Slumrat Rising

Chapter 59: What Price A Goat?

Truth woke with the dawn, feeling something skittering over his leg. He tried to shake it off, still half asleep. He felt something poke his ankle, then again. Not painful, really, but weird. He looked down. A small brown scorpion was trying to sting him. The stinger hit his skin and just bounced off. Tap, tap, tap.

He gently picked it up off the ground and held it in his hand. No need for magic. Just picking up a scorpion and letting it freak out harmlessly on his hand. Ugly little thing. He couldn’t bring himself to hate it. It didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on but was doing its best to go out fighting. And it couldn’t hurt him. Couldn’t even touch him.

“I get you, little buddy. I get you.” He gently set the scorpion down on the orange dirt and watched it run off.

“If Master doesn’t want it, may I eat it?” Thrush asked.

“Not that one. Feel free to grab all the other bugs I see crawling over me, though. And in my clothes.”

“Gladly.”

As the demon dematerialized into a black fog and started swirling around him, Truth dug out the maps from his sack. B8, the road he was on, had already shrunk to a single lane. It would remain a single lane until it ended at a T junction with the A3 road roughly… one hundred and sixty kilometers from here. Was the A road going to be a big highway, he wondered? Well, he’d find out soon enough.

“Development Sheet.”

BODY DEVELOPMENT *NOT GIMPED EDITION, YES REALLY, YOU CLOWN*

Stellar Ray Attunement- 90%*

Bone Density- 5.1*

Strength- 3.7*

Speed- 4.0*

Proprioception- 7.0*

Reflexes- 7.0*

Level Progression- 98%

Resistance to magic- Level 0: 10%, Level 1: 5%, Level 2: 1%

Hmmm. Everything was the same except for the level progression. That had somehow managed to jump five percent after… three cultivation sessions? Really, really good ones, no doubt, but still. No one would buy elixirs if that was normal. Stellar ray attunement must be doing the heavy lifting there. He had been… oh god, he couldn’t remember. Something in the sixty percent range? Something like that, back when he first unlocked body cultivation.

Why didn’t his skin toughness turn up on the sheet? Was that not something Starbrite took standard measures for? Seems unlikely. Oh well, he wasn’t going to worry about it right now.

Right now, the important thing was to see if he could borrow the bathroom at the Kwa Kabwere Garage. He might be able to dig a hole with his hands, but he was damned if he wanted to wipe with them. He looked at the scrubby, dense little shrubs around him with their horribly prickly leaves.

He could pay the guy back if he had to kick in the door.

He did not have to kick in the door. It turned out that the owner started his day at dawn. Truth was a bit startled by this, but the explanation was soon apparent. The owner’s wife turned up and started running the grill.

The wife, brilliant black eyes and hair up in an orange scarf, plonked down two huge pots. She filled one pot with dark black peas or beans (Truth wasn’t sure what they were, exactly) and the other with oil. Some kind of milk went into the pot with the beans while the oil heated up. Then a tub of spices, onion, tomato, chili, and other ingredients he didn’t catch.

While that was heating up, she started making up a dough, working in lemon zest and some powdered spice Truth didn’t recognize. Strong arms and strong hands pulling, slapping, folding.

His two-wheeler wasn’t ready yet, and wouldn’t be for a couple of hours. No matter. Truth just hung out and watched the wife cook. He soon had company. Quietly chatting, the laborers from the nearby farms and businesses gathered around the grill. Not farmers, apparently. Just “laborers.” Who didn’t trigger the same visceral loathing? Odd. Maybe you had to own the farm to be a farmer?

Newspapers were swapped, with those who could read reading for those who could not. Truth didn’t catch the language; it wasn’t Re’inyo. Looks like he got lucky with the garage owner. The sun was clearing the horizon and climbing with speed.

With some ceremony, the wife rolled out her dough into rough circles, cut the circle into quarters, and started dropping the quarters into the hot oil. She banged the other pot's side with her ladle, yelling something. The husband came out, calling back to her. She tossed her head and sucked her teeth, snapping her words out. This got a laugh from the laborers, who seemed used to the show.

A rough hand patted Truth on the shoulder. He looked over at the already fragrant laborer waving him towards the pot. The laborer said something Truth didn’t understand, but he saw the other laborers nodding. Apparently, he was the guest and was to eat first.

The wife ladled out a big bowl of peas and put two of the fried pieces of dough in there. A cup of milky tea was firmly placed in his hand. He was directed toward the clay cup of plastic spoons, then waved away when he tried to pay. She flatly refused and shooed him away. Truth desperately wished he could thank her in her own language and just repeated “Thank you!” over and over again in Re’inyo.

He took a big spoonful of the peas. His head snapped back, and his eyes opened in shock. Delicious was too mild a word. Incredible! Joy in a bowl! It was lightly sweet but mostly spicy and savory, with herbal notes and a growing warmth from garlic and chili. Nourishing? His cells practically screamed with ecstasy.

He tried the fried dough. Lightly sweet, puffy, and a rich tan color. The flavor… lemon and something he couldn’t put words to. An almost herbal spice, intensely aromatic. In a daze, he sipped the tea. Thick, rich with condensed milk, and slightly bitter.

Well, he lived here now. Maybe they needed help in the fields. He could learn to be a mechanic. He knew talisman maintenance. Transferable skill right there.

Truth recovered enough to keep eating. He took the time to savor every bite and every sip. He was the first to get his food but was far from the first to finish. Apparently, he counted as a free show with breakfast. He watched how people returned their cups, bowls, and spoons, then did the same. With immense regret, Truth made his way over to the garage.

His two-wheeler now had a real seat installed and a rack to which he could safely tie his stuff. It was nicely cleaned up too. He got quoted a price that he was sure was three times what the locals paid, paid it, and added an extra twenty shillings on top for a tip.

Truth hit the road in an odd sort of mood. Was this really still the Ressilaud Free State? Guaranteed 97% bandit by weight? Because these people were lovely. Really, really lovely. Everyone in Shomburuti seemed like a bag of dicks, but… ok, that wasn’t fair. The professor had been pretty great. And the guy selling omelets was kind of a prick but not the worst. What was he missing?

He stopped by a little store by the side of the road, loading up on supplies and making sure to collect both toilet paper and a small shovel. The things you forget when you leave in a hurry…

Truth looked down the one-lane road that seemed to head straight north into the sky. Not much in the way of traffic. Hardly anything, actually, but it was decently paved. He grinned and let his magic lash the chained spirit into motion. The iron horse screamed as it ran for the horizon.

He let his speed creep up higher and higher. Whipping past slower-moving two-wheelers. Heavy wagons were practically stationary obstacles to him. Truth relied on his superhuman reflexes to safely navigate. More than safely- he was having fun. So he did it. Laughing like a loon.

Lunch was taken on a rock by the side of the road. The packed food was really nothing special. Regrettable. He would have to do better for dinner. He pressed on, watching the green scrubby plants slowly give way to even spikier thorn bushes. The tangerine orange dirt slowly turned a brick red as the air noticeably dried out. Even when he was running flat out, the air was warm.

When he stopped, it was almost lethally hot. Literally so. Truth wondered if his insane constitution was the only thing protecting him from heat stroke. He hoped the field hands were doing alright. Presumably, they knew how to manage the heat.

He reached the T junction with the A3 sometime late in the afternoon. Contrary to what he thought, the A3 was also a single-lane road. However, the intersection was a veritable hive of industry. There were as many as four buildings! A dozen shacks on the verge of collapse! Eight signs! For what? Unclear!

Truth laughed. Even with the most positive attitude, this was a nothing place. The pile of bald tires under a short thorn tree probably counted as a tourist attraction. The place was so dead the local goatherds were hiding in what little shade was cast by the buildings. Truth spotted one sitting with their goat in the little puddle of shade cast by a sign. He could get that. One of the buildings looked like some kind of office. Maybe he could ask for a bathroom visit and some water.

He was flipping through a phrase book to refresh his memory when a large olive-drab-covered wagon pulled into the intersection. The goatherds immediately gathered their flocks and tried to run, but soldiers- bandits? Jumped out of the back.

The soldiers were yelling, waving their fetishes. Pointing them at the goatherds. Some ran into the buildings, pulling the occupants out into the street. Shoving them to their knees. There were… twenty of them. Old fetishes. Poorly maintained. Probably not very good when they were new. Definitely military surplus. One started pointing a fetish at him, screaming.

“I don’t speak your language,” He said calmly. Or tried to, Re’inyo still being very shaky in his grasp. Didn’t matter. The bandit was fluent in screaming and pointing. The bandit threw a punch. Truth swayed back. He could see the bandits punching and kicking the goatherds, loading the goats into the back of the wagon. One goatherd pulled a knife. An acid bolt burned a hole through his chest. Everyone started screaming.

Ah. This was more like what he expected from Ressilaud Free State.

“It’s been a lovely day. I’ve enjoyed doing the peaceful civilian thing. Can’t wait to get right back to it, actually.” He had switched back to Jeongo. No reason not to. The bandit was screaming again, jabbing the fetish in his face. Looked like he was about to use it too.

“But when you get right down to it, I have always hated bullies, thieves, and parasites. And being screamed at. I really don’t like being hit, either. Hate it, actually. And the thing that has most fucked me up about violence is… I’m just so accepting of it. I can always seem to justify and rationalize it. That’s not ok! That’s pretty fucked up! But man, I don’t know you, and I already hate you. So. Let’s see just what I can do without spells.”

Truth slapped the fetish to one side as his foot lashed out, catching the bandit in the gut. He put both hands on the fetish and twisted it out of the bandit’s hands. He didn’t have a spell handy, but hell, he knew how to use an acid bolter. The bandit’s head disintegrated. He looked around. Nineteen to go.

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