by Samuel Fort
Chapter 11: The Cotton Candy God
Sam put his hands on his hips and stared at the group below him. “I’ll be damned.”
He stood atop a giant block of stone in the warehouse. One of seven of the same variety used in the construction of the mystery building. A large crack was visible on the stone’s surface, running diagonally from an upper to a lower corner. “How did you know?”
Ben, standing below him, said, “In my former life, I inspected inscriptions near ancient ruins. I picked a few things up along the way. For example, if you’re building a large stone structure, you need a way to move the stones and you need a place to store them before the project starts. Inevitably, you’re going to have waste – like damaged blocks. Cracked, or maybe with the corners bumped off. These were probably damaged when they were being loaded or unloaded. This warehouse was the most logical place to store materials, given the location of the railway line and its proximity to the building site.”
Fiela, running her hand over one of the blocks, said, “The rails are not operational. And what of the cranes and other machinery you mentioned?”
Disparthian said, “I believe the king has deduced the blocks were brought here before the apocalypse.”
Ben nodded. “Yep, and the building was erected before, too. That’s the only way to explain the advanced decay of the bodies inside the building, despite the freezing temperatures. That’s why there’s no smell. None of the corpses were wearing jackets or coats. Those people were dressed for warm weather.” He shook his head, “The people who built the structure could have been dead and rotting weeks or even months before civilization fell apart.”
Sam said, “I’d think someone might notice a freak building like that going up. After everything went to shit, no problem. Before? It would have been noticed.”
“True, but the stones were piled up inside this warehouse, and the foundation work could have occurred without much fanfare. It would have looked like the stone foundation of, say, a church, or a museum, or city building. If the whole town was in on this, and that appears to be the case, it would take an outsider to bring the construction to anyone’s attention.”
Sam nodded. “The news crew. They were outsiders.”
“What about the people inside the temple?” asked Fiela.
“There are no wounds,” Ben replied. “I imagine they poisoned themselves. I think they planned on dying inside all along.”
Fiela was doing a handstand on one of the blocks, her red hair dangling below her. “But why?” she asked. “Why build the thing at all?” She lowered herself slightly and then pushed off, rotating twice in the air before landing flat-footed on the floor. “What’s with all the black paint? It doesn’t make sense.”
Ben said, “I can’t think such weirdness occurring just before the end of civilization is a coincidence. We’d need to review the scripts to see if this was planned.”
“Scripts?” asked Sam, bewildered.
Ben ignored him, not having time for an answer.
Disparthian said, “It appears to be a temple, Anax.”
“Not for any god that I’m familiar with,” replied Ben. Looking back and forth between his commander and Fiela, he asked, “Could it be for a Nisirtu god?”
“Possibly,” said Disparthian. “Our pantheon is enormous. It would also make sense for Nisirtu to script the Ardoon to build a temple before the apocalypse, when slave labor - rather, when free labor - was still available to them. They may have planned to return here to worship after the world ended.”
“You don’t know what god?”
“No.”
“Fiela?” asked Ben.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Mutu, I told you, my gods suck! I haven’t been to any temple since I was a little girl, and none of them looked like this. I am taking your gods if you will ever tell me about them. They seem far more powerful, for they have made you a king! Anyway, what does it matter which god the temple is for?”
Ben held up a finger. “Fiela, for the millionth time, I have only one god, and I’m not on very good terms with Him. As to why it’s important what god this temple is for, I’d just rather it be a cotton candy god than a blood and guts god.”
Fiela’s eyes went wide. “The Ardoon have a cotton candy god?”
Ben shook his head. “No! No - what I’m saying is, I’d rather deal with people who worship a cotton candy god, because they’d probably be nicer people than anyone who’d worship a blood and guts god.”
Disparthian said, “The corpses suggest this is not the ‘Temple of the Cotton Candy God.’”
Ben nodded. “Yeah, it would probably be fluffier. And pink, or baby blue, or purple.”
“As you say, Anax,” replied the Peth solemnly.
Ben stared at the man, waiting, and then groaned, “That was a joke!”
“Was it?” asked Fiela, looking at him dubiously.
Flummoxed, Ben was about to explain when he saw the girl and Disparthian exchange mischievous glances. “Ah, okay, I see how it is,” he said. “Punk the new king, right?”
Disparthian turned his head to hide a smile. Fiela laughed. “Oh, Mutu! You are so easy! Cotton Candy God? We are not as ignorant of the Ardoon as to believe that!”
Ben held his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Be that way, both of you.” Shaking his head, he said, “Anyway, Diz, you’ve got a point. The existence of this temple only makes sense if there was Nisirtu involvement.”
Sam interrupted. “Nisirtu – there’s that name again. What does it mean?”
Ben considered his words. “It’s an organization. A very powerful one.”
“That’d be you folks,” said the other man, making the connection.
“Yes and no. It’s complicated. A few months ago I was in the dark about the Nisirtu as anyone else. Now I’m kind of in the middle of things.” He motioned toward the giant Peth standing nearby. “These are Nisirtu soldiers, and I’ve been...well, inducted into the organization, I guess you could say. But the organization is fragmented. We don’t play well together, and we don’t all have the same beliefs.”
“You seem to be decent people.”
Ben shrugged. In some ways that was true. The Nisirtu did have a sense of morality and loyalty. But they also believed that people like Sam, an “Ardoon,” had no place in the world aside from serving them, the ancient masters of humanity.
He said, “Our little clan tries to behave. Still, it’s possible another chapter of the Nisirtu had the temple built and required the murders of those reporters and the suicides of the builders.”
He looked at Disparthian. “It bothers me how the people chose to die.”
“You mean suicide?”
“No. I mean...well, it’s the whole town in there, right? Men, women, children. Everybody. But I didn’t see any clusters of bodies that I could identify as families. I would have expected, even if they killed themselves, that husbands and wives might be holding hands in death, or that children might be nestled in the arms of their mothers, that kind of thing. That’s not what I saw.”
“That is odd,” agreed Fiela.
After another moment, Ben said, “Okay, this town gives me the creeps. I think we’re done here. When we get back home we’ll assess the situation and decide what to do. Fiela, you’ll need to brief the nearest station commander about the gang activity you were told about.”
“Home,” said Sam, rising from his perch on the bags of cement and dusting off the seat of his pants. “Yeah, I need to get back there, especially if you think others are on the way – people like you, but who might not be as friendly.”
Ben scratched the back of his head. “Sam, even if I’m right, it might be weeks or months before any bad guys show up. It’s been months since the apocalypse and no one has shown up yet, after all. But I have to think that whoever orchestrated the construction of the temple is in some way connected with the Nisirtu. That makes me responsible for your safety, and the safety of your family.”
; “I don’t see that,” said Sam, approaching him. “You’re not your brother’s keeper, right? You said your organization is fragmented. You didn’t have anything to do with the building of the temple, or the murders, or the suicides.”
“It’s still under my purview. I’m now responsible for this region.”
“Well, then, give me a few of those fancy guns of yours and we’ll call it even,” said Sam. He was looking at the high-tech carbines the Peth guards around him were armed with.
Fiela approached him. “It wouldn’t help you. If your enemy is Nisirtu, you will be vastly outnumbered, and even if you aren’t, you’ll probably be taken out by a sniper. Or an assassin.”
Sam looked at the knives strapped to the girl’s body and recalled how quickly she’d dispatched Rocket Man’s errant thug. “Like you,” he murmured.
“Exactly. Your family would not be spared.”
Ben frowned at the girl’s frankness. He said, “I’d like you to come with us, Sam. You, and your wife and granddaughter.”
“Where to?” asked the man suspiciously.
“It’s a place called Steepleguard, in the mountains. It used to be a hotel, though now it’s more like a fortress. You’ll be safe there.”
The older man looked off to one side, considering the offer. “I don’t know. I trust you and all. You could have already done me and my family harm if that’s what you intended. And the good Lord knows Eliza and Celeste are lonely. I’m usually out hunting for food, and honestly, I’m not good company when I’m home. We’ve been getting by, though, and I just finished doing some work to the place. I got that new wire up and all.”
Ben thought it should have been an easy decision. Seeing Sam’s reluctance, he said, “Just stay with us for a week. It will give my guys a chance to get the lay of the land. If you decide to come back, that’s your decision. We’ll provide an escort and send supplies back with you. We might even spare ammunition.”
The last offer got Sam’s attention. “Now that I could use. What have you got?”
Disparthian, standing nearby, laughed. “Everything, sir!”
Seeing Fiela’s nod, Sam said, “Okay then. For a week. I’m obliged.”
The man extended his hand and Ben shook it. “Thank you, Sam. We’ll leave for Steepleguard tomorrow morning.”