Volilthur vowed to skip breakfast for the next two weeks. Cleaning out the septic invoked a potent bout of nausea that mixed poorly with a full belly. Given that the stone trench beneath the palace and each of the outbuildings received daily cleaning, there had to be a considerable number of residents. The sheer amount of solid waste boggled the mind.
Shovels and buckets and wheelbarrows made the job marginally faster than it would otherwise be, and managed to delay the amount of time it took to be completely covered in the nastiness by an hour or two. After being given a brief training, they were left to their own devices. It took three hours to clear the palace septic trough, then about forty-five minutes each for the barracks, servant house, and artisan house.
The wheelbarrow contents were dumped in a deep pit along with agricultural waste and kitchen scraps. When they were done, a more powerful soldier caused the contents of the pit to turn on itself until thoroughly mixed, then levitated a layer of sod over top to plug the hole and limit the spread of the stench.
The two wards found the showers, cleaned up, and grabbed fresh uniforms. They had missed lunch, but some of the bread had been set aside for them. Volilthur devoured two loaves, then accepted the tiny vial of moon water elixir from the clerk on duty.
They set to their cultivation then, exhausting their bodies through physical training and then absorbing back the cosmic energy from within the elixir. Volilthur thought he almost felt something of the elusive cosmic energy during the experience.
Since they still had free time, Volithur went to his hammock and attempted to practice the mind cultivation method. He managed to shift himself into a deep trance and squeeze out some soul energy into his mind, finding the process a little easier after having done something similar with his body. Holding the concept of symmetrical completeness in mind, Volithur let the emptiness of his soul draw energy back in.
He went instantly lightheaded. Volithur fought to stay conscious for a few minutes before going out like a light.
“You coming to dinner, Harridan?”
Volithur sat up in his hammock as he came awake. “I’ll be right out,” he called to Thassily. It took him a bit to get moving as he still felt a touch of dizziness following the involuntary nap. Hopefully that means I successfully did mind cultivation, he thought.
Dinner was another stew, this one based around cabbage, potatoes, beans, pork, and enough spices to confuse and confound the senses. Volilthur loved it. The dull ache of his personal losses flared up as always when he enjoyed something, but he pushed it back down. He could find pleasure in a meal without betraying the world he came from.
The sergeant brought out a clay jug and pulled free a waxed stopper from a spout at one end. “Line up the mugs, boys. We’re having a sip of spiced rum to celebrate the departure of the forty-fourth son.”
Volithur and Thassily joined the line of men to accept a splash of the liquid into their mugs. They didn’t seem to receive any less liquor than the other men. When everyone had something in hand, the sergeant raised his mug high in salute. “To the end of our beatings on the training fields.”
“Aye!” “Cheers!” “Hurrah!”
Various cheers went up and everyone took a mighty swig of the liquid. Volithur steeled himself for the worst and found himself shocked. “That actually tastes good!” There were hints of lime and ginger alongside the smooth burn.
Rough laughter erupted. The sergeant pointed at him. “Harridan thought we were going to toast with cheap swill. Only the best barrels fall off the wagon into our worthy hands.”
Everyone lined up to receive a second sip, and once more they toasted something, this time to ‘shady brewers and sticky fingers’. There was still a little left, so a third share was granted to three soldiers who had been particularly abused in training by the Lord General’s forty-fourth son. The sergeant then tasked a clerk with seeing that the empty container found its way back to the brewery under the cover of night.
Volilthur had recovered somewhat from his earlier attempts at mental cultivation, so he decided to give it another try. While in his hammock, feeling marginally more relaxed from the drinks, he brought himself into the trance and swapped out the energy in his soul for the variety filtered by his mind holding a particular concept.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
He woke the next morning with no memory of going unconscious. Volithur couldn’t tell if he had drifted off to sleep due to the comfort of his swaying hammock and the booze or if he had exhausted his mental energy with the filtering method. He didn’t even know that he was doing anything real with all of his attempts to cultivate. The subtle sensations could all just be his imagination responding to the power of his suggestions.
That morning, after a brief conversation, they agreed not to eat breakfast to see if that improved the experience in the septic troughs at all. It took them half an hour to decide that it did not. Instead of having full bellies wanting to rebel at the scents, they had empty bellies gurgling in horrifying fashion as they breathed the nasty air.
They completed the work as quickly as possible, sharing the occasional observation that the Xian were obviously full of shit if they could produce so much waste on a daily basis. When they had showered, they once more had a meal of leftover bread. Upon asking, they learned that lunch was only ever bread and water in the barracks. Clerk Anadra joked that they weren’t nobles to have pampered midday meals. Volilthur kept his thoughts about the utility of microwaves to himself, mindful of being considered a Jinn sympathizer.
An elixir and exercise session later, they had absorbed their daily ration of cosmic energy. Volithur returned to his hammock and went to work on his mental cultivation. His descent into the trance state happened quickly that time, and he pushed out energy into his mind, then formed the concept. As the soul emptiness sucked energy back into itself, Volithur felt his mental field shrink and fade like a light bulb on a dimmer switch.
His soul stopped feeling empty just before he would have passed out and Volilthur held onto his consciousness as he reflected on the cultivation process. He knew now for sure that something was happening, but he couldn’t tell how effective his efforts were. The moon water elixir was considered borderline useless, so he needed to impress the marshal with his progress and gain access to better resources.
Once more, Volithur and Thassily shoveled human excrement all morning. They had become marginally more efficient over time and were on track to be done in time to eat lunch with the others in the barracks. Unfortunately, that hope didn’t hold up to reality.
As they were preparing to move on from the palace, the Castellan made an appearance.
Volithur snapped into a deep bow at the sight of the sneering official. “Master Castellan.”
Beside him, Thassily mimicked his actions.
“You stink, wards,” the Castellan observed.
“Uh, yes, Master Castellan.” Agreement seemed the best policy to avoid further trouble.
“I had expected the two of you to be flogged, but it seems the Marshal can be inventive when he wants to be. Your decorum seems to have improved inversely to your hygiene. Do you think that the punishment is sufficient to correct your behavioral issues?”
The Castellan seemed eager to exert power over them. Volithur had been subjected to the same authoritarian bullying from his father for his whole life. Though he loved his old man, the truth had been that the guy needed wins. As a young child, Volithur hadn’t understood that his father’s job required obsequious subservience to rich assholes and sought to switch the role he played when at home. But even without understanding the dynamic at play, he learned how to mitigate the impact on his life. Sometimes if you acted foolishly hopeful for a reprieve, the only punishment you would receive was being required to do what you were already doing.
“Yes, Master Castellan! We have learned our lesson and don’t need to be on septic duty any longer!”
The Castellan laughed. “You think I am going to release you from your punishment early?”
Volithur drooped his shoulders dramatically. “We learned our lesson, Master Castellan.”
“Then the rest of your punishment shall reinforce it,” the Castellan pronounced.
“Yes, Master Castellan.” Volithur held himself still, certain he had outplayed his superior. The desire to mete out further punishment had been met. To outward appearances, the foolish youths had believed that some hard work would let them escape their extra duty early. Crushing their hope provided the Castellan a sense of power. Nothing had changed, but Volithur’s bully felt satisfied. Thank you, father, for teaching me how to be sly.
“I want the pipes scoured today,” the Castellan said. “Do you know what that entails?”
“No, Master Castellan.”
“All of the pipes in the ceiling and wall that empty into the septic need to be thoroughly cleaned on occasion to prevent clogs. The normal schedule has that happening in two months, but I want it done today. So get a sturdy stick and remove all sediment from the pipes. Understood?”
“Yes, Master Castellan.” Volithur didn’t have to fake the despair in his voice.
Their tormentor sniffed dramatically, commented once more on their stench, and left them to their punishment.