Slumrat Rising

Their little convoy reformed quickly, Merkovah feeling that a mere hundred and five kilometers were far too close to the cursed city of Moyale. He was determined to make it to the sanctuary of the campus at Bule, another two hundred kilometers down the road. Bule was also a little too close to Moyale for comfort. Still, Merkovah assured everyone that they would be safe from “The moral and spiritual contagion which breeds and festers within that midden of depravity.”

Truth tried to remember which part of the city looked depraved but drew a blank. It seemed pretty ordinary for this part of the world. Nicer than most of the places he saw in the Free State. Truth shrugged, drank what felt like two liters of water, pissed what felt like four liters, and hopped back on his trusty two-wheeler. There were locals lined up along the road. Hands pressed together in front of their face, bowing their heads as the convoy passed. Thankful, not scared.

The countryside they passed was pretty interesting. The little pocket of mountains Mega was tucked into was a twenty-kilometer green illusion. The horrible reality of the desert reasserted itself with a punishing severity. Nothing green was permitted past the foot of the mountains. Not a single speck of plant life.

Truth used the drive to think a bit about what Merkovah said. He hardly knew the deceptively young-looking man. Clearly knew his stuff as an exorcist. Clearly well respected locally. But his last employer had also been eager to shower him with gifts. And he wasn’t particularly comfortable with powerful older figures swooping in and promising to provide direction.

When you got right down to it, what the fuck was he doing here?

Truth had been feeling rushed for the last few days, but the smell of rodent had never really gone away. He was on a journey. The purpose of the journey was to figure out some more about who he was and what he wanted, get to Siphios, get some spells, get stronger… a couple of steps that he would definitely figure out later… safely extract the sibs from both Starbrite and Jeon and provide them a safe, comfortable life, for the rest of their lives. Somewhere, somehow.

And then some beardy weirdo pops up, claiming that divination guided him to Truth and that Truth had the potential to take down Starbrite. But only with his teachings. The rat got bigger and bigger, didn’t it? No, it wasn’t a rat. It was fucking Thierrie.

You are very beautiful. Very special. I think I am falling in love with you. Do you like to party? Don’t worry about it. I can pay for everything. Have a drink. Have another. Do you love me? I love you. Try a little of this. It makes everything fun. Have a little more. My beautiful one. So special. Look what I got for you. You want to help me too, don’t you?

The “Charisma of the Streets” violently appeared in Truth’s mind. Truth had despised him on many levels and had plenty of chances to watch him work. The game never changed. That was probably what turned a casual loathing into active hate. Every pimp ran the same damn scam, but he dressed it up with affection. Because he was “the good one.” So he ran the same damn game every time, and it worked almost every time. Because when you are in a shitty place, who doesn’t want to hear they are special? That they are loved? That you were destined to meet in this random diner?

What did he need, and what did he know? He needed… something. Some path to being more than a thug with a spell. There was a certain charm to the idea of setting up his own garage somewhere, vanishing into the masses as just another repairman. He wasn’t an expert in vehicle repair, but he was confident he could figure it out. And every city needs someone to fix the street lights, right? But that wasn’t him anymore. It probably never was him.

He needed to be more than a thug with a spell. He needed to know why his body… was the way it was. Why did he survive the attack on Kofi? Because it occurred to him, he never got a clear answer on that. Why did he crawl back up out of that well? What was the deal with the nine-worm path? What was the deal with the Ghūl, both generally and in his specific case?

Alright. A lot of questions. And maybe the answer to those questions would let him save the sibs. Whose condition he couldn’t even check on without the danger of alerting Starbrite. But he didn’t know.

What he did know is that he had his trusty iron horse. He had a spear, a crummy acid bolter, a battered machete, and a really phenomenal magic sword. The sword was safely in its sheath, lashed to the back of his luggage. It had calmed down but looked ready to burst into fire and liturgy at the slightest provocation. He had no money, but he did have the spell Incisive and the Meditations of Valentinian. Except he didn’t know Incisive and was relying on Merkovah to teach him. And he didn’t know why he knew the Meditations. Another one for the question pile.

He did know that Merkovah was looking for a thug with a spell. He had more or less said so, and all his actions seemed to support that idea. Merkovah wanted a hitter. Why a Level Three hitter, he didn’t know. No doubt he would find out soon. Because Merkovah also knew a hell of a lot more than he did, and he wanted to tell Truth things. So, assuming he could trust his new employer, he stood to gain a lot. A lot of answers. A lot of power. He shook his head and resolved to focus on happier, more productive thoughts.

Who would he rather lose his virginity to, Etenesh or Jember? He instinctively preferred Etenesh, but Jember had a charisma that would be hard to refuse.

___________________________________________

The ground around their little convoy started showing signs of wrinkling. The earth crumpled up into rocks, ridges, and stretches of ridges. Little hills docked the country around the road, though they were still in the desert. A little while later, green mountains rose west of the road. Truth was half convinced they were an illusion. It was actually an omen of things to come.

Tendrils of green, tracing along thin rivers and creeks, infiltrated the desolation. Tidy farms began to appear as the amount of green increased. The further north, the more ragged the terrain and the greener it got. Farms seemed to grow near vertically or on sharp terraces. Nobody seemed troubled by that fact, so Truth assumed it was normal for farms.

Less than two hours after leaving Mega, they arrived in the green and pleasant town of Bule. It seemed to be mostly farms, a few small factories, small but tidy houses, and plonked down like an elephant in a muffin, the monstrous bulk of the university. A great white pile of concrete smoothed into pointless curves and lacking the faintest hint of grace. Merkovah seemed on the verge of happy tears when he parked his carriage.

“Safety. Civilization. Ah, Blessed Siphios, the nation of scholars and saints! Blessed Boyle, so courageously holding back the tide of iniquity rising from the south! It is good to be back.”

“Alright, I have to ask. I get that the teaching gig was boring and frustrating, but why the constant hate on Moyale?” Truth asked.

“Did you not see it? The damn city is a war zone!” Jember said.

Etenesh nodded and added, “I must have seen six serious fights in two weeks, and I swear I saw at least one dead body on the road. Half the city is in the Free State, and the people there are wild. Too damn wild.”

“Huh. Different standards, I guess. I was touched by how civilized it seemed.” Truth shrugged.

“I’d make a joke, but after watching you work through the demons, I believe you.” Etenesh laughed. So did Jember. Merkovah waved over a guard. It seemed that his guest room was ready, and there were dorm rooms his staff could sleep in. Dinner would be in a couple of hours, and they were all welcome in the faculty dining room.

“Go. Unpack, clean up, and rest. Tommy, keep that sword sheathed until I have a chance to explain how to use it safely. I need a shower and a nap.” Merkovah strode away quickly, leaving them to the mercy of the University staff.

Apparently, they arrived during a vacation. Truth and Jember were assigned a four-person dorm room to split between them. Etenesh had her own room. Why, he didn’t know.

Dinner was surprisingly bland but filling. A sort of vegetable stew with more of the spongy bread that seemed to come with everything in Siphios. Everyone seemed to think he was Desrin and were trying to accommodate him. They looked quite grateful when he told them he really didn’t mind if they drank, though he abstained.

He should add ‘What does it take to be Desrin?’ to the pile of questions. He was on board with the no-drinking, but the strict vegetarianism might be a challenge. Not that he was looking for a religion, it just seemed interesting.

“So, Mr. Wells, you came from the south?” A slim fellow of the University asked.

“Yes, some business took me to the Free State, and when my contract ended, I decided to ride up to Siphios. It was a… colorful experience.”

This met with surprised murmurs. “How did you make it?” another asked.

“Well, in one instance, half killing my poor bound spirit as I got out at top speed.” This met with laughs and knowing nods. “While I don’t have any desire to go back there, I did meet some decent people. It really wasn’t all bad.”

“I hear banditry is endemic.” Jember looked fascinated.

“I suppose it is.” Truth said, privately determined to look up “endemic” as soon as he could consult his dictionary.

“Oh, you must do better than that,” Etenesh said, “Tell us a story.”

Truth racked his brain for suitable dinner table conversion material. He had not the faintest damn idea what was appropriate. Throwing caution to the wind, he said, “It’s a little gory, so I don’t know if it’s good dinner table material, but-”

He was drowned out with shouted encouragement from the table. It seemed that things were very boring here, and tales of the horrors of the Free State were in high demand.

“Well. The thing that I ran away from? It went something like this.”

Truth wasn’t a very good storyteller in that he had no grasp of rhythm, showmanship, or how to build tension in his listeners. What he did have was sincerity and what his audience correctly identified as a bone-deep stoic reserve. Someone dropped their spoon when he described the slaughter in the city center. Another gasped when he described sliding his iron horse into the garage. It was dead quiet when he finished.

The slim fellow coughed lightly. “Thank you, Mr. Wells. That was… alarming, actually. I hadn’t heard about that, and I think others need to know about it too. I need to make some calls. Head, may I be excused from the table?”

“Go. I think many will be skipping dessert and joining you.” An ancient worthy gave his assent.

“Saints protect us. An offering of that scale… I can’t imagine it.” Jember muttered.

Truth was about to suggest ways to imagine it when Etenesh cut in. “Racing through the Free State, dodging demons, fighting demons hand to hand- your wife must worry a lot about you.”

“Oh, I don’t have a wife. Husband either, to be clear.”

“Fiancée?” Etenesh asked.

“Nope.”

“Seeing anyone?”

“Romantically? No. I’m…” Truth was trying to be more open, but it suddenly went from funny to painful. “I’m complicated.”

Etenesh just grinned at that. She didn’t look like someone scared of complications.

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