The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

  At street level, pale stone was used in everything from the cobblestones underfoot to the statues of the One that stood outside every other building along the road. The statue’s strong, set jaw, soft eyes and wide shoulders gave the impression of a firm but benevolent ruler.

  Unlike the ghostly stillness of the farms below, the city was bustling with people moving about the streets. Some were obviously slaves carrying wide backpacks and walking with hunched spines under the heavy loads. Others must have been off duty guards as they called out to his captors with queries about their strange prisoner as they passed. Several times the guards shoved him aside as a group of wealthy men staggered past, moving from tavern to tavern, but mostly they just prodded him along with their swords. It didn’t seem to matter that it was night. Life just seemed to carry on.

  The Callers had roughly disarmed Harl of his equipment when they bound him and one carried his sword, bag and pistol. Harl saw no way of taking it back without ending up either wounded or dead on their jagged swords. If he could get hold of the pistol then they wouldn’t be a match for him, but it was no use wishing for what he couldn’t have. He just had to hope that some opportunity presented itself.

  They marched him deeper into the city until the captain halted and held his sword across Harl’s path. Harl staggered to a stop and sucked in his stomach to avoid a slice across his belly.

  They had stopped in front of the tallest building and, up close, it was even more impressive than seen from the farmlands. Its pale stone walls were so ornately etched with pictures and words that it was a marvel that anyone could have spent the time to carve it. It spread out far to either side of him, taking up the entire back corner of the city. The only entrance was a tall, pillared archway that was guarded by two armoured guards, their polished suits gleaming silver in the light.

  His captors hauled him roughly through the archway and past the silent soldiers on duty inside.

  Harl found himself staring down a straight corridor lined with tapestries and gold embossed portraits of the One. The floor was cushioned with a deep red carpet that stretched all the way to a set of ornate stone doors covered in sparkling jewels.

  The captain led the way along the carpet and then knocked twice on the jewel-encrusted door. He yanked Harl backwards as both doors hinged open and a small man stepped out. He was wrapped in a bright ruby robe and wore a golden-domed hat. Peering at them through delicate glasses, he made a tutting noise as he looked Harl up and down.

  ‘You have one of them?’ he asked the guard. His voice was like a reedy wood instrument, high and imperious. Somehow it managed to convey boredom and interest at the same time.

  ‘Yes, master Lou,’ the Caller said, shoving Harl forward a step.

  ‘And the rest?’ Lou asked, smiling as he surveyed Harl for a long time.

  ‘We were unable to catch them, sir,’ the guard said, swallowing and bowing his head in submission.

  The thin framed Lou frowned and clenched his jaw before the smile reappeared.

  ‘I’ll send for my personal guards to collect him,’ he said. ‘Then he may be presented to the One. Guards!’ he turned, and called back into an opulently furnished room.

  Three beautiful and finely-armoured women marched forward at the small man’s orders and snatched the equipment from Harl’s captors, while another grabbed Harl by the shoulder and stood waiting for further orders.

  ‘Take him to the top room of the dungeons,’ Lou said to the leading woman. ‘Leave his things here with me. I’d like to examine them before interrogation. Go.’ He spoke the last word to the captain who had brought Harl.

  The Captain and his men bowed and backed away, before turning to hurry off.

  Lou turned to one of the female guards. ‘See that that captain does not fail me ever again.’ She nodded and crept off after them, a dagger appearing in her hand from up a sleeve.

  Harl was led up a circular flight of stone steps that ended in a thick, wooded door. Beyond the door was a windowless room with four dirty, unoccupied cells, and he was thrown unceremoniously into one. The cobblestone room was split between two cells on either side of a walkway. The door stood on his left and ten paces away on the opposite side was a rack of torture implements covered in dried blood.

  The guards left without a word and Harl stood alone in the silence. He found himself thinking of Sonora and their unborn child. He had promised to return to them, but looking at the damp, blood-streaked walls, he thought he might end up breaking that promise. He gripped the cell bars in both hands and pressed his head against the metal. He’d just wanted to help everyone inside the tanks and the shame of failing bit at him deeply. He had assumed humanity to be made up of good people willing to accept his help, but he should have known better. Corruption was everywhere. He’d seen it in his own world, in Sonora’s; he’d even seen it in Delta. Why had he continued on blinkered by his misguided belief?

  Footsteps rang on the stairs. The door flew open and a fat, shaven-headed man came in flanked by two of the female guards. Lou stepped in behind, a twisted grin on his pinched face as he paced the length of the room. The fat man waddled over to the rack and unhooked a leather whip.

  ‘Before I ask you any questions, Lou said, smiling pleasantly as he walked back to Harl’s cell, ‘I must make sure you understand who is in charge here. I will not be lied to or cheated.’

  As if on cue, the fat man looked at Lou and, after a nod from his master, he produced a ring of keys from his rotting leather belt and quickly unlocked the cell. He reached in, grabbed a handful of Harl’s jerkin and hauled him out. Without a word he spun Harl and kicked at the back of his legs, knocking him down.

  Hot pain seared through Harl’s back as the fat man lashed out with the whip. It ripped his shirt, scoring lines into his flesh. Another crack and he arched his back as the cord drew blood. The rope bit into his skin again and again, slicing deep into him as he tried to squirm and avoid the pain.

  Harl screamed for mercy, not understanding why he was being punished. No questions had been asked and he knew in his heart they didn’t expect an answer. There was no way to make it stop. He cowered under the relentless blows, telling them he would do anything for them, babbling, hoping to say the right thing. No one listened and he begged for mercy until, after what seemed an eternity, they left without a word. Only the torturer stayed to kick him back into the cell. The foul man eyed Harl’s boots and chuckled. He nodded at them.

  ‘Give me,’ he said.

  Harl was too weak to take them off, so the torturer lumbered into the cell to yank them off, then locked the iron bar door and hurried after Lou.

  ‘Curse Cheng!’ Harl said, forcing both hands out to clutch the bars, hoping to distract himself from the pain.

  He had blacked out as soon as the fat torturer had left, but he didn’t know how long for. When he came round, all he could feel was fire burning its way down his back from where the whip had cut deep into his flesh.

  Was Cheng even the traitor’s real name? Harl cursed him again, not quite believing it all. Betrayed for a bag of vegetables? Was that all he was worth?

  It seemed obvious that humans were flawed. Maybe even as bad as the Aylen. Everywhere he turned there was greed or the expectation of power. Greed and power, he thought. It was the greed for power that drove his people towards evil.

  A single torch mounted on the wall above the rack cast flickering light into Harl’s cell. He turned from the cell door and let his eyes roam over the cell. He hoped he might find something useful, a way out, or even a crude weapon, but the floor was bare and the bars were solid. When the burning from the wounds on his back calmed, he curled up on the old, hard floor and slept.

  He woke to the sound of footsteps beyond the bars and scrambled across the floor in panic until his back was against the cold wall. He’d not leave it exposed for another lashing.

  A hooded man in tattered clothing passed a bowl through the bars into the cell, followed by another sloshing with water.
The man’s face was covered and, with the room so gloomy, Harl couldn’t make out any features among the shadows. The man said nothing as he turned from the bars and walked out, closing the door behind him.

  Harl moved to the bowls and sniffed at the sloppy brown substance inside the first one. He tilted it back like a drunk downing a beer, barely registering the taste of beef and vegetables. Well at least the food’s not bad, he thought, finishing it off.

  The day passed and nothing happened. Very little sound made it up to the top of the tower and, with no windows, there was nothing to see. Harl could think of nothing but the child within Sonora and his fading hope of rescue. Another beating or two like the last and he’d be dead in a day. He just wasn’t used to such punishment.

  Surely Damen and the others would come to get him. He strained to hear something other than the crackle of the torch, but there was no sign of a commotion through the wall or from down the stairs. It was just the silence and the faint drip of water.

  Harl didn’t know how many times he drifted into sleep. The pain in his back seemed to flare and drain all his strength away, leaving nothing but sleep’s deep, dark embrace to comfort him. Finally, footsteps bounced up the stairs. When the door opened, he saw it was the hooded jailer bringing food again and, as he stepped in, he bowed and held the door for Lou.

  Lou strode in.

  ‘Leave,’ he said and the jailer placed the bowls down and scurried out the door.

  Harl stood up to face the man beyond the bars. Lou’s glasses glinted in the flickering light and Harl watched the man’s eyes as he took in the fresh blood streaks in the corner where Harl had slept. Lou’s smirk became a toothy grin.

  ‘I’ve read this book of yours and the absurd claims inside,’ he said, producing a copy from inside his red robe and waving it. ‘Although I believe it to be nonsense, there must be a grain of truth to it, for you are here, are you not?’

  Harl did not know whether he should answer, so he stayed quiet and let the small man continue.

  ‘How did you get here and what is your purpose?’

  ‘You said you’ve read it,’ Harl said. ‘The answers are inside.’

  Lou clenched his fists.

  ‘This is nonsense,’ he said, flicking through the pages. ‘You are causing rebellion. The people are reading this and trouble is flaring among the slaves.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do about it?’ Harl asked. ‘You’ve done it to yourselves. You cannot imprison people and expect no resistance.’

  Lou nodded as if agreeing with Harl, then his face twitched and turned bright red in anger. ‘Then people will die, until they resist no longer!’ He threw the book at Harl and it rattled off the bars.

  ‘The One will speak to you and, when he does, you will see how much innocent death you have caused. He will crush this rebellion before it has a chance to strike. At the end many will lie dead, and it will be because of you.’ Lou kicked the bowls over and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Harl waited, taking heart from the words of rebellion, but the feeling of hope fled as footsteps pounded up the stairs and the door flew open. The fat man came first, flanked by the two female guards. Lou came in behind holding a whip. He stood in front of the cell door and smiled a nasty grin.

  ‘Get him out,’ Lou said.

  Harl forced himself back against the wall as the fat man tugged the door open and stepped inside. Harl ducked as the man tried to grab him and managed to slip under the burly arms. He twisted, feeling the scabs on his back tear, and slammed a fist into the man’s pudgy face.

  The fat man roared as his nose dripped blood onto the hard stone floor. Harl felt satisfaction simmering away inside at inflicting injuries on the man who’d hurt him so much. He was about to throw himself at him again when the point of a blade rested on his neck. A hand turned him slowly around until he was stood, face to face, with one of the guards. The fat man stepped forward and cracked a meaty fist into Harl’s face, knocking him over.

  Lou, seeing the will to fight leave Harl, bore down on him. He stood above Harl and thrashed the whip down on him again and again. The hits were weaker than the last time, but this time they struck his face and head. He tried to cover the vulnerable areas with his arms and wished for blackness to take him.

  After an age it mercifully did.

  When he woke, the jailer was staring in at him and, before the figure came into proper focus, another two bowls slid under the bars. The jailer turned to leave.

  ‘Is all of humanity so ruthless?’ Harl asked himself aloud.

  The jailer stopped, his hooded face turned away from Harl.

  ‘Not all,’ he said, ‘and some need only to redeem themselves.’

  He bent and picked up the book from the stone floor, then walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

  Chapter 65

  When I enquired about using them in the military it was suggested that they could be utilised to fix machines from the inside during combat and unblocking weapon jams. Needless to say I have refused to sell them for that purpose. Although the prices offered were extremely tempting.

  Harl lost all sense of day and night as time stretched and all he could think of was the pain. No matter how he sat or lay the agony of his wounds was there. It dogged his steps as he paced the cell during the day and engulfed him during darkness. He’d never known anything like it. It chipped away at his spirit until he dreaded footfalls on the stairs and ended up cringing in the corner whenever the jail door swung open.

  It couldn’t have been more than a cycle since the last meal when footsteps sounded on the stairs. His hopes for more food were dashed as the door opened and once more the two guards marched in followed by Lou. He didn’t have the strength to resist if it was another beating. He didn’t even know whether he could endure it again. Maybe he could throw himself on to one of the guards’ blades?

  The two women unlocked the cell and hauled him out on his knees, each holding an arm. He looked up at Lou’s mocking smile.

  ‘The One would like an audience with you,’ Lou said.

  The guards dragged him down the spiral stairs and then through a maze of corridors. His hands were tied and he could feel the prick of a sword point at his back, urging him on, until they reached a massive door guarded by two burly soldiers. Lou ordered the two men to open it and the sword forced him forward.

  Lifting his head, Harl took in the opulent room. A red carpet split the room down the middle, separating rows of empty benches on the left from those to the right. The carpet ran the whole length of the room to where a set of steps led up onto a silver dais crowned by a rough wooden throne. It looked as if it had been carved by a child a long time ago. There was no artistry or skill to it, just the coarse shaping of someone with no experience.

  A pale ghost of a man sat on the ancient wooden seat. He must have been only a few dozen giftings older than Harl and was wrapped in a white robe made from the pelts of some exotic animal. Harl could see veins running down the man’s bald head to his colourless face and piercing red eyes. He sat upright, feet slightly apart, with his hands resting on either arm of the throne. His ruby gaze fixed on Harl.

  There was something familiar about the pale man that reminded Harl of a litter of rats he and Troy had discovered in the barn when they were children. All except one had been dark furred. The loner looked as if it had been dipped in white paint and its eyes flecked with blood. Could it be a similar thing or was it completely unrelated?

  Lou strode past Harl, wafting a floral scent past him. Lou bowed, and then walked up the dais steps and stood next to the One. He leant over to whisper in the One’s ear before standing aside and smiling down at Harl.

  The two men were in complete contrast. Lou’s tanned skin colour bore no similarity to the ghostly translucence of the One. Even though he was young, The One looked like someone hovering on the edge of death.

  Was the One from a different tank? Harl had been surprised by Oscar’s dark skin, but
Oscar was a picture of health. This man was the opposite. Could he have come from a world of eternal darkness?

  A huge glowing sphere was wedged into the throne between the One’s legs. It gleamed as though it was made of glass, but colours swirled and twisted inside it. One moment they were like molten gold tendrils licking at the glass, then tongues of red flame snapped and flickered angrily, before twisting and curling back into the depths, where they spun together into a glowing ball of light. It was mesmerising.

  A guard slammed his sword pommel into the small of Harl’s back. He stumbled forward until he was ten paces from the pale figure.

  The floor and steps surrounding the throne were all made from polished metal. It extended out to the edge of the red carpet where Harl was standing, and he was careful not to step onto it. He’d lost his shoes during the torture and didn’t like the idea of standing on the cold surface. Lou beckoned him forward but, in a moment of defiance, Harl stayed put, staring at the One.

  ‘Water,’ the One said. His voice was creaky and frail.

  A servant scurried forward, head bowed, and held a delicate bowl up to the One’s mouth for him to sip.

  To his horror, Harl realised why the man looked uncomfortable. Both his feet and hands had been nailed to the throne and blood was seeping out around the golden nails. Blood stains marked the timber as if he’d been there for years, with the wood so deeply tainted that all previous attempts to clean around it had proved fruitless. Even as Harl looked at the horrid sight, a thin trickle of blood seeped from the One’s foot, across the wood, and then dripped down on to the polished metal floor.

  Dozens of servants lined the walls. They clasped a variety of items, towels, flagons of liquid and heavy smelling food. One of the attendants noticed the blood and rushed forward. He fell to his knees before the throne and pulled a silk cloth from a pocket to gently wipe the blood away.