Tearing Down The Statues

by Brian Bennudriti

  The two of them only watched one another, till at last Ring made a comment about checking on his new companion to see whether he could help Sylhauna pack. He urged Misling along; and both of them made their way down the tunnel into which the girl had gone before.

  Faded painting and engraved friezes on the cavern walls showed wanoa armies in massive conflict, armored and riding machines. Possibly older and certainly more weathered were village scenes with human children swinging from rope ladders inside the cave city and other enchanting scenes of ancient life therein. There was no writing. Misling slowed to more closely examine each, running his finger along the cold stone borders and textured details, absorbing the images fully. Ring kept a hearty pace, all but ignoring them except for an occasional grunt to acknowledge Misling’s fascination.

  “Yeah, I know. Old pictures and stuff. It’s great.”

  They each made their way to an inner clearing encircled with exotic potted plants and saturated in light from pipe holes leading all the way to sunlight. A bright cavern to their right housed a small bedroom which was spare with only a thick blanket for a bed and a canvas bag only a little packed. Cotton blouses and wool cloaks, boots and underclothes were thrown and scattered on the floor in piles untidily. From a window-like opening, they could hear the tinny gurgle of Sylhauna crying.

  Ring poked his head outside to see her seated hugging her knees on an outcropping overlooking the valley and river, wiping her eyes. Misling followed suit till they were both sticking out like prairie dogs entirely unsure what to say or how to handle a crying girl. Misling made eye contact with Ring to spur him on to saying something. It wasn’t a task for which he was best suited.

  “You don’t have to go with us.”

  He paused awaiting something, then started again when nothing happened, “It’s completely your choice. I mean, you’re welcome to come. But you don’t have to. But you can.”

  She only looked up, her eyes red and her cheeks puffy.

  “You can stay or you can go. I don’t really know what to do with the crying. I mean, there’s nothing to be upset about when you have this kind of latitude to do whatever you want, you know? It’s up to you.”

  Sylhauna wiped the back of her wrist across her right eye again and sniffed. She was clearly trying hard to dry her eyes and stop it. Ring caught Misling’s eyes for affirmation.

  “Right? What did he say exactly?” Ring urged Misling on.

  The Recorder’s eyes were a bit panicked, “’I believe you should join this fellow and the Recorder. You should go wherever they go and listen.’ That is what was said, indicating an intent and persuasive argument.”

  “So…so just let us know what you want.”

  Sylhauna inhaled and shifted position to a kneel facing the two of them. She paused and got control of her breathing and her voice before saying anything.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to try and be funny earlier. I’m really sorry.”

  “’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Everybody gives him a hard time.” Ring jerked his thumb towards Misling, indicating him.

  “This keeps happening to me; and I don’t know why. I thought that here, maybe…” She looked out over the wide valley and shining river sadly, then back to them. She was evaluating their faces, their sincerity, perhaps whether they would laugh. They were solemn in response.

  “It just keeps happening to me.”

  Ring and Misling awaited her, letting her decide the pace and the conversation. She stood suddenly as if recalling a place she needed to be.

  “I’m making you wait. I’m sorry. I’ll put my stuff in a bag.” Quickly and in a disorganized fashion, she pushed past them and started stuffing what little was in the bedroom into a veined khaki sana-weave travel satchel. In little time, it was obvious she didn’t have many possessions at all; and it seemed to cause her some embarrassment. A couple of times, her glances toward them seemed to ask that they not make mention of what they were seeing.

  “My… nice stuff is somewhere else.”

  Ring only nodded, “You’re looking at all I’ve got.”

  Sylhauna nodded back and looked a final time out over the valley, “Will you make me a promise?”

  Ring nodded in agreement, “I’m in. What do you need?”

  She awaited a similar nod from Misling before continuing, an unusual and inappropriate move considering his role. He nodded silently when he saw what she was doing.

  “When you don’t want me around anymore…when you want me to go…will you tell me what it is I’m doing wrong?”

  Ring smiled, “Dear heart, that isn’t a problem now, nor is it to become one. The big guy wasn’t looking to dump you out like garbage – he’s smelling something exciting. There are very big things about to happen – things that haven’t ever happened before. It will be amazing. Well, parts of it will be very bloody; but parts…big parts…will be…amazing.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Okay, okay. I promise. Never going to happen though.” He reached his hand outside the opening to assist her back inside from the landing.

  “Like me and this guy have a reason to poke at someone else’s crazy.”

  She stood before them in her frilly skirt and buckled boots, her blouse wrinkled and spotted from the limestone and shale, watching.

  Ring dropped his voice confidentially, “Hey, can you keep a secret? Even from the big green fellow? I know something about your boss.”

  Sylhauna glanced at the Recorder, then nodded. Ring moved closely, right up into her ear and whispered so softly that only she could hear.

  “His name is Isaniel.”

  6 INTERLUDE: HAMMERS

  Although commonly spoken of as the Augur Temple, in reality the stone and foliage spire housing was a façade covering only a very old stairway leading beneath the earth and comprised only a small fraction of the massive temple complex. Molded openings in the blocks forming the spires held soil and greenery, giving the weathered beige a drape of emerald. Torches mounted inside spilled light through intentional cracks in the joints and caused the entire structure to glow in an unearthly manner. It was unsettling and solemn, as would suit an oracle. A large statue of the Salt Mystic rose from between three fountain jets surrounded by a stone basin.

  Long lines formed once per lunar cycle leading to each person’s appointed day of audience when the Augur would accept their inquiries. Lengthy participation in a dark room ritual with fasting and sana was required in advance of the audience; and those in attendance had most typically been on a waiting list for sometimes years. Crowded stores and marionette puppeteers, street actors and sculpture gardens competed for the attention of seekers in a huge campus that included a paraball arena. This ancient and hallowed swarm of activity and bustle was shrouded in a valley surrounded on all sides by desolate and awesome mountain ranges.

  “Mommy, he hit me in the eye!” Two boys were pretending to play Black Hallow, using bright oversize cartoon cards and a soft silicone knife, squatted at the feet of a swaying woman holding a little girl. She looked coldly at the one who’d sought justice from her.

  “That’s what happens when you agree to throw toy knives at each other.”

  An obviously wealthy older woman standing in front of her turned to see the commotion, then smiled thinly awaiting eye contact. She wore numerous silver bands as was the fashion years before.

  “You’ve got a handful, don’t you?”

  The mother nodded politely with an expression betraying ironically she was in some sort of hurry. She held the limp little girl just a little tighter and stroked her soft black hair.

  “I’ve been on the list for an audience since last spring. It’s exciting, isn’t it? I’m not entirely sure what to expect.” There was a pause for which the mother had no interruption, clearly driving some sort of awkward feeling for the older woman since she was determined to engage in conversation. The boys asked if they could join some kids their age they’d noticed; and
the mother nodded her assent, assigning them the responsibility to remain within her line of sight.

  “Oh, I would be so nervous to let my kids wander off in such a crowd!”

  “They’ll be fine. They’re independent.”

  “Well I would be nervous.”

  “Don’t let it get to you.”

  The wealthy woman idly shifted about, watching the eddying crowds headed into the paraball arena looking like stirred milk in coffee, then turned back again to re-engage eye contact with the mother. She motioned to the little girl, whose feet hung to the mother’s hips, her head nodding to one side against a thrust forward shoulder.

  “Such pretty hair.”

  “Thank you.” Perhaps unnoticed by the stranger, the mother pulled the girl a bit closer to herself, ensuring the face remained hidden.

  “So, how long were you on the list?”

  “Since yesterday. I bought someone else’s place.”

  This clearly wasn’t what the old woman anticipated; and she couldn’t help herself but to reassess the loose fitting cotton slacks and inexpensive fleece the mother wore.

  “Goodness, that must have been costly!”

  “I sold some stuff.” The mother slid the little girl’s weight over, either failing or pretending not to notice the old woman’s consternation at the status shift that had just occurred. Some murmuring and shifting flowed through the crowd as the advance of another group into the Augur Temple allowed their own forward progress.

  “I imagine your husband is a soldier.” The mother nodded almost solemnly in response, drawing a sympathetic nod and smile.

  “I thought as much, with you alone watching three kids on such an event as this. I do hope he’s okay.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I see. Well bless your heart. How are the boys doing without their daddy?”

  “They don’t notice. He never paid them any attention.”

  The old woman’s face went a bit cold, as if she was only now interested in backing away from this conversation as it had become decidedly unpleasant. Even so, she watched the limp little girl a bit closer, possibly noticing that the child hadn’t moved even a little.

  “Mommy, what’s a Malthus?” One of the boys had returned and suddenly tugged the mother’s fleece for her attention, inquiring about a street actor skit under way in the adjacent courtyard. She leaned over slightly to watch his face as she answered.

  “An old timey go-to man for the Naraia heads of state, an agent…Recorders and the Augur helped decide on what to do, the Malthus were the hammer to get it done. That’s what they called shaping things…hammers.”

  “Did they kill people?”

  “Sometimes, sweetheart; but if they did, it was okay because it was what was needed.”

  The boy stood on his tip-toes to get a vantage over the crowd at the red-robed street actor, a teenager masked in a cochineal bandana and skulking mysteriously around the milling crowds outside the arena.

  “That guy says they could make things out of water and cause your body to create poison, even drive ghost-ships through the ground and pop up anywhere. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know, son. Go play. We’ll be inside the Temple soon. It will be a long week once we go down those stairs.”

  “But could they do all that stuff?”

  “I don’t know, son. Please, just go play. Mommy has to get ready for the audience. Just go be with your friends. I can’t do this right now.” She shrugged again, shifting the little girl’s weight again. The wealthy woman continued to watch curiously, even sliding to her side a bit to try and gain a closer view.

  “Can I be a Malthus when I grow up?” Knowing he was trying her patience, the boy started a half step away from her to signal his imminent compliance. In an exhausted and beaten demeanor, she watched him again as she answered.

  “The last one died before I was born. They’re not around anymore. If we want to make things right, we just have to be our own hammer. You should remember that, son. Nobody’s going to help you.”

  Their place in line had advanced once again; and the mother and wealthy stranger were at this point within direct sight of the dark and old earthen stairway leading underground just inside the stone spires. Some soft, vocal melody sounded from inside, sad and anxious like the feeling of summer ending. The boy ran off in the direction of his friends.

  “Excuse me, darling; but I wonder if you’d mind if I see your beautiful daughter’s face? I just love to see a pretty girl.” The old woman’s face betrayed her suspicion as she didn’t hide it well. In fact, the girl still hadn’t so much as twitched a foot.

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “I’m sure I won’t wake her.” The old woman reached in the direction of the girl’s hair, drawing a sharp jerk from the mother.

  “Don’t touch her!”

  “Let me see that girl.” The old woman was more urgent, demanding. Several people adjacent to them were taking notice.

  “I need you to mind your own business and just leave us alone.”

  “Where is your husband?” Her voice was accusing, her face almost angry.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want me to call for a watchman? Let me see that girl.”

  “I told you, she’s sleeping.”

  “She isn’t moving. I can’t hear her breathe. What have you done to her? Let me see.”

  “I haven’t done anything. Please, just step back and give me some room. I can’t handle this right now.”

  “Wake her up.” Another stranger, a man who’d overheard thus far, joined in. His wife stood beside him, judging and accusatory.

  “I have to take her to a quieter place in line. Please, just give us some air.” The mother started to step away; but the man grabbed her shoulder.

  “What are you hiding? Wake her up.”

  “I’m not hiding anything. Please, you’re going to upset her. Just let me go find another place to stand.” Her voice was scared at this point, squeaking in panic..

  “Honey, go get a watchman. She’s done something to that girl.” The wife implored her husband.

  “I might do that.”

  “Please. I didn’t hurt my little girl. I didn’t do anything. Just let us go. We’ll be inside the Temple soon; and I’ll be their problem then.”

  “Let us see her, then.”

  Suddenly, the girl made a whimpered, seal-like noise. She twisted in her mother’s arms. Those watching were surprised, at once silent.

  “Sweetheart, just lay still. Mommy’s got you. Don’t look around. Mommy’s got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The mother dropped to her knees to better hold the girl and shield her from strange stares. As she did so, a spot of blood pooling from the girl’s thigh stained the mother’s fleece. The tiny face was swollen and bruised; and her eyes were vacant.

  “Sweetie, mommy’s here. Daddy is far away. He’s far away; and you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Mommy’s got you.” She kept repeating that ever more softly, stroking the little girl’s black hair.

  When a watchman stepped up, asking about the disturbance of which he’d been informed, the wealthy woman and man who’d questioned the mother told him they didn’t know what he was talking about, that everything was fine. All the while, the mother sat there, concealed from the watchman’s view by the couple and woman, swaying softly and whispering that Daddy was far away. After a moment, the watchman continued on his way.

  “They’re worthless in this.” The old woman knelt and touched the mother’s shoulder. “Especially when it involves soldiers. You’ve come to the right place, dear. I’m so sorry.”

  “We’ll help you with the boys when we’re inside.” The man offered. “Are you going to ask where your husband is?”

  “No, I can find him.”

  “What are you here for, then? What are you going to ask?” The old woman continued to touch the mother’s shoulder, swaying her hand with her as the girl drifted back into silence
and immobility. The mighty stadium roar of the paraball game lifted like an ocean talking, blending with the humming song from the Temple.

  “I want to know how to hurt him.” She looked up at them, squinting through tearing eyes.

  There was nothing they could say; and they didn’t make an effort to continue. Short afternoon shadows pooled beneath them as a dirigible drifted overhead bringing those seeking the final audience for this cycle. The couple embraced each other and looked into the uneasy blackness of the chamber ahead, sporting with flickering and ghostly torchlight.