Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  'Zain, your turn,' Eyris says and her echoing voice compels me to step forward as surroundings blur and resharpen. My oath is completed in a state of semi-awareness and as blood drips something indescribable invades my flesh, numbing my sentience whilst paradoxically refining my senses. Crackling droplets seep into cracks at my feet and I watch blue flashes of electricity spark between the archway.

  'You two have taken preliminary steps towards membership of the Scythian Order. You've earned the right to know one or two of our secrets. This is going to be an interesting day... Come on, time to put these robes away. We don't want anyone to think we look silly!' Eyris chuckles.

  Unreachable Gardens

  Confusion eases as we return robes to the crypt, mercifully cooled by sweat evaporation and we approach the numinous plinth once again. Wary of our next step, I doubt Eyris and Vytali plan to visit the hanging gardens and suspect this was a bizarre ploy to bring us into their fold but if this ritual was conducted with sincerity maybe a curse will strike me down.

  Eyris places her palm onto a waist-height column, then steps through the archway with foot reaching high but rather than fall off the plinth, she reaches a transparent stepping stone and another and Vytali follows her upwards to the floating islands.

  'Come on guys, before someone sees us,' Eyris bellows as she ascends the hidden helix.

  Mila stretches her leg out whilst holding the column with one hand, gasping as the transparent foothold supports her weight and I follow behind her. Walking on air, I watch stepping stones disappear as the mausoleum shrinks into insignificance. Thousands of tombstones can be seen; generations of people who have come and gone with no idea they ever existed. The thought makes my stomach churn; even the notion of authoritarian heaven is preferable. As I stare a gust of wind makes my legs wobble and the instinct of self-preservation is manifested into an unfamiliar feeling of vertigo. 'Whoa!'

  The mist inexplicably clears as we are led over the boundary wall to infringe on the exclusive retreat of the deserving. We hop onto bluish-green grass, standing between pruned trees which shimmer in glorious sunshine. Squirrel monkeys peer from behind purple leaves as we venture into the open where swaying flowers beckon bumble bees. A dog walker is pulled over a rainbow-coloured bridge by her tail wagging companion and a pedal boat leaves a sparkling trail in the stream below. Boisterous boys run into a maze of hedges, leaving their parents to natter in a gazebo. Young couples with picnic baskets gaze into each other's eyes and the entire vista is one of blissful paradise.

  'Pretty stunning, eh? This place is full of hiding places. Come on, we'll show you,' Eyris says and we head for a diamond clear pond where ducks and swans glide past floating fountains and golden waterfalls cascade from nearby islands. Reaching the pond shore we clamber into the hollowed shell of a pedalo which has been modelled on a leatherback turtle.

  'You two are pedalling mind, we're too pretty to get sweaty!' Mila orders.

  Vytali joins me in front seats and we pass varicoloured dragon flies as we head towards a fountain with spouts which imitate the filaments of a dandelion. Mila shrieks as we scatter a flock of ducks which fly overhead, quacking furiously and a purple feather settles on my lap.

  'Don't you dare take us under there, we'll get soaked!' Mila insists. Nevertheless we steer through the fountain to the sound of hysterical squeals and emerge at the other end, laughing as we wipe water from our eyes. 'Stupid idiots, you've ruined our hair!' Mila protests which only makes Vytali and I laugh louder.

  We drift under a translucent bridge, approaching a basin where rainbows emerge from water trickling between bonsai trees on rock faces. A hidden cave mouth is visible through the sloshing white foam of a waterfall. 'That's our destination, just through there,' Vytali advises.

  The words: 'Oh no!' are muffled by the sound of water splatting onto our heads as we enter a magical hideaway where weird glowing orbs dance amongst stalactites and a turtle swims over green ripples on the sandy bed. We depart the pedalo and climb up rocky steps to a plateau overlooking the cave mouth where the four of us swing on a bench suspended by chains.

  'This is a little sanctuary for us when we want to pretend we're not just Level Two losers.' Eyris kicks her dangling legs.

  'Stop swinging, I need to be steady,' Vytali interrupts as he empties a package of ground up herb leaves which he rolls in papers, sparks up and places in my fingers after several puffs. 'They call this Southern Lights.'

  Tastebuds effervesce as smoke rushes down my throat, then warmth flows through my body and sound vibrations become grinning monsters crawling on my skin.

  'Quality stuff, isn't it? Created by a friend of mine. The end result of several generations of cross-breeding and experimentation,' Vytali explains.

  'Okay, the Scythian Order,' Eyris begins and I struggle to keep track of what her cartoonish voice is saying. 'You're probably wanting to know... The Scythian Order is... Nimbis College... Only the coolest students... feel privileged... not fully fledged members... have to earn.... Zain, are you listening!?'

  'Wh-what? Yeah.' Laughing, I take another draw of the spliff.

  'Seriously Vytali, you should have waited... Focus... The order contains many steps, each step requires a certain level of trust.... currently at four... soon be given the chance to reach step one... higher the step, the more secrets... the order can help you, so long as you're worthy.'

  'Secrets?' I mumble, passing the spliff to Mila after smoking more than my fair share of this highly potent weed.

  'We can't give you full details... Only glimpses... What if I told you these modern times... last ten thousand years... What if we weren't the first? What if I told you there were lost civilisations more ancient... as advanced as our own...? A million years old.'

  'I'd say you were crazy!'

  'Of course you would, but you'd be wrong... We've found lost cities buried under the... Stone pyramids, remnants of technology... The protohumans were more advanced than we thought.'

  'In that case, why the big secret?' I gasp, suddenly intrigued... striving to concentrate.

  'Samarianism... interpretations of the Orientis do not fit... do not want to upset religious scholars... risk instability. The political situation is finely balanced... research has been conducted in... The evidence points to... wiped out their own society. We should heed the warning...'

  'I'd need to see evidence,' I reply, piecing sentence fragments together and guessing missing words.

  'Sorry, no can do... Not until you prove yourself worthy,' Eyris says.

  'I wanna know more, what can I do?' I shake my face until my muffled mind approaches lucidity and Vytali's smirk emphasises the pointiness of his chin.

  'So the little fish has spotted the worm? Of course you want... first you need to give me something.'

  'What do you want?'

  'Danger! Adventure! Show me this... I'll show you the first step.'

  'Next weekend. The slums. Prepare yourself... We'll see if your balls are as big as your mouth, pretty boy!'

  'Whoa, tough talk! Something tells me the others are gonna like you.' Vytali bears an impressed smile with subtle but repeated nods.

  'So Ana, what do you think?' Eyris asks as she takes a drag of the spliff and I squint in confusion, almost certain the hypocrite reprimanded us only moments ago.

  'Yeah sure, I think you guys are awesome. Tell me what other secrets you know and I'll do whatever.'

  'Well, I think we've already told you as much as we should, but let's just say we are not alone.'

  'What do you mean? Are there other people here now? I don't see anyone.' Mila stares around the cave like she expects strangers to jump from hiding holes.

  'By we, I mean all of us.'

  'Oh, what does that mean? I don't understand.'

  'Well, if you want to find out, you'll have to prove yourself.' Eyris fixes Mila's gaze teasingly. 'I'll be mentioning you two at the next meeting on Wednesday. We'll bring you along to meet the others the week after, let them
decide what your initiation rites will entail. Come on, it's time to leave.'

  'But I can't quite feel my legs yet!' I take the last few drags of the super-strength spliff as we trot down the steps and pedal the turtle boat back the way we came - but not to the same place. A searing pain eeks through the fissures of my brain as we enter a nightmare realm with a diablo red sky and black clouds.

  A slithering titanaboa rocks our hull with a mouth large enough to swallow this puny vessel whole. And I pray the beast does not do an about turn, pleading to the goddess who has abandoned me. Further afield rampaging giants snap trees clean in half and I can see no escape from this hellish dominion. Dragons swoop under a crescent moon with tattered wings and I cower with forearm over brow as fire-breathing jaws surge towards us. It is a relief to discover we have not been incinerated as a hand slaps my back.

  'Keep pedalling mister. It'll ease off,' Vytali says.

  Upon reaching the pond shore I breathe a rather emotional sigh of relief as the atmosphere turns from diablo red to pretty pink, the terrifying dragons revert to flying lizards, the titanaboa to a salamander and the bone-crushing giants to mischievous boys. Huge butterflies swarm and I close my eyelids, laughing as intricately-patterned wings tickle my cheeks. When eyelids re-open petals rain from skies and the cheerful sun has re-emerged.

  Laughter echoes a thousand times as we run through flowers, snatching fruit from disgruntled talking trees with faces formed by trunk hollows. We cross a rainbow bridge to another island and leap onto a water slide constructed from bark which splashes us into a coral filled lagoon... and I lose all track of time. Mila plays with a starfish as we sit on the sandy shore, drip drying in the sun.

  'Must be so weird having no face or anything.' Mila flicks the starfish's curling leg. 'I wonder what it is thinking.'

  'Probably nothing. Its brain is too primitive, but those limbs can regen-'

  'Nothing to do with the brain, it doesn't have a soul,' Eyris suggests.

  'If starfish don't have souls, Eyris, maybe humans don't either.' I am tempted to retract those words but bleary stubbornness takes precedence.

  'Don't be ridiculous, Zain, the human mind is not confined to its mortal body.'

  'Well, I think it is thinking what a lovely day this is!' Mila places the starfish into the water. 'Goodbye, little faceless guy.'

  State Sponsored Science

  Dripping wet the four of us pass through an arch carved into an enormous tree stump and nozzles fixed inside the hollow blast us with hot air. Emerging bone dry, we head for a station situated on one of the floating islands to take a tram ride to Hemlock museum, which is located within the first tower of Sky City.

  Upon arrival we swipe our Citicards at a kiosk and pass through the museum foyer into a dazzling cavern of glass tiles where visitors walk spider-esque on every surface. Holographic signs encircle tunnel entrances leading to an array of exhibits related to Anatolian history and the natural world. Mila ducks as a graceful sea monster, the largest creature in history, swims over our tiny heads and chases a shoal of krill.

  'Blue whale. Extinct now, shame,' I mumble and we gawp at the fin span of this magnificent sea mammal as it swallows thousands of virtual prey items in one huge gulp. We follow the curving tiled surface as the pull of gravity dynamically shifts, changing our perspective until the ceiling becomes a floor. A winding tunnel leads into the war exhibition which has an apparently normal orientation but I now have no idea which way is up or down.

  Exhibits are displayed amongst and somewhat overshadowed by a jaw-dropping battlefield which spans time periods as miniature versions of bi-planes, bombers, fighter jets, assault helicopters and gunships zoom overhead, turning hostile when they encounter an aircraft from their point in history. Hails of bullets and missiles result in holographic explosions and debris rains onto an ashen, trench-filled wasteland where ankle-sized soldiers negotiate minefields.

  'Holy shit, it's like we're giants in a warzone. Let's stamp on the little bastards!' I chuckle.

  'Show some respect, Zain. These are Samarian soldiers... Those over there however are Nyberuns!' Eyris marches across and raises her foot above a group of mini-enemies.

  Dropping their weapons, soldiers run from the giant Eyris with arms waving, and randomly explode as they step onto simulated landmines. Jubilant laughter attracts tutting from visitors who would prefer respectfulness and still smirking, we restrain ourselves to check out the museum exhibits.

  Enlarged photographs of gun battles and ruined cities alter our mood as we pass them one by one, envisaging victims who were not good or bad guys, just people. A workforce of sweating women in welding masks wield blazing torches. Hundreds of bomb-shocked families are huddled together in the underground. A jet passes over a street of flaming buildings and piles of rubble. Thousands of conscripts storm a beach covered in body parts. Dead people are discarded like old mannequins in a mass grave. In other words, hell on Eryx.

  'How did she allow this?' I ask, still a little stoned and unable to stop myself risking accusations of blasphemy.

  'She? This was a machination of the underlord,' Eyris replies.

  'Actually it was a catastrophe of our own making, but if I was omn-' my sentence is cut short as Mila nudges my arm.

  'It was both Zain, you have a lot to learn,' Eyris snaps, marching to the centrepiece of the exhibition where the defeated enemy of San Teria is mounted - a statue of General Barek Dalen in military uniform, saluting with half his head missing. A figure who once commanded the respect of billions is now a loathsome trophy, an object of public ridicule. The Tyrant is carved into the facade of a stone pedestal.

  'That guy was such a bastard,' Vytali slurs melodramatically. 'An estimated three hundred million of our people died because of him.'

  'An estimated seven hundred million citizens of the world died because of us. We were the invaders,' I point out, mumbling the last word.

  'It was a pre-emptive strike. They were harbouring terrorism and disagreed with our way of life on a fundamental level. Negotiation did not work,' Vytali insists.

  'We disagreed with their ideology as much as they disagreed with ours. How can one billion deaths be a solution?' I ask.

  'Well, I thought it was fucking hilarious when we entered his palace and got the bastard. Pissed his pants, I heard. Take a look at these pictures.'

  Numerous pictures depict the general's once fabulous palace reduced to a battleground. Bannisters covered with gold leaf line a marble staircase, ornate columns reach out from a deluxe spa and diamond-encrusted chandeliers dangle over rubble. Samarian soldiers rampage past a bullet-riddled wall bearing a garish mural of Dalen's face and fallen enemy soldiers are sprawled amongst claret smears.

  'We're the good guys, remember?' Eyris nods to an enemy poster which portrays a moustachioed man holding a rifle. The translation reads: Freedom is a privilege, NOT a right. Strangely enough there are no block capitals on the original caption.

  'Wars are fought only by calculated killers and mindless pawns,' I murmur.

  'That's not true, sometimes good guys must fight for what is right. We can never surrender to terrorism,' Eyris says, her vocal chords weakened by sadness.

  'That's because you believe we're going to a better place but maybe the goddess is so appalled by the bloodshed there's no room for us... How many have been killed in acts of terrorism? A thousand deaths a year for one century would be one hundred thousand versus a billion. Weigh it up. It's not a choice between war and surrender. It's a choice between glory and mediocrity.'

  Eyris disregards my rant to admire military uniforms on headless mannequins, then she approaches a medal collection and her eyes glaze over due to the propaganda of a party so proud of sacrificing our boys they made new symbols, tokens of bloodshed. I read the inscriptions:

  The Samarian Gallantry Medal:

  Awarded for one hundred certified kills on the battlefield.

  The Martyrdom Cross:

  Awarded for sacrificing one
's life under honourable circumstances on the battlefield.

  The Medal of Katona:

  Awarded to each pilot who successfully detonated an anti-matter warhead and brought a swift end to the war.

  'They call ten years a swift end?' I cough.

  'Without AMWs, it would've lasted twenty,' Eyris suggests as though every line of propaganda uttered by San Teria has been imprinted onto her mind.

  As I ponder her supposition we come to another game changer, an item which turned our special forces into ghosts - the world's first optical camouflage suit invented by Oleg Susumu in 2022. The cloking facility switches on and off with scales turning completely transparent apart from the tiniest distortions of light. In the rage of battle the chance of the enemy noticing these flaws would be minimal.

  'If they gave one of these to every soldier we would've barely lost a single man,' I suggest.

  'But that would've been way too expensive.' Vytali stands under a replica of the world's first anti-gravity gunship, touching ion thrusters built into wings. These flying stealth tanks constructed from super-lightweight metamaterials used to put fear into the eyes of Nyberuns moments before they were atomised by explosive projectiles. 'Ten million credits a piece. This is why they couldn't beat us, we kick arse.'

  'Increase the offence budget. Decrease the health budget.'

  'So you're some sort of pacifist, Zain? That's fine, but you shouldn't forget what your country has done for you. Surely this will change your tune,' Eyris suggests.

  A holovideo shows thousands of men leaping out of boats and running onto a beach towards a tropical jungle which is furiously spewing rockets and grenades. Troops with boyish faces are tossed by explosions and blood and flesh rains onto their comrades. Lucky ones reach tree cover, roaring until lungs are empty of rage as they fire machine guns into murkiness.