the rest. His master preferred to move them around, ranking the order of the jars based on who was in favor with him at the time, the most trusted being the tongue on the very right. Kōshi didn’t know whose tongue that was, didn’t know who any of the other tongues once belonged to. He had never known any of the others back when they could still speak except for Lilia, who became elite after him.

Still, he thought the tongue on the very right probably belonged to Nisei. The tip still curled up slightly, giving off an air of mischievousness that Kōshi had learned was permanently ingrained into the older man’s personality. The tongue also looked much older, not just grey but fragile, as though one touch would cause it to disintegrate, and Kōshi knew that Nisei had been a part of their master’s organization for many years now.

Even so, Kōshi always knew which tongue was his own. He remembered the first time when he’d walked in and saw it amongst the others, the feeling of pride that swelled in his breast at seeing another jar added to the collection, of the implied trust. His tongue was smaller than most of the others, not too noticeably, but just enough to stand out that much more. It did not curl or twist at all, unlike some, but lay flat, the very edges forever tilted downwards, relaxed.

The increasingly greyish tinge to his tongue was fascinating to watch, a true marking of the passage of time. The very tip had lost its color first, and then the decay slowly crept along the outermost edges, steadily moving inwards. Now, only the very center was still truly pink, the rest of Kōshi’s tongue more of a mix between the two. Eventually, he knew even that would fade.

Kōshi shook his thoughts free, abruptly reminding himself that he was supposed to be listening, and put the row of tongues out of his mind to focus on what was important – his master’s orders.