Savage Divinity

Lounging in a recliner on my borrowed pleasure boat, I watch with undisguised glee as the Canston Trading Group’s merchant house crumbles around Ping Ping. Sadly, my satisfaction dissipates upon seeing how distraught she is over my mean-spirited ploy, doing everything she can to return to my side. Despite my five minute head start, Ping Ping easily catches up while showing none of her customary courtesy to the other pleasure boats and cargo ships in her way. Displacing a massive amount of water with her ponderous bulk, her passing sends towering waves crashing in her wake, almost capsizing a handful of nearby ships. Sheepishly pretending not to notice their plight, I get up and lean over the ship’s railing as my needy stalker headbutts the boat in a fit of pique. Rearing up to meet my strained smiled, I reach out to pat her nose. “Hello there,” I croon as she stretches for a closer look. “Were you worried? Sorry about that, but I forgot-”

The world goes dark for an instant, then reality resumes. Blinking to clear my head, I gasp to fill my lungs while my chest burns in fiery agony, finding the world has rearranged itself around me. No longer leaning over the rails, I find myself laid out flat on my back, soaking wet and staring up at the empty sky. Unfamiliar faces peer and whisper from behind Mafu’s fat, floofy head, the concerned quin chittering as he checks if I’m still alive. I am, but I’m not sure if I want to be considering I just got smacked the fuck down in public by a spitting turtle. Hugging Mafu out of reflex and a need for comfort, I finally draw a pained breath with a guttural groan. Drenched in turtle saliva and likely suffering from a mild concussion, I lay in place and cry a little, using Mafu’s thick, warm fur to hide my tears.

Hello, Mother? It’s Rain. Your pet turtle is an abusive bully. Please send help.

Wordlessly sending the crew away, I huddle beneath Mafu’s warm belly and wait for the crippling pain in my chest to subside. Still infuriated by my actions, Ping Ping headbutts the boat every now and then to world-shaking results, but since no one is screaming or running around in panic, I assume she’s being careful not to break anything. That’s one reason I was so comfortable using her as my weapon of mass destruction, her strange reluctance to harm anything she doesn’t consider food. She’s such a polite, well-mannered giant turtle, I’m 95% sure she wouldn’t trample anyone to death, not on purpose at least. Plus, the merchant house is still mostly standing, albeit with a gaping, giant-turtle-sized hole in the middle of it, so I’m confident Ping Ping caused zero casualties in her frenzied rampage.

“Hmph.” Through Mafu’s thick fur, I can make out Guan Suo’s worn shoes standing on deck. “You still breathing boy?” Still unable to speak, I extend my hand and give him an ‘okay’ sign, only to belatedly remember it doesn’t translate. It still gets the point across, and Guan Suo says, “Can’t say I feel sorry for you. Try that again and I’ll do worse, you hear me?”

Flashing him the middle finger, this time I pray it gets lost in translation. Truth be told, I didn’t expect my impulsive plan to accomplish as much as it did. I figured Ping Ping might trample a few walls in her rush to get to the river, but I guess she isn’t as smart as I gave her credit for. Then again, she was incredibly distressed over my ‘escape’, so I suppose she took the most direct route to reach the water. I mean, she could’ve gone down the street and looped around the merchant house, but I guess she didn't want to because it would have brought her even further away.

Note to self: rational thought and panicked dinosaurs do not go hand in hand.

Finally able to breath freely, I roll Mafu aside and peer down my tattered shirt. While I gawk at the damage done, Guan Suo whistles in admiration. Red and swelling, the fist-sized impact site will soon turn purple and ugly if I don’t do something about it, but with my head still spinning, I’ll need an hour or two before I’m clear-headed enough to Heal. I probably cracked my skull on the deck when Ping Ping sent me flying. Concussions are serious business, though I guess I deserve it. Not just for being a jerk to the overly attached turtle, but also for being an asshole in general.

Logically, I understand that the piggies back there were not the same piggies who tormented me six years ago. They’re much better looking than their siblings who tormented me, lacking all the pockmarks and ugly, flabby cheeks, but once I saw those curled, brown ears and bristly, black mohawks my world went red with rage. The unpalatable food, the dirty water, the backbreaking labour, and humiliating torment, it’s all still fresh in my mind like it happened yesterday. Drowning in my memories, all I could focus on was how helpless and vulnerable I’d been back then. Though I’d intended to treat the Canston Trading Group only a little worse than the other merchant groups, once I saw those bristleboar guards I felt compelled to prove to myself that I’m no longer that same powerless slave, that I’d changed.

So I tricked Ping Ping into wrecking shit and now I’m paying the price.

Worth it? Depends. If this is the end of it all, then I guess? If not...

The boat shudders beneath me and I return to reality. Having lost patience with my ‘antics’, Ping Ping’s headbutts have increased in both rate and intensity, as if demanding I show myself and explain my actions. With a miserable, muted whimper, I crawl back to the ship’s railing and slowly peer over the lip, finding myself eye to eye with the irate turtle. “Please don’t spit again,” I plead, wincing as she opens her mouth. Oh god I’m gonna be sick. After vomiting my breakfast into the water, I wipe my chin and mutter, “I’m sorry okay? My mistake, it won’t happen again.”

Smacking the ship with her beak, the boat violently lurches from side to side and I lose my tentative grip on the railing. Rolling back and forth across the deck, I finally come to a crashing halt against the siding, upside down and in perfect position to see Guan Suo standing at ease. I blame the Emperor for all this. If he didn’t order me to come to Nan Ping, I’d be nice and safe in my yurt at the Wall, free from the oppression of this terrible terrapin tyrant.

Once my borrowed boat comes to a shuddering halt, Ping Ping’s violent, yet reasonable tantrum also ends. Submerging most of her head in the water, she leaves only her eyes and nostrils out while she lurks and pouts, an impressive feat for someone who doesn’t have lips. After making sure the crew are all still on board, I ask the captain to find a place to dock which will also allow Ping Ping to get back onto the streets with minimal damage, though I fear the borrowed boat might not survive the return journey. Spotting my retinue, I ignore their stifled laughter and yell out orders, telling them where to meet me and to send a squad to pick up Lin and a change of clothes. I need to find a tailor and have new outfits made, at the rate I’m going through them I’ll be dressed in rags by the end of the week.

Somehow, I find myself standing in front of my smiling sister, with Ping Ping hot on my heels. Ruthlessly pinching my cheek, Alsantset Sends, “Do not worry little brother. Should the sky fall, there will be others to bear it.”

“Thank you,” I reply, unable to focus enough to Send. “Sorry.”

Ignoring the muted smiles and staring eyes from the crowd around us, I tell myself it’s irrational to think everyone already heard about me getting beat the fuck down by a turtle. They’re all staring because Ping Ping is a rare sight. Oh shit, if word of Ping Ping’s abuse spreads, will the Legate try to appoint a different attendant? If she’ll willingly follow someone else away, I’ll throw a party and celebrate but chances are I’ll be demoted from Divine Attendant to turtle bait, forced to obey my replacement. Not fun.

Then again, I’m not too worried about being punished for destroying the merchant house. For once, I actually thought things through. Officially, the Divine Turtle is here under her own free will as a sign of the Mother’s Blessing, so if I’m punished for her actions, it would imply I have control over her and therefore am the reason she’s in Nan Ping, which runs counter to the official statement. In these desperate times, the Legate needs to keep morale up and Ping Ping serves this purpose admirably. Turning a blind eye to my actions against a mere merchant company should be a small price to pay. At worst, I’ll be reprimanded for not properly guiding Ping Ping and forced to pay for damages or something.

At least, that’s what I hope. With my anger fading and remorse settling in, I’m worried I didn’t think things through enough, or my logic is too... reasonable for the inhabitants of this world. Ugh. Stupid merchants and their stupid posturing. Why couldn’t they keep their end of the bargain? They forced my hand, made me come out to deal with their bullshit, and now I’ve been borked. My carefully crafted reputation is worthless now, no one’s gonna respect me as a warrior when word gets out I’m a victim of turtle abuse. I’ll probably have another twenty challenges waiting for me when I wake up tomorrow morning, all in the name of upholding justice or some other foolishness.

I can hear it now: ’If the Divine Turtle is punishing Rain, then he must be evil’, or some other thinly veiled excuse to kick my ass.

Sigh. Why couldn’t I be a good boy and ask Akanai to handle everything? Nooooooo, I had to put on my big boy pants and take care of my own problems. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. I should’ve gone out to sea with Taduk and Guard Leader. So what if they silently bicker nonstop and Mama Bun can’t pick a direction to travel in? A nice relaxing swim sounds really nice right about now.

Magically teleporting outside the only restaurant in Nan Ping I’ve patronized, there appears to be a problem. Throwing a second, smaller tantrum, Ping Ping’s massive leg is blocking my way into the building. None too gently buffeting me away, it would appear she’s refusing to let me out of her sight after my earlier shenanigans. Too woozy to argue, I tell everyone to enjoy their meal without me and trudge across the street to wait by the duelling stage with Guan Suo, Ping Ping, and the pets who truly love me, my sweet bears and cats.

Man... Not only am I paying for everyone’s food, I even paid extra to reserve the entire restaurant so we wouldn’t be disturbed... This sucks.

Arriving shortly with an adorable yawn, my sweet wifey stops long enough to listen to my woes, check my pupils, and hand me a change of clothes before abandoning me for the restaurant. Using my torn shirt, two wagons, Ping Ping’s bulk, and a little creativity, I rig up an impromptu changing room out in the streets while inwardly cursing the overly attached turtle.

You know what? Tonight, I’m gonna give her foot washing water to drink. See how she likes them apples.

A well-timed cat-call makes my heart skip a beat and I scramble to cover my shame in panic, but all too late I realize it was just a joke and no one can see my scrawny, naked body. Too paranoid to do otherwise, I change as quickly as possible and emerge fully dressed, complete with scarlet cheeks and a ferocious scowl, looking for the jackass who scared me. Ignoring the laughter coming down from above, I risk a hernia and lift Banjo into my arms for a big bear hug. With how fast he’s growing, I won’t be able to do this for long so I might as well enjoy it while I can. Ambling over for his fair share of affection, Baloo gets a vigorous head scratch for his troubles. Next to us, Aurie and Jimjam play tug of war with my torn shirt while Sarankho rubbernecks at all the passing strangers. Across the street, Roc and his flock harass my retinue for food, having thoroughly abandoned me once I show I have no treats.

Despite knowing I should stay awake after a concussion, Banjo’s soft fur, Ping Ping’s supple leg, and the warm afternoon sun form a compelling blend of safety and comfort, with the din of the crowd lulling me to sleep. Regrettably, the encounter with the bristleboars brought back old memories and my restless dreams are haunted by the ghosts of the past. Ugly and misshapen, Gortan holds both my hands in place with one his own while brandishing a tiny pair of pliers in the other. “So neat and tidy, yer fingernails,” he says, staring with his beady little eyes as I struggle to free myself. “It’s like seeing one strand of grass growin’ through the cracks, just beggin’ to be stomped on, Ah could never resist.”

Despite knowing it’ll make no difference, I beg and plead as the pliers close around my fingernail, but there is no mercy to be had. They are a cruel, inhuman group of sadists who delight in our screams, hell-bent on finding new and inventive ways to make our lives miserable. I remember this day and many others like it. Gortan was bored and my fingernails caught his eye while he had pliers on hand. He pulled two nails, one from each hand, and then clocked me in the jaw for screaming too loudly. Later that night, after a full day’s work, I chewed the rest of my fingernails down to bleeding nubs, terrified he’d do the same thing again.

It worked. The next morning, he didn’t pull off any of my fingernails. Instead, he pulled off three of my toenails from one foot and laughed as I limped to work. Even had me whipped for walking too slowly, though not badly enough for me to miss work. Add to this the cracked teeth, the broken bones, the humiliating beatings, and all their other imaginative torments, Gortan didn’t deserve a quick death.

But he is dead, along with every other bristleboar and all the slaves who wronged me.

So why do I still feel this burning need for revenge? I want to kill every bristleboar alive and geld their sire to keep him from spawning more, but even that isn’t enough to sate my thirst for vengeance. Simply hearing the words ‘Canston Trading Group’ sends me into a rage, as poor mistreated Rustram discovered. I’d love nothing more than to reduce their headquarters into smoking ruins, both here and anywhere else in the Empire they might have roots. It’s not rational, but why do I have to be the rational one? They weren’t. If they needed slaves to mine, then let us mine. It’s still a horrible existence but they didn’t have to torture us. It was senseless, mindless violence, and after I asked Fung’s torturer Fu Zhu Li, he confirmed my suspicions. Those guards were fucking experts, they had to be. How else could they use Chi to torment me, make my skin feel like it was on fire or lock me in place in the most agonizing poses? Those grotesque, hideous bastards were fucking Martial Warriors, and all they did day in and day out was use their skills to torture a group of helpless slaves. What sort of fucking monsters... could do something...

Wait...

Coming awake with a start, I frighten poor Banjo who was sleeping in my arms. With a protesting grumble, the rotund bear ambles off to join his brother napping in the crook of Ping Ping’s neck. Rubbing my eyes, I focus and try to hold onto my thoughts, the dreams slipping away even as my mind regains clarity. I’d stumbled across something, something that made so much sense in the dream, but I can’t-

“Nightmare?” Interrupting my train of thought, Guan Suo drops my water-skin in my lap.

“Yea.” Uncapping the water-skin, I take a swig to wet my throat, but once the water hits my tongue, I realize how parched I really am. Fear will do that do you, even if it's fear which should have long since passed by now. It was six years ago. Get over it. You’re Falling Rain, Second Grade Warrant Officer of the Empire. You can’t afford to show weakness or everyone will come crawling out the woodwork to take your head.

What better way to cement your place as a young rising dragon of the Empire than by killing the number one talent of the North?

Tapping his pipe to empty it, Guan Suo Sends, “Don’t know what grudge you’re holding with Canston and can’t say I care, but tread lightly. Far as proper merchant companies go, they ain’t worth a damn, but everyone knows they exist only to provide for Zhu Chanzui. If he finds out you been meddling in his business, he’ll come for a reckoning and the Treaty be damned. Newborn calf like yourself might not fear the tiger, but even I’d think twice before crossing blades with that one. They might call you Undying, but he’s The Immortal.”

“Noted,” I reply out loud, immediately regretting my decision to nod. Fucking concussion. Tuck and roll, Rain, tuck and roll. Chin to your chest, don’t let your head pendulum back into the ground, it should be instinct by now. Then again, my memory of the whole thing is kinda spotty. Maybe I literally landed on my head. It’s possible, Ping Ping’s spit really packs a wallop. I wonder how much hang time I had? Patting my rumbling belly to quiet it, I ask, “Is there any food? I’m starving.”

“Ate most of it. Fed the rest to your pets.” Shrugging in a quasi-apology, Guan Suo continues, “You slept a long while, missed most of the show. Your sister is finishing up her last match, following a set of impressive victories from Vichear and Gerel.”

Turning towards the stage, I make it halfway before stopping on a familiar face, sitting on the balcony of the building beside the duelling stage. Dressed in the tightest tunic I’ve ever seen since coming to this world, the colourful silk hugs her skin and reveals curves I don’t remember her having. Through the wooden railing, I catch a glimpse of her shapely, slender legs, also snugly wrapped in silk and leaving little to the imagination. Still wearing her hair in a pixie cut, she’s grown her bangs out and swept to one side, a marked improvement over the rough, self-styled cut she favoured as a Sentinel, pragmatic, yet stylish. Though filed shorter than I remember and no longer curving back on themselves, her horns are sharper than ever and wrapped in a silver mesh interspersed with glimmering pink diamonds. A hint of eyeliner accentuates her piercing brown eyes and wearing a smidgen of rouge on her lovely pink lips, the sight of her sitting there is enough to make me swoon.

Or maybe it’s the concussion again. Either way, Adujan looks gorgeous, like a flawless, ivory-skinned, ebony-haired goddess given flesh.

Ah, no, I suppose it’s Du Min Yan now...

As if sensing my gaze, Yan catches me staring with wide eyes and open mouth, both of which I have little control of at the moment. Flashing the same saucy smile as always, she winks and mouths something before turning away, setting my heart aflutter.

Hmm... I have no idea what she mouthed. I was too distracted by... other thoughts. Maybe I should go up there and ask her. I mean, we haven’t seen each other in forever so we’re due for a chat, and still I need to deliver Mila’s message...

Which makes me oh so sad. 100% chance it’s to warn Yan away, my freckled beloved is not one to share.

Still... I should say hi. Just a harmless, ‘hey, how you doin’ sort of thing, bit of catching up between old friends. As I take my first step towards the building, a familiar voice barks, “Falling Rain!” Freezing in place, I turn to find the unnamed Guard Captain standing next to me, looking all stern and businesslike unlike a few days ago when he’d been all smiley and drunk. “The Legate commands your presence.”

Tch. Horrible timing.

...

Shit. Did I say that out loud?

...

Did I say that out loud?

...

Fucking concussions.

...

Okay, I definitely said that out loud.

Chapter Meme