"Tell me, does the boy have it? If we can't find a substitute soon, a messenger from the Board will come — and that will turn ugly. We could educate him, guide him into the role, all with your supervision."
"How would you tell?" I ask.
"A mark manifests on the skin, like some sort of divine image drawn in ink."
I wave him off. "Now's not the time for this. Perhaps, later"
"Wait — that's it!
On your palm! 'One Promise' it says it in black. By the Great Khan's Oath… you actually have it. You've helped me a solid, Desmond. Otherwise, I'd have struggled for many sleepless nights.
To answer your doubts, yes, they want us to fail. But they need a legitimate reason to take over. Saves their face. You'll find out more soon enough. Come meet me tomorrow at the church, midday. I'll help you find your feet here, and show you your new job.
I must go now, matters I have to attend to. We'll talk further tomorrow."
He glances around, catching a suspicious gaze and runs off toward another man with too luxurious of an attire.
After Jiord's departure, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"One Promise." I stare at the mark on my palm.
You really trusted me huh Jim.
Or maybe this isn't just a power but a burden you couldn't let Tim handle.
Either way, I am thankful for your trust in me and that I have some ability to take advantage of.
A shadow towers looms over covering me in shade.
I look up.
Two figures big and one small stand before us and introduce themselves.
I glance at Tim, still standing over him, and sigh. "So... Marcus and Marsley, yeah? Which one's which?"
A gruff chuckle echoes from the small one. "That's right i'm Marcus. How was the hankie? Did it help you when you snatched it?" Marcus says, tipping his brown sock-like hat, revealing a head of orange tinged hair as he bows in mock ceremony.
"That was yours" I reply.
"Well of course, why else would we be here, other than to return stolen property?" he says with a wry grin, slamming his chest.
"You look way too dangerous and lonely out here, why else would we risk approaching you" He straightens up, letting the hat wobble back onto his head, as he jumps off the table.
Finally some real fucken people.
"Sorry for that. This is all just so new to me… Wait, Marcus?" That name seems familiar. Oh, I remember too—that Marcus.
The one I owe a drink to.
"You knew him, didn't you?" I guess.
"Ya figured it out small guy, sharp one, aren't ya"
Of course it's your friend Jim.
"He said I had to pick his tab up for you" I reply.
"HAHAHA that's so him, pawning off his debt to you." He continues to chuckle leaning on Marsley's waist for stability as he chuckles, "that made my day thanks for that" he adds, wiping his face and blowing a dump of snot from one nostril onto the ground, treading it in.
"So, Marsley, right? Nice to meet you too." I put out my hand. He grabs it, but his grip is too firm—I wince and pull back.
Marcus notices. "Ah, forgot to mention. This big guy's voiceless. Can't speak a word, but he can hold his liquor amongst other things, trust me." He gestures with a thumb at the towering silent figure beside him.
"Been my lifelong brother since way back, even before we came to this town. Had his tongue ripped out for… well, let's just say an indiscretion with a senior student of a righteous house. Hehe."
I blink. "That's… horrible. What about the other guy? Did he get any punishment?"
Marcus laughs, a deep, rough sound. "Hahaha, funny, right? Us unrelated trainees don't have rights. Ain't that right, Mars?" He pats Marsley's bald head, now standing on a chair he dragged over.
"Get this—that senior even stood up for him! Must've really been in love. He was all like, 'No, don't execute him—on my name just please only cut out his tongue, so that he can't tell anyone.' Really nice bloke, that one."
"Nice, huh," I snort.
"Ha! Happens all the time. People get worse for less, and we actually prefer it here. Country airs freedom, though the jobs are a bit dusty."
"So you're a couple then?" I ask cautiously.
"What! Oh no, no, not like that." Marcus waves a dismissive hand, face flushed. He trips over the chair and falls into Marsley's embrace. " He saved my life once. I decided to stick with him to the end. That's all it's about."
"Right," I narrow my eyes, incredulous at the irony before me.
"What's with that look? You like pairing people up in your head? I can play that game too." Marcus leans in, grinning wickedly.
"You and the boy—bonded through tragedy, sharing a tent, building a house together as tradition. Who knows what forbidden things happened last night? Bet you even cracked open his dad's special book—"
"Fuck no, he's a child!" I wildy gesticulate.
My stomach sinks.
Where are your limits?
That blow was seriously low even for someone of your size.
"See? Not so fun now, is it! Baseless accusations, they hurt deep!" Marcus throws his hat on the ground and stamps it in with his boot, jumping erratically as he does so. Marsley then picks him up by his collar, resets the chair, and plops him back down.
"People talk. They always do. Best you learn that now short stuff."
His eyes flick to Marsley, then back to me.
I exhale slowly, unclenching my fist. "Point taken."
"So where were we at matey. Ah that's right, what's yer name"
"Desmond now tell me what else I don't know about this world"
"I may be the tallest and most handsome man you've ever seen but that doesn't mean I don't get around. Many people can't hold their liquor and thus I know a thing or two."
I frown. "So… what is the Heavenly Protection Board?"
Marcus shrugs. "What? Did Jiord not just tell you this?"
"No, he rushed off after mentioning it."
"Coward. Talks big about the ascendors, and his workload, but when push comes to shove, buries his head in the dirt. Few see past the exterior—they just see the charismatic fella steering the ship from the front. Hopeless at actually manning it from the rear."
I lean forward. "But what is it?"
Marcus leans back, eyes glinting. Staring at me in silence. He gestures his finger for me to come closer.
I lean further in his face, his breath tickles my skin.
"Why should I tell you, buckeroo?" He whispers back.
No way I'm this dumb. He got me with the second oldest trick in the book.
"How about this, if anyone gifts you any alcohol, save some for me"
"Deal, now spill the drink for me brother!"
"That's a good one. I'll use that next time I win a drinking contest. Where do I start? Right right—years back, there was this revolutionary bastard with brains, steel abs, a golden heart.
His name... Guttman Butch, dis fella, executed corrupt leaders, liberated his people, stole resources, even went toe-to-toe with the Heavenly Sky Palace.
Ascendors needed their resources, see, but our ancestor mort workers?
Heh.. They bloated the shit out of dem prices,
Even the simplest herb was expensive."
"What happened to him then?"
Marcus's voice lowers. "Ten days, ten nights. He fought a prophet from the Sky Palace's Crimson Order. Emergency stuff—usually they fight demons up north, even used that renowned demon-extinguishing punch. Nothing survives that, well except him, he did, and it was for that action that they commended his bravery.
In recognition, they even formed the Democratic Board for Protection and Management of Non-Cultivators—officially the Heavenly Protection Board.
Each town and city could elect a mortal leader, called the Title Holder, to govern us non-ascendors. Mort's govern the secular world; transcendents traverse the heavenly plains—or so it was designed to be.."
"That sounds reasonable," I say thoughtfully.
Marcus snorts. "Tsk. Pigs. In service to the Righteous Association. You think they'd actually give us power? Worst part—they titled Guttman a figurehead. Good excuse to take more. Refugees fled, camps like this were set up after the civil war. Discontent is still rising. We're already slaves, but at least we still have dignity."
I frown. "What makes them so bad?"
Marcus counts on his fingers. "Let's see: protection fees, things called tariffs on local trade, stockpiling necessities to drive up prices, forced indirect marriages to pay off fees related to burrowing, containing dissent… and, of course, mandatory yearly contributions to your local representatives.
Commit crime? They remove your mana core 'for safety.' Rare, but sometimes you're left deficient for the rest of your life all for stealing some bread—unable to walk, diseased, you name it. Supposedly it's all due to the nine detrimental cursed physiques you could be born with."
I wince. "Sounds… awful."
"No way, really!" He retorts, slapping his forehead and looking confused.
Marsley looks away, covering his grin with a hand as a rough puff of air escapes his throat — half laugh, half growl. He leans back, returning to his usual stoic self.
"You little shit. If you think you're so great, come show me that drinker's spirit."
I grab a bottle from the table and toss it at him.
"Oh, you're on, Twinkle Bell!" he growls, hurling one back—hard, aimed straight for my head. I just barely manage to just catch it.
For the next hour, Marcus and I trade insults and bottles, drinking each other under the table.
Tim cheers me on, letting out a pure, unrestrained laughter every time I manage to balance a bottle on my head and break into a clumsy adaptation of my signature Cossack dance.