Slumrat Rising

Chapter 115: The Healing Place

“No. You must hold Mrs. Proudwhiskers in an arm cradle. You must support the whole body, or it is painful for her, as well as an offense to her dignity. Observe how I do it with Crabknuckle.” Truth was strict, but Merkovah had to learn. This was a special place, and things were to be done properly.

“I think I was on firmer ground with the hedgehogs. Shame we can’t feed them more.” The old monster finally seemed to fit his youthful face as he juggled the cat in his arms. Mrs. Proudwiskers was an amiable lady, but she had the tendency to flow like a bread bag filled with water, and holding her was a constant challenge.

“It’s alright. You have something to look forward to next time.” Truth comforted him. The complaint was completely reasonable. The Hedgehogs were adorable when they were eating the tiny carrots. As were the hamsters. Apparently magical, there seemed to be no upper limit to the number of seeds a hamster could store in its cheeks.

“What even is this? What are you? No, off with you. Away. Stop licking me! I’m not delicious! Help!”

Etenesh was trying to fend off a shaggy mountain disguised as a dog. Rosy (“Rosy-Posy-Puddin’-And-Peaches” read the tag on her collar) was a consummate professional and well used to dealing with difficult clients. Her thick, triangular head slipped around the fending arms, her short ears gliding under Etenesh’s wrists as her meaty shoulder got into place. A quick lean to one side to open up the guard and then- the strike!

Pink, slobbery, but with a dreadful, sticky friction, Rose’s tongue slapped out and covered half of Etenesh’s face. With deliberate authority, Rose dragged it from chin to temple. Once satisfied, she stuck her muzzle into the crook of Etenesh’s neck and tried to lick the ear from entirely too close.

Etenesh couldn’t hold out. She collapsed into a fit of outraged laughter as she wrestled with the grand hound. “Jember, you swine! Rescue me!”

“I can't. Save yourself Coz’, the otters have me.” They did, too. The brilliant mustelids had him surrounded. Some stood on their back legs, beseeching him for treats with their little clawed hands. Others played the heel, nipping around to try and snag any unsupervised snacks. Most crucially, no matter where Jember turned, there was a little staring face with its big eyes demanding affection. And treats.

The cafe made you sign a waiver certifying you were not a mathematician before you played with the otters. Truth neither knew nor cared why that was. He just signed and got extra snacks.

“Is everyone having fun? We also have a snake you could meet if you would like.” The attendant asked.

“A snake?”

“Yes, Danger Noodle Supreme. You are all Level Three and above, so there’s no problem handling our most colorful companion.”

Truth shrugged, initially uninterested. Snakes, he had long since observed, were neither warm nor floofy. Then he nodded vigorously. There was an opportunity here. “Yes, thank you.”

Danger Noodle Supreme was brought out by a gauntleted attendant. Not quite a meter long, Danger Noodle was a surprisingly spikey snake. The scales were mostly green at the base, but along its back and particularly around the head and neck, the scales stretched out a few millimeters. The dorsal scales progressed from green to an almost white tan, then into a riot of oranges and blues.

The attendant handed Danger Noodle to Truth, who immediately set to examining him. Her? He had no idea how you figured out the sex of a snake.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Yes, Danger Noodle Supreme is a member of the Flower Viper family, so called because they are so pretty and because they like to wrap themselves around the stems of reeds and sun themselves on wide, flat leaves. The unique scales and coloration are camouflage. While the colors are bright, in Danger Noodle’s natural habitat, she would blend in. The pointy scales help break up her shape when she is still, so both predators and prey don’t recognize a snake when they look at her.”

“Wow!”

“Yes, she is very special. She was a rescue- someone wanted an exotic pet and then changed their mind. It’s infuriating when you think about how their range has utterly collapsed due to expanding commercial farms.” The attendant realized that he might be damaging the vibe, and stepped back.

“Lot of that going around, friend. A lot of that going around.” Truth murmured to the snake as he peered at it, moving it around. The scales were layered, of course, one resting on top of the other in tidy rows. That’s how they could bend and shift with the snake as it moved.

It seemed a lot less “impervious” than he would have thought. For some reason, he imagined the scales like a suit of armor. This was more like tough skin or fingernails.

Truth dragged a finger along the snake’s back, feeling his own fingernail bounce over the colorful spines. Perhaps that was the way to think about it- skin, not armor. Armor was rigid and unchanging. Skin got shed.

“Does this snake shed its skin too? It seems kind of spiny for that?”

“Yes, it does. The spines are just scales that stick out more than usual, so it’s no problem.”

“Does dirt and stuff get trapped in there? It seems like it would.”

“Yes, though less than you might think. They are good at avoiding muck. They also shed more than you might think- between once a year and several times a year, depending on age.”

“Are the scales good at stopping damage?”

“Well, incidental things that might give someone a scrape, maybe. But really, they aren’t armor. They help the snake move, help it hunt, and help it retain water in dry places. Did you know that snakes often hunt by vibration? They can sense movement through their scales. Their whole body becomes a sort of detector, letting them strike at things they can't see. “

Truth took a closer look at Ms. Danger Noodle Supreme. There was probably a lot he could learn here, in the healing place.

_______________________________

Truth sat next to Etenesh in the waiting room next to the practice Pitz field on the University campus. News of the duel had spread too widely, the number of witnesses growing to absurd numbers. It was two young people, elite scholars and future pillars of the nation, fighting to the death for pride and honor.

Truth examined that thought for a bit. He was, to his continued disappointment, in the violence industry. This should surely be less morally objectionable than, say, a shootout in a bar. For some reason, he just felt sad. He wanted Alemu dead, yes, but not like this.

He didn’t want Alemu to have this absurd dignity. Alemu certainly shouldn’t have the opportunity to hurt Etenesh. Truth was the one who was poisoned. Why should Alemu have the chance to hurt him a second time?

Etenesh didn’t see it that way. As far as Etenesh was concerned, what happened to Truth was unforgivable, but what happened to her and Jember was far, far worse. To be labeled Te’mushd- apostate and traitor both, was the stuff of vendettas.

Her family’s service to both Temple and Throne stretched back to the founding of Siphios, when the very first humans trod upon this world. Strictly speaking, they may even predate the Dutchy of Red Valley, though that was a controversial position for people below the rank of Duke.

Blood would wash away blood. The Duke was no towering figure of the aristocracy- he was a man with a lot of inherited wealth, a few buildings whose upkeep drained his considerable fortune, and a deep legacy of privilege. He wasn’t going to come at them with hundreds of armsmen and thousands of bound demons. Nor did he want to face the wrath of an ancient clan of angelic mediums and summoners.

The children were called to the sands, made to be a proxy for their elder's sins and ambitions. As it ever was. As it ever would be.

“Do me a favor, Mr. Wells?”

“Probably.”

“I will only accept one loss today. Kiss me after the duel?”

Truth smiled. He reached for her hands, pausing until she nodded. He picked them up and held her two slim wrists in his large hand. He pressed them against the cool sandstone wall above her head.

He leaned in, inhaling the scent of her- floral, and the resin of temple incense, and that funky sweet smell that lingered even after the divine intoxication eased. He could see her pulse speed up, and her breath quicken.

“I said after the duel. I’m still in the purification period.” She murmured, making the faintest struggle to free her hands.

“You are in danger.”

“I am. It would be more than just bad.”

“Up to me then.” He breathed her in.

“Up to you.”

Truth leaned in and let his teeth snap near her neck. She jumped a little, goosebumps rising.

“I have been wondering what it would be like to bite you. Just a little bit. So that will be for me, after the duel. And I will kiss you. And that will be for me too.”

Truth leaned close, whispering. “But if you do well, if you are brave, and wise, and careful, and ruthless, and come back to me, then I will be brave too. I will let you hug me, Etenesh. I will let you hold me, and I won’t run away. And then you can kiss me.”

_______________________________

The seconds had cleared the field, each pacing out the bounds and ensuring there were no hidden dangers. The doctor stood by the side of the pitch in their skintight white one-piece and long-beaked mask. Carefully anonymous, lest some bitter party seek vengeance against them.

Teacher Ferrenet took the south side of the stands where Alemu would be emerging while Merkovah held the north. The stands were packed. There was less jeering than Truth expected. Perhaps the prominent presence of a Level Six and a Level Seven settled them down.

Truth instinctively wanted to hate Ferrenet and tried to find faults in his appearance. In truth, he looked like nothing- a middle-aged man with an ordinary middle-aged face, wearing his formal robes. No beady eyes or cruel twist of his lip. He looked quietly confident, projecting that confidence so that his student would share it.

Merkovah looked like he was mad enough to slap around the Princes of Hell and grinned ruthlessly across the pitch. “Confidence be damned,” he seemed to say, “Your idiot student is going to be slaughtered, and if I have my way, you’re next!”

It was a warm day. Merkovah produced an enormous goose feather fan to blow away some of the sticky heat. That put a crimp in Ferrenet’s expression.

Alemu was the first on the pitch, wearing his formal student robes. He hung a hoop talisman on his left wrist and held an ivory wand in his right hand. His hair was immaculate, his robes neatly arranged, his mein impeccably poised. The very model, Truth thought, of a mage and a gentleman. He wondered how he would look, gutted and screaming on a bathroom floor.

Then Etenesh came out, and Truth stopped caring about anything else. She had changed into a ritual costume for the Cult of the Treasuries of Light. Form-fitting in black and gold, the dress bared her shoulders and displayed her strong legs. Her hair, usually flying wild and free, had somehow grown long and straight, falling to her waist below a winged crown of black feathers, enchanted glass, and heavy gold.

Etenesh had always been slender. Now? Carrying the aspect of God as imagined by her cult? She almost spilled out of her top. Generous to the point of glorious indulgence. Her hips swayed and danced as she strode onto the pitch, tossing about the long black feathers hanging from her belt. Her eyes smoldered with burnt orange. Resting across her newly generous chest was her long copper flail.

An angel descended, six-winged, eyes covered, and feet drifting above the ground. The angel chanted, reciting its worship, and walls of faint light rose around the duelists. Truth wrapped his scarf tightly around his face, blending in with the home fans. The sun reached its peak. A single chime rang- the duel began!