City of Illusions

by Kim ten Tusscher

  Finally, the driver stopped in front of an inn. Murmured sound hinted at the occupants on the other side of the door and light shone through small, bare windows. The old man laboriously climbed down from his seat, opened the coach door and helped Lumea out. She paid Gabe and stroked the horses, silently thanking them their speed. Their sides steamed and the cold night air changed their heaving breath into fine, white fog that escaped in irregular puffs. Lumea was glad the man had convinced her to change her mind about walking. She gave him a friendly wave and opened the inn door. When she stepped over the threshold, she turned around, but Gabe had already pulled his coach back into the dark city streets.

  “I should have asked him to bring me to Hydrhaga tomorrow,” Lumea realized, too late, as the light of the coach’s lamp shook around a corner.

  The inn was crowded, and some men looked up at the new stranger. They were all dressed in the same fashion: their breeches reached to their knees while the shirts had a smooth cut to them. Their halflength vests hung over their chairs, the materials dyed in dark, sombre colors. Women carried platters deftly between the patrons, tables and chairs. Their clothing were of the same colors as those worn by the men, and their dresses were cut in like fashion. At the far wall, a fire crackled.

  Lumea went over to the bar and waited for someone to notice her. She looked around uncertainly. In the end, the bartender had to summon the innkeeper, the latter having sat himself down with some patrons. The bartender informed him that Lumea was waiting for him. The innkeeper stood but didn’t walk away from his table immediately. Instead, laughter filled the air and bounced back off the bare walls. Only then did he approach, giving her the opportunity to study him. He was dressed entirely in black, his collar high and clasped with a silver pin. Around his waist he wore an immaculate apron. Everything about him was dark, including his hair and eyes, but his appearance was friendly, nevertheless.

  “Welcome, my lady. I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

  Lumea smiled at him and asked for a room. He nodded and handed her a book, and while she filled it out in her elegant hand, she felt him scrutinizing her. She returned his pen and he skimmed over the page.

  “Lunadeiron? That’s quite a journey.” She nodded.

  “It is an honor to receive such a high guest in my inn,” he said, judging her by her clothes.

  Lumea had pulled back her cape, which allowed the man a glimpse of her red skirt made of silk, with large embroidered birds, and while she didn’t know it, in this town bird heraldry was reserved for royalty. Lumea shook her head. “I am but the daughter of a musician.”

  The innkeeper did not press the issue and opened a drawer. Lumea was obviously not the only guest, for she noticed that most of the key shelves were empty. The innkeeper gave her a key and pointed to the stairs, as Lumea’s room was situated on the fourth floor.

  Her ascent through the inn gave her a view of each floor as she passed. All were solid oak and uniform in their clean corridors. Lumea arrived before her own door. She opened it but did not step inside, instead she halted on the threshold and looked into the small space. Next to the window there was a simple table with a chair, but most of the room was taken up by the bed. Its frame was also made of oak, with long corner-posts that gave support to beams from which light curtains were hung. The curtains were the only decoration in the otherwise bare room. Heavy curtains hung to either side of the room’s only window, which seemed heavy enough to shut out all light. In a corner stood a simple screen with a toilet behind it, as well as a small wash basin with a towel and a sliver of soap. The wooden floor creaked as she entered the room.

  Lumea walked over to the bed and sat down on it with a tired sigh. She collapsed backwards onto the immovable and too-firm mattress. She stared at the white ceiling and the single lamp hanging from one of the wooden beams. The lamp suffused the small room with a wavering light. Almost immediately someone knocked, startling her. The door opened and a woman silently brought her something to eat. Lumea asked if she knew where Hydrhaga lay, but the woman disappeared without speaking a word. Pensive, Lumea stared at the closed door of her room.

  “Perhaps she didn’t hear me?” she wondered aloud.

  She stood up and moved to the table, where she sat down again.

  She shifted her drab food with the fork, before taking a tentative bite. It tasted as nearly as bland as the Omnesians looked, and while it offered nutrition, that was all. She had to force herself to swallow the stew, but took a second bite nonetheless. When she was halfway through dinner, she put down the fork. The food was so alien when compared to the meals her mother used to cook. Those were colorful, beautifully presented, and almost a shame to eat. When you finally bit into them, the exquisite flavors and aromas were intoxicating.

  It was a skill that her mother had undertaken countless attempts to teach her. In the hours they spent together in the kitchen, the woman bored her to tears with the exact proportions of different ingredients while Lumea had stared out of the window. Her mother had organized many parties designed primarily to emphasize what a wonderful housewife she was, but Lumea had not learned fast enough and it had not been long before she was banned from the kitchen when the house had guests.

  Her relief was short-lived, because her mother relentlessly continued the lessons, determined to try and force her daughter into a “proper” lifestyle. It had become a battle between the two women, but Lumea had stubbornly held on to her resistance. The way her brothers were allowed to live their lives appealed to her more than what her mother wanted her to swallow, but in her culture that type of lifestyle was out of the question for a woman.

  Lumea took up her fork and sniffed at the stew again. It smelled just like it tasted, but she reluctantly decided to finish it anyway. Afterward, she went to bed, for she wanted to be up and about early the next morning. She could hardly wait to continue her journey and finally get to Hydrhaga. She was convinced that, like everything else, the food there would be better.

  2

  The following morning, Lumea awoke to a single beam of sunlight piercing through the curtains, which she had failed to close properly the night before. Judging by the light, the morning was still fresh, which was just what she had been hoping for. She got out of bed and opened the window. The rising sun painted the sky in bright hues, and a cool wind caressed her face, carrying with it the scent of herbs. From the window, she could see over most of the city. The sun painted the yellow stone buildings an orange hue, and cast long shadows on the ground. Omnesia was still slumbering, the only people on the streets were a couple of men who had spent the night carousing and were only now staggering their way home.

  Lumea could see the grassy plains stretching out behind the city, and beyond them the salt plains. She could discern some scattered clusters of trees, but otherwise the landscape consisted solely of plains. Contrary to her homeland, Omnesia’s surroundings were savannah-like. The waving, yellow landscape piqued Lumea’s curiosity, so she quickly dressed and threw on her cape. She decided to go and see if the cook had some breakfast for her, the better to be on her way without wasting any more time.

  When she stepped out of the door half an hour later, workmen were already busy in the streets. Their job was burdensome, and the men looked tough. Their clothing looked very different from that of the other townsmen, and was threadbare from their heavy labors. The men wielded their foreign tools skilfully and did not stop working even when they looked up as she passed. Inexplicably, Lumea found that was afraid of these men. She pulled her cape tightly around her, as if the azure fabric could ward off anyone with evil intentions, and she hurried on.

  On a street corner, she paused and surveyed her surroundings. Far away, she could see the fields that she had seen and smelled that morning, so she turned right down the fork in the road which lead to the distant fields. She had always felt more comfortable in nature than among people and buildings. She was curious about what she would find, and expected to see Hydrhaga nearby.

>   She soon found herself outside of the city. A soft breeze caused the verdant plains of grass to dance and weave underfoot, rustling and disguising the sounds of a slowly-awakening Omnesia. Setting her feet on a drover’s trail, Lumea headed west, chasing her slowly shrinking shadow. For some time, she saw nothing interesting. The grassy plains stretched on with no sign of Hydrhaga, the green vista was broken only by a single hill a short distance away. She left the path and angled toward the hill in the hope that higher ground would provide her with a view to her elusive destination.

  The sun was reaching its zenith when Lumea finally came to the foot of the hill. Brimming with anticipation, expecting to catch her first glimpse of the promised Hydrhaga, she crested the hill. To her dismay, the grassy plains extended as far as the eye could see. The verdant green fields swayed in the breeze, defying her perception that Hydrhaga would be within sight. Deeply disappointed, she decided to return to the city.

  Back at the inn, she found a place near the hearth from where she could observe the patrons. The innkeeper brought her a pot of tea and a cup.

  “Is there a farrier nearby who I can borrow a horse from?” she asked when he had filled the cup.

  He put the pot down in front of her and plucked a small feather from his apron. The Omnesian inhabitants usually went around on foot, he explained, in the narrow streets it was the best and safest way to get from one place to another, especially during the day when everyone was heading for work. There was, however, a woman who lived on the outskirts of the city who owned many horses. He provided Lumea with directions, and she noted that the horse woman’s stables were only a few streets away.

  “Omnesia doesn’t seem to be your final destination. It is rare for anyone to venture out of the city limits, foreigners especially take care not to go outside. Do you mind my asking why you came here?”

  “Of course not, actually, you might be able to help me. I’m looking for Hydrhaga. Omnesia is only a brief stop on my journey.

  “You’d do better not to continue your travels.”

  “Why is that?”

  The innkeeper did not answer, and quickly continued with his work instead. Lumea was perplexed and wondered why the man had reacted like that. Lifting her tea and enjoying its warmth, she took a sip and let her gaze drift over the common room. The place was filling up, but nobody spoke to her. She noticed some men at the other side of the room who were obvious foreigners. They wore long, light-colored robes and talked together loudly in a language Lumea did not understand. She refilled her cup and settled back into her chair, deep in thought.

  The following day, Lumea went to find a horse at the residence recommended to her by the innkeeper. The woman’s stables were at the very edge of the city. A brass knocker in the shape of a horse’s head was mounted on the door, and Lumea knocked upon it once. Immediately, she heard noises coming from behind the closed door, but it soon opened. Before her stood an elderly woman, dressed noticeably different from the rest of the Omnesians that Lumea had previously witnessed. Her overcoat was long, reaching down to her ankles, and it was dyed a warm orange color. Her hair was tied up in three different braids. The old woman seemed to have been expecting Lumea’s visit and she led her towards the stables.

  As they walked past the stalls, curious horses poked their heads out. At times, the old woman’s hand would disappear into a deep pocket and bring forth a bit of apple. She would feed it to the horse with one hand and stroke its nose with the other. The row of stables seemed endless, though the woman eventually selected a small gray for Lumea. They saddled the animal and, taking the reigns, the pair walked the horse to one of the farrier’s gates. In silence, the old woman handed the reins to Lumea before retreating into the stables and out of sight.

  Lumea climbed into the saddle with a practiced movement and shook the reigns. As soon as she was outside the city, she increased their speed, and soon they they were at the hill she had visited the day before. They rode on, but the landscape hardly changed, and all she saw was the yellowish-green grass rolling ahead of her for miles. Guiding her horse, Lumea circled the city, hoping that she had merely been seeking her destination in the wrong direction. Eventually, dark and imposing shadows marred the horizon, and Lumea’s heart leaped with the hope that they were distant buildings. Sensing her change in mood, the horse increased its pace, and the shadows grew in size, until she realized that what she saw were enormous trees. Her initial disappointment, however, quickly changed into wonder.

  She had never seen trees like these, and if someone had told her about them, she would not have believed they existed. The trees towered above her, defying her senses that anything could grow so large; their bases were so thick that Lumea guessed it would take ten men to encircle just one. It seemed to her that the gods themselves must have planted these trees. The multitude of branches overhead were crowned with tiny leaves, which seemed incongruent when compared to their enormous trunks.

  Lumea discovered one tree that was not as tall as the others and decided to climb it. She pulled herself up, using the rough bark as leverage for her feet. When she reached the top a small flock of brightly-colored birds flew from out of the boughs, surprising her as they screeched their indignation. Curiosity compelled her to look down for the first time. Where the branches met the trunk a depression formed natural bowls which caught rain and dew. She quenched her thirst with water from one of the depressions, and as the birds returned to their perches she surveyed the vista afforded to her. Everywhere she looked there were trees. Most of them were standing alone, but farther on they became a dense forest. However, the only thing she saw was nature. Nowhere could she discern a sign of the city she was looking for.

  For days on end she and the gray scoured the countryside surrounding Omnesia. In the south, she discovered a forest. She dismounted and left the horse near a small pond, tying the reins loosely around a branch. She enjoyed walking among the shadows of the trees. Springy moss softened her footfalls while insects buzzed about her head. Then she saw it: a pile of rocks which could not possibly have been formed naturally. Her pace quickened. She discovered more and more stones, shaped by hands, and finally she arrived at a gateway. Vines reached up over the arch, dotted with flowers that hung down in white clusters. They gave off a sweet scent and attracted busily-flying bees.

  Hesitantly, Lumea walked under the arch and into the square beyond. Everywhere there were ancient buildings, all of them with plants and roots growing over their long walls, grasping at the ancient carvings. They must have been wonderful buildings once, but all that remained now were ruins. Time went on inexorably as Lumea wandered between the buildings, struck by the atmosphere of this place. The air was oppressive and stale and, at times, she thought she saw parts of the buildings’ past. For the briefest of moments she would glimpse stately creatures walking about, dressed in extraordinary robes, but when she tried to focus her eyes on them, the visions would disappear, leaving Lumea to wonder if she had really seen them.

  Suddenly the young woman realized she was shivering. The sun had gone down behind the walls and from far away she heard her gray neighing. She hurried towards the animal, climbed on, and galloped in the direction of the Omnesia. It was not far, and on the horizon she could soon see the glow made by the city’s lamps. She rode into the city just before the true darkness of nightfall. It was not long after she had returned the horse to its stable that she herself retired to her rented room in the inn.

  That night she decided to change her tactics. No matter how far she rode, she could not find what she was looking for in the country around the city. Starting the following morning, she would stay in Omnesia and ask its inhabitants if they could help her. She just hoped that one of them would know where Hydrhaga was.

  3

  Lumea slept halfway through the next morning, but she was in no hurry to go anywhere. By the time she left the inn, it was noon. Once again, she found herself alone out on the streets except for the groups of workmen. The morning was quiet and
peaceful, and as she cast her thoughts back to the view afforded to her on the approach via airship, Lumea recalled how the city had been planned, with every street forming neat blocks. From the ground, the layout was just as obvious. Every street corner was marked by a lantern, and the watery light they provided emphasized the straight lines and corners of the surrounding buildings and lanes.

  To Lumea, the streets seemed like an endless repetition of the same building, interspersed at regular intervals with street-lights. The buildings all had multiple floors and were huddled close together as though to waste as little space as possible. The houses loomed over the narrow streets, reducing the sky to a thin strip of blue which was dotted by the occasional airship that passed overhead. The walls of the houses had small windows, as if the people living there wanted to separate their own little world from the public community. The only discordant notes of design within the city were the wells, and those had been placed around the town seemingly at random. Like the men working on them, they did not seem to aesthetically belong.

  Lumea did not understand how the Omnesians could feel comfortable here. In her own country, the villages were a lot more spacious. The buildings there had slender frames and subtle construction, allowing for trees to grow amongst the streets and lanes. Each building held effigies of the gods, with a strong predominance towards the Goddess Isil, the goddess of the moon and mother to her race. Her own people knew that their race needed to coexist with the natural world, and every effort was made to cohabitate with the land.

  Here in Omnesia, that order seemed to be turned upside-down. Nothing whatsoever indicated the Omnesian’s faith, and they had even changed the course of the river for the convenience of the city folk. Their redirection of the river, however, was poorly-done and now a dry bed lay where the river once flowed. The arid riverbed was the reason the city was dusty, and the wind was constantly blew yellow sand through the streets. In some corners the sand and dust piled up higher and higher. The people did not seem to care, however, for once the sand settled in its corners and alcoves, it remained there for years, as no one cleaned it away, nor did they seem to care that the piles steadily grew larger.