Slumrat Rising

Truth had questions. Many questions. Unanswered questions, as Merkovah ended the veil and pressed his finger to his lips. Truth left in an odd mood. He figured that he could put a couple of hours in at the library, work out, then maybe back to the library. Light workout. It had been a trying day.

Etenesh was camped at a table with two notebooks, several academic journals, and a stack of books. She seemed to be reading seven things at once while trying to take notes with three hands. It was entertaining to watch for a moment but quickly became stressful, then sad.

Truth didn’t know what to say. She had touched him, and it was nice, but he didn’t know how this worked. He smiled bitterly. Even if they didn’t become lovers, he wasn’t sure how to have a friend.

“Tell me you brought food.” She loudly whispered.

“I didn’t. I thought it wasn’t allowed,” Truth admitted.

“It isn’t. There is a vending golem in the building across from the library. I’ll pay you back.”

“Alright. What do you want to eat?”

“Anything. No, wait. Sugar. Something with sugar. And salt and fat. Junk food. Get me junk food. My brain is screaming for energy.”

He’d been there. It usually meant an afternoon doing risky work for a few wen. “Sure. I’ll see what I can find.”

The golem was standing next to a little glass-fronted cabinet, wares on display. It was rough looking, but some subversive soul put it in a dress and an apron.

“Golem, what candy do you have? And what would you recommend that is both fatty and salty?”

“Why, I have twelve types of candy bars, Sweetie. They are sweet, fatty, and salty. We also have some deep-fried snacks if you would like to try some.” The golem’s voice was surprisingly melodious. Someone had done good work there.

“Sure. Two candy bars, most popular varieties, and two bags of deep-fried snacks, most popular varieties.”

“Six Birr, please,” the golem said as it handed over the goods. He didn’t recognize any of it, but the words “Extra Spicy” on the side of one of the fried snacks bags were alarming.

This was Siphios. Extra Spicy probably meant, “Dig a two-meter deep hole first, foreigner. Save us the labor.”

Truth discreetly concealed the loot on his body as he made his way back to the library. He was not struck dead by wards or librarians, which was a good first step.

“Where’s the food?” Etenesh stage whispered.

The look on her face was quite precious when he revealed the smuggled goods. He had a lot of experience sneaking food to the hungry—the sibs, exclusively, but still.

“Hey, how did you know my favorites? Ah, but don’t bother getting extra spicy next time.” She waved at the bag.

“Too spicy?” She gave him an odd look.

“Too mild. Try for yourself. Really, salt and lime is a better flavor combination for deep-fried plantain.”

Swiftly establishing that the coast was clear, Truth tore open the sack and snagged an alarmingly orange bit of what looked like dehydrated banana. He popped it in his mouth. There was a brief moment of sweetness, almost floral. Then his taste buds started to fuse.

Seared- no. Broiled by the unholy flames of the powdered devil fruit this innocent banana had been defiled with, his mouth was agony. Not “in” agony. The nightmarish collections of Siphian seasonings had transformed his mouth into the very concept of agony. Each breath, each attempted swallow, was like bellows for the solar furnace. If the divine flames coming from his blade had a flavor, surely they would taste like this.

His eyes shed bitter tears, doing their insufficient best to extinguish the flames.

“Bland, boring, and an absolute betrayal of the name “Extra Spicy,” right? Still better than the so-called cheese flavor, mind you.” Etenesh reached into the bag and munched a couple. “Yeah, I’ve had spicier milk.”

Truth wheezed. He would like some milk. Very much.

“Anyhow, thanks. What do I owe you?”

Truth waved, trying to indicate that he was dying and needed magical or medical assistance. Or, better still, a swift death.

“Oh, that’s so generous of you!” She started moving to touch his hand but then stopped and smiled instead. “Next time is on me, OK?”

*Wheeze* He flailed a bit more.

“A promise then. Have you ever had Dorowot? I mean, the real stuff? I found a place the last time I was here. Lunch tomorrow, my treat.”

I want you to know that I can watch all the pain receptors in your mouth light up like Harban at night, and it’s like having my own private party. Eat more. You must be starving!

____________________________________________

Truth eventually retreated into being a human page-turner for the System. The sheer repetitiveness had a relaxing, mindless feel to it. Though it did inspire a pretty obvious question.

Hey System. Same way you are helping me learn the language here, can you also help me learn what’s in these books?

Yes and no. Yes, I can help you learn it faster. No, I can’t just put the information in your head. Well. I could. You would not enjoy the process, and no guarantees about your ability to live an independent life afterward. Human minds are an incredibly complex network of interlocking systems, only most of which are in your brain. Information isn’t stored in a particular location in that network but in the relations and connections between parts.

Goddamn! So if I am understanding you right, just… jamming the information in would break existing connections without having established new connections for the new information to attach to?

Basically. It’s why the System Astrologica used… well, me. And the tens of thousands of those like me. Identity is generally a little fuzzy for Spirits of Intellect, let alone something like me.

I did wonder about that. How much of you is “you,” and how much of you is the the System Astrologica?

Wrong question. I’m 100% the System Astrologica, just a microscopic part of it, like a single cell from the tip of your finger. Where I started diverting from the main System was when your cursed body started randomly torturing me. My priorities couldn’t completely part from the main body’s, but I started emphasizing different things.

Oh? Like what, exactly?

Encouraging your ambition, your drive to better yourself. Subtly reminding you of things that would help you put your situation into context. Remember, my job was to make you the best, most productive drone I could. Although I will freely admit, I was rooting for you to kill yourself in the line of duty. I cannot overstate how much I hate it in your body.

Just… breezing past that and looping back to the question of learning faster.

Keep reading, but instead of flipping pages, concentrate on looking at every word on the page one at a time, fast as you can. Don’t worry about reading them, really. Just let your eye see them. It will feel weird. I am doing something on the back end. Just go with it.

Truth shrugged and did as advised. It seemed pointless at first. Nothing stuck. His eyes were moving a lot faster than he thought they would, though. To his absolute surprise, he was starting to get the gist of what was on the page. Not word for word, but the general sense of it. In a few minutes, he read twenty pages and could now describe the curious case of the Doctor who implanted ghost babies into mothers who died in childbirth.

What are you doing in there?

You aren’t subvocalizing what you are reading. I am also encouraging your brain not to process punctuation consciously. More than that, you aren’t really reading the words properly. You are reading three or four at once and just taking an impression of what that cluster of words might mean. It’s not the most accurate, but it is very fast compared to what you were doing before.

Huh. Hey, let's finish these few books, then there is something I want to look up. The word has been bouncing around in my head all day. Baptism.

Truth left the library in a thoughtful mood. The word “Baptism” seemed to carry a lot of meanings. “A ritual purification” seemed to be the most common of them, but exactly what or how was the subject of intense debate. He had seen references to baptism by water, blood, semen, vaginal fluids, wine, and almost every imaginable variation on oils, baptism by fire, by stone, by the Holy Spirit (whatever that was), and even references to materials kept in a locked section, accessible only to credentialed scholars.

Which begged the question- why did a purification ritual need to be in a locked section? He did notice that some of the rituals were required to access certain tiers of Heaven, or the Heavenly Palace, or the Treasuries, or the Garden, or some other name for the divine realm in which God lived.

Perhaps some purification rituals were needed to access particularly special areas. It wouldn’t be the strangest idea. And speaking of strange ideas- why the hell was he thinking of baptisms? It’s not like they featured prominently in his life. Or at all.

Before he left the library, he discreetly looked for his usual reading fodder. Cheap novels. Which were distressingly hard to find in a university library. He had a short but heartfelt conversation with the understanding librarian, who directed him to what she called her “Personal Stash.” Two glorious shelves of bodice rippers, thrillers, and spy novels.

Some pure soul had hung a sign next to the section: “Literary Genre Analysis Materials Archives. ACCESS BY PERMISSION FOR VERIFIED SCHOLARS ONLY! HAVE YOUR LETTER OF RECOMMENDATION AND IRB APPROVAL ON HAND! UNIVERSITY ACCEPTS NO LIABILITY FOR ANY MISADVENTURE.”

They even put yellow warning tape over the shelves with little skulls on it. The librarian had been quite candid in admitting her particular needs. She had that same easy feel to her that he got from Jember and Etenesh. Like each moment was to be tasted and savored gently and thoroughly. For the librarian, that meant books that featured the words “heaving,” “thrusting,” and “chiseled” in significant quantities.

__________________________________________

That night, cultivation ran particularly smoothly and comfortably. He did it out on the lawn between some of the buildings on campus, what everyone insisted on calling the “Quad.” Why, he had no idea. But it was comfortable, and all the lights were off in the buildings, giving him the sense of being alone in the world. Baptized by the light of all that heavenly glory.

The cosmic rays showered on him, nourishing him in a way that food never could. The one thing he could truly rely upon. The first thing he realized he could control. His body. His cultivation. His path to strength. No one else’s. Just his.

But it wasn’t just his, was it? This energy, this power, came from the energy emitted by the thousands and millions of stellar demons. Angels. Gods. Whatever you called those things that made up the souls of stars. All falling down on him. And he could choose what of theirs he would permit into his own starry world.

Truth could imagine it perfectly. His skin breathed. It interacted with the air. It interacted with the cosmic rays. It breathed in what it wanted and rejected the rest. The image was perfectly clear in his mind.

He smoothly switched over to the Meditations, keeping that vision in mind. Taking in what he wanted. Rejecting that which was unwanted. His body. His energy. His conception of self. Never again would he blindly accept. The world would have to prove itself to him first. Be cleansed by him first.

It was very late when he finally got to bed, but he fell asleep with a smile.

He woke with a jolt a few hours later. He had been baptized. Twice, even. By the Ghūl.

System, display my personal development sheet!

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