Slumrat Rising

It took twenty minutes for the receptionist to return. Truth noticed that, regrettably, she did not have any coffee. Worse, she was also giving him a distinctly odd look. Well hidden, but he was used to spotting odd looks by now. She, apparently, was used to spotting disappointment.

“Sorry for the long delay, Mr. Wells. Good news on the coffee though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Instead of a paper cup of our cafeteria’s workhorse blend, you will be enjoying three cups of the finest hand picked, sun dried, hand roasted and freshly ground coffee from the steep slopes of the Aussa highlands. Near High Chirchin, which you may be familiar with. Sorry, but I don’t think I have ever met anyone from outside of Siphios that watches Pitz, and you shout for the Blades? Really?” She looked at his scarf, genteely boggling.

“Family connection.” Truth grinned.

“Division Three team though. That’s barely one step above the pub leagues. Didn’t even know you could buy a scarf.”

“They got that small town spirit. Like the real meaning of Pitz lives up there. The feeling in the stands is like nothing else, even if the standard of play isn’t the highest. Perfectly safe for kids too.”

She shook her head in wonder. “I am officially Not Interested in people here to meet with the Trade and Agriculture Department. But I must say, you are difficult to not be interested in. Let me explain what is going to happen next. You will be taken to a very secure ritual room. Some embassy staff will be there. A ritual will be performed. You will be offered three cups of coffee, one at a time. Accept the coffee. You may freely discuss anything while the ritual is being performed. There is no rush, as the ritual can last several hours without any difficulty.”

She took a deep breath. “The most important things to know are- always accept the coffee, enjoy the coffee and the smells, and enthusiastically praise the skill of the person who made the coffee. If you don’t remember anything else, remember those three things. What are the three things that you absolutely have to do?”

“Say yes to the coffee, enjoy the taste and smell of the coffee, praise to the highest of heavens the skill of the coffee maker.” Truth appreciated clear directions, especially when they involved him getting three cups of premium grade Siphios coffee.

“Correct. Fortunately, given… everything… the odds of you messing up are almost non-existent. You will see what I mean.” She smiled in a bemused sort of way and shook her head. “Come on. Let’s get you a cuppa.”

Truth stepped through a pair of double doors onto a mountainside. It smelled like Siphios- that rich green smell of rainy mountain forests and ancient earth. There was a small fire going, already burned down to a fine bed of cinders, with a very low table next to it, and short stools scattered around. Behind the short table was the oldest woman Truth could ever remember seeing. Already sitting and enjoying the view down the valley was an old man, a younger man, and Merkovah.

“Welcome back, Mr. Wells.” Merkovah’s voice was soft. His eyes flickered towards the still open doors. Truth nodded and closed them behind him. The doors into the embassy vanished, and they were wrapped in the illusion of the mountainside.

“This is the Coffee Ritual. You never got the chance to enjoy it while you were traveling with me. It’s not inherently magical, though I suppose that could be debated.” He smiled at the old woman, who paid him no mind. Her hands were busy scooping up green coffee beans and scrubbing them with clean water in a jug. “It does, however, interface remarkably well with some of our very best communication, concealment and privacy spells. And I thought you could use it.”

There was something about the cadence of his voice, the gentleness of it. This wasn’t the pissy Merkovah, or the vengeful one, or the regretful one. This was the Merkovah who had mentored six hundred years of Siphios’ best.

The warmth of that voice landed on Truth and nearly broke him. He knew he was feeling the cold. He had no idea how much the warmth would hurt.

“Thank you, Teacher. I could use a good cup, and some good company.” His voice wasn’t particularly steady.

The old lady was apparently satisfied with the cleanliness of the beans, as she drained the water out of the jug and put a rough iron pan on the coals. The beans went into the pan. They only took a minute to get hot, and another to start roasting. The smell was incredible. The sheer, concentrated aroma of roasting coffee was a sensory joy. He couldn’t help but smile. So did everyone else.

“The secret to the coffee ritual is to be present for it and to appreciate what’s being offered. All the things that are being offered. You will see.” Merkovah smiled.

The beans quickly moved from green to tan to black. They weren’t evenly roasted, some were clearly more cooked than others. The old lady was flipping the pan, making the beans dance. Then stirring with a long metal spoon, and making them dance again. The aroma was intensifying, and the pan was starting to smoke.

“When you say the room is secure-”

“Let her finish this part and start the grinding. Plenty of time to talk then.”

They watched her work quietly. It was only seconds later when the pan started to smoke heavily. She lifted it off the heat and waved everyone over. Truth followed the others, who stuck their whole face into the smoke. The blue-gray whisps seemed to wrap around him as he inhaled the aroma.

Stolen novel; please report.

“I don’t have words.” He didn’t realize he had spoken. It was like the concentrated soul of coffee, translated directly into the brain, bypassing the mouth and stomach. “I am suddenly wondering if I ever drank coffee before.”

“You haven’t.” The old man’s smile took the sting out of his words. “Real coffee is special, and Kuleni is a master of the craft.” The area around the fire pit was scattered with cut long green grass and little yellow flowers. The smoke rising from the pan, the green grass, the flowers, the view from the mountainside, the warmth of the companionship, it was all too much.

Truth collapsed onto a little stool, folding in on himself. He could feel himself shaking, but numbly, as though the body that shook existed at a great distance from the mind feeling the shaking.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. You did well. You did very well. May I touch you?” Merkovah’s voice was soft.

“Not yet.”

“When you are ready.”

Truth sat a while, trying to reconnect mind and body through the storms of emotion. He had… killed an awful lot of people in the last few months. All the introspection he was doing, all the studying and learning about the nature of humanity and the world. It didn’t make the weight of those lost lives less. It made them weigh more heavily.

Eventually, he looked up. “Perhaps we can start with introductions?” He asked. Merkovah nodded.

“Certainly. I am here in the form of a… best to think of it as a specialized sort of golem. My actual body is back in Nag Hammadi, but you really are talking to me.” Truth nodded.

“This gentleman,” Merkovah waved towards the older man “is Bekele, our ambassador in Onis. He is attending this meeting as his job covers a lot more than you might think. Making the coffee is Kuleni, his wife. Having her make the coffee is part of the ritual.” Truth smiled politely at the old man, who nodded agreeably back. The old woman didn’t look up.

He had no idea what Ambassadors actually did, beyond hosting balls in period romance novels. He was surprised by the lack of a last name, until he remembered that the oldest, highest class families in Siphios didn’t use them.

“Next to him is the Embassy’s Diplomatic Security Officer. He is here primarily because the war with Jeon and the volcano could affect the security of the Embassy and its staff. He will also be monitoring the wards here, so don’t find it strange if he doesn't talk much.”

The younger man, middle aged and fit, gave Truth a professional smile and a nod of his own. Now that Truth was looking for it, he could see the younger man’s eyes moving, looking at things only he could see. Truth also noticed that Merkovah hadn’t actually introduced him, which firmly moved the younger man into the category of “Spy” in his head.

Merkovah clearly read his expression, rolled his eyes at him, and pressed on. “His name is Andele Vorka. He is not a spy, I just didn’t think you would care. Which, in retrospect, was a surefire way to trigger your paranoia. Everyone, meet Codename Anchorite.”

Everyone gave Merkovah a look for that one. Even the old lady, who was now pounding the roasted beans in a tall mortar using a long stick. Her jabs with the pestle seemed downright pointed.

“We have all the possible code names painted on little wooden balls. The balls go into a tumbler which gets turned a few times, then one of the balls drops out of a hatch. We discard them for a hundred years after they have been used. I didn’t pick the code name.” Merkovah returned their looks with interest.

“Anchorite, though.” Truth one upped him in the look battle.

“Young man, what are you if not someone who withdrew from secular society for religious reasons? I thought that was the closest thing to a divine seal of approval I had seen in centuries.” Merkovah wasn’t having it.

“Anchorite, though. I would have accepted Partisan, or… I don’t know. Jim. Codename Jim.”

“Random is a lot more secure than risking a pattern. As you very well know.”

Truth had to give him that one. He searched for another line of attack, and realized he didn’t want to bicker. It was comfortable in its way, but it wasn’t what he needed.

“So. Leaving aside the name thing. It’s been a busy little while since I last saw you.”

“Just under three months. You have done in less than ninety days what others could not achieve in centuries.” Merkovah lost the heat from his voice. “I knew you would become someone astounding. I underestimated the quality of my student.”

The ambassador and the security officer just sat, content to watch the two speak. There were clouds moving down the valley. They were so high up, they were looking down at the drifting mists.

The coffee had apparently been ground to the old woman’s satisfaction. She sifted it through a woven basket a few times, removing any chunks that were too large. The powdery grinds were scooped into a wooden bowl. Next to the fire was a fancy looking clay vessel. Round and wide at the bottom, narrowing quickly to a long, tall neck. A handle jutted out from the side, and a long spout extended from just above the wide base. Lacquered in black and painted with simple pictures of flowers in red. Pretty.

She added clean water to the pot, then the coffee grounds. The whole thing went directly on the coals. She fished out one of the burning coals with her metal spoon and quickly dropped it into a little metal box. To the box she added what looked like dried tree sap. The smell of incense quickly mixed with the fresh mountain air and the smell of roast coffee. It was… he didn’t have words. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to exist in the feeling of the aroma.

“To save one person, I killed hundreds directly, thousands indirectly, and at one or two steps removed, millions will die because of me.” Truth felt the words falling out of himself. “There can be no moral justification for that. I did it for selfish, greedy reasons. And yes, I count wanting to save the people I care about as selfish. They are MY people, and MY happiness is dependent on their safety and happiness.”

He looked down the mountainside. He felt a terrible loss. He would never live here. There would be no home for him in this world. Not with what he knew was coming. He wouldn’t stay here even one minute longer than necessary. He would scoop up the sibs… hopefully with Harmony included in that number… and Etenesh, and Jember, and even Merkovah and a few other people, and just GO. Where, he didn’t know or care.

Maybe he would take Niles and the Succubae. Thrush? Would Susan want to go? Her entire existence was based on conquering this world, so maybe not.

“I would very much like to only kill one other person. I won’t be that lucky of course, but really, there is just one more head I need to take.” Truth called the Tongue to hand, and laid her on his lap. “Which way do I point my blade?”

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