The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

  As the queue shuffled forward, Harl passed the lumber division. It was laid out in neat, head-high piles to create a series of narrow rows. He watched old lady Varnen fiddling with her shawl as she hobbled among the stockpile of wood, while Tamish, the tanner’s son, strolled along the opposite edge of the heaps. Tamish pretended to retie his leather apron, glancing left and right, then took several strides into the rows. Harl had a clear view as old lady Varnen came face-to-face with the young man.

  ‘Two carts of lumber,’ she said, waving a parchment list. ‘I’m far too old to make use of it.’

  Tamish nodded and glanced over his shoulder. Harl looked away before Tamish turned back to the old lady.

  ‘Would chickens make a better meal than lumber?’ Tamish asked, checking his own list. He froze as two guards ambled past on the next row along, too engrossed in their own lists to notice the odd couple. When they had moved beyond hearing, old lady Varnen and Tamish resumed haggling, working out the ratio of chicken to lumber before holding open palms across their hearts, sealing the deal.

  ‘What would you two be doing?’ a smooth voice said, startling Harl and making the two conspirators jump and spin around.

  Joedal, the guard captain, had been lurking behind a stack of huge tree trunks and strolled up to the dealers. His bright red cloak waved in the gentle breeze as he awaited an answer. A barrel of a man, tall and imposing with a stubby slick back pony tail, he was a close friend to Rufus and although Harl had never spoken to him, he’d heard of the man’s crooked ways.

  ‘S-she doesn’t need the lumber,’ Tamish said. ‘What’s an old lady going to do with it?’

  ‘Not for you to decide,’ Joedal said, prodding Tamish’s grubby leather apron with his index finger. ‘Dividing’s complete, unless you think a mistake has been made.’ The captain shrugged as if helpless to do anything.

  ‘Surely you could do something,’ the old lady said, feigning equal helplessness.

  A gleam entered the captain’s eye and he perked up as she proffered a bulging sackcloth pouch.

  ‘I suppose young Tamish’s house is closer,’ Joedal said, plucking the bag from her bony hand. It disappeared into a larger holdall concealed under his striking red cloak. ‘I’m sure the paperwork can be adjusted to fix this… error. Wouldn’t want to see you in the quarries because of a mistake in the paperwork now, would we?’ He let the sentence hang and held an open palm in front of Tamish, who scowled and then slipped a loop of credits into the waiting hand.

  Joedal smiled and jingled the credits in his fist. ‘I thought there’d been a mistake,’ he said, ‘but nothing I can’t get sorted.’ He whistled a jaunty tune as he sauntered out from the timber stacks, heading for another couple arguing the value of a case of fire liquid.

  The queue shuffled forward and Harl strained to catch a glimpse of Troy through the crowd, but by the time he had reached Vines, there was still no sign of his friend. It was strange, because Troy was usually one of the first at the division. Perhaps his hangover still had him languishing in bed?

  ‘Harl, my boy,’ Vines said, grinning beneath the white hair framing his cheeks. ‘Survived the post-gifting drinks then? Got your list here.’ He ticked Harl’s name off on a long sheet of parchment before handing him a rolled up scroll from a stack on the table beside him. ‘It was a hefty gift.’ He hunched forward and leaned in towards Harl as he lowered his voice. ‘I had a quiet word with one of the dividers to get you a little something extra.’

  ‘As always, Vines, you’re too kind. I owe you my thanks and if you need anything...’ He let the question hang in case Vines wanted something for the favour, but the Elderman shrugged and shook his head

  ‘No need my boy,’ he said giving him a wink. ‘Just be careful.’

  Harl read the list, then smiled back at Vines as he rolled it up and slid it into his pack. He had never received such a haul. There was a good portion of food and liquid fire, but, most importantly, he would take home five cows from the gifted herd. There was the usual lumber ration, some seeds, and even a hen. The final part of the list noted any special items. These rare luxuries were seldom part of the god’s bounty, but he had received a few this time around, including a pelt from an unknown animal, a thirty-stride length of rope, and a bow and arrows.

  Grinning, he nodded farewell to Vines and walked away as another man jumped the line and began arguing with the Elderman about the unfairness of his list. Two guards stepped forward and seized the man. His face grew pale.

  ‘I didn’t mean it!’ he pleaded, but the guards took no notice and knocked him to the ground.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Joedal roared as he strode out from behind a train of carts laden with sacks and crates.

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ Vines said. He shuffled forward to stand between Joedal and the cowering man. ‘Just the usual disagreements, that’s all. We’ll soon have it sorted out.’

  Joedal glared at the Elderman.

  ‘Complaining, was he? Can’t have that. Haul him away boys.’

  The guards dragged the man to his feet and marched him away across the square. Joedal returned to his inspection of the carts, grinning at Vines in triumph. The old man shook his head and turned back to the next in line.

  Unnerved by what he’d just seen, Harl took a deep breath and headed towards the captain. Joedal turned and eyed Harl suspiciously.

  ‘You’ll have to wait like everyone else,’ he snapped before Harl could speak. ‘All personal deliveries are next cycle. We haven’t got the manpower for you to take it now.’

  ‘I didn’t want to take it all,’ Harl said. ‘I just wanted to collect one of my specials, if I can.’

  The captain smiled, taking in the cut of his clothes. ‘What is it you’re requesting?’

  Harl showed him the list.

  Joedal nodded. ‘Very nice. I suppose it might be possible. But I’ll have to divert a guard from duty to find it. He’ll need paying for overtime.’

  Harl should have expected this.

  ‘I forgot...’

  The captain raised an eyebrow as if Harl was wasting his time but then frowned. ‘You’re the tooler?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm...’ Joedal said, running his hand over an ornate vase in one of the carts. ‘My spear snapped after last gifting...’ His eyes twitched to Harl and then back to the vase. A sly smile crept onto his face. ‘The head is a family heirloom and would match my new shield nicely when the weapons master gets around to delivering it. If only it hadn’t snapped...’

  Harl sighed.

  ‘Bring it over to the shop,’ he said, glad it was only the handle, ‘and I’ll have it done in a few cycles.’

  Joedal grinned. ‘Wait somewhere out of the way and I’ll have one of my men bring it to you, but don’t go flashing it around or we’ll have chaos.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Harl moved over to a large pile of lumber and watched as the first of the carts trundled off to farms in the surrounding countryside. A guard came up to him holding the new bow and quiver of arrows. The bow was made from a silvery, light-weight alloy, while the quiver was a sleek, meshed fabric that looked as though it would take a battering and remain unscathed. Ten arrows bristled from the end of it. They were the same smooth metal as the bow.

  Troy’s father had been gifted a similar bow when Harl was a boy. The two boys had often borrowed it for adventures in the woods, usually once Troy’s father had sunk a few ales. They had become good shots and had been immensely proud after downing a wild pig that had charged at them one cycle. They sold the carcass and took a whole cask of ale back to Troy’s father. Unfortunately, he’d been forced to sell the bow after a poor harvest and it had ended up in the hands of a greedy Elderman.

  Frowning at the memory, Harl checked the Spear for any sign of Troy and then jumped on a wagon heading out of town. As one of the farthest farms out, Troy’s backed on to the woodlands towards no sight, and although the journey was pleasant, Troy was nowhere to be found when Ha
rl arrived. The water buckets lay unfilled beside the well and the sheep in the nearest paddock bleated at an empty trough.

  Harl had had enough. If Troy wanted to drink himself into a stupor somewhere, then he’d leave him to it. He tossed half a bale of hay into the pen and headed home.

  Harl stared Sightwards at the imposing glass barrier. Reflections of the town and farmlands formed a ghost image across its surface. He leaned against the door frame of his home and sipped at a bowl of meaty stew. The image seemed to float in the void beyond the Sight as if a twin of his world had materialised out there. But if he focused on the Sight – if he ignored the image as just another mirage – then he could see out into the god’s realm. It was strange to look through his world, through the fabric of his reality. There should be some hidden meaning to it all, but whatever truths it was whispering were too faint to hear. He sighed and took another sip of the stew.

  The land dipped away before him down a shallow incline that led to his bench and manicured garden close to the Sight. It pulled at him like a fishing lure, drawing him there even though he knew the danger of staring out through the glass and incurring the god’s wrath. It felt safer at this distance. He could stare out into the void and remain hidden, but the Sight still fascinated him. He longed to be out there, to spin around and see forever. He glanced at the pitch black barrier fifty paces to the right of his home. He didn’t want to be blocked by walls and corners, or constrained by the rule of Eldermen.

  But the deeper truth was the hope of seeing his parents again. Each time he faced the Sight his childhood memories played before him as if they were reflections dancing on the glass. His mother’s warm embrace, his father’s twinkling eyes, all the cycles and emotions, all the hope and love, but when the tears from his memories cleared there was only the darkness of the void.

  He wiped a sleeve across his eyes and strolled down the incline to the bench, running his free hand along the wood as he fought against the urge to look out through the Sight again. But it pulled at him more strongly than anything he could remember. He didn’t care if it made him seem odd to others. He just needed to be there. He just needed to see them.

  He sank down onto the seat. The turmoil in his stomach from the previous cycle’s drinking only added to the pain. He raised his eyes, hoping, dreading, but there was no sign of his parents.

  The One True God laboured in the distance, stomping around on his oversized legs as he trudged first one way, then the other. Each time he passed the Sight he seemed to be carrying huge boxes, but it made no sense to Harl.

  A lesser god sprang into view right in front of Harl. The bowl went flying from Harl’s grasp, burning his hand as he fell off the back of the bench. He rolled to his feet and turned back to face the god. The god towered above Harl and he found himself facing the god’s vast midriff. His clothing was subtly different to the woven metal worn by the One True God. It was sleeker and made from overlapping metal plates, similar to the armour worn by the town guards. Harl looked up to where the god’s face lurked at the very top of the Sight. Pale bluish-grey skin pockmarked with age spots clung to the god’s high cheekbones, and craggy jowls sagged under his chin, as though he was older than the One True God. But how could he be? The One True God was the creator of all things, surely it was impossible for one of the lesser gods to be older?

  Harl watched the god scan the world. He looked unimpressed, as though he had seen it all before. The head tilted down to study a book resting in his weathered grey hands and then raised the house-sized object to gaze at the pages before shifting his vast bulk to peer above the world. He then leaned over to inspect the outside of the world, before returning to study Harl.

  The yellow pupils bore into him, as if the god knew the fate of his parents and of all those who had been lifted. Harl had spent so many cycles staring out of the world, but he had never come face to face with a god. Fear paralysed him. He wanted to run and hide, he wanted to burrow into the soil and block the face away but all he could do was cower before it and pray that the god’s hand did not reach inside to crush him.

  The god slammed the book shut, making Harl jump, and then lowered it to his side before stretching up as though inspecting the light at the roof of the world. Harl’s view beyond the Sight became blocked by the god’s midriff. The shiny clothing rippled and, as if by magic, a startling vision appeared.

  Directly in front of him, on the body of the god, was a woman. Her face was framed by long, golden hair and she had startling sapphire eyes. They held a look of wonder, which Harl was sure mirrored his own. Although her figure was distorted by the curve of the god’s metallic clothing, she was still clear enough to make out some details. She wore only a pure white dress and her slender body took Harl’s breath away. He had never seen anyone like her.

  He stepped forward and reached out to touch her, but only the cold barrier of the Sight met his fingers. He rested his palm flat against its smooth surface as his mind blanked out everything except the woman. She took a step forward. Startled, he stepped back and tripped on the uneven ground. She laughed and raised a hand to cover her mouth as he fell to the ground. When he looked back at her, her image had grown distorted. He scrambled to his feet and she became more distinct.

  Was he imagining her? Surely not. Yet, unless he was still drunk from the cycle before, he could think of no other reason for this apparition.

  He almost cried out loud when the god lifted the book and blocked her from view. The god turned and strode away, leaving nothing in front of Harl but the emptiness of the gods’ realm. He stared at the god’s plated back and cursed the cruelty of letting him see such beauty only to steal it away. All he was left with was his own pitiful reflection gazing back.

  Was she some kind of dream granted by the god? He shook his head and almost laughed at the prospect. She was a beauty beyond imagining, but she was no dream. She was real. He looked into the mirror of his own eyes and stepped forward. Her image had to be a reflection. But from where? He tried to judge the angle of the reflection so that he could trace where she had been standing. The conclusion was as simple as it was absurd.

  She had been standing on the other side of the black barrier to the right of his home.

  A twig cracked behind him. He spun to find Rufus sneering at him from a few steps away. Joedal and several well-armed guards fanned out around him. Rufus took a step forward.

  ‘I have you now, Eriksson. Do you think you can curse the gods without punishment? Are you really that stupid?’ Rage simmered in his eyes. He moved aside and waved the guards forward. ‘Arrest him.’

  Harl’s mind went blank as the guards shackled him and dragged him away. He turned back to the Sight in a daze, but the only reflection there now was Rufus.

  Chapter 5

  On further reflection, I believe the species to be from another planet; although how they came to be here is beyond my understanding. I am unable to comprehend their language.

  Harl woke to find himself huddled against the damp prison wall. He groaned and rolled to a sitting position on the thin straw mattress. The cell was in the basement of the Eldermen’s meeting hall. It was only a temporary holding area, just a squalid hole where the prisoners could be hidden away until their trial, but it was enough. He hated the place already.

  Six stone-walled cells lined the outside of the squalid room, with only a grill of iron bars caging the prisoners inside.

  Harl looked around the cell. There was hardly anything worth mentioning: an empty food bowl, slop bucket, and the flea-ridden straw pile on the inside, while a water bucket rested to the side of the door on the outside. All the other cells were the same.

  A single oak door led from the prison to where a set of crooked stone stairs climbed up to the meeting hall. There was no fresh air in the place, no vent to the outside world or any window to show whether it was light or dark. The only light came from a flickering lantern that hung from the damp ceiling.

  Two roaches crawled across Harl’s leg. H
e shook them off and scrambled back against the wall. There was little point, really, because the place was crawling with insects, but he just couldn’t get used to the feel of them.

  Harl’s cell was directly opposite Troy’s. He still couldn’t believe that they had both been arrested. Troy was already in a cell when the guards had dragged Harl in and he’d spent the whole time since then ranting about the injustice of it.

  But regardless of the dread that filled him, Harl’s thought’s were still with the woman he had seen. He hadn’t told Troy, although he didn’t really know why. Something about the place made it impossible. She was like a beacon in the darkness and he was afraid that if he told anyone about her, it might snuff out that last vestige of light. He just wanted to lie there, close his eyes, and let his dreams take him to her.

  ‘That bloody priest,’ Troy yelled. He kicked his food bowl against the cell bars as he stalked from wall to wall. ‘He must have run straight to Rufus in the hope of gaining some favour or other. They got me right after the gifting and I was in no shape to stop them. Broke my door down just because I couldn’t hear the banging. Poor Lisa was only in her skin when they came in the room.’ He punched the wall and turned. ‘I bet that pleased Rufus: probably the only unclothed female he’s seen in his miserably pious life.’

  ‘Probably,’ Harl said.

  ‘What’s with you?’ Troy asked. ‘You’ve barely spoken since they threw you in here with me’.

  ‘You mean other than being stuck in a cell with your constant whining while waiting to be tried for speaking the truth?’ Harl said. ‘Nothing, Troy, nothing at all.’

  Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door before it creaked open. One of the Pewter brothers came in balancing a grubby tray on one hand with two bowls on top, while the other gripped a bright torch that sent the roaches scurrying. Thick black smoke from the torch coiled back through the open door and up the stairs.