Slumrat Rising

Truth kept quiet. There wasn’t any benefit to lying to the seniors, but he didn’t know what to say, either. The mists had enclosed the hot spring now, the green trees on the mountain had blurred into nothing. The jutting stones now looked like looming demons coming out of the mist. Ironic, really.

“Well, it’s something to do. It’s become our passion.” The big man’s grin inspired unpleasant questions about what else he was passionate about.

“It pushes us to continue improving and perfecting our art.” The elegant man sipped his wine again, savoring it. “In the time remaining.”

“The two seniors seem unconcerned about the collapse. Can you save yourself from the loss of magic?”

“One, the magic isn’t lost. We just can’t touch it anymore. Those great eminences will not suddenly cease to shine. The distinction is important.” This with a bullish snort. “Two, no, we can’t. Maybe some portion of our art will survive, but probably not. Bad climate for it.”

“The seniors’ composure is admirable. This junior will have to work hard and improve.”

“Mmm. You should.”

The elegant man shook his head. “No, don’t mislead him. It’s different for us. Some demons fear death greatly, but many of us do not. Equanimity in the face of eternity is not a cultivated quality of our character, merely a trait we were created with.”

“I had heard something similar from another senior. They were indifferent to their coming end and were happy to have something to do in the meantime.”

“Quite right. Having something to do is quite underrated. It’s why I first picked up a stick and copied the heavenly formations in the dirt.” The calligrapher smiled with fond recollection.

“For me, it was seeing a suggestive tree.” Wet, cruel chuckles, then the big man continued. “I thought that would look even better without all the… unnecessary limbs. So I tore ‘em off, and damn if I wasn’t right.”

“Your coarse character could stand to be improved.”

“Heh, said the thug.”

Truth watched the two old demons bicker. They looked comfortable. Like they knew each other so well that even their bickering was comfortable. It was a way to… love one another. A love apart from sex. Was this what Jember was chasing? No, not exactly, but maybe it was a part of it. Funny. He had never thought of friendship as a form of love.

“Well, enough about us. How does a “bodyguard” have so much blood on him? It looks like some Praegerite absorbed some of your sin, but the bodies don’t shake loose so easily.”

“I do wonder about that. Absorbing “sin” and all. When no one can agree on the nature of God, but we all know there is a Heaven and a Hell, how can there be sin? And how can that sin be moved from one person to another? And if the Pragerites can do it, why not the Desrin, or the Siphios?” Truth asked.

“I can answer some of that,” said the elegant demon. “The Siphios believe that sin is less of a tangible thing and more of a character defect. You have to repent for it and take steps to lead a more virtuous life, but God is really looking for your obedience. If you behave well, you go to Heaven. If not, Hell. The more virtuously you live, the more you are assured you are of a comfortable afterlife. ”

The sculptor nodded along with the poet. The poet continued. “Now the Desrin are a little more interesting. They acknowledge the existence of Hell, but they don’t see it as a permanent destination. All proper souls, which is to say Desrin believers who have done their best to live a virtuous life, eventually go to Heaven.”

Truth frowned a little. His impression of Desrin, an admittedly very small sample, was that they were generally very devout. Even the club owner who sold meat and liquor was very… faith-and-community focused.

“It’s not quite that simple, of course.” Truth nodded. It never was. “You see, they also believe that sin is both a tangible thing, like the Praegerites, and evidence of a character defect, like the Siphios. To go before God contaminated with sin would be equivalent to insulting him- you failed to live by his command, after all, and could not live virtuously. So you go to Hell before you go to Heaven. It’s more of a temporary stop-over, where you are forced to confront your misdeeds and do penance for them. Once you have “perfected” your soul, you are permitted into Heaven.”

Truth raised an eyebrow. Sounded like a cop out. The elegant man smiled predatorily. “Of course, the worst sin, the one that lands you a permanent seat in Hell, is disdaining God. Ignoring his commands and trusting in the calcinating powers of Hell to save you. Hence, the practice of the Muq. Eternally pressing themselves to hold the highest standards of virtue. The path of perfecting themselves, to perfectly align with God’s plan for them.”

That sounded more like it.

“Do the seniors have an idea which is correct?”

“None of ‘em,” grunted the big man.

“The truth is like this pool. We can deduce many things from what little we see and what we feel. Occasionally a bird flies past. You hear the sound of falling water. You believe you know what is behind the fog. But you don’t really know. Knowing, itself, is a logical impossibility.”

“Yet the honorable senior wrote a poem on the subject of morality so powerful, it inspires others to violence.” Truth leaned hard on the polite language he had seen servants use. And, if he was honest, what he had learned in romance novels. The two demons seemed friendly, and he wanted to keep them that way.

“Just so. One can live a virtuous life without having certainty about God’s precise demands.”

The big man chuckled at that, then started outright laughing at the expression on Truth’s face.

“Hey kid, let me ask you something. What is virtue?”

Truth shrugged. “Based on this conversation, this junior could only guess that virtue is that which is beloved by God.”

“An excellent guess. Many, not everyone, but many, would agree with you.” Truth certainly hoped so. The conversation had been leading that way. “Not me, though. Because there is a follow up question.”

Truth sighed internally. Of course there was.

“Are those things beloved by God because they are virtuous, or are they virtuous because they are beloved by God?”

Truth parsed that out, and his frown deepened. “I’m afraid I must show my ignorance. I do not know.”

The two demons laughed, kindly and cruelly, but honestly either way. “Nobody does,” the elegant demon murmured, “The riddle has no answer. So we must look for answers apart from God, or simply have faith that the religion we follow is correct in all important particulars.”

Silence fell over the hot springs once more. Were there ghosts drifting in the mists? Truth didn’t believe there were chains of ghosts following murderers. If that happened, who would kill?

“Seniors, why am I here?”

“For the hot spring, of course. After all that killing, you need a good soak to relax.” The big man opened one eye and looked over at Truth with a leer. “We have lived a very long time. You start to pick up on some things, some ways the world works. We knew the inn would catch the right someone if we plonked it down here.”

The elegant one picked up the thread. “We are dying. We invested too much of ourselves in our art. Scattering ourselves in all the little ghosts and spirits we reformed. The thinning magic will claim us soon. So we thought we would die as we lived. With grace and gratitude.”

“Indulging ourselves.”

“Healing the world.”

“Giving tomorrow better options.” The enormous demon’s voice dropped into a satisfied growl.

“And besides, in addition to all the killing, you have picked up a spell that tries to draw on our patron. The first we have seen in… centuries? Millennia?”

“Millenia.” The brutal sculptor agreed.

“Botis is your patron?”

They laughed.

“Certainly not! That one is far too unsocial. And while we may be demons, we like to think we are enlightened ones. Which is why we pledged ourselves to Manda. One who reveals the truth of the world.” Truth sat up suddenly. “And of course, once you know that truth, you can correct errors. Set the world on the path it belongs on.” The poet concluded.

“Cup and Knife.”

“Is that the name of the spell? Damn fool name.” The sculptor laughed. “Some scholar thought he figured something out and was searching for a way to make the spell sell, I’d bet.”

“Pity.” The elegant demon shook their head. “Especially since that Eminence serves the Aeon-”

There was an incredible peal of thunder. Lighting reached down with blue-white fingers, striking the mountainside and blowing away the mist.

Truth and the demons looked at the strike in shock. “That was unsubtle,” said Truth.

“Well, those great ones don’t have to be subtle. It seems that some of the old taboos are still in effect. Screw it, you are still a long way from those things. Feeling relaxed, healed, energized? Possessed of a new perspective?” The big demon asked.

“Yes. Even with the lightning, my body feels quite relaxed and refreshed.” Perspective?

“Good. Scram. We won’t meet again.”

“Simply run off the waterfall. Keep going downhill, you will find a village nearby.” The poet smiled kindly.

“My thanks for the hospitality and a most interesting conversation.” Truth bowed to them. They waved him away. He missed their shared smile.

He ran, quick enough that the water could hold his weight, then from stone pillar to stone pillar. A final leap, and he was over the waterfall, staring down at the valley below. He fell a long way until he reached the trees. Once he was at tree-top height, he could redirect his energy. He lept from tree to tree as gravity pulled him back towards the earth. He never looked back. He knew he wouldn’t see anything if he did.

He found a road at the bottom of the mountain, and, as promised, there was a village less than five kilometers away. Truth had to admire it for a moment. It was just so… perfect.

The nicest houses in the village hadn’t been painted in years. The majority were in active states of decay. Which isn’t to say that the town was empty. The combination rest stop/sandwich shop/post office/general store/pharmacy did a booming business, keeping their one employee hopping for minutes a day. He had seen cheerier people on the wrong end of a beating. It was the definition of a North Jeon mountain town.

Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t go in there on a bet. Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t be running naked and barefoot across the mountains of North Jeon. There were saplings and bushes. They couldn’t hurt him, but they certainly disintegrated any shred of dignity he might possess. Maybe the store had pants. He couldn’t think why it would, but maybe.

The store looked just as spiritually dead on the inside as it did on the outside. The clerk was similar, and Truth had to do a double take to make sure they were still breathing. Level Zero. He looked around the store, and to his shock, there were actually work pants and tee shirts available. Boots, too. Likely the only place anywhere near here where people could get clothes.

He didn’t have any money. He would have to shoplift it. He picked out a set of clothes, found boots his size… and hesitated. There were paper maps in a rack near the front. He checked one. There was a much bigger town about forty kilometers down the road. Bigger town meant chain stores. Places where a full set of clothes wouldn’t equal a month’s wages for the broke, broken, souls haunting the village.

And really, he wasn’t being hurt by being naked. It was just a little embarrassing. He could feel that little fragment of Etenesh warming him. Proud of him. Truth put everything back and walked out again. He noticed that the village was built on a crossroads. Should have been a clue right there- nothing good would come of this place. He sighed and started running down the road again. Off to rob someone he didn’t pity.

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