Slumrat Rising

The opening prayer continued for thirty minutes. Spirits were invoked, beseeched, reprimanded, and employed. A censer was paraded around the room, the swinging basket pouring out white smoke that smelled like church pews and charcoal and the faint thrum of cedar. A fish was condemned, carried on a lead platter widdershins just outside the circle of sunlight. The brilliantly robed Fellows of the University turned their backs to it as it passed, carefully covering their mouths. They only turned back towards the light when the fish, perhaps five kilos of Pollock, was ritually incinerated and vaporized by a summoned six-winged angel.

Truth could do with some fish. Had he eaten any fish since he came to Siphios? He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t remember. It wasn’t that he was really hungry, but this level of boredom gave him the itch to eat.

Finally, mercifully, the ritual was concluded. The various followers were ordered, with immense pomp, to wait “in the little chambers of Barley and Salt” until summoned or released. Witnesses were told to “Cloister yourselves, dedicate your mind to the Infinite, the Merciful, and the Almighty, that you may most perfectly serve the work of the Wise.” This turned out to mean going into a little waiting room and sitting quietly.

And sitting.

And sitting.

Hard to tell the time here. But he was definitely sitting. And waiting.

God, he missed the Invocation. That was so much fun. A fascinating display of ancient ritual. He would love, just love, if they could go back to that level of wonder. Or if they could supply him with some hedgehogs. Or even a lightly used novel. It seemed like those romance novels would be useful in the near future.

Having nothing better to do, he practiced the Meditations. It seemed to be going… fine. It was a growing irritation- the spell had no theoretical upper limit, so determining how far you had progressed was always relative to where you started, not where you were going to finish. Was he doing well? Probably? But who knows? Well, actually, no, that was him being ridiculous. The number of Level 3 mages that could stand up to him in a fight was probably pretty damn limited, at least on this planet.

The door opened, and a spirit appeared. “Crumb Bearer Wells, you are released until the Galtine Bell rings. You may join the others for panoufe and pie. Please follow this spark, and make sure that you do not forget anything in your cell. Keeping the campus tidy is the pride and responsibility of everyone.”

Crumb bearer? He shrugged. He liked pie. No idea what panoufe was, but he would find out, he supposed. One of those words he never picked up.

The little glowing spark led Truth to a room paneled in dark wood. It was surprisingly crowded, with a few dozen of the “Blue-hat-green-fether” mob that Etenesh and Jember were in. They must divide up the departments for lunch. Probably a story there. It was all a cheerful hubbub. Most clearly knew each other, and like everyone in Siphios, they were constantly touching. Lots of happy hugs and kisses, eating food off each other’s plates, even lining arms to drink.

Truth was acutely conscious of his military-style clothes and blindingly white zeph. That the tassel was properly hanging to the left was little comfort. Truth immediately felt like a freak and knew he wasn’t having any pie. Or panoufe, whatever that was. He could hear snippets of conversation-

“Azusah, My beloved!”

“Funding cuts everywhere, no idea what they are going to do with the cats now.”

“Azusahhhhh,”

“No, thanks, but no. Try me tomorrow, and I’ll probably-”

“Gower or Weddiburn, do you think?”

“Oh heavens, some wannabe sword-boy wandered in. Somebody get his mum.”

“Angels preserve us, was he mugged or something? What’s going on with his clothes?”

“Wonder who’s toy that is? Hey, let’s bet- does he top or bottom?”

“Azusahahahahaahaaa!”

“Oh shit, that’s awkward. Think he came to the wrong room? What’s he even doing in the Well?”

“Hey, check it out- it’s hero time!”

Yeah, he was out of here. He was right: he really did have improved senses. Such joy. He spun on his heel and swiftly stepped towards the door. He had been hungry before. He would live.

“Tommy!” Etenesh’s voice called. He stopped and looked back. Etenesh and Jember walked over to him. “It is so great they put you with us! The Religious Law department gets the best food.”

“That's super, but I am incredibly uncomfortable here.”

“Oh, that’s because you don’t know anyone! Let me introduce you around.” Jember waved some people over. “Negasi, Dawit, come, I want you to meet someone.”

“Tommy, I know you don’t want strangers touching you, but it is a part of our culture. May I hold your arm? It will discourage others.” Etenesh projected her voice into his ear, sounding like a whisper but heard clearly. He had no idea how she did it. Jember’s acquaintances were coming closer. Left with no good options, he offered his elbow to Etenesh. She snaked her arm around it, snuggling up to his right side. He was instantly uncomfortable, both with the contact and having his sword arm trapped. He could probably fight lefty, but it was a pain to draw left-handed.

Negasi and Dawit were third-year scholars training with another Teacher, specializing in some area of Orthodox Siphios religious law that Truth neither knew of nor understood. They looked used to that reaction and were clearly trying to find some basis for small talk.

“Have you eaten?”

“No, not yet. Is the pie good?”

“Oh yes, three types of savory pie on offer. A tradition of the Well, you know- only serve food that comes in its own container. A lot of pies, as you can imagine.”

“Oh? What kind of pies?”

“There is steak and onion, Chicken and vegetable, and I think a vegetarian option.”

Steak sounded perfect.

“Not to worry, here’s Alemu with some pies and punch.”

A handsome-ish man walked up, carefully balancing a plate full of little golden brown miniature pies and another plate full of tall glasses of some pink liquid.

“Hello, hello! Jember, Etenesh, it’s been ages.” Etenesh tightened up on Truth slightly, then relaxed.

“Alemu, great to see you, old man. I see you brought victuals.” Jember seemed to get brighter the more people were around. His smile flashed like the sun on water.

“Can’t have people going hungry or thirsty in the Well!” Alemu strode through Negasi and Dawit like they weren’t there, though he had brought them drinks. Truth noticed them silently make way for him.

“Etenesh, who is this? Not one of the Wise, I see.”

“Alemu, meet Tommy Wells. Teacher Merkovah employs him as a bodyguard.” Etenesh smiled prettily while subtly tightening back up on Truth’s arm.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Alemu murmured. Truth had no idea what to say, so he smiled slightly and nodded his head politely. Then looked over at the pie and drinks.

“Cheers for bringing the supplies. Don’t suppose any of those are vegetarian, are they?” Jember asked.

“Why, yes. The ones with the flowers cut into the lid.” Truth snagged one of the flower ones. He really wanted steak, but since his cover was to be that he was Desrin, sacrifices would have to be made. He took a bite. Flaky crust, creamy sauce, and gently cooked vegetables. Mild, salty, rich… he wouldn’t call it delicious, but it was certainly very tasty. He could eat a few more of those.

“Drink?”

“Oh, thank you.” Truth reached out and snagged a glass, raising it to his lips.

“TOMMY!” Etenesh yelled.

The smell hit him first- faint herbs, almost piney, with a lot of citrus over it. Then the warm waft of ethanol climbed up in his nose. A sickly sweet taste, cold, with a hint of burn, started to spread along his tongue, and he could smell the Red Bats, smell Dad’s armchair, smell the slums, and he spat that shit right out on the floor, and smashed the glass down next to it and was drawing steel to behead this fuck-

“TOMMY! NO!”

“Let’s go. Come this way. We’ll get you some water.” Jember was talking fast, trying to put himself between Truth and the dead man.

“Alemu, what?”

“Unbelievers have no place in Siphios, nor do foreigners! Disgusting that he should be invited into the Well, and worse that a woman of Siphios is hanging off his arm. This nation will never be pure again with cowards like you who watch and do nothing!” He spat.

“He works for Merkovah. Merkovah!”

“Merkovah took an oath to the Crown. He can’t touch me.” Truth could, though. He was memorizing his face, the sound of his voice. The smell of him. Every detail of him was etched into his brain as he let Etenesh and Jember drag him away. He wanted this man dead. He needed him dead. But he was in a room full of this bastard’s friends, in a building full of his friends. He could hang on to just enough of his sanity to not do something stupid.

“Run, Tefen! Run right out of Siphios! And take the Te’mushd with you! There is no place for you in Siphios! No place!” Alemu shouted, even as he was covered by clouds of white robes with blue edges and hats with green feathers.

Etenesh grabbed Truth’s arm so tightly that, even with his cultivation, it hurt. But she didn’t stop hauling him out of the room.

____________________________________________

Truth didn’t see where they dragged him. His left hand was crushing the hilt of his sword. His right arm was being choked to death by Etenesh. His eyes and mind were blinded by a fury of black and red.

How dare he! How dare he! howhowhowhowhowhowhowhowhowDARE HE!

The thought went round and round and round swirling up the muck at the bottom of his mind, all the pain and hurt and horror he associated with drink. How day after day, when he was bleeding and hurting from hunting scrap or running errands or just getting the shick kicked out of him by Dad or Mom or some other thug, he would look at a bottle of cheap schnapps or cheaper still white spirits and think how easy it would be to numb his pain. Think about how cheap that first hit of base was. Free, even, for the right customer. Faith? That bastard had no idea what faith was!

That little shit- no. He had a name. His name was Alemu. He would never forget the name Alemu. He would never forget Alemu’s face. Never, never, never. Because Aleumu never got hit so hard he pissed blood. Alemu never had to climb over a chain link fence with two broken ribs. Alemu never got kicked in the nuts so bad he puked and then got stomped when the gangsters couldn’t find the money. Alemu never had to eat the hate. Alemu never had to eat the humiliation. Alemu had nice food with his rich family and went to a miracle university in a kind country, and Truth had none of that!

Truth’s breath came in short, sharp, sucking inhalations. He tried to get his breathing under control, but it was bucking and fighting against him. Truth tried to remember that an insult was like a drink. He didn’t remember where he heard that. But an insult was like a drink. It only affected you if you took it into yourself. Internalized it. Otherwise, it was harmless. You could spit it out before you swallowed it. Like he did with the poison. Just spit it out. No harm done.

He was going to kill Alemu. The poison had got in.

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