Slumrat Rising

Refraiming

“We welcome the Great God, the unity, the Divine Mind that is both the universe and the person. We call upon the great teacher, thrice great, thrice born, ibis, child, star, giver of all arts and wisdom. We call upon that which is greatest and that which is least. In their sacred and perfect wisdom, let the stars above summon up the starry universe within….”

The droning prayers rolled back and forth between the masked astromancers. Truth sat cross-legged and naked between the ritualists, trying to channel the Stellar Dowsing Elixir along the courses of his body.

The astromancers, one male and one female, had created a ritual room of such perfection that Truth could hardly believe it existed. The mathematically perfect alchemical sulfur and mercury tracings covered the eggshell-thin alabaster walls, acting as a fulcrum between the stars above and the human below.

The entire room was suspended at the bottom of the ship, stabilized within a vast gyroscope. This ensured the rituals were always precisely aligned with the heavens and whatever stellar patrons were invoked. The astromancers promised perfection and, given what their mortal patrons were paying, made sure to deliver it.

The Stellar Dowsing elixir was delivered in a cut glass vial, every millimeter of which was covered in spells carved directly into the glass. The stopper was some alchemical marvel, warm to the touch and perfectly sealed against air, water, and stellar rays. Two hulking combat magi, level three at a minimum, had escorted the ship’s Purser, who delivered it directly to the ritual room in a velvet-lined rosewood box. The liquid was the blue of the sky just before sunrise, and the twinkle of the fading stars danced within it.

The astromancers sat Truth in a carefully emptied square, inside a circle, inside a triangle, all marked and measured with symbols whose significance Truth did not understand. His job was to sit very still, allow his internal stellar energy to circulate as usual, and when the Stellar Dowsing elixir was dropped on his third eye, allow the energy to flow through him. Mark carefully it's passing. And then help it work its way into his spell apertures.

Truth earned more than five years of base salary on his last job, and he was pretty sure that the credits in his account would not buy twenty minutes of the astromancers' services. Astromancy was a dangerous job requiring decades of study to become an initiate. But the results were equally incredible.

A universe was revealed inside of Truth. He could feel the swirl of the stars, the vast, indifferent patronage of those great spirits blessing him with their power and wisdom. He was part of them. They were part of him. They were all part of some great perfection he could not directly perceive but whose existence he could perfectly infer, like gravity.

Nine great stars existed within him. Nine places for magic to dwell. He had to find them. The first was easy, a small, reddish star- but growing. The next one was harder, a clump of nothing inside him, shimmering with promise. He felt the stars from the elixir gather around this star in waiting and swirl more and more tightly, bringing it to the very edge of ignition, then stop and spread throughout his universe. Seven more stellar coordinates were found and graced with swirling starlight.

The droning chant took on a subtly different tack-

“For there is nothing in all the cosmos that he is not. He is himself, the things that are and those that are not. Those that are he has made visible; those that are not, he holds within him. This is the god who is greater than any name; this is the god invisible and entirely visible. This god who is evident to the eyes may be seen in the mind. He is bodiless and many-bodied; he is all-bodied…” The astromancers voices echoed back and forth, and now, rather than finding his spell apertures or helping fill them, the elixir began to widen and deepen them.

The alignment of the stars above, the mystical sigils directing the stellar rays, the crushing will, and the focus of the astromancers all focused on Truth. The stars of the elixir refined the apertures, ensuring that his spells would be more potent in the future. The magic within him would be less fragile or susceptible to demonic attack. The map of his soul was gently tugged into cleaner alignment with his body. The moment of refinement seemed to stretch beyond even the concept of time itself, and Truth became lost in the heavens within him.

Some unknowable time later, the gentle tapping of a bell brought him back to himself. He was coated in sweat and felt exhausted. It was odd and wonderful.

“Your treatment is complete and a complete success. Congratulations. Your future advancement will be remarkable. You may be tempted to take additional elixirs or supplements and immediately break through to Level 2- resist that temptation.” The male astromancer spoke, slightly swaying on his feet.

“Right now, your body is in a very special condition. Just let the natural accumulation of stellar rays gently open your second aperture- the results will be vastly better. Please enjoy this complimentary bottle of spring water, drawn from the Tear of the Eye of Mejuid. You are likely very dehydrated.” The female astromancer sounded like she was making a rote speech, also clearly exhausted.

“I will. Thank you. Anything else I should know or do?”

“Well. That ritual-” The male astromancer started.

“Went much better than usual. Your body seemed to be primed for receiving the blessings of the stars. Interesting body refinement.” The female astromancer concluded.

“Good?”

“Very.” They nodded simultaneously. “Drink the water, go to sleep, find the beauty of the world on board this ship.” They spoke in chorus. They started sleepily undressing each other. Truth got out as fast as his rubbery legs could manage. He was halfway down the hall when he realized he was only wearing a towel.

The cruise ship, because that was what this “hospital ship” was, was incredible. Everybody on board was some manner of mover and shaker, and all had some “malady” that was being treated. Truth was lost initially, but the System suggested an itinerary.

His days quickly filled up with massages, light exercise, therapy, swimming, more exercise, more massage, and some guided socialization with the other guests. Yoo Sung had been there but left two days ago. Oh well. It was nice. Truth sat on the floor of the pet cafe with a cat on his head and a floppy dog on his lap, sipping a cup of milk tea, and realized that, to his incredible surprise, he was happy.

He was simply, uncritically happy. Not joyful or ecstatic or excited or triumphant. Just quietly, contentedly, happy. It felt good just to be. That the fucked up shit in his life was real and terrible, but he had done his best, and he had done well. Right here, right now, he could put it all down. He didn’t have to be the big brother carrying the family, not the combat magus or the bodyguard. Not to be anyone. Just be. With a cat on his head and a dog drooling through his trousers. His chest felt warm. Like the world was opening up to him. Like he was allowed to do more than survive. He was allowed to be happy.

It was a few minutes before he noticed the notification:

Congratulations! You have reached Level 2. Please continue enjoying the facilities on the Star of Mercy.

That night, a woman took the initiative to chat with him at the bar. It was a perfectly nice little conversation. They talked about their favorite animals in the pet cafe. She also recommended some books in the ship’s library. Truth felt on top of the world as he went to bed.

And that was the week. Truth tried the waterslide. He didn’t get it. The “gourmet” restaurants were fine, but he didn’t understand why everyone else was making a fuss. He ordered a burger and got it. Nobody cared except for a couple of people who gave him approving nods. He spent a lot of time at the pet cafe.

In the evenings, he would try to chat with people at one of the bars. His therapists suggested learning “small talk,” and he was determined to give it an honest try. It was an unspoken taboo to talk in too much detail about matters off the ship, but-

“So you are a soldier?”

“Well, security. For a multinational.”

“Hah! Alright. But you’re a vet, right? Like, actual combat? Because you look like it.”

“Do I? Damn. Better book another facial.” He didn’t land the joke but pressed on. “I’m a vet, and yes, actual combat. Although mostly, it’s waiting around. You?”

“Oh, boring stuff. I help connect alchemy reagent suppliers in developing nations and the big alchemy operations in rich countries. Get that win-win going and get paid for it, you know?”

“Sure, sure…”nove(l)bi(n.)com

It reminded him of doing his drop armor training- going up so high, you could see the world's curvature. See its vastness with distance, but lose the endless detail below. The other guests gave him that feeling- that they inhabited the sky above a vast world, a world he was too close to, lost in the details.

On the last day, he was summoned to the aft of the ship, handed a duffel with a clean set of clothes, his Starbrite pin, and a complimentary gift bag with mini-toiletries. A spell bird lay on the roosting pad, waiting to ferry people to shore. With the soft thunder of mighty wings, the construct carried them back to the real world.

Truth spent a lot of time with the Sibs. Many hugs were dispensed, and some strategic investments in wardrobe and furnishings. Credits weren’t inheritable, but he could set them up well in case anything happened to him. He got bombarded with questions about which scry star he rescued.

“So? Are you going out? She knocked up yet?” Sophie asked with a worrying degree of interest.

No, they were not going out. Which Truth didn’t regret. Yoo Sung looked amazing on scry, and she was definitely gorgeous in real life, but she always seemed withdrawn. A mannequin woman. Like she could only really exist on camera, and everything else was just making sure those moments of existence came into being. It was something that made him laugh in therapy. He would cheerfully knock out a bar full of thugs to get a date- but not one like her.

Sergeant Murthey greeted him with genial warmth. “Oh fuck, he’s back. Yeah, yeah, you are up for promotion, but we don’t review for promotions until the end of the year. Don’t tell me what the fuck happened ‘cause I officially don’t want to know. Officially. As in, I was told, in writing, "DON'T ASK.”

“Got it, Sarge. Great to see you too.”

“Jump up your own ass and die.” He paused. The sergeant had spoken reflexively and had sidetracked himself. With a slight shake, he carried on. “That being said, welcome back and all that. We will start you off nice and easy- some babysitting gigs, package escorts, that kind of thing.”

“Sarge, that sounds boring as hell.”

“Oh, not only is it boring, the pay is shit too.” Sergeant Murthey sounded indecently excited by the prospect. “On the other hand, the one thing I am allowed to know about your situation is you just spent a week in the fucking hospital, so guess what? You get to be on light duty.”

Truth had a hard time arguing with that but wanted to try anyway.

“I got discharged! This is bullshit!”

“Take it up with HR.”

“Ha. Ha.” Truth growled.

“No, literally. That’s your next job. HR is hiring you. You get to escort a very special manager to a training retreat up in the mountains. Eight hours of sitting next to her in the hold of a cargo bird, each way.” The sergeant clasped Truth by the shoulder in an intimate, manly way. “Just remember, you are always in our thoughts. And prayers.”