The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

  The Humanarium by C.W Tickner.

  Published by Humanarium Publishing Ltd.

  © 2018 C.W Tickner

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by copyright law. For permissions contact:

  CWTickner@gmail.com

  Cover by Dane at Ebook launch.

  Edited by Andrew Turpin.

  Thank you for opening this copy of The Humanarium. Just to let you know, reviews are the life blood of an author and the chance of sequels stem from honest reviews.

  Now sit back and enjoy the story.

  The Humanarium.

  Prologue.

  Wind whipped against Harl Eriksson’s face as he sped across the fields. He leapt over a rotting fence and landed at a run, his feet pounding clouds of dust into the air. Troy raced at his side and glanced back over his shoulder at the town the moment he landed.

  ‘Guards!’ he yelled.

  Both men threw themselves into a gully and splashed through the water as they scrambled out of sight.

  ‘Damn!’ Harl groaned. ‘How close?’

  Troy was holding his side and breathing hard.

  ‘Just… leaving… the barracks,’ he said, collapsing against the clay bank.

  ‘And the boys?’

  ‘Far edge of the forest,’ Troy jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction they had been running, ‘right where it breaks against the barrier.’

  Harl risked a quick look back at the town. The guards were marching along the road towards them. Their spears glinted in the harsh light thrown down from the roof of the world. Harl slid back into the gulley and grabbed Troy. He hauled him up and they stumbled along until a curve in the wrong direction forced them to scramble up out of hiding.

  A dark tangle of forest sprawled ahead of them, but it was a haven of light compared to the barrier that rose up behind it. Smooth and unmarked, a vast black wall spread along the horizon and climbed up to the roof of the world. It marked the end of everything. Impenetrable. Unknowable. It was the edge of their world and surrounded them on all four sides, like thhe shell of a giant cube slammed down around them.

  This was their world, their prison. Harl couldn’t think of it any other way, no matter what the priests claimed.

  ‘Oh Gods.’ Troy whispered.

  Harl glanced over his shoulder to find the guards much nearer than he’d thought.

  ‘We can get to them in time,’ he said, clenching his jaw in determination.

  Troy looked at him as though he was mad.

  They scrambled across the rolling grassland in a crouch and stumbled into the dark mass of trees that backed against the barrier. Harl found a narrow animal trail leading in the right direction and the two men followed it.

  They ran on. When they burst out of the forest, the black barrier rose up before them as though the gods had struck them blind. The two boys were hacking into the soil at its base. Both their black-haired heads popped up over the edge of the hole at the sound of Troy and Harl charging towards them. Fear clouded their muddy faces and they scrambled out of the hole, dragging a pair of shovels with them as they sprinted for the nearest trees.

  Harl jumped on top of them before either could get away.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, Luke?’ Harl demanded as he dragged one of the boys across the clearing towards the trees.

  ‘Digging,’ Luke said, as though tunnelling under the barrier was a common occurrence.

  ‘You daft buggers,’ Harl said.

  Troy snatched the shovels from their hands and tossed them into the hole.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ he hissed.

  ‘Please mister!’ Luke pleaded, ‘We don’t want trouble.’

  ‘It’s not us you need to worry about,’ Harl said as they reached the first tree.

  ‘But, father’s tools...’ Luke said, looking back at the shovel handles poking up out of the small pit.

  ‘It’s too late,’ Harl said. ‘The Elders know you’re here. Just run. Run!’

  The four of them plunged deeper into the woods, before crouching in a thicket to look back.

  Moments later the guards surrounded the hole. Their uniform was simple padded leather and covered by a dark grey tabard. The leader wore bright white robes and carried no weapons. He crouched on the rim of the pit and scanned the edge of the forest. His robe flickered in the light as he twisted to face them, reflecting the ornate gold patterns that marked him as an Elderman.

  ‘Rufus,’ Harl hissed, recognizing the man, ‘the pious vulture.’

  The Elderman jumped down into the pit. He kicked at a few loose stones, shaking with rage, before climbing back out holding a shovel in either hand.

  ‘Find them!’ he screamed. ‘Search the woods. They’ll be lifted for such heresy.’

  ‘Move!’ Troy said forcing the boys into a run as the guards spread out along the tree line.

  ‘Take the long route,’ Harl said. ‘If we make it back to your pa’s before Rufus, then no one can prove that you were trying to tunnel out.’

  The boy’s home was on the northern edge of the forest bordering the town. Manicured flower beds lined the wide garden leading to the cottage. As they approached the rear garden raised voices drifted across through the night. They were too late. Rufus and the guards stood in a semicircle around the back door.

  The Elderman was shouting at the boy’s father, Earl, who was standing in the doorway scratching at the stubble coating his chin in confusion. Earl cocked his head to one side when he noticed Harl holding the children inside the tree line at the end of the garden.

  ‘The tools have your initials on them Earl,’ Rufus shouted as he brandished a shovel under the man’s nose. ‘And you expect me to believe they were stolen this morning? Fool. The evidence clearly points at someone from this house.’

  ‘My wife was lifted,’ Earl said placing an open palm on his chest to ward off lifting. ‘It’s just me and my boys now.’

  ‘Somebody must be guilty,’ Rufus continued, ‘and I’m going to find out who would dare-’

  ‘Who are you accusing?’ Earl barked, cutting Rufus off. His eyes flicked past Rufus to the boys and back. He stepped forward to stand over the shorter Elderman.

  Rufus shook with rage. ‘Where are your children? They were overheard plotting to break into the realm of the Gods. Blasphemy! Pure and simple.’

  Earl looked at Harl before standing straighter and staring the Elderman down. ‘It was not my boys, Rufus. I dared the wrath of the Gods. I’ve no wish to live in this prison any longer.’

  ‘Blasphemy!’ Rufus screamed. ‘Seize him.’

  Two of the guards grabbed an arm each, and Harl watched, helplessly, as the soldiers marched Earl towards the town. Both boys made a start towards their father, but Harl kept a hand on Luke’s shoulder while Troy did the same with the other. Rufus turned to see the four of them standing beneath the trees. A nasty smile formed on his lips and then he laughed as he turned to follow his men.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ Luke wailed, his face buried in his hands as he sobbed. ‘Pa didn’t do nothing wrong.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Harl said, ‘he’ll serve his time in the quarries and be back soon enough.’

  But even as he said it, he knew that the words were hollow. He watched the guards drag Earl away. Luke was right. But what could he do about it?

  ‘Bastard,’ Harl said as they marched a short distance behind Rufus and his men. They had fallen into step behind the procession as it took the main road back to town. Rufus must have heard as he looked back sneering and drew a finger across his neck making Luke sob and grab Harl’s hand.

  ‘He knows,’ Troy said. ‘Earl’s just another
heretic to add to his list when he reports to the other Eldermen.’

  The road led through the cobbled streets, past half timbered houses and shops until they reached the Elderman’s chamber. The building was a large round stone structure set with stained-glass windows. Pillars lined the curved wall, propping up the overhanging roof that covered a walkway around the building. It’s domed roof dominated the area and eclipsed the smaller buildings that filled the rest of the town centre.

  Harl suspected that Rufus had deliberately chosen to parade Earl down the busiest road through town. Dark-haired men and women lined the street and frowned at the spectacle, whether at the lawbreaker or at Rufus’s actions, Harl couldn’t tell.

  ‘Hey,’ one man said, stepping out of a butcher’s shop. ‘What’s Earl done?’

  ‘Keep your questions to yourself, Pinkleton,’ Rufus snapped.

  ‘What about his lil ones?’ a woman asked from a doorway.

  ‘Not my concern,’ Rufus said, looking back at Harl, Troy, and the boys, a smirk on his face.

  ‘Come ’ere lads,’ the woman said, scowling at Rufus. ‘You’re gonna be stayin’ with me for a while.’

  ‘Go on,’ Harl said and then watched them run to her.

  He decided he’d follow Rufus and Earl until they were swallowed into the council chambers. It was the least he could do.

  As he turned away a shadow loomed over them all. Screams broke out along the street. Harl looked up and saw the god’s hand reaching down. It was the size of a house, its four fingers outstretched as it descended. It smashed into a roof and tiles rained down onto the cobbles. Those nearest threw themselves into doorways and the guards scattered, leaving Earl and Rufus alone in the centre of a deserted road.

  Rufus fell to the ground wailing, hands raised above his head as if to ward off the titanic limb.

  The god’s fingers spread above Earl and snapped shut, sealing him inside. His terrified scream filled the air. And then the hand was gone, rising towards the roof of the world as more tiles and masonry thundered down.

  Harl watched it all, terrified and frozen by the horror of what he was seeing. The colossal fist swept out through a hinged opening near the back of the world and vanished

  Not again, Harl thought as he fell to his knees. Not again.

  Chapter 1

  When I first discovered them, it was, ironically, in my own garden. Of all the lands I had travelled across to find new species, the creatures that brought me fame and fortune were under my very feet the whole time.

  The only light in the dusty workshop came from the red glow of the forge. Sweating, but focused, Harl beat the metal ingot into the rough shape of an axe head. Each hammer blow rang out in the hot, enclosed space. He paused mid-strike, his toned arm raised. How many times had he watched his father working the forge? The ringing hammer was like the heartbeat of his youth. So many instructions and words of wisdom were hammered into him during those precious days, but now he worked the forge alone. He let the hammer fall and cringed at the jarring tone.

  ‘A rushed job is a hasty job,’ his father would have said. ‘A man should work at the speed his skill allows, not batter the metal into submission. Patience is a skill to be cherished.’

  Harl raised the ingot to eye-level. It was supposed to be an axe head, but the balance was all wrong, and there were too many impurities in the metal to provide a lasting edge. He sighed and dropped it back onto the anvil.

  The jingle of the shop bell came from the other room. He rubbed a hand across his damp face. As he stepped away, he slid the cooling ingot back into the forge and then headed into the shop.

  The shop itself wasn’t that big. A counter ran the width of it, and tools of all kinds lined the wooden shelves, from hoes and axes to spades and spears. One of the Pewter brothers was standing by the door brushing the dust off himself after coming in from the busy street outside.

  ‘Bren, is it?’ Harl asked the young lad.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Harl said, ‘you three look so alike.’

  ‘So what? No one’s different, mister,’ Bren said. His eager eyes strayed to the case of pocket knives standing on the counter. ‘Even you could pass as me brother.’

  ‘You’re right, but what can we do?’ Harl sighed. He flopped down on a stool and then propped his elbows on the counter and cupped his head in his hands. ‘Our world is too small, Bren, and there are too few of us in it. There’s never any new blood, so our children end up looking the same. But I guess that means we’re pretty much family.’

  Bren looked a bit confused at Harl’s words, so he gave the boy a sad smile.

  ‘Don‘ worry about it. You’ll understand when you grow up. So what can I do for you, Bren?’

  ‘My Pa needs a new shovel,’ Bren said, glancing around the shop.

  Harl pushed himself up off the stool.

  ‘Okay. What has he given you to trade?’

  ‘No trade,’ the boy said, yanking out a loop of leather cord from his belt. Small metal discs were threaded along it, each one engraved with the rough outline of the god’s stern face.

  ‘Pa gave me twenty credits, but five are for food from the market.’ He untied the knot in the cord and slipped five credits free before placing the rest on the counter in front of Harl.

  ‘Looks like your Pa wants one of the better shovels this time around,’ Harl said.

  ‘He’s digging a well. Been at it for cycles and the old one wore out.’

  ‘Good luck to him,’ Harl said, walking around the scratched counter to lift a shovel down from a rack on the plaster wall. ‘Just pray he doesn’t hit the bottom.’

  ‘It’s not that deep,’ Bren said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the tool.

  ‘Tell him that if this one doesn’t last at least ten giftings then I’ll replace it,’ Harl said.

  ‘Will do,’ Bren said as he made for the door.

  Harl turned back to the workshop. He still had a dozen or so axe heads to fit for the Cutters’ order, but his mind wasn’t on the task. Easier to close up for the rest of the cycle and get his thoughts in order.

  He stepped out onto Main Street and paused to take in the sights and sounds. Three story buildings loomed over him, their thatched roofs steaming as the rain from the dark cycle evaporated. Wooden signs overhung the wide, cobbled street, advertising dozens of merchants and craft shops. The gifting was only a cycle away and there was a buzz of excitement in the air.

  A plump, dark-haired woman whistled a jaunty tune as she strolled past. She blew Harl a kiss and then laughed when he blushed. Flustered, he locked the shop door and turned away. A fletcher sat opposite, tying flights to the shafts of hunting arrows as he watched the people walk by. The barbed tips gleamed in the light.

  The fletcher noticed Harl and frowned. It was only for a moment, and then he sighted along a finished arrow and turned away, but it unnerved Harl.

  Why had he frowned?

  Two boys dragged a goat passed and Harl found himself following them. He looked back over his shoulder, but the fletcher was just concentrating on his work. Harl ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. Was it because of what had happened to Earl? Or did the fletcher know something else?

  The rush and gurgle of water broke into Harl’s thoughts. The boys had led him down the street to where a bridge of weathered stone crossed the river. Two large arches held it above the fast-flowing water. Harl stopped at the edge of the bridge and stared down into the clear water. His thoughts swirled around as he watched the water flow by.

  What had been the reason for the fletcher’s frown? Could it have been Earl? People were ghosts on the edge of his perception as he replayed Earl’s lifting in his mind. He could still hear the man’s scream, could still see his arms reaching out for help between the cracks in the god’s hand. It had only happened one other time in the last thirty cycles, but why did it? Why were people lifted? Why were so many taken? Earl, Anni, countless others, but it was his parents that cut deepest. T
heir lifting had ripped his simple world apart when he was a boy, and now Earl’s death had stripped all of the time away to leave the memory of that cycle raw within him. He had felt like that same frightened boy again as the god’s immense hand had reached down from above, only this time it had been Earl that had been snatched away, not his parents. But it was their harrowing screams that tore at his thoughts, like a claw raking painfully through his mind, not Earl’s.

  In truth he blamed himself. All he had wanted to do was play with the other kids, not help out in the workshop. But his father had said no, so he had fled in a tantrum and hidden under a market stall in the square. He remembered enjoying his parents confusion as they sought him out. It had made him laugh. But then someone had screamed, and there had been no hiding from the sight of the four-fingered hand coming down, or the giant face of the god as it peered through the Sight into the world, grabbed his parents and lifted them away. Their screams were a torture that echoed over and over in his dreams.

  But why did the god take such innocents? His parents had been god-respecting people. He could not think of a reason for them to be lifted. They had contributed to the gatherings and attended the feasts. No one had ever accused them of heresy or a lack of worship. Why else would the god lift them? But there was something more, something intangible that Harl couldn’t quite grasp. He gripped the cold stone bridge for support and lowered his head. There simply had to be a reason for the liftings.

  A shout from below brought him back to the present. A pile of barrels had somehow tumbled down from the road into the water below the bridge. Two men were arguing about it on the far side, while other workmen scrambled around trying to nudge the barrels back to shore with long poles before they bumped and jostled their way down-river.

  Harl turned away.

  If only his memories could go with them.

  The walk to Gifting Square didn’t take long. Crossing the entire world, from his house on one side to the quarry on the other, took less than half a cycle, and all the time the immense black walls of the barrier dominated the horizon. It was something that Harl just couldn’t understand. Why should their world end at the walls? No one knew the answer, and no hammer, axe, or chisel had ever managed to scratch them.