The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

  ‘I didn’t,’ Harl said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He said that if someone was willing to be lifted, it would prove our faith to the god and we’d be repaid for the sacrifice.’

  ‘What did the other Eldermen say?’ Harl asked.

  Troy laughed. ‘They told him to shove it. They know we lose more people to the liftings than we gain from births. How long until we’re all lifted and there’s no one left to appease the gods? It’s insane, Harl. Crazy. Too many are taken as it is. What’s to become of us? Earl was lifted for no reason, Harl. Why didn’t the god see the truth and leave him be?’

  ‘Shh,’ Harl hushed. ‘I understand what you’re saying, but you don’t know who’s listening. That sort of talk will get us in trouble if it finds its way back to an Elderman, and I don’t want to end up doing penance.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Troy said, raising his hands in surrender. ‘It’s just that I don’t like where Rufus is taking us. I know he’s inexperienced and young for the job, but what if the next Elderman elected shares his views? What happens when all ten of them start demanding a sacrifice and twenty prayer sessions each cycle?’

  Harl sipped his drink. ‘We must pray that they see sense before then. We’re on a rocky road, Troy. The priests and Eldermen preach that the One True God is kind and benevolent, despite how it lifts people on a whim and holds the threat of starvation over our heads. Why can’t they see the truth? The older I get, the more their words seem like lies. The god seems evil. I don’t think we should be so eager to squander resources just before a gifting. Think what would happen if nothing was Gifted and we’d just thrown away half of our food. How long would we last?’

  Troy looked at him with a dark eyebrow raised, ‘You make a lot of sense. Why not stand for Elderman next time they hold elections? You’d get my vote.’

  ‘Why? Those Eldermen are far too greedy and pious for my liking. Why would I want to join them? They sit back and do nothing while good people, like my parents, are lifted. And instead of helping the bereaved after a lifting, they pretend the lifted person was in the wrong. No, I don’t want to be one of those crooked charlatans.’

  The sound of a clinking glass drew their attention. Harl looked up and saw that the man at the next table had spilled his drink. He stared at them with a look of shock and outrage on his wrinkled face. His robes marked him as a man of the gods. He scrambled to his feet, knocking his chair over, and then stormed from the tavern.

  ‘Damn!’ Harl exclaimed.

  Troy gave him a worried look and they both knew that there was trouble ahead.

  Chapter 3

  I have been observing them for some time now but I cannot place their origin. I must attempt to communicate with them.

  Although worried, Harl didn’t find any guards waiting for him when he arrived home. The cottage was silent and lonely. Shadows from the dark cycle clung to the walls like unwelcome guests and the only light seeping in through the windows came from the torches in town reflecting in the Sight.

  Troy’s family had taken Harl in after his parents were lifted, so no one had cared for the cottage until he came of age. The passing cycles had taken a toll, leaving the place desperate for repair. Rain had rotted the exterior, while wood worm had gnawed at the roof beams until the timbers had fallen in on themselves to leave a gaping hole. It looked as though the One True God had smashed his fist down into Harl’s home.

  He had intended to rebuild it, but the more time he spent there, the more the crumbling walls and rotting timbers seemed to whisper of his past life. He saw ghosts everywhere, ghosts of his parents, ghosts of himself, ghosts of the man he might have been if his parents had lived. The pain was too much for him and he had no wish to haunt the place until the end of his time.

  He collapsed on the porch and cradled his head in his hands. Troy had tricked him into drinking far too much again. The world was a distorted mess and his fragile mind was struggling to make sense of it, but his thoughts kept running over events at the Spear. What would the priest tell the Eldermen? Would he tell them everything? It wasn’t hard to picture him running to them and relating his tale in a breathless rant hoping to curry some favour. It seemed much more likely than him staying silent.

  Or would a guard pay Harl a visit in the dark cycle and silence him forever? A quick slice from a cold knife and he’d no longer trouble the Eldermen.

  Something rustled in the nearby shrubs. He stood, wobbling on drunken legs as he tried to see through the darkness and then staggered down from the porch, plucked a stone from the ground and hurled it at the bushes. A chicken squawked, flapping out from the shrubbery in a panic as it fled into the darkness. He sighed and retreated to the bedroom, tripping on a loose floorboard as he stumbled into bed. He lay there panting as the room spun around him.

  It was too late to take his words back now. It was in the hands of the gods. Let them judge him and be damned.

  Light was already beaming down on the world when he woke on the next cycle. He clamped his eyes shut as the light lanced through him and then dragged the covers over his head, moaning against the agony of his hangover. His mouth felt like it was coated with coarse grit. Why had they continued to drink?

  It was gifting day. He could hear the sounds of the feast in the distant town, the lively music and laughter ricocheting around inside his skull like a thousand discordant bells. He pressed a pillow against his head and lay there as the muffled sounds continued to assault him.

  When he staggered out onto the porch some time later, he found Troy waiting for him.

  Troy was leaning back in a rocking chair with his legs propped up on the handrail that ran along the edge of the porch. He waved and grinned. When he saw Harl wince at the light, he laughed and pointed to a small earthenware jug on a table next to him.

  ‘I brought you a cure,’ he said, tapping his head with one finger. ‘A mug of Harkins will soon ease that delicate head of yours.’

  Harl slumped onto a bench next to him and shook his head. Troy ignored him, poured some ale into the mug and shoved it across the table.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ Troy said, raising his own cup and taking a draught.

  ‘Why so? I don’t owe you credits for last nights drink do I?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. I was worried that you might have been arrested in the dark cycle or something.’

  Harl groaned. ‘You mean the priest?’

  Troy nodded.

  ‘Well as you can see, I’m fine,’ Harl said.

  Troy snorted on his drink and lowered the cup, laughing as he wiped froth from his nose.

  Harl frowned, looking down at his mug, but then sighed and lifted it from the table and tipped it at Troy in salute. ‘But why would they take me and forget a scoundrel like Troy Everett?’

  ‘What?’ Troy said. ‘They wouldn’t arrest me. What would all the women do if I wasn’t around to entertain them?’

  Harl groaned as he took a sip. ‘The men might not mind you out of the way for once.’

  Troy laughed and sprang to his feet.

  ‘You’re going to drag me to the gifting, aren’t you?’ Harl said.

  ‘What else?’ Troy said as he pulled Harl from his seat. ‘Come on. We may as well go. You need something decent to eat. Besides, how long do we have before the guards drag us off to the quarry?’ he added with a wink.

  ‘That’s not funny,’ Harl said, peering around for any guards waiting in ambush among the bushes as they followed the path to town.

  The streets around Gifting Square were packed with stalls and entertainment. Bare-chested men juggled flame sticks as they walked through the crowds and dozens of merchants hampered Harl and Troy’s progress with generous offerings of ale and food.

  They watched the first act of a puppet show seated beside a group of cheering children and adults. Rows of benches had been set up for the audience in the field at the edge of Gifting Square, right next to a dais for the Eldermen and priests. The Sight formed a vast backdrop. />
  The puppets took it in turns to hit each other with small clubs to the delight of the audience. Harl laughed along with the others, but then the confines of the puppets’ world began to swallow his attention. They were penned in from all sides by walls of black cloth with cardboard trees standing against them as a fake horizon. Only the front was open. The similarity to his own world was uncanny and that he was staring in at the tiny puppets as if he was their One True God. The horror of it stripped the show of any warmth and left him rattled.

  When the curtain fell, Troy dragged him away for a quick ale and he sat there stewing over his thoughts while Troy looked on, baffled at his mood swing. When their stomachs began to rumble they returned to the square and feasted on the sumptuous food being gifted around them. Every type of produce was on offer, from fresh-baked loaves with mounds of butter to succulent roast meats fresh off the bone. Everyone in the land was attending but Harl had no desire to be a part of it.

  He tasted the food and sipped at the wine, watching as children darted in and out between people’s legs, laughing and playing. None of it touched him, though. It was all so empty, so pointless. They were all just running around with blinkers on. He looked over his shoulder to where the vast wall of the Sight stood as an open window into the realm of the gods. No one seemed to see what he did. No one realised that they were all just waiting to be lifted.

  He watched a mass prayer in silence. Robed priests called upon the gods’ blessing for those kneeling before them. Their piety baffled him. He understood the reverence – he had believed in the faith all of his life – but he could not understand how blind they seemed to be to the horror around them. They accepted it all, the liftings, the deaths, the risk of starvation if the gifting was poor; it was all a part of their faith and they just bowed their heads and whispered their thanks. But their soft prayers still tugged at his heart. Some part of him clung to those beliefs despite all the pain he’d endured and the doubts that were running through his mind. He was torn and he was no weaver to stitch himself back together.

  A priest dismissed the congregation and then strode up the steps to where a gong sat atop the Eldermen’s wooden dais. A table laden with the finest food and drinks was ringed on one side by ten gilded chairs that faced the crowd. This was for the Eldermen who would preside over the ceremony. Next to it, a smaller table had been prepared for the five highest-ranking priests. It looked spartan by comparison. There was no gilding or luxury food, just plain wood for the build and bread and water for the priests.

  The priest raised a hammer and struck the gong. A hush descended and the crowd parted to allow a line of priests to march through. They climbed up onto the dais, barely glancing at the crowd as they shuffled across the platform, but, as was customary, they cast an eye over the Elderman’s table, straightening the cutlery and smoothing the tablecloth, before forming into a row at the end of the table and then turning to face the steps, heads bowed as the ten Eldermen climbed onto the platform, giving small waves and nods to the assembly below.

  The Eldermen and priests took a moment to speak privately, some shaking hands or exchanging small gifts as the priests went forward and bowed to each Elderman in turn. When they’d finished, the Eldermen filed into place and then took their seats. The priests waited a respectful moment and then took their own places at the smaller table.

  Rufus smoothed his robes down and stared out over the crowd with a sneer on his lips.

  The High Elderman, Arlet, nodded his assent to the waiting priest and the man struck the gong a second time. The Eldermen stood up as one. In the centre, Arlet took a long swig from a delicate gold stein, wiped the foam from his grey beard, and then shuffled around the long table, resting a pale, bony hand on each Elderman’s shoulder as he passed, his crooked staff clunking on the wooden boards with each step. He stopped in front of the table and turned to face the crowd.

  ‘People!’ he cried. His voice carried clearly to all present, as if the ale had magical properties.

  Harl and Troy edged to the front and watched as Rufus shouldered his way closer to Arlet, nudging the older men aside until he was standing next to the High Elderman. He puffed up proudly and glanced at Harl, a trace of his usual sneer slipping through his attempt at serenity.

  ‘It is with great honour on this fiftieth cycle since the last, that we celebrate another gifting,’ Arlet continued. ‘The One True God has always provided for us and this cycle will be no different.’

  Turning around to face the Sight, he raised his hands and stared off into the distance.

  ‘We, the people, thank the Lord on this cycle, as on each cycle of our lives, for he created this world to provide for us. The corn, the livestock, the trees, and the rain; each of these he has placed within the barriers so that we may thrive.’

  He turned back to the crowd and proclaimed, as though the words came direct from the One True God, ‘I have created this world, but only the faithful will survive, only the faithful will receive my blessing. I shall look into your hearts and your souls, and I will see the truth of your faith. I will reward the righteous. I will punish the non-believers. But I am a kind and benevolent being, so I will give wayward souls the chance for redemption.’

  Arlet extended his arms upwards and yelled out into the crowd, ‘Praise be to the Sight and the gods that live beyond!’

  His mantra was taken up by all present, young and old alike. ‘PRAISE BE TO THE SIGHT AND THE GODS THAT LIVE BEYOND!’

  With that the Eldermen turned and, as if on cue, the god approached the Sight. The crowd bowed their heads in reverence, placing an open palm to chest as the god bent down close to the barrier and peered inside, his critical eyes sunk within the taut grey skin of his face. Greed and appraisal glowed in his bright yellow pupils. His gaze ran over everything in the world, but then he straightened up and his head disappeared above the roof of the world to leave only his gigantic midriff visible. A mesh of blue metal bands covered his torso like a wall of woven steel.

  The roof of the world opened and the god’s hand drifted inside clutching an enormous fistful of supplies.

  ‘BEHOLD THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE!’ Arlet proclaimed.

  With a resounding crash that echoed through the world, the god dropped the supplies on the bare soil in the field. Guards rushed forward to surround the pile as the god’s hand withdrew.

  ‘Praise to the One True God!’ someone yelled.

  The murmur of excitement exploded into cheers as the crowd surged forward for a better look. The guards forced them back to a respectful distance and then retreated to form a defensive ring around the gift so that no one could pilfer items before the division.

  There were metal containers of fire liquid on one side, while timber and tree trunks formed the bulk of the mass; there were even giant fruits ripe for the picking. Harl noted the lowing of cattle coming from behind the pile and knew that his herd would be up to full size, and possibly more, by the end of the division. The excitement of the gifting swept through him as he watched chickens, pigs, and sheep make a break for freedom across the field. The crowd howled with laughter and then cheered as the guards abandoned their posts to chase the animals down. Bulging sacks full of hidden treasures tumbled to the ground as the whole pile settled into place.

  ‘It’s a good one,’ Troy yelled as he shouldered his way between two people for a better look. ‘Bound to be some seeds in there somewhere!’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, friend,’ Harl shouted back, ‘but it’s time for another drink’

  ‘This way,’ Troy said. ‘I know where to find the best brew and the friendliest ladies. ’

  ‘You always do,’ Harl said, shaking his head in amusement as he followed along behind.

  Chapter 4

  Where did they come from? I’ve seen no common ancestors for the species and only their bipedal stature links them to us. There are at least twenty four other species that walk on two legs and none of them bear any genetic resemblance to these.

  Harl
woke on the next cycle with no idea how he had got home. His head felt like he’d used an anvil for a pillow while someone went to work on it with a hammer. They had ended up inside the Spear for the usual drinking competition and he must have won. He plunged his head into a bucket of cold water and swore as clarity replaced the pain.

  He ate a quick meal of cheese and cold beef before heading into town to claim the list stating his share of the Gift. Everyone was accounted for, including the children, whose portion would be held in trust until they came of age. When he reached Gifting Square he was surprised to find Rufus absent. Harl stood on tiptoe and craned over the black-haired heads around him, sure that he would be there somewhere lording it over everyone as he handed out the lists, but there was no sign of him. Instead, it was Elderman Vines who faced the long queue of hungover, but cheery, people.

  His robe was simple and unadorned, and his wrinkled face held a constant smile beneath the cropped white beard as he dealt with each person in turn. He had been the only Elderman who had comforted Harl after his parents’ lifting, and Harl felt a connection with the cheery old man, who was always quick to lend a hand or share discomfort.

  Looking about for Troy, Harl joined the end of the queue. The gift had been sorted during the dark cycle and laid out ready for delivery. Lumber and cans of fire liquid were set in vast rows across the grass, and a train of carts was waiting to be loaded. The animals had been herded to a fenced off area where they would be fed and watered until collection. Priests scrawled lists as they counted and checked the goods, and then compared them to the division lists that the council had organised through the dark cycle.