Slumrat Rising

“I can feel you trying, you know? You sort of shiver. One part of you overruling another part.” Etenesh smiled up at Truth. “It's kind of sweet. And kind of sad. But mostly sweet.”

“It’s not rational. I know that. I’m not even sure where the people allergy is coming from. For most of my life, I have dreamed of someone wanting to be with me. Now that there is someone willing to touch me, I can’t stand to let people close.” Truth forced himself to smile.

“It might be as simple as that, you know.” They were walking slowly down the engraved sandstone corridors of Temple Nag Hamadi towards the dining room in the back. Jember, thoughtfully, had “remembered something he had to get from his room” and left them alone. Truth had gingerly held Etenesh’s hand. She grabbed his, not hard, but more firmly. Giving him a look that said, “This is how you should do it.” So he did. But it was a struggle.

“What?”

“You spent, from what I can tell, your whole life in varying states of pain. Desperate for comfort. Some kind of warmth and connection. And now you can have that.” She looked up at him, faint ocher starting to rise in the whites of her eyes. “I want you to have that. I want to be the one who gives you that. Because I like you and respect you, and desire you. You like me too. And you have no idea how to deal with any of that. Caring and being cared for. Finding yourself somewhere safe. With someone safe. It feels like a trap. It scares the hell out of you.”

She paused by an inscription on the wall. There was a picture of a bird landing on a cow’s horn. She smiled sadly at it, then looked back at Truth.

“Would you mind doing a small experiment?”

“What’s that?”

“Let go of my hand and gently hold my wrist. About as hard as you were holding my hand. Yes, like that.” She held her hand down where it had been while they were walking and holding hands. Truth thought her wrist was very thin and fragile in his hand. She was a powerful mage. Stronger than she looked. But she felt so fragile to him.

Truth didn’t know how to answer that.

“It did. Now I wonder why that could be?” She laughed a little.

“Is it uncomfortable for you?” Truth asked.

“A little. I’m more used to holding hands. It feels odd, having my hand empty. But it’s not painful or anything. No, don’t let go.” She smiled up at him. “We can be a little uncomfortable together.”

“Is that really a good thing?”

“It is if it means we are growing.” She paused. “Also, while I am absolutely enjoying this, I intend to exercise my privilege as the woman in your life to reclaim my dessert.”

“Mmm. Well, I am a dedicated food enjoyer. You may still have to fight me if it’s something good.” Truth smiled back.

____________________________________________

“What fresh Hell is this? Truth looked in horror at the “dessert” in front of them. Each table had one to share. This was supposed to be a Temple. Free of abomination and corruption. Truly, God had abandoned Siphios if his most dedicated servants would serve such a thing.

“It’s a Delightful Cloud. Invented by a famous chef for a dancer of the same name, actually.” Jember grinned. Then frowned when he remembered his portion was lost. He eyed Etenesh, who was looking a little smug. Then sighed again.

“It’s the cushion from a carriage seat with the cover stripped off and jam dumped on top. Not even… done jam, it’s still mostly big chunks of fruit.” Merkovah was doing his best not to laugh. The other diners at the table had their hands over their mouths and their shoulders shaking.

“It’s a meringue. Cooked egg whites. With fruit in syrup on top.” Jember defended it. He might not be able to eat it, but he would save it from slander.

“If it was meant to be edible, why’d they make it look like shiny white foam? They even screwed up cooking it- look, it’s kind of burnt on top.”

“Crunchy. It’s meant to be crunchy on top. You monster.” Jember looked over at Merkovah, who suddenly found his water glass fascinating. “Teacher, we will have to rely on you for moral instruction here.”

“I firmly believe in experiential learning. We have admired the desert, some of us, and now, let’s eat.” Merkovah lifted the cake slice and started divvying up portions. Truth looked at his with deep suspicion.

“It has exploded. Why do you look like it is supposed to look this way?”

“Crunchy exterior, soft, fluffy, melting interior. Look, just eat it. You’ll see.”

“You like it, don’t you? You like this dessert… thing.”

“It has been my favorite since I was a kid. You savage. This poor, innocent, maligned Cloud.”

Truth gingerly stuck a spoon in. The exterior was, in fact, crunchy. The interior was, in fact, light, soft, fluffy. Lightly sweet, and scented with… something. He couldn’t place it.

“What’s that smell?” He asked. Jember looked ready to cry.

“The scent. The lovely, delicate, aroma comes from specially treated orchids. You have had something similar made from processing trees, called vanillin. This is the real thing. It takes excruciating effort to make.” Jember turned from grief to wrath. “You cannot claim to walk the path of the foodie without appreciating the origins of the food. To do so would reduce a path to mere gluttony!”

Truth was rocked. His mind was still at the level of training away his poverty tastebuds. But here was Jember, opening up a whole new world. “I had never thought about that.”

“I can tell.” Jember sniffed. Etenesh was eating her dessert with obvious relish, deliberately and pointedly ignoring the miserable looking Jember. Truth sighed. It was honestly pretty tasty, for all that it looked like an industrial accident.

“You are buying the drinks for our next sparring session.” Truth slid Jember’s dessert back over to him.

“You are a mage and a gentleman of the first water. Look, ditch my cousin. Soon as the ritual purification is over, I can-”

“OI! Hands off!”

“I’m not touching him. Yet.”

Truth let the cousins bicker around him. Feeling their warmth. A stab of sadness struck him. He and his siblings never had a meal like this, even after they moved into their own home. The thought slowly wormed its way up from the recesses of his mind- what if this was what he had really been fighting for? Not just survival, but this. This easy way with family. Full bellies. A warm home. No danger to make them scared and anxious.

Maybe this was what winning looked like. Which did bring up a couple of awkward question. Who, or what, did he have to beat to get here? He had to pass the SAT to get that Tier C housing. He had to slaughter the Ghūl and report their statue to become a citizen and get those citizenship privileges. So what would it take to get to here, for him and the sibs? And Etenesh and Jember, and even Merkovah and the other people he had met here?

He had absolutely no idea.

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Merkovah summoned them the next morning, looking grim. “Tommy, put on your best uniform, and if you need to buy a new zeph, do so. You must be looking immaculate and lethal. Etenesh, Jember, your formal robes. I will permit you two, just for today, to wear your caps.” They perked up at that, trying to repress smiles. “Just for today. We go now to a terrible place. We must armor ourselves against the wicked ones.”

Truth was starting to get a feel for Merkovah. “Your friend from Moyle is in town?”

“Worse. So much worse.” Merkovah sighed silently, then gathered his strength. “A Faculty Congress at the University of Siphios. It seems that someone in our security services thought it would be a good idea to share that talisman you discovered, Tommy, with the academy. We go now to a “closed” session to discuss it. Other senior fellows will have their retinues there as well. We must be ready.”

They processed that declaration. Then, because Truth was most certainly a product of his upbringing, he coughed. “As I mentioned before, mission necessary equipment is to be provided by the employer…” Merkovah was already reaching for his wallet before Truth could really get going.

“Go to the shop four blocks down the road. Buy one with a tassel.”

“They come with a tassel? I have only seen the smooth, flat ones.”

“Turn up with your sword, wearing your old hat, and tell the shopkeeper I told you to get one with a tassel. He will sort you out.”

“Ok…”

“It’s a status thing and a religious thing,” Etenesh whispered. “It basically means that you have shed blood on behalf of both the Temple and the Throne.”

“Why would the Desrin give even half a damn if I fought for the Temple? Wouldn’t they not want me to do that?”

“The faith and the land are one, in Siphios. Historically, anyway. Our relationship with the Desrin is… complicated. But on the whole, positive. The congress begins at ten sharp. Off you go.” Merkovah waved them out the door. As they headed back to their little rooms, Etenesh stuck out her hand toward Truth. He smiled and held it like she taught him. She smiled back, Ocher dusting her eyes. Gently, slowly, she moved his hand up to her wrist and closed his fingers around it.

____________________________________________

The cousins stood side by side, waiting for Merkovah in front of the temple. They wore identical robes of loose, multilayered white cloth edged with blue- the same color of blue Truth remembered seeing in the desert just after the sun had cleared the horizon and the day was firmly on its feet. They sported odd, rigidly conical blue hats with identical green feathers rising from either side of the brim. Their robes, he noticed, were folded in the exact same ways, and the hats were set at exactly the same angle.

“We are graduates, but not yet Fellows of the University. This is the uniform robe for students, and the blue trim shows we graduated. Because we are, and the language is kind of dated here, because we are servants of Merkovah, who is a Senior Fellow in the Senior Department, Religious Law, we can wear the blue hat and green feathers.” Etenesh explained. She looked quite nice in her robe, Truth thought. Strange how someone could be covered from neck to shins and still make his heart race.

He took a moment, considered that thought, concluded he was doomed, then forced his mind back on the job.

Merkovah swept in, looking like he had looted a particularly gaudy treasury belonging to a cloth merchant. First, there was the black underrobe, edged with gold. Then a surcoat in brilliant green, also trimmed with gold and sporting coral buttons. Then there was a sort of narrow shawl draped over his neck, embroidered with the picture of a turquoise-colored serpent with ruby eyes. Also trimmed with gold. His hat… could no longer be called a hat, in Truth’s opinion. Hats didn’t have tiers. Hats were not layered. Seven cone hats, like the cousins wore, were stacked on top of each other, moving up the color gradient from red to violet. Each layer had its own tiny brim and a decorative gem in a contrasting color. On the top was a single golden feather sticking straight up.

He seemed alarmingly comfortable. Truth displayed his professionalism by not falling on the floor laughing at his employer or at the deeply envious-looking cousins.

Truth, on the other hand, wore a neatly pressed suit he wouldn’t mind fighting in, his brand new zeph, tassel hanging on the left as instructed, well-polished boots he could run in, and his sword.

Merkovah looked him over and sighed. “You look like an absolute and utter barbarian. Still. You’ll do. Come, everyone. I have booked us a carpet to the University. Let’s see what idiocy my learned colleagues are planning.”

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