London Wild
London Wild
By
V.E Shearman
Also By V.E Shearman.
The Duke’s Son (Part 1 of the Wings of Floroth)
The Princess’ Brother (Part 2 of the Wings of Floroth)
Coming soon
The King’s Knight (Part 3 of the Wings of Floroth)
For Lisa
Prologue
Sometime around 32 million B.C. eight very alien life-forms arrived on Earth to judge whether or not the planet might make a good colony. Upon their departure they took with them a number of samples of both flora and fauna with the intentions of carrying out more compatibility experiments once they got home.
Upon their return home they were confronted by the lifeless husk that had once been their planet. Everything they knew had apparently been destroyed in a nuclear war shortly after they had left.
Not having enough fuel to return to Earth again, they settled on a small peninsula. And although the radiation levels there were still high, they were livable. The eight survived the best they could, but after no more than twenty years they had died out.
Some of the samples they had brought back with them flourished, and as the radiation levels dropped in other parts of the world, both plant and animal life spread to reclaim it.
One such animal was the Hoplophoneus. On Earth it was the ancestor of the Smilodon. On this planet it was the ancestor of both the dominant life-forms that shared the planet.
As the early evening sun was disappearing slowly over the horizon in the country of Sanspar’s capital city of Tarr, young Eggshufont walked alongside his even younger sister Eggsiolama as they headed towards the center of the city. Eggsiolama moved quickly, trying to usher her brother. She was in a hurry to get where they were going. He was a lot more hesitant about the whole thing, trying to linger behind a little and delay their arrival.
‘We can head back home,’ he told her, almost imploring with her.
‘Our entire family would be hunted down and killed,’ she replied in no uncertain terms. ‘No one insults the Goddess like that. Besides, it’s a great honor to be chosen like this. You should be happy for me.’
‘I am,’ he replied, though he didn’t seem very sincere. ‘I am. It’s just that no one who goes in the Temple is ever seen again. Once you’re gone you’ll be gone, and already I find myself missing you.’ He paused for a few seconds and then added, ‘And why do they need so many servants, and why so often? Whenever that blasted moon dominates the skyline, they demand another servant. The Temple can’t possibly be big enough to house everyone that goes through those doors.’
‘Don’t,’ she replied. ‘You’re beginning to scare me.’
‘I’m already scared for you,’ was his reply.
Although there were four moons in the sky, there were thirteen nights scattered at regular intervals throughout the year on which the closest of them would actually appear big enough in the sky to hide the other three behind its bulk. Tonight was one of those nights. It effectively marked the beginning of the next month. It also marked the day of the lottery draw when the next servant of the Goddess would be randomly chosen from everyone that lived within the range of the city. There was no excuse. The selected candidate had to make an appearance at the gates of the Temple before the sun had fully disappeared beneath the horizon, or the lives of the other members of his or her immediate family could be forfeit. The definition of what constituted ‘immediate’ was up to those delivering the punishments. There had been many cases where the selected had been slightly late and the punishments had been waived, but it was never a good idea to take that sort of chance.
They turned the last corner and stared for a minute at the spectacle of the Temple. Although it was a relatively small building, it was very impressive and seemed to loom ominously at the very center of the city (though in truth it was a little bit off-center). It was surrounded by simple iron railings and closed circuit television cameras. According to legend, it had always been so, ever since it had been originally built close to seven thousand years ago. The precious metals, the gold, silver and platinum used to make the two prominent statues that stood in the gardens were real. The gemstones, rubies, diamonds, sapphires and emeralds that accented the murals on either side and on the back of the Temple were real. And the bricks of hard, well-polished marble that had gone into the structure of the building itself were all real. No one in their right mind would dare to steal from the Goddess. There was actually a story of a man who had broken into the Temple garden and then approached the nearest statue with a mind to lop off an arm or maybe even the tail. The story went that the Goddess herself had reached out her finger and struck him dead before he had taken two steps.
Milling about outside the gates of the Temple was a small crowd that had gathered, true believers in the Goddess. Many of them could be found here on every lottery night cheering the Goddess’ new servant across the threshold of the Temple and, in many cases, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Goddess herself as she opened the door to her new ward. As soon as Eggsiolama had turned that last corner, they started to cheer her, and one or two of them ran up to her and seemed to be trying to drag her towards the Temple.
Eggshufont stepped between them and brushed them off. He wondered how they could know that she was the latest ‘selected,’ as they were called. Perhaps it was because it was close to time. Or perhaps because all ‘selected’ had the same sort of haunted look as his sister now seemed to have.
‘We can still turn around, go back,’ he told her.
‘And what about our family?’ his sister asked him simply, though from her voice it would seem that leaving this place was exactly what she wanted to do.
‘We’ll go into hiding, all of us,’ Eggshufont replied.
‘They’d find us,’ she responded. ‘You know they’d be able to hunt us down; they always do. Besides, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in hiding? Not being able to show your face in public. Relying on the good faith of those you get to help you? And let’s face it. If even one member of our family was hurt by this, then we would have gained nothing. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.’
‘You’re my only sister,’ he insisted.
‘And I’ll miss you,’ she replied, and though she didn’t sound all that enthused now that she was so close to her destination, she added, ‘and being chosen is a great honor. Think well of me.’
‘I will, my sister,’ Eggshufont replied calmly. ‘I will.’
She entered the rearmost part of the crowd and made her way through slowly to the front, not looking round at her brother again. She exchanged greetings and gracefully accepted their congratulations, their cheers and their good wishes. She moved at a slow and yet determined pace. Though her heart might falter, she would reach her goal.
Eggshufont stayed at the back of the crowd and watched her go, forcing himself not to run after her and drag her back to the safety of their home. He watched her until she disappeared in the crowd. Then his attention moved to the Compare, the man standing at the very front of the crowd and facing them from the top of a small, slightly raised plinth. He had noticed the man before, of course, though he had been more interested in looking after his sister. In truth, Eggshufont had seen him on the television pretty much every week. He was here every time a new ‘selected’ was chosen. He felt his eyes narrow and his ears flatten at the sight of the man. A man whose job it was to escort the ‘selected’ beyond the gate and into the garden of the Temple. A man who, according to rumor, would be that one who set the death squads on the families of those who didn’t arrive. And he wasn’t even the same species as Eggshufont, his sister, or any of those in the crowd.
The Herbaht were of a totally diff
erent race, though supposedly they were related way back in the mists of time. But there were simply so many differences. Their ears were wrong for a start; then there were their noses, and even their stripes were all wrong, but what really capped it was their tails. They had long, flowing tails which they displayed through small, specially designed holes in their clothing. And yet his people worshipped them almost as much as they did the Gods. Everything of any importance was decided by members of the Herbaht race. Only the Herbaht could vote, and they only voted for Herbaht because only Herbaht were allowed to stand for election. The Herbaht dominated big business. It wasn’t illegal for one of Eggshufont’s race to start a business, but few of them ever made any real money because the Herbaht-run businesses weren’t willing to assist them. The big names and stars of stage, screen and radio were almost all Herbaht, and only in the last two hundred years had any non-Herbaht been able to get any decent parts. Yet the Herbaht as a race numbered less than one percent of the population of his own race. There were even rumors that the Goddess herself was really of the Herbaht race. It might explain a lot if she was. Had his sister failed to make her appointment with the Goddess this night, it would have been the Herbaht who would carry out the sentence on her family. The only reason he wasn’t willing to believe the claims was because the Goddess was immortal. That had been drummed into him from the earliest age. The Goddess was immortal, and the Herbaht were not.
He watched as his sister reached the Compare and climbed the plinth to meet with him. The Herbaht smiled almost too widely, and Eggshufont would have liked to have hit the man, had he been close enough. One of his race hitting a Herbaht would buy a year or more in prison, assuming he wasn’t simply executed for it. The two exchanged a few words. Their words were lost to the crowd, but they would be picked up by the microphone attached to the plinth and broadcast to the entire city…or at least to those watching on televisions or listening by radio.
Then the Temple gates slowly opened.
Eggshufont watched helplessly as his sister and the Herbaht descended from the plinth and walked together into the Temple garden. Once there, the Compare turned around and returned to the plinth, leaving Eggsiolama on her own. It was only a short walk to the main Temple doors, but it seemed to be an eternity for her brother, who watched as she walked solemnly past the ornamental statues: statues of Herbaht heroes, one of whom had founded the first church of the Goddess in this city seven thousand years or so ago. The other was a warrior who had put down a rebellion against the church about five thousand years previous. It hadn’t been much of a rebellion, really—the Herbaht had used laser weaponry and rockets; the rebels had used pitchforks and fists. But as a direct result of this rebellion, his people were greatly restricted in the technology they were allowed. Who could guess what sort of devices might be kept behind those huge, gold-inlaid marble doors. He watched as those doors slowly opened to admit the latest of the ‘selected’ and couldn’t help himself from trying to look beyond the doors into the darkness in the hope of catching a sight of the Goddess herself, the same way that so many of those that were in the crowd did month after month. He saw nothing. The Temple just beyond the doors was kept purposely dark.
Eggsiolama stepped nervously across the threshold into the Temple itself, and the large doors closed immediately behind her. At the same time the front gates closed, as if they did so together as part of a long-forgotten ceremony. Eggshufont’s sister was now a servant of the Goddess and would never be seen on this side of the walls of the Temple again.
The Temple in Tarr wasn’t the only Temple on the planet. Every major city and large town across the world had its own Temple, and everyone who wasn’t of the Herbaht race had to be registered somewhere for at least one monthly lottery, however far they might actually live from the nearest Temple. It was up to the ‘selected’ to reach the Temple by the deadline or pay the consequences. Few ever moved from one town to another because of the hassle in trying to get unregistered at one lottery and reregistered at another. Officials were only too keen to add new names to lotteries but hesitant to remove names until they had proof that the person moving was registered elsewhere, and this often meant being registered at two lotteries for a draw or two while the paperwork went through. Failure to be registered had its own penalties on par with being selected and not appearing. Then there was the other side—those few who made a habit of registering at as many lotteries as they could because they so desperately wanted to serve one of the Gods.
The month passed slowly for Eggshufont. It was true that he and his sister hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye about everything. Indeed, he and she had spent quite a few of their more tender years at loggerheads with each other over one thing or another. Nevertheless, she had been his sister, and he couldn’t reconcile the fact that now that she was a servant of the Goddess, he’d probably never see her again. In fact, unless he was chosen himself, she would be gone from his life for good.
He was still very young. He lived with his parents in their small house near the center of the city, but they were no help at all when he turned to them for comfort. Although they were full of pride for their daughter, all they had for him were accusations for even the smallest mistake whilst he performed his weekly chores. ‘How could you have done this? You’ll never be chosen like your sister was if we can’t even trust you to do things right. How can you expect the Goddess to want you for a servant?’ They conveniently forgot that who was chosen was arbitrarily done by the spin of a wheel.
Indeed, while Eggshufont mourned the loss of his sister, his friend and confidant, his parents seemed to have barely noticed that she was gone, other than to observe occasionally that her chores weren’t getting done. They would usually say this directly to Eggshufont as if they expected him to step in and do them for her while she was gone. They didn’t seem to mourn for their daughter at all, and why should they? Even though they might never see her again, she wasn’t dead and had instead received the highest of honors possible to one of her race, an honor that wasn’t even available to the Herbaht.
Eggshufont was alone in the house at the time of the next choosing. His parents had stayed in long enough to make sure that none of them were to be next ‘selected,’ and then they had gone out, celebrating the one-month anniversary of the servitude of their daughter to the Goddess. Eggshufont hadn’t intended to watch the ceremony itself. He had left the television on in the background for company and had intended to turn it off when the time came. Every station in the city would have its programs commandeered by the ceremony, so the only alternative was to turn the set off. But when the latest ‘selected’ arrived at the gates of the Temple, Eggshufont found that he was unable to drag himself away. It was like watching a road accident. He knew he should turn it off but just couldn’t bring himself to do so.
This month’s selected, a middle-aged male by the name of Camshuhyt, moved slowly through the crowd in much the same way as Eggshufont’s sister had, bringing back memories of those events just one month previous. Camshuhyt was visibly shivering, and Eggshufont knew that the weather was quite mild at this time of the year. It wasn’t cold that was making him shiver.
‘Congratulations, Camshuhyt, on being the latest ‘selected’ of our lady of the city,’ the Herbaht on the plinth said as the scared figure joined him. ‘Is there anything you’d like to say to the men and women watching this program?’
‘I-I can’t think of anything,’ he replied softly. It was unusual for the ‘selected’ not to say something to the crowd. They had most of the day from when the lottery had named them, and many people made it a point to rehearse something for most of their lives just in case they should ever be chosen.
‘There are two golden rules you will be required to follow once you step across the threshold and into the Temple itself.’ These rules were repeated on the television every week; there wasn’t a person in the city who didn’t know them by heart. ‘Don’t speak to the Goddess unless the Goddess speaks to you first, and obey th
e Goddess in anything she asks you, no matter how demeaning the task might seem.’
Tears came to his eyes as Eggshufont remembered his sister walking through the Temple gates in much the same way that Camshuhyt was doing now. He walked slowly along the path towards the large and impressive-looking marble doors, stopping to admire the statues for a minute before heading on to the Temple itself. Then, before entering the Temple proper, he glanced back towards the gates. The desire to leave through them was written plainly in his eyes, but he must have remembered his family and turned back towards the Temple, hesitant yet determined. He stepped across the threshold into the Temple, and the great doors closed behind him.
Tears flooded down Eggshufont’s cheeks as he thought more about his sister. Perhaps it was because he was so young that he was so impulsive, but he remembered that his father had an ancient firearm in a display case on the cabinet in his study. It was a single-shot affair; it would be no match against the weapons that were carried by the Goddess’ Herbaht servants, but he might be able to wipe that smile off the face of the Compare. He might even be able to put a bullet through the center of the Goddess’ head and show the world how immortal she really was.
He took the weapon out of its case, disobeying what his father had always told him: to leave the thing alone. He examined it closely; there was no reason the gun shouldn’t work, despite its age. Getting ammunition for it wouldn’t be a problem either, as there were five bullets in the case with the gun. They were ancient bullets, nearly as old as the gun. He didn’t know enough about weaponry for it to occur to him that the bullets might no longer work. He returned the gun to the display case, put the case back exactly where he had found it as demarked by the absence of dust, and then left his father’s study. There was a month to wait until the next selection. A month before he could carry out his plan. But when that day arrived, the entire world would learn his name: Eggshufont, the man who killed a Goddess. Perhaps they would make it easy for him. Perhaps they would draw his name in the next lottery.
London Wild Page 1
