by J M Hemmings
‘What … what is this place?’ she gasped.
‘This is an ancient city called T’Kalanjathu,’ the General answered, his voice resounding in her mind. ‘It was the capital of a civilisation that vanished from this earth long before the days of Jesus. They reached the height of their power while the Roman Empire was still in its infancy, and the Buddha walked the earth in the form of a man. They were called the K’Nganwa, but sadly you will not find their names in any history books of any living culture. For centuries, though, this capital was a centre of learning and enlightenment … yet it was also a hub of greed, cruelty and insatiable excess. Does this sound familiar to you, considering where you come from? The K’Nganwa destroyed themselves, in the end; they declared war on Nature, and as is always the case in such conflicts, while man is able to inflict massive and horrific carnage upon her, Nature is able to weather the course, no matter the extent of the destruction wrought upon her … and in the end She is able to ultimately survive and regenerate. Man, in his short-sighted arrogance, is not.’
‘How do you know all of this, if it isn’t in history books?’ Margaret asked.
The General paused for a few moments before delivering a cryptic answer.
‘All will be revealed in time.’
As they began to navigate their way down a steep path, his voice went silent in her head, and thereafter he spoke no more. Melodic and shrill bird and animal calls rang out all around them as they journeyed down the complex networks of steps and paths into the heart of the jungle valley, and Margaret observed processions of wild animals coming down some other trails as dusk fell. Their passages down from the heights mirrored the streams and tributaries that emptied their issue into the tumbling river that sluiced along the valley floor.
When the other animal trains got onto the main road, Margaret saw that they all carried enormous saddlebags, bursting with fresh fruit and vegetables. On this wide road, paved with black river rocks polished glossy and smooth by centuries of traffic, the various trains of animals all joined a singular, crowded procession that was heading in calm order towards the towering city gates, which were constructed of bright yellow stone and wrapped tight with immense, python-coiled tree roots. While many of the trees had long since grown through many buildings, smashing out walls and roofs in a centuries-slow melee of silent anarchy, Margaret noticed that the city walls, along with their pillars and turrets, as well as a number of other buildings, had been patched around and bonded to the trees, so that Nature herself formed living pillars of support, working in conjunction with the architecture of man.
‘Did you restore these ruins?’ she asked the General.
‘I did, yes. It has taken me decades, and is still very much an ongoing process. But look around you; it has been worth all the effort, don’t you think? Behold this ancient glory, a jewel of the heart of Central Africa, majestic enough to rival anything Egypt, Sumeria, China, Persia, Greece, the Mayans or Rome erected in the days of antiquity! And here this wondrous city is restored, and if not to her former splendour then to an even brighter glory, for now she stands in harmony with Nature, not against her.’
Margaret could not resist staring, slack-jawed, at everything they passed.
‘I have to admit, it is kinda spectacular,’ she admitted. ‘It’s beyond anything I could have ever imagined out here in the jungle.’
‘This was not always only jungle, as I mentioned. You have much to learn about the world, I think, despite what you think you know. Fear not though, for I will teach you well.’
Barbed thorns of scepticism bristled throughout Margaret’s entire being at the General’s perceived arrogance and patronising attitude, but she quickly recalled where she was, and how vulnerable and helpless she was out here, so she did her best to suppress these thoughts. Instead, she allowed herself to marvel at the sight that was unfolding before her, and found herself wondering if she was, like some explorer of old, the first Caucasian to be laying eyes on this long-lost treasure, which had somehow survived the slothfully-destructive passage of the centuries.
Soon they were on the valley floor, traversing the gleaming road and approaching the imposing city gates. The darkness of night was closing in, but there was enough daylight left to still observe the spectacle quite clearly. The gates themselves were open, although had they been shut they would have presented a six-metre-tall barrier to any army wishing to invade. The pillars supporting the gates were carved in the shape of two gorillas, holding up the gates with stone arms, sculpted in incredible detail in an artistic style that seemed, strangely, to meld elements of Ancient Egyptian, Sumerian, Mayan and Greek art.
Margaret could not help but gasp with wonder as they passed through these gates. She had visited the ruins of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, and as awe-inspiring as they had been, they paled in comparison to what she was seeing here. Tall stone walls abounded, as did sprawling buildings and temples, all wrought in an architectural style that was at once stunning and ominously threatening. The artistic details were omnipresent and almost overpowering; every wall face seemed to feature intricate scenes done in relief carving.
The streets were broad and open, and while there seemed to be a lot of soldiers around, the sheer size of the city, in comparison to how many people were in it, made it seem distinctly empty. The train of wild animals continued their march straight on, heading down what seemed to be the main road, at the end of which a large palace loomed.
‘Ting,’ she whispered, feeling a stabbing pang of longing for her lover half a world away, ‘if only you could see what I’m seeing.’ She chuckled mirthlessly as she realised the breathtakingly immense opportunity that lay before her … and her complete inability to capitalise on it in any way whatsoever. ‘Christ Ting … I don’t even have a phone camera on me. Nothing. There’s no way of recording anything I’ve seen in the past few days. None at all. Even if I were to somehow make it out of this mess alive, to get back home to you … Jesus, nobody would believe a word about, about, any of this! They’d call me crazy. Maybe … maybe even you would call me crazy. But this … this is real, Ting, my word, it’s really real, it’s happening to me! I’m not crazy, I swear I’m not.’
After a few minutes they reached the palace, which, like the rest of the buildings, was constructed of heavy stone, and carved all over with detailed relief scenes of gods, animals and fantastic beings. The outer walls were solid and high – six or seven metres, with crenelated battlements on top – and above them impressive spiral-carved turrets soared up even higher, sporting stabbing spires at their tops. Margaret shuddered as she looked up at the battlements and noticed teenage troops manning anti-aircraft guns and heavy machine guns, all of them glaring down at her with ice frosting their eyes.
‘Doctor,’ the General’s voice said inside her mind as he got down on his knees, ‘I am going to put you down, because I need to transform back into my human form now that we have entered the city. As he did before, my lieutenant will assist you.’
Again the gorilla came bounding up to the General’s flank, and with strong but gentle hands he helped Margaret down and set her down on the ground. He supported her until she could stand steadily, for after an entire day on the elephant’s back she could hardly retain her footing without wobbling and swaying, so stiff and sore were her joints.
‘I’m good, I’m good, thank you,’ she murmured after rubbing and massaging her knees and ankles for a while.
The gorilla nodded and ambled back to his place, and then the General shifted back into his human form. The process of transformation was just as surreal and disturbing the second time she saw it, and it took a monumental effort to stop herself from shrieking and collapsing. Once again, as if she were watching some black-and-white stop-motion horror film sped up by a thousand-fold, the General’s body bulged and rippled and bubbled and changed colour, and in a mere second, in the space before her, which had been occupied by a towering African elephant, there now stood only a man.
Two teenage att
endants dressed in camouflage fatigues rushed up to him and presented him with freshly ironed clothes: an officer’s dress uniform in spotless white, replete with gold and royal blue epaulettes, lampasses, braids, lanyards and trim, and a number of interestingly styled badges.
‘Please excuse me,’ he said to Margaret as he got dressed in front of her. ‘Necessity dictates such immodesty?’
Margaret, who was still reeling from witnessing the transformation, could do little but nod. The perceived horrors, however, were far from over; all around her the wild animals of the General’s procession also began to change back into their human forms. Within mere seconds, where the menagerie of wild beasts had been there now stood a gaggle of leanly muscled teenagers of both sexes. They too were immediately provided with fresh clothes; their uniforms, however, were a hue of olive green. Like the General’s, though, they were of an elaborate and ornate style that recalled the dress uniforms of Victorian-era officers, in all their pomp and vainglorious extravagance.
As soon as the teenagers were attired in their uniforms and had retrieved their assorted weapons from the saddlebags, they formed up in neat and orderly lines and awaited the General’s orders. Despite the omnipresent trepidation that weighed down on her soul, Margaret was impressed by the soldiers’ discipline, especially given that their median age appeared to be around seventeen.
She was greatly perturbed about the fact that aside from the General, she had not seen another adult anywhere. She knew how sensitive a topic was that of child soldiers in this part of the world, so she decided it was in her best interests to keep her mouth shut for the time being. Quite unexpectedly, she found herself on the verge of trusting the General, with his genial speech, gentlemanly manners and unfailing politeness, but she could not let her guard down completely; not only was he a soldier, he was evidently an enslaver of children, something she found even more reprehensible than his rampant militarism.
Margaret was snapped out of this trance of contemplation when the General spoke some words to the child soldiers in their language. In a single, unified movement they saluted him and then marched off into the city, leaving him alone with Margaret on the steps of the palace, in front of the opulent-looking doors. He turned to her and bowed deeply.
‘Doctor, I bid you a formal welcome to the ancient city of T’Kalanjathu, forgotten wonder of the Ancient World and current headquarters of the Antidote.’
‘Th-, thank you sir,’ Margaret stammered.
‘I imagine that you have a number of questions. I also sense that you are feeling fearful, confused, overwhelmed and anxious. Let me take you to your room where you can have a hot bath and relax. I will have someone bring you a hot meal and coffee, or wine if you would prefer? All of our food and drinks are cultivated in this area, except for the wine, which we import, for grapes will not develop adequately for wine cultivation in this climate.’
‘I, erm, I … yes, thank you sir. I-, whaa…’
Margaret trailed off in mid-sentence as, all around her, the buildings started to light up with a multicoloured glow. The sight was one of dreamlike beauty, and the magnificence of it was beyond anything Margaret had ever imagined she would see outside of a cinema.
‘Jesus, I feel like I’m in that movie Avatar,’ she murmured, spellbound by the awestriking spectacle unfolding before her.
The General beamed a toothy smile at her.
‘I suspected you would enjoy our display of bioluminescence, Dotor. This is how T’Kalanjathu was illuminated at night for centuries, well, thousands of years ago at least. While most other cultures, in their thirst for fuel, have been mutilating the forests and digging up the earth since the dawn of time, the K’Nganwa found a way to work with nature to create light in the darkness of night. Well, before our age of decadence and degeneration, at least. It is to that golden era that I have tried to restore the city. Here we have no need for coal plants to tear up the earth and foul her air, nor do we need to get power from splitting atoms, with all the potential for cataclysmic disaster that that entails. You see, these stones of which T’Kalanjathu is constructed are not actually brightly coloured themselves; they are a deep grey, in their plain and unadorned state. It is the fungi that grow on them that give them their multitude of colours, and when the sun sets these tiny organisms start to glow, and thereby provide us with light throughout the night. As long as we keep the fungi damp and thus alive, which is done through our systems of canals that harness the hundreds of streams that pour into this river valley, the fungi will continue to illuminate this city.’
‘That’s … that’s amazing. I’ve seen bioluminescence once before, on a beach in Jamaica, but I was told it was almost an exclusively marine phenomenon.’
‘It exists on land too, but it is much rarer. In the depths of the rainforest there grows a certain type of mushroom that is bioluminescent; the ancient K’Nganwa worked out a way to cultivate these naturally glowing fungi and used them as light sources in all of their cities. When I first arrived here to set up my headquarters a few decades ago, there were but a few square centimetres of this fungi that remained alive, and they survived only in one of the deepest dungeons beneath the city. The rest of it, which had once lined all of the city walls as you see now, had vanished two thousand years ago when the civilisation of the K’Nganwa collapsed. Thankfully a good friend of mine, an esteemed Dutch biologist, was able to assist me with the re-cultivation of the fungi, and after years of hard work we were once again able to adorn these walls with their glowing beauty, and thus restore them to the magnificence of a time two thousand years past.’
A sudden flush of courage heated the blood within Margaret’s veins; she wasn’t sure why, but a spark ignited her temper, momentarily injecting her core with fire. She turned and scowled at the General.
‘I appreciate your little history lesson, but I have to ask you, sir, when are you going to explain to me why you have brought me here?’
The General’s eyes flashed a lightning-flicker of anger, and Margaret realised that she had almost overstepped her bounds here; despite his pretensions toward politeness and gentleness, this was a man who did not appreciate his authority being challenged. However, as quickly as his rage had flared up it seemed to retreat and subside.
‘As I said,’ he replied with a stony face, ‘all will be explained to you in good time. We will need your medical expertise soon. Until then, do not try to push me for explanations.’
The General did not need to say anything else; he had delivered his message with just enough of an edge of menace to drive home the solidity of his threat. They walked into the palace and entered what must once have been an expansive stone courtyard or parade ground, but which had now been converted into a lush garden, rich with life. A variety of exotic flowers and fruits added resplendent splashes of colour to the bountiful greenery, and iridescent hummingbirds, garishly coloured parrots, and other beautiful birds flitted freely about amongst the dwarf trees and shrubs.
‘This is really quite beautiful,’ Margaret murmured, genuinely impressed.
The General smiled and paused to admire the garden.
‘It is one of my hobbies, growing things; I do love plants, Dr Green. Well, I love all life, all living things, of course, but I do find it especially calming and therapeutic to work in this garden. Yes, this is my refuge, my sanctuary, my place of retreat from the myriad pressures and stresses I must deal with on a daily basis. I spend as much time communing with the plants here as I can, but sadly, I am mostly occupied with … other … affairs.’
The General led Margaret through the garden, which featured many maze-like paths, and took her along a winding trail up a gentle slope. At the end of it they came to a thick wooden door, reinforced with steel, which was guarded by a teenage soldier armed with an AK-47. The boy saluted stiffly to the General and opened the door for them. Inside was a steep spiral staircase that seemed to go up forever, and Margaret was quite out of breath by the time they reached the top of it.
&n
bsp; ‘Are you all right?’ the General asked, genuinely concerned as Margaret huffed and puffed her way up the last of the stairs before stumbling onto the landing, which led to a long, broad corridor with many doors.
‘I’m just … unfit,’ she gasped. ‘I-, I haven’t been able to keep up with my y-, yoga and jogging since I’ve been out here in the C-, Congo. I’m fine though … I’m fine.’
‘If you are sure of this,’ the General said, raising an eyebrow, somewhat unconvinced. ‘Well, we are almost there anyway. Follow me; it’s just down here.’ He led her to one of the doors about halfway down the passage and stepped inside. ‘Come Dr Green, it’s this room.’
A wide window provided a spectacular view of the half-forest, half-stone city without, illuminated all over by the rainbow hues of the bioluminescent fungi, while ancient aqueducts piped water all throughout the city, including directly into her room. From brass fittings shaped like hippopotami and crocodiles fresh water gushed into a smooth basin carved from the same black river rock with which the roads were paved. There was also a large bed, and a closet, a desk and a chair, and an iron bathtub. The General pointed out a bookshelf, packed with a range of books, near the bed.
‘You will find a great number of interesting books in there. There is both fiction and non-fiction, and all of it has been hand-picked by myself. As you may notice while perusing the titles, I have a great love for the classics, yes, a great love for stories and characters that transcend history! I do, however, appreciate some more modern works as well; I am not a literary snob by any means, although I do draw a line at the dross that constitutes the majority of today’s commercial fiction. Still, I hope I have provided a broad enough range to keep your interest piqued and your mind stimulated.’
