Ascent

by M. T. Miller

  The Nameless did not have time to react. The punch he took to the nose was not as strong as it could have been, but it still weakened the uppercut he connected with the Turtle’s chin. Still, the trade had done its job. Not having expected to get hit, the Turtle stopped his own offense in favor of pulling back—something he would not be allowed.

  Now! The Nameless followed his opponent’s retreat, ducked under one of his jabs, and delivered a vicious punch straight into his solar plexus. The air blown out of his lungs, the man stumbled backward. Mercilessly, the Nameless hit him in the chin with his left as he rose. Consciousness leaving him, the Turtle went limp.

  The Nameless had no idea what came over him. He bore the man no ill will, but felt an irresistible urge to sneak in another punch or two before the fight was officially over. Someone shouted something, but the Nameless did not register it. Through a red haze, he saw his own right fist hit the man again, sending him to the floor.

  Again, someone shouted from the side of the cage. The Nameless did not stop. Instead, he looked down on the Turtle’s bloody face and prepared to crush it with his foot.

  “Break, fucker!” Jake’s voice was so full of anger it pierced through the fog. Confused, the Nameless froze where he was; his heel inches above the Turtle’s head.

  “The fuck are you doing, shithead?” Jake stood near the cage’s entrance, his face redder than its floor. Most everyone else had dropped what they were doing, and was staring at the spectacle. “Open this thing and get medics in there! You! Boners! C’mere! Now!”

  The Nameless put his foot to the side, touching ground near the Turtle’s head. He looked downward again. Thankfully, the man was still breathing.

  I would have killed him.

  The entrance clicked, and a pair of medics ran inside. Not letting his gaze leave his downed opponent, the Nameless hurriedly walked away from the scene. Near the exit, he tried to pass through, only to find himself face to face with Jake.

  “C’mere!” Jake said as he moved away. “The rest of you, back to work!”

  Silently, the Nameless followed.

  “What was that?” Jake shouted when they got to his desk.

  “I… I seem to have lost control,” the Nameless said, staring at his own fists.

  “Damn right, you did! Saw it coming a goddamn mile away, too! What I want to know is why. Sure, he’s annoying, but not enough to warrant an execution!”

  Instead of saying anything, the Nameless merely lifted his eyes. Why? He did not know himself.

  “No idea? Yeah, I thought as much.” Jake picked up a pen, took a piece of paper, and started scribbling something. “My gut tells me to run you out of this whole thing, you know?”

  “And will you?”

  “No. I can’t do that. I’ve seen you fight. You can be a champ. You can be the champ. But not if you kill someone on purpose. Understand?”

  “Yes. So, what happens now?”

  “What happens now is that you take the rest of the day off.” Jake put the piece of paper in a file cabinet to the side. “Rest up. Think about what happened and try to figure out why. Yeah, and I’m not giving you today’s paycheck. An empty stomach’s good for the brain, they say.”

  The Nameless considered voicing his protests, but all he did instead was nod. All things considered, he is letting me off easy.

  “Good that we agree. Now, get out of my face and go wash that blood off!”

  The Nameless turned toward the showers and took off his singlet as soon as he stepped inside. The large room (one of several that surrounded the cages) already contained five men, all in various stages of cleanup. Apparently unaware of the events outside, no one gave him a single glance, and he was glad to return the favor.

  This will not be sustainable, he realized as he washed himself. The city of Babylon was slowly getting to him. The crowdedness and isolation worked in tandem with the anger he had bottled up from the Underbelly. It was inevitable that it would pour out, one way or another. He turned off the water, grabbed the singlet, and headed out.

  Perhaps a sense of camaraderie will help me out. Assuming, of course, that they would still have me.

  Still nude, he walked up to his locker, and waited for the clerk to give him his clothes back before he slipped inside. Then, right after he finished fastening his shoelaces, he turned back toward the cages. Max had just finished pummeling some poor sod unconscious when the Nameless found him. There was no blood, but the presence of medics proved that it was no laughing matter.

  “Max, I apologize,” the Nameless said, standing in front of the cage entrance. “You were right. I was wrong.”

  Apparently in a very good mood, Max stepped out, tapped the Nameless on the shoulder, and spoke. “We’ll be at the food stands around six. Bring your stomach.”

  “I have no money. Jake has withheld my payment for today.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just show up. It’ll do you good!” Max said as he lifted his hand and proceeded toward the shower.

  That went well, but what now? He had almost two hours of downtime; not nearly enough for a hunting trip into some gang’s territory. The Nameless had no money to spend on entertainment, and he knew no one outside of the amphitheater. Bit by bit, he narrowed his options, until only one productive way of spending his time remained.

  The black priest. Chills went up his spine, as they did every time he thought of the shrine. Still, some answers were bound to be had there. Besides, the sooner he got it done with, the sooner he would be able to put the place from his mind.

  Reluctantly, he turned toward the stairs, ready to begin ascending.

  Chapter Seven

  “So, you wish to learn about the New Voodoo Movement?” The black man spoke without a hint of an accent; something the Nameless did not expect. Resembling a marble statue, he sat on one of the many chairs around his shrine, gesturing for his guest to take a seat as well.

  “Indeed,” the Nameless said as he obliged. “But would your sermon not suffer for your absence from the pulpit?”

  The black man smiled; the very sight of his porcelain-white teeth causing the Nameless’ half-empty stomach to constrict further. “Even if it does, I’ll survive. Most only come for the lucky charms, anyway.”

  “Do they work?” the Nameless asked, eager to keep his mind occupied with anything other than fear.

  “It depends. Sometimes Bondye is generous. At other times he isn’t. It is the way of things.”

  “I see. And this Bondye is…?”

  “You call him ‘God.’”

  I call no one God, the Nameless thought, but said nothing.

  “The New Voodoo Movement believes in the very same God that the so-called True Church worships, but disagrees on a large number of key principles,” the man continued. “For instance, both the Church we have today and the Christianity of old had angels, while we have the Loa. Same function, yet thoroughly different.”

  “In what way are they different?”

  “In temperament, character, and nature,” the man said. “In essence, while angels serve man, man must serve the Loa.”

  Interesting. “And these… Loa, what do they ask of us?”

  “Everything!” The abruptness and intensity of this response almost made the Nameless flinch. “Eat. Drink. Sleep. Father a child. Raise it. Die. And so much more.”

  No sudden movements. “I see,” the Nameless said. “And what exactly do they do?”

  “What do they do?” the man said. “What does the wind do? What does childbirth do? What does death do? Do you understand the absurdity of your question?”

  “No,” the Nameless said. “But if I have offended you, I apologize.”

  “No one is offended,” the man said.

  “Good to know. I would prefer to move on, though, unless you mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  “The current… state of the world; what is your religion’s take on it? What do you think has happened?”

  “Isn’t it obvious
?”

  “Not to me,” the Nameless said. “I like to learn all there is to know about something before I make my conclusion.”

  “Ah.” The man grinned eerily. “So you need a bit more to go on than your regular end-times drivel?”

  “To be honest, Mister…”

  “Mounier,” the man said. “Emile Mounier, houngan of the New Voodoo Movement. At your service, friend.”

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mounier,” the Nameless said. As much as that is possible. “I am Horace Bones. And yes, I need a whole lot more than anyone thus far has been able to provide.”

  “So you came to me seeking a certain answer?” Emile asked.

  “From what I have learned, nothing is ever certain.”

  “Hah! I love it when someone with an actual brain comes up. We don’t get many of those anymore.” Emile looked left and right, then spoke again. “Listen, I had intended to spin you around for a little bit. See how much dogma they’ve drilled into your skull before I started actually saying anything. But I’m not going to do that. Instead, I will talk to you as my fellow man. Is that acceptable?”

  “Perfectly,” the Nameless said.

  “What if I told you that the world didn’t end because of divine judgment?” Emile raised both of his hands as he spoke, perhaps instinctively. “What if it happened because of bad men? It is certainly a resource we have in abundance.”

  “So… a war of some kind?”

  “Is that so difficult to believe?” Emile said. “Countries have blasted themselves back into the stone age over the course of history. Why should we be immune to it?”

  “That would take a whole lot of explosives,” the Nameless said.

  “Explosives?” Emile smiled again. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard someone refer to nukes like that. Sure, they do explode, but still…”

  “Nukes?” The Nameless raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Emile’s expression gradually became confused. “You aren’t.”

  “No,” the Nameless said. “I have memory problems.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What could I possibly gain by lying about that?”

  “Nothing I can think of,” Emile said. “Alright, Horace. I believe you.”

  “I would prefer to be called Bones,” the Nameless said.

  “No problem, Bones. So, will you eventually forget what I’ve told you, or…?”

  “No. Any new memories I form, I keep.”

  “Did you hit your head or something?”

  “I would not know.” The Nameless smiled a little bit. “I cannot remember.”

  “It takes strength to be able to laugh about something like that.”

  “Not much else I can do about it.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Emile said.

  “So, you were saying?”

  “Nukes, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “In essence, they’re bombs,” Emile said. “Humongous, incredibly deadly bombs. City-destroying deadly, if you can imagine something like that.”

  Is… is something like that even possible? “And such a weapon exists?” The Nameless’ curiosity was piqued. “Where might one find it, then?”

  “Beats me where they keep them,” Emile said. “And that’s a good thing. Anyway—and I’m genuinely confused by having to explain this to an adult—they used to have a whole lot of the things here in the States. Ready for launch. The man in charge presses a button, and an enemy base gets vaporized. The only problem is that it works the other way around.”

  “The other way around?”

  “The States wasn’t the only country with nukes,” Emile said. “I don’t need to tell you where the rest of the story goes, do I?”

  “So… you are trying to tell me that the… States and the rest of the world have mutually destroyed themselves?” The Nameless said.

  “Exactly,” Emile said. “And to make everything clear, I’m not saying it even was nukes. But it was big, and there was plenty of it. You’ve seen what the outside is like. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “And… Bondye and his Loa allowed this to happen?”

  “Why would they not?” Emile asked. “We are alive, aren’t we? We are not sick, are we? Life is difficult, but it’s still life, isn’t it?”

  “I know some people who would disagree.”

  “People always disagree, Bones,” Emile said. “Doesn’t make them right. Bondye and the Loa are a fair but stern family. They’re giving us a chance to learn from our mistakes.” He paused for a moment. “It may not be a complete answer, but it’s the best one anyone will ever give you. I promise you that.”

  Reasonable. “Alright, Mounier. One more question, if you do not mind.”

  “Not at all. I’m here to help.”

  “I have been told… that your priests can wake the dead,” the Nameless forced himself to say. “I wish to know everything about that, or at the very least as much as you can disclose.”

  “Ah. Lost someone, have we?” Emile said. “Sorry to tell you this, friend, but don’t get your hopes up. We can indeed raise the deceased, but only after the spirit has gone. However, without a soul, the body is a mere husk, and an animated husk is barely different. If you came here to resurrect someone, then you have come to the wrong place.”

  “So, the risen dead never, ever retain even a vestige of who they used to be?”

  “Not if you don’t count their appearance, and even that goes away with the passage of time. Decomposition and all that.”

  So he knows nothing of me and my condition. After nodding, the Nameless rose and extended his hand toward the priest. “Thank you. It has certainly been eye-opening.”

  “A pleasure, my friend.” Emile rose as well, responding to the greeting. A slight chill coursed through the Nameless’ spine while they shook, but it was significantly less intense than expected. If Emile felt anything out of the ordinary, he did not show it. “By all means, feel free to come again whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Of course,” the Nameless said as he withdrew his hand, turned toward the exit, and prepared for his imminent swim through the current.

  Indeed, he is a man like any other.

  ***

  The Nameless recalled, way too late, that he had forgotten to ask him about the disappearances Horace had mentioned. I might have to come again later.

  It was six, and he was meeting Max at the food stands. As always, the sheer amount of people there was staggering. It was only due to Max’s height that the Nameless was able to locate the group at all.

  “Good thing you stick out,” the Nameless said after pushing his way up to the fighters. There seemed to be five of them, four men and a woman. Besides her features and the obvious chest, the woman did not look all that different from the men.

  “It gets easier with time. I’ve spotted you right away,” Max said, turning toward the others. “Here he is. You can all introduce each other after we get everything, alright?” He then spoke to the Nameless again. “We usually buy what we need, then move the party to someone’s place. Somehow, I don’t think you’ll volunteer to be the host.”

  “Indeed. My apartment is still just barely useable.”

  “Figures. What’ll you be having?”

  “I would prefer food, but I am not picky,” the Nameless flashed a half-smile.

  “That means beef. Fine. The rest of you, the usual?”

  The men confirmed, while the woman had something to add. “Yeah, I’ll go get the booze while you all wait here. Meet at Al’s place?”

  “Deal,” one of the men said; a bearded pile of both muscles and fat.

  With a nod, the woman left, leaving them to wait their turn. That proved longer than expected, and the Nameless found it difficult to start a conversation due to the surrounding noise. Sharing his sentiment, the others mostly remained silent. The following hustle to the apartment was little different.


  “Slow, as always!” The woman was already there, waiting for them. The Nameless noted how strange her voice was on such a muscled body. That said, she was not altogether unattractive, merely unusual.

  “It’s not a contest,” Al said as he stepped forward to unlock the door.

  “Yeah, keep telling that to yourself,” she said while moving to her side. “Coping mechanism. I get it.”

  Saying nothing, Al turned the key, and the door was unlocked.

  The apartment was infinitely cleaner than the one the Nameless inhabited. A low, but rather wide table stood at its center, surrounded by a total of eight sitting pillows. The group was apparently well used to doing this, as everyone instantly knew where to roost.

  “Sit wherever you want, Bones!” Max said while unpacking the food. “Although I wouldn’t recommend trying to take anyone’s spot.”

  “You think he cares?” the woman said. “The way he floored you, I don’t think this one’s scared of anything at all!”

  “Your point being?” Max said while he traced his fingers over his bruised chin.

  “Nothing much. Just that that you’re out of shape,” she said.

  “Yeah, speaking of that…” Al came in from behind the still-standing Nameless, having locked the entrance. He barely had any hair on the top of his head, but his beard more than compensated. “What’s your secret, man?”

  “It begins with eating well,” the Nameless said, gauging everyone’s reaction. Everything went quiet for a good couple of seconds.

  “Ah! Of course!” Max said.

  “By all means, be our guest,” Al pointed toward a vacant pillow.

  “Thank you,” the Nameless said as he sat, right to the opposite of Max and the woman. Then, having accepted his portion of beef, he proceeded to unpack it and dug right in.

  The meal was quiet, and the Nameless felt the eyes of everyone in the room inspecting his every move. It seemed like a game: whoever was not in his direct line of sight had free reign to eyeball him to their hearts’ content. To his pleasure, the food tasted good, and it made the silence more than bearable.