Slumrat Rising

Truth had to fish around in the garbage heap to collect what was probably all the surviving pieces of a miniature spell bird. As best he could tell, it was some kind of kit project. The parts came together with simple fasteners, all the talismans were neatly marked where an unskilled assembler could line them up, and nothing in it was particularly unintuitive. And you certainly would be making this as a hobbyist. Truth couldn’t imagine a single commercial purpose.

Every spell bird Truth had ever seen, from the smallest puddle jumper to the huge, transcontinental geese, had one crucial thing in common- seats. You sat in the bird and directed it where to fly. Most of the actual flying was done by the bound demons, but there was still a human operator to set the birds' course. This hobbyist construction subverted that.

It was shaped like some sort of swallow. From what Truth could tell, it opened along the spine. You stepped into its legs, stuck your hands in its wings, and your head into its skull. Then the whole contraption sealed up around you. You would be within it- a swallow ready to leap into the air, flying swiftly along the mountain valleys, green mountains hiding gray lives beneath. Diving up into the pale blue sea of the sky.

Truth looked it over carefully. Some of the bolts had sheared off, screws were missing, and metal struts had bent. More damningly, some of those broad, simple talisman lines had been cut. Some clearly on purpose, others by accident. It wouldn't be a quick fix, but the construction had been designed for easy assembly by amateurs, and the all-important bound demon was still in place. It would provide most of the energy used for flying, as well as providing the bird “instincts” on how to move.

Truth got stuck in. He didn’t have any better options at the moment, and there was something quietly satisfying about it. Here was a broken, complex talisman device. It didn’t take a ton of skill to repair, but it took training, care, and attention. He cleaned away rust, smoothed out bent metal, and fished out new fasteners from the junk heap. Broken talisman lines were buffed out and redrawn. Bit by bit, he put the broken bird back together. It only took a few hours, and in the end? He had fixed it.

The swallow looked a bit raggedy. Some of the paper exterior had been torn, and there was no good way for him to make it whole. The paint was scuffed, but then, with black feathers, a white belly, and a ruddy face, swallows were never the most glamorous birds. Their beauty was in flight.

Truth climbed inside. The fit was snug, but then, he supposed it was meant to be. The bird gently tightened up around him, his fingers stretching flat, his stomach getting support. The bird suit closed around him. It was a little awkward but not terrible.

“If you will permit me, Master- you should leap strongly, then start flapping your wings. Let the demon guide you. This is its purpose, after all. It should feel like only a minor effort if you are working together properly.”

Truth nodded at that, pushed off harder than ever a swallow managed, and leaped into the sky.

It was awkward at first. Truth was not comfortable shifting control of his movement to anything, but once he stopped trying to overrule the bound demon, it all just… worked. He moved his arms and few upwards. Over the houses and trees. He circled the town, once, learning how a swallow moved. Its speedy dives and sharp curves. It didn’t glide well, but it could corner hard. Above all, though, was the sense of freedom it offered. The ability to move with slight effort in any direction, all three dimensions available for him to play in.

The locals never seemed to look up. There was hardly any pull on his energy. Truth smiled broadly and started flying up the valley. He thought he could get addicted to this feeling.

“Thrush, you are responsible for navigation. Guide me to within forty kilometers of Happori Village. Bring us in on the mountainside, above the village. Keep us away from human settlements and habitations as best you can.”

“I obey, Great One.”

It was delightful. The duffel bag, now full to bursting with the addition of the heavy needler, was uncomfortably stuck between the skin of the bird and his own flesh, but it was an acceptable price for being able to fly. To be able to look down on the world like an angel or demon. Or God. It was different from flying in a commercial spell bird. When you went up in one of those, you were a passenger, traveling in a little bubble of isolation. This was flying. Feeling the air lift you and drop you and the wind try to push you around. Feeling it. Smelling it. Seeing it in marvelous detail as the bird’s eyes could enlarge and focus on what you looked at.

Even in the remote north, you couldn’t completely escape humanity. There were shacks out in the woods. Mines. Carriages and wagons dotted long macadam roads along winding mountain ridges. The steaming, smoking towers of alchemists and steel foundries rose like infernal mushrooms, spreading an ash-spoor over the houses around them.

You couldn’t see people, though. Not without getting low and really looking. They were too small and too wedded to their structures. Their little bubbles of shelter where they lived, worked, traveled. Loved, perhaps. Worshiped, certainly, for there was no trouble finding steeples. Praegerite churches studded the countryside. Attendance was booming, it seemed. He could hear the bells ring as the sun set. Calling the suddenly faithful to give that they might receive.

The mountains were littered with the artifacts of human artifice, without human affection. Carelessly scattered “whats,” waiting hopelessly for some cosmic eye to look for the “whys.” As for the “who’s?” That would be too much to ask. You could infer that people did live there. You could infer something about how they lived, what they valued. But who they were? Never.

The ghosts of Jeon, of this world. Becoming less and less visible and tangible with every remove. No longer qualified to be ants. No longer a rat that could look up and climb. Just the time served, demonstrated in concrete and steel. Before the rains and the rust washed away even that.

It was very free, up in the sky, but very lonely too. He could understand why birds flocked. You wouldn’t want to face that big empty alone. Was that the secret? You only really saw what was on your level. Above and below might not even exist to you. So you didn’t worry about them or care about them. They only intruded into your consciousness when they became a problem.

He made it most of the way to Happori. It would only be about an hour further in the morning, traveling on foot. He made a cold camp, ate some junk food, drank store-brand water, wrapped up in his tarp, snugged his scarf just right, and went to sleep.

To the System’s immense shock, Truth dreamed. No horrible torment involved.

Truth found himself in a vast, rectangular room. A hall, really, or a temple with a single room. One end of the room was considerably higher than the other, as the floor was made up of shallow steps, each several paces wide, leading up to the top. Tall, heavy stone columns rose to a ceiling so high he had to squint to see it. This was a place of grandeur, it seemed to say, and you are very, very small. Which was a pretty cocky take, Truth felt, given that it was still under construction.

Here and there, Angels darted about, etching holy names into the walls, laying blessings, impressing the authority of God upon this place. Demons scurried about, too, fish heads on bodies like a thousand centipedes carefully painting the walls with immense care. Each section of the wall is its own tiny masterpiece, but still part of the great work. There were bigger projects underway, too- headless cherubim with six wings covered in eyes and legs ending in calves’ hooves lifted enormous braziers into place, set down vessels for baptism and purification, and hung chandeliers of stars. And overseeing it all was Etenesh.

She floated in the middle of the hall, strong with her God as Truth had never seen her before. Even more so than the duel. Her wings of black and gold beat slowly, her raptor clawed hands and feet seemed ready to tear open the bellies of the slow or careless. Her eyes blazed ocher, in a face so beautiful, you wanted to break down and gratefully worship her. She was God’s Consort; She who came to be, that all necessary things might come to be.

Truth looked at her in awe. Then snorted. “Figures my first dream is Etenesh setting up our house.”

Her head snapped around, looking down and seeing him there. She sucked her teeth at him and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, my pretty man is here, is he? No, little figment, this is my dream. My man has plenty of his own.”

“Haven’t.”

“Have so.”

“Nah.”

“Look, I’m working here. Everyone dreams. Everyone. Away with your nonsense.”

“I don’t. Never have.”

“Nonsense.”

“Bet you a birr?”

“You are a figment, you don’t have a birr.”

“Bet you a cheese-flavored plantain crisp?”

“Now that’s raising the stakes too high.” Etenesh grumped. Which was adorable on her, but he could see the embodiment struggling. God’s Consort did not grump. “Why are you here distracting me, little figment? Can’t you see I’m working?”

“Yeah, but you are doing it wrong. I’d be a bad boyfriend-” She fixed him with a look and he looked right back, “If I didn’t at least try to help.”

“My HUSBAND, a man famously indifferent to interior decoration of the theological type, has opinions on sacred architecture, does he?”

“Yeah. All the proportions are off.”

“They are not.” She glared down at him. “They are becoming more and more perfect by the hour.”

“Maybe if you are a God looking down, but as a rat looking up-”

YOU WILL STOP THAT AT ONCE! Etenesh didn’t speak. The whole temple shuddered with her will. “Again and again and again, you call yourself a rat. A slumrat. I hate it! I will not abide it! You are no rat!”

“Looks like the anger is touching you now. You might have laughed that off before. Now it hurts you, so you lash out.”

Her ocher eyes narrowed. She murmured as though to herself. “A week ago, someone reached over my shoulder at lunch. They picked an apple off my tray. Marsa, one of the other guests at the hospital. I spun and rose before she could even bring the apple up to her mouth. I let the momentum carry the tray in my hands, the strength in my legs pushing up and forward. I smashed my lunch tray into her throat and would have killed her on the ground if they hadn’t grabbed me. When I was calm again, they asked me, “Why did you try to kill your friend?”

Truth nodded. “And you told them- Now it’s an apple, next time might be my ass. And she ain’t my friend.”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

“So here you are, making a very inefficiently heated, excessively public home for the two of us. With no hot tub, I note, or a big comfy bed.”

She sighed, wings drooping slightly. “I just want our house to look good. It looks right from on high. And we will be seeing it from on high.”

“But what about the rats? Will we be gods over a world of blind rats, so small we cannot even see them? Or will we make a world for people? People who can look up and see the wonders of your creation?”

“I said not to call yourself that! Why won’t you see yourself as a human?”

“Because I don’t think I have ever lived like a human. Whatever that is. I think I would like to be one, before I become a God. It would be a shame to be stuck at King Rat.”

“Well. That’s fair enough. I’ll think about it.” She looked troubled.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve troubles too.”

“Oh?”

“I realized I’m never going to have a threesome.” Etenesh nearly fell out of the air.

“You what?!”

“Never going to have a threesome. Can’t imagine you tolerating it for even one second, and I’m not going to run around on you. No threesomes, ever. Shame. A monogamous God. Ah well. The one time I had sex was pretty great, so, you know, hope for the future and all that.”

“This is your big troubles?” She was having a hard time holding on to the embodiment now. Truth’s eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Well, that and I thought it was pretty fun to be a bird. A swallow. Pretty birds.”

“Yes, quite lovely, especially when they are flocking. So not the, you know, guerilla campaign against the most powerful man in the world-”

“No, that’s going fine.”

“You have bird troubles.”

“More like bird solutions, but yes. Merkovah tell you I asked after you?”

“I haven’t spoken with him in a week.”

“Well. I did. Ask him. I think I’m waking up now.”

“A figment of my dreams is waking up. Sure.”

“Love you, my Etenesh.”

“And I…” She paused, then smiled joyfully. “I can say it here! No one can hear us or hurt us here! I love you! I love you, Truth Medici! I count the days until the world ends, and we can be together forever!”

Truth laughed himself awake.

On the other side of the world, Etenesh woke from a late afternoon nap. Crying and smiling.

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