Slumrat Rising

Truth and Etenesh went their separate ways back to their rooms to prepare for the day. Etenesh apparently had some very important reading to do for her coursework, and Truth expected to be on standing-around duty once again. They were both derailed by Jember, popping up with new instructions.

“One of my fellow cultists-”

“There absolutely has to be a better way of saying that,” Truth interjected.

“What, “Cultist?” Etenesh asked. “That’s what they are.”

“Mystery cult, remember?” Jember smiled.

“Oh, I remember. Hard to forget, in fact.”

“So anyway, we were putting away the robes and knives and things, and he tells me that he has four tickets to Xandre PC versus Xandre Athletic, playing at Old Mek’elle.”

“Yikes. The Old Friends playing at Mek’elle?” Her words sounded worried. But Etenesh’s hungry grin told a different story. “Reconciliation match?”

“That’s the hope.” Jember nodded.

“Sorry, completely lost here. I assume you are talking about a Pitz game? Between two teams that both come from this city?” Truth asked.

“Yes, that’s it. Big city. Plenty of room for two clubs. UNfortunately, those clubs are the Birdies and the Brickies. That’s six hundred years of bad blood right there. Add in all the recent strife, and you can be sure the police will be out in numbers today.” Jember spoke quickly. “Anyhow, I’ve got the tickets, and Merkovah says we have the day off. The ball drops at One.”

“Jember, if you think I’m going into the balconies at Old Mek’elle for an Old Friends reconciliation match, you are mad. I have work. I’ll watch the scry later once they’ve had a chance to clean up the blood.” Etenesh directly blew him off.

“I remain lost. Birdies? Old Friends who are going to be killing each other?”

“Ok, so… Pitz is the people’s game, right?” Etenesh began. “So it comes from the streets. A sacred ritual too, but the origin is the streets. Clubs get very loyal, and mostly very local, fans. Now, the Brickies-”

“Sorry, Brickies?”

“Xandre Athletic. Old Mek’elle is their home field. Their first field was in a brick factory’s courtyard. And the Xandre PC is the Birdies because they’re so dumb. At least, according to the Brickies. And, of course, the Brickies are called the Brickies because they are thick as a-,” Jember said.

“Got it.”

“Right, so. You have the usual neighborhood rivalries, but of course, you have to think about who’s in the neighborhood. The Birdies are almost all Siphios Orthodox, while the Brickies are Progressive, with a mix of Desrin and Pragerites sprinkled around both.” Etenesh explained.

“So the rivalry is religious, geographical, and historical.” Truth asked, absently touching the hilt of his sword.

“Right. So it can get nasty. But on the other hand, they are the two biggest teams in the Capital, and two of the oldest in the country, so… they are called the Old Friends.” Jember agreed.

“Alright. This sounds like an absolute nightmare, and I sincerely pity everyone working security at the match. Which is a reconciliation match. Which means?”

The cousins looked a little awkward. “Well. Given the religious and political tension between them-”

“Sorry, political?”

“Yeah, Birdies are big Royalists. To the point where the Royal Family has asked them to settle down. More like they think the king should have absolute authority over the country, and only Orthodox Temples should be allowed. It’s not the most coherent ideology. Brickies are the opposite. A lot of them, very quietly, want to abolish the monarchy altogether.” Jember explained.

“Is there a traditional offering I should make for the souls of the security staff?”

“Funny you should say that. It’s why they have reconciliation matches. Basically, if things get to the point where people are dying,” Jember tried to explain, but Etenesh interrupted.

“More-than-usual are dying, or something really shocking happens.”

“Right or that. Anyway, the organizers hold a reconciliation match. It’s meant to give everyone a chance to come together, calm everything down. The teams shake hands, honorable play all around, some ritual, and hopefully, everyone feels a bit better. There’s usually some pageantry.”

“And if, say, the play isn’t honorable? Or they can’t reconcile?”

“Riots.” Etenesh sounded bleak.

“More often, they call for the stone knife and raise the hoops. Which is bad enough and also often turns into a riot. But sometimes, it calms things down.” Jember tried to downplay it, fooling no one.

“Well. That is. Something.” Truth tried to think of something diplomatic to say and drew a blank.

“Yeah. Usually, I’d love to watch a match; they’re both first-rate clubs. Not a reconciliation match. Not with everything that’s going on. I can’t even imagine what’s started the drama this time.” Etenesh shook her head.

“Oh, it’s colorful.” Jember turned towards Truth. “So, sorry if this is something you already know, but, like the Desrin, the Siphios Orthodoxy doesn’t believe in divorce. Or, to put it more bluntly, they forbid divorce. There is no such thing as a secular wedding in Siphios, and likewise, no such thing as a secular divorce. On the other hand, the Synod of the Progressive Temple of Siphios does allow divorce.”

“I have a sinking feeling.” Truth said.

“Now, a nice young Desrin man, a prominent figure in the Birdies’ fan mob, gets engaged to a girl from out of the neighborhood. Not from the Brickies turf, but in that direction. She happens to be Progressive. This is a big deal and was actually put forward as an example of the healing divisions, return of positivity, etcetera.”

“Think I heard about that, actually,” Etenesh muttered. “Didn’t she wear the colors?”

“After they got engaged, yeah. She was out in the Birdies colors. As I said, big coming-together thing. Until she called off the engagement. And was seen walking around with Lefty Dagnaw. A big man in the Brickies’ mob.”

Truth winced. Oh yes, he could see exactly where this was going.

“Yes, I think I get it now. The Birdies are outraged by the blasphemy and one of their own getting cuckolded. The Brickies say they did nothing wrong, and really, if the engagement is off, why do they care who she dates? Both sides, of course, claiming the woman belongs to them.”

“Exactly. So as you can imagine, it’s been… tense.” Jember nodded.

“Also, just so you know, Tommy- “engaged” is both a religious and legal agreement for the Desrin and the Orthodox both. Breaking an engagement is often legally impossible. Marriage scammers are a real, and really nasty, bunch,” Etenesh added. “Just be aware.”

“Ah. Thank you. So… we are going to hide in our rooms after encouraging the Temple to raise its wards?” Truth asked.

“Oh, no way! The match will be epic. We have to get out of here while we can. Who knows when our next liberty will be.” Jember waved grandly towards the door.

“I think I already mentioned the whole “Not going into the balconies at Old Mek’elle. Not today, not ever, not for any reason?” Etenesh cut her hand sharply through the air.

“Oh, please! You think I joined any old cult?” Jember’s smile would have warmed the heart of a dentist. “Temple box seats. Right on the midfield line. Catering comes standard.”

“Well. I can do a lot of my reading before lunch.”

Truth looked at the two cousins and just knew he was going to be hauled into this.

____________________________________________

Old Mek’elle was a long, narrow arena with steeply vertical terraces looming over the pitch. Lots of brick paving, Truth noticed. Subtlety was not a valued trait here. You could see it from a long way off, which was lucky given the monstrous sea of people around it. It would be incredibly easy to get lost.

“The Temple boxes are through East 10 gate. They have their own lane. Come on!” Jember pushed them forward. Truth had been told to put on his military-looking outfit and wear his Zeph. Apparently, between the hat, sword, clothes, and rigid posture, he was the spitting image of a strict Desrin bodyguard. A bunch known to have absolutely no sense of humor about their jobs. It wasn’t like the crowd parted before him, but there was considerably less shoving as they made their way to the security screening.

Everyone was first checked for a ticket, and the authenticity of the ticket was verified by crouching demons. Fake tickets got you a firm smack from the demon and an ejection from the stadium. This was generally greeted with laughter by the other patrons. Truth noticed everyone was wearing red and white colors. Some scarves, which he assumed were team scarves, some hats, and many shirts. All in red and white. One shirt had a big pair of angel wings embroidered on the back. He assumed they were on the Birdie side.

The queue for the boxes was understandably short. They zipped right up to the security gate, Jember presented the demon with a startlingly ornate amulet. This seemed to pass muster, and they were permitted through to the security screening. This was a green field projected by an array on the ceiling. Jember and Etenesh had various items of jewelry pop up with red glows, while Truth’s sword seemed to have its own ruddy spotlight. Jember produced the amulet once more while Truth exchanged his patented Bodyguard look with security.

“You have a job to do. So do I. Let’s not make each other’s life harder than it needs to be. Because I will make things very, very hard indeed if you interfere with my job.” His eyes said.

“Try it.” They replied. And then let him through with his sword.

The hallway was sparse, with pictures and murals of presumably famous players and plays. Truth still thought they looked silly, jutting their hips out to bash an almost solid rubber ball around. But the look on each face was one of utter focus and determination.

“So… Temple boxes?” Truth quietly asked.

“Special luxury boxes are set aside for different groups. Some are available to the public, or at least the very rich parts of the public. Others are only available to the clergy or high nobility.” Jember explained. Etenesh was withdrawn. The gray had settled in sometime after breakfast, and it took some coaxing to get her to come out.

“And your fellow cultist just loaned you the box for the game?”

“It’s exciting for us, but he’s got it year-round. Given the delicate political situation, he felt it was wisest if he didn’t come in person.”

The luxury boxes were… interesting. Truth wasn’t quite sure what to think. A couple of plush armchairs and some deep leather couches, a sideboard with nibbles and drinks, a scry ball for some reason, and an admittedly impressive view of the pitch. He wasn’t sure what made that a luxury. Compared to the people crowding together on the stone benches in the rest of the stadium, they were very comfortable. But luxury?

Perhaps clergy were meant to be a bit more austere.

There was a concert going on, some kind of song and dance show, down on the field. He couldn’t really make it out from this high up, but then Jember activated the Scry ball, and he could see it just fine. Tight choreography and the costumes were fun. The music was boring, though. Must be a cultural thing. The performers wrapped up, enjoyed their applause, and left. The pitch was quickly readied for the game.

“According to the program, the Patron for the game is Dame Berhane. The League must be really pushing for reconciliation. Either that, or it’s political. Wouldn’t be unprecedented.” Jember muttered. Seeing Truth’s inquisitive look, he added- “She’s a former championship player, captained a couple of championship teams too. Knighted for her service to sport after her retirement. Terribly old now, of course. Has to be at least one hundred and twenty. But she’s still vital and a real presence in the sport. With her here, you can be sure the officiating with be strict and fair. Fan behavior will be regulated, too.”

The teams ran out onto the pitch, greeted by roars of applause. The Birdies in their solid red and white, the Brickies in blue and yellow striped shirts, with blue shorts and yellow socks. Both teams lined up in their halves of the field, put their arms around each other’s shoulders, and faced the flag. The national anthem was sung. An old woman in a pure white robe floated out over the middle of the pitch. At exactly one PM, she dropped the heavy, black rubber ball. Playing with the fate of millions.

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