Chapter 129: Hanging Around

Chapter 129: Hanging Around

“I am intensely uncomfortable with this.”

“Oh, stop being a baby and put your hands behind your back.”

“Standing naked in a forest, tied up, about to be hung from a tree by a strange old man, you can see why this might set off alarms?”

“Strange? Strange! How am I strange?”

“You are a six hundred-year-old terrorist who lures young men out into the woods and gets them naked and tied up. Is this normal around here?”

“Alright, I have had enough of this. We are not terrorists! I am not a terrorist! You haven’t lived long enough to see it, but Starbrite has ruined, RUINED this planet. I am a patriot and a champion for the world. You will cease to refer to yourself or me as terrorists.”

“Sure, sure. Can’t help but notice you’re ignoring the rest of what I said, though.”

“It is perfectly normal- don’t wiggle I need to line this up right- perfectly normal to get naked for a serious magical ritual. Especially one focused on transformation like this one. I can assure you, you have nothing I haven’t seen many times before.”

“That’s reassuring. You have lots of experience- too tight, too tight! Lots of experience with tied up naked young men in the woods.”

There was a pause.

“Well. I do. Now that I think about it, I do actually have a lot of experience with that. It’s a pretty common ritual thing. Not always woods, of course. Or always young men.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Time was, hardly a solstice or equinox went by where I didn’t have some youngster tied down over a stone altar on a mountainside or chained to the bottom of a pond or something. No, don’t straighten up; I’m just grabbing my knife and a rag. This bit is always messy.”

“Every solstice and equinox? Busy guy.”

“Ah, nostalgia is both a curse and a refuge for the old. I look around and see the bitter remains of happier days.”

“GOD! Did you dip that in ice water? What the hell is that?”

“The sacred oil needs to be kept in a cold box, or it goes rancid. You don’t want the scarification to get infected by rancid oil. BELIEVE ME on that.”

“The voice of experience.”

“You want a neophyte carving sacred geometries on your flesh?”

“Fair.”

“But you do actually bring up a good point. I have spent a lot of my long life guiding youngsters, training them, and shaping them into the people Siphios needed them to be. “Teacher” is never just a religious title. We are actually teachers.”This chapter was first shared on the Ñøv€lß1n platform.

“And part of that is guiding them through rituals?”

This was met with murmurs of approval. The Egg Man took the opportunity afforded by the brief applause to snag the coke fiend’s bread roll and butter, directly merged the two, and swallowed it in a single bite.

“Gentlemen! I thank you all for your input. You will receive your instructions privately, but rest assured that our great work is underway. We already control the newspapers, the telegraphs, the railroads, and the ocean liners. Our people are everywhere, invisible, and ready to act when they see the curtain rise. Go. I have things well in hand.”

The table broke up, heading off singly or in pairs as the enormous man swept every remaining crumb into his mouth, including the sugar bowl and the little pitchers of cream. Truth felt that was his cue.

“Your bill, sir.”

The gargantuan bulk jerked to a surprised halt, rotating in place to face Truth. “My bill? My bill? Young man, do you have the faintest idea who I am?”

“No, sir. Do you have an account with us?”

“You have an account with me. This is my place!”

“Very good, sir. I’ll just need to verify that with my manager. I’m sure you understand. However, this was a six-person table, not including yourself, and that means a flat service fee of ten percent. Which must be paid.”

The Egg Man was giving him an increasingly bewildered look. “Young man, do you grasp what was going on here?”

“Yes, sir. I think I was quite a good sport about your amateur theatrical group pretending to be anarchists.”

The rich man burst out laughing. “Yes, you could call it that! As phony as could be. And I, the stage master behind it all. Each actor lost in their role. But the play’s the thing, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure you are right, sir. And yet, you can hardly expect the audience to pay for the ticket if they were never asked if they wanted to see the show. Far less if they were used as ushers and stagehands.”

This got him a hard look from the Egg Man.

“You aren’t big on metaphor or symbolism, are you?”

“Cash on the nail works for me, sir. Literal as you like.”

“Your accent seems familiar. What’s your name? Where are you from?”

“Truth Medici, recently from Siphios.”

“Honest in your fashion, I suppose. I vaguely recall Siphios. Better coffee than here.”

“True.”

The Egg Man was looking distinctly less eggy. His face was extending into a muzzle as long horns sprung from his bald head. A mane silently grew out, and a terrible blend of dragon and lion slowly rose out of the enormous body. The skin slowly rolled down, revealing the serpentine coils within the bulk.

“Well, I think you have learned something today, Truth Medici. Who should not be here past the end of our little play.”

“Couldn’t say, sir. Above my pay grade. Speaking of pay...”

“You even carry an echo of that youngster’s curse. You would think he could take my hint. Goodbye, Mr. Medici. In some tiny way, I might possibly remember you.” The figure grew and grew, the café fading away, the city, the whole world fading away until there was only Truth and the impossible enormity in front of him. The being became so vast Truth lost sight of where the being began, and the universe ended. From somewhere, there came a terrible light. A terrible blinding light. And he couldn’t breathe!