The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

  ‘What’s the word, Kyle?’ Troy asked the lad before he had a chance to say anything.

  ‘Erm,’ the boy mumbled, placing the tray down on the crooked flagstones.

  ‘Well?’ Troy encouraged.

  ‘It’s not good,’ Kyle said, swallowing hard. ‘I heard Rufus talking about how the priest’s words will guarantee a guilty verdict.’

  ‘Guilty of what exactly?’ Harl asked.

  ‘Treason, mister,’ Kyle said, passing the bowls through the rusted bars to each of them before stepping back.

  He made his way out through the heavy door and heaved it closed behind him.

  ‘Bloody priests! Troy roared, resuming his pacing.

  Harl groaned and slumped back against the wall, forcing himself to ignore his friend’s curses. He would soon find out what was to become of them and he knew that if Rufus had any say in the matter, then both he and Troy would be in for a hard time.

  ‘We could make a break for it,’ Troy said. ‘We could persuade the boy.’ He looked meaningfully at the door and cracked his knuckles. ‘He could bring us the keys and claim we made him do it.’

  ‘Leave the boy be,’ Harl said. ‘Where would we go? There’s no real escape. Once we made it outside they would find us in no time. The world’s too small for us to run forever. We’d get to the barrier and then what? Turn and go back again or hide for the rest of our lives, moving from place to place up in the woods? No, there’s nowhere to go. Our only choice is to accept whatever fate they give us.’

  ‘Then it’s the quarries,’ Troy said. ‘Dusty, hard labour for however long they think necessary and, once we’re half-starved and our lungs are full of stone powder, they might let us come home. No drink, no rest, and certainly no women.’

  The last part was obviously the hardest bit for Troy, but for Harl it was the knowledge that even if they finished their sentence, they would have to live with the shame and go about their meaningless lives again. Appeasing gods, respecting Eldermen, and living in what Harl now considered a prison in itself was all he could expect.

  The world was too small for him. He had realised it as soon as he’d seen the woman. The barriers and the Sight were creeping in towards him. There had to be more to life than scraping a living and facing the constant injustice. How many more people had to be lifted?

  He was going to make a change. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he promised himself that he would and the gods be damned.

  Steps sounded again on the far side of the door, then stopped. The hinges creaked as the door eased open a fraction.

  ‘Kyle?’ Harl said, hoping the boy had come back to help them.

  Laughter broke from the gap as it widened and Rufus stepped into the room.

  ‘Looking forward to the quarry, vermin?’ he said, ‘It was only a matter of time before you got what you deserved, and when I give my evidence maybe they’ll see that their eyes aren’t as sharp as mine.’

  ‘They’ll know you’re mad,’ Troy said.

  Rufus looked from Harl to Troy and back again as he smiled and said nothing, as if he knew more than he was telling.

  Troy roared and threw himself at the bars, startling Rufus, and forcing him to step back against the bars of Harl’s cell. Harl jumped forwards and thrust his arms through the bars to wrap them around Rufus. One hand grabbed his mouth to cut off the shout for help and the other held him against the rusted bars.

  ‘If we’re going to get what we’re due,’ Harl hissed in his ear, ‘then the god will pluck you out and toss you into the void.’ He let go and shoved Rufus away.

  Rufus scrambled for the door and fled up the stairs.

  ‘Well that was fun,’ Troy chuckled.

  Harl wasn’t so sure. It might have been better if he’d just snapped Rufus’ neck.

  Once the third cycle had dawned, they were both led up into the council’s meeting hall. Entering the high-domed chamber from a back entrance, they were marched to the centre and ordered to wait.

  The layout was simple. The chamber was round, like the building, with a gallery level surrounding the council floor. A long, curved table stood a little off centre. This was where the Eldermen sat in judgement and debated the day-to-day business of the world and its people. The table was raised on a dais so that anyone standing before the Eldermen had to crane their neck to look up. It emphasised the power that the men and women held over the people. Other seating spread away to the side for townsfolk, but it was considered a high honour to be seated on the council floor during proceedings, so it was usually only the lackies and favourites who sat there. Everyone else made do with the gallery above.

  Harl had been here many times before, but this was the first time he had been on the actual council floor, every other time he had been a spectator peering down from the gallery above. The parquet floor was more intricate than he had imagined. From above it was just a slow spiral of tiles sweeping out from the centre, but down on the floor, down where the judgements were passed and laws were written, the detail was staggering. Each individual tile had different gifting day words etched into them. I have created this world. Only the faithful will survive. Only the faithful will receive my blessing. I will see the truth of your faith. I will reward the righteous. I will punish the non-believers.

  ‘Bloody thieves,’ Troy muttered as he faced front, drawing Harl’s attention away from the writing.

  The Eldermen had filed in from a door on the opposite side of the chamber. They stayed silent and solemn, only the swish of their robes and occasional squeak of a shoe broke the heavy silence.

  But Troy hadn’t been referring to the Eldermen. On the plaster wall behind where the ten Eldermen took their seats were dozens of weapons, including the bow once owned by Troy’s father. Even from this distance the old scrape down one side was visible from when they had levered a rock off Troy’s broken leg. Anger flared in Harl at the greed of the Eldermen. The weapon had once been used to place food on family’s table. Now it was merely a trophy to convey power for those who already had too much.

  Harl eyed its new owners.

  The ten Eldermen sat glaring down on them from behind polished desks and stacks of papers. A few townspeople were seated to either side of them, curving around towards the main entrance behind. Their murmurings stopped as High Elderman Arlet spoke.

  ‘Harl Eriksson and Troy Everett,’ he said, his voice carrying across the packed room. ‘You are charged with heresy against the gods and conspiracy to commit dissension among the populous. We will bring forth two witnesses who will present the reasons for these charges. The first will give evidence against you both, while the second will bring your character flaws to the knowledge of those present.’

  Arlet sat and beckoned for an aged priest to come forward, the same man who had fled from the tavern.

  Harl waited next to Troy as the robed figure took the stand to one side of the Eldermen’s desks. The priest coughed to clear his throat before staring passed them and speaking to the crowd.

  ‘I, Eman Milleton, priest of the temple, have come here to relate all that Troy Everett and Harl Eriksson spoke of in the Golden Spear tavern two cycles ago. As a priest of the temple, I can speak only truth and honesty before the One True God.’ He placed an open palm on his chest before explaining how Harl and Troy had claimed that the gods were false and that the Eldermen should be overthrown.

  ‘That’s not true,’ Harl called, stepping forward.

  ‘Silence,’ Arlet said, slamming a hand down on his desk. Some of the papers dislodged on the desk in front of him and slid to the floor.

  A flash of red in Harl’s peripheral vision made him spin round as Joedal stepped from the line of guards behind them and slammed a wooden baton into Harl’s side, knocking the wind from him.

  Vines jumped up from his seat, scowling down at Joedal.

  ‘I must protest,’ he said, looking around at Arlet. ‘Guilty until proven otherwise. We need not hurt these men.’

  Arlet nodded
and jerked his head at Joedal who tucked the baton under his cloak and took a hurried pace backwards.

  The priest had finished, so Rufus stepped up to the stand.

  ‘Typical,’ Troy muttered under his breath. ‘I just knew he’d be a part of this. I’d like to take the captain’s baton and shove it-’

  Harl dug his elbow into Troy’s ribs, silencing him.

  Rufus took his place on the stand and smoothed his robe, casting an angry glare in their direction before a sly smile took its place.

  ‘Both these men are well known in the community,’ Rufus said, ‘not for good deeds, but for their blatant disregard of the gods. Neither attend the tenth cycle mass prayer and their debauchery in the taverns is common knowledge.’ Rufus looked at Troy shaking his head as though pitying their godless ways. ‘It is my opinion that these two men would continue in their attempt to corrupt the good folk, and that their talk of overthrowing the Eldermen could be construed as more than just the foolish words of drunken men. If they were more dedicated to the gods and less to the ways of tavern women and drink, then they might see salvation. But, as of this moment, I believe they pose a threat to the peaceful nature of our world. I recommend that they both be held accountable for their words, if not their actions.’ With that he bowed to the other Eldermen and stepped down.

  Arlet stood again.

  ‘You may speak in your defence, but only one of you can act as advocate,’ he said.

  Harl looked at Troy, but his friend just shrugged and waved Harl forward. Arlet nodded his permission and sat down.

  ‘I have worked hard in my life,’ Harl said, his eyes looking over each Elderman in turn. ’ I contribute to the peoples’ charity to help those in need and Troy raises crops that help us all to survive, as his father did before him.’ He couldn’t help but look at the bow hung behind the stern faces, wondering how much the Eldermen contributed. ‘Since I came of age, I have never relied on anyone for help, and the same can be said of Troy Everett.’

  He took a breath and watched the faces of the Eldermen. There was disinterest in most, but Rufus was leaning forward with his hands clenched beneath his chin. Harl closed his eyes and took a moment to steady himself before he continued.

  ‘Since my parents were lifted, I have held in my heart a place of anger towards that which took them.’

  Rufus and the priest leapt from their seats and started to protest, but Arlet waved at them to sit down again.

  ‘We will hear him out,’ the High Elderman warned the assembly. ‘But be careful of your words, Harl Eriksson. This is a place of judgement. Your words carry a weight that you should well consider.’

  Harl clenched his jaw and nodded. He took another deep breath.

  ‘My parents are dead. They were taken from me just as surely as if they were killed. If any man or woman in this assembly had been responsible, then it would be deemed a crime.’

  One or two of the Eldermen nodded at his words.

  ‘As for Troy,’ Harl added, ‘he has not had the misfortune of having someone he loved lifted-’

  ‘Misfortune?’ a priest cried. ‘It is a blessing!’

  Other priests pounded the wooden floor with their feet until the deafening drum-roll filled the hall.

  ‘But it was not the hand of man that committed this crime,’ Harl shouted. ‘It was the hand of God.’

  The council room exploded as most of the Eldermen and all of the priests began shouting. Arlet raised his hand and the assembly stilled. His eyes had narrowed as he watched Harl, but he waved at him to continue.

  ‘I stand accused of questioning the gods and I admit it. I do question them. I question why a god can take my family. I question the right of that hand to come down and snatch whoever it wants from our land. If any person here was responsible for my parents’ deaths, then they would be convicted of the crime. But the One True God stands above the law. I am even expected to worship him when he has caused so much pain, not just to myself, but to so many of the faces before me. So I question. I question it all, from our blind faith in the almighty to the rule of the men before me. I question as is my right, as is the right of us all.’

  He fell silent, looked at the astonished faces before him, and then stepped back next to Troy.

  Harl kept his eyes on Arlet as the hall erupted with angry shouts again. The old man had his hands cupped on the top of his desk and was resting his chin on them. Harl couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but the deafening roar throughout the hall left little doubt what the judgement would be.

  Harl had hoped that some in the hall would have agreed with him. Far too many of them had lost loved ones to liftings. But the overwhelming reaction was fury. Only a handful of people sat contemplating his words and their silence drained whatever foolish glimmer of hope he might have had.

  Arlet smiled, sadly, and then struck the floor with his walking stick until the chamber drew still.

  ‘We will now judge,’ he said. ‘It is the duty of this council to weigh the evidence before us and make a decision. Let no man doubt that justice. Let no man speak against it.’

  With that, the Eldermen began their deliberations.

  Harl knew that even if his words had failed to sway them, the most likely outcome would be hard labour in the quarry. The Eldermen could not hang them for such an offence; the population was thinning as it was, and both he and Troy contributed through their work. But the wait while the men spoke was agonising

  ‘Harl Eriksson and Troy Everett,’ Arlet said at last, staring down at them as the other Eldermen retook their seats.‘You are judged guilty. You have shown no remorse for your crimes and have dared to question the nature of our law. But you have compounded your crimes by questioning – in this very chamber – the grace of the One True God. For these crimes you are sentenced to hard labour in the quarry.’

  |Arlet sighed and shook his head.

  I see before me two young men whose potential has been squandered. I have watched you grow and I’ve witnessed the tragedies you’ve had to overcome, and yet I was pleased to watch men of strong will grow before me, men I would be proud to call friends, men who I deemed worthy of taking on the role of leaders one day. But a seed of evil has taken root in your souls, a seed that only the One True God can shield us from. For this reason the sentence must be harsh. We will not stand by and see the seed of that corruption grow. It is the right and the duty of this council to act.

  ‘You will be taken from the judgement of this council to your place of incarceration, where you will remain for five hundred cycles And may the gods grant you forgiveness.’

  Rufus grinned down at them as Joedal stepped forward to grab Harl’s arm while two other guards grappled with Troy.

  Five hundred cycles?

  Harl closed his eyes in defeat. It would be the end of them.

  Chapter 6

  They have an array of micro technology around their nest such as vehicles and basic communications equipment. The vehicles are used to produce agricultural land and harvest strange crops.

  Harl sat on top of a massive boulder picking at the last of his meagre mid-cycle meal. The food wasn’t much, but he didn’t expect it to be. He was a prisoner and that meant hardship. He upended the waterskin and poured its contents over his head, scrubbing his face with both hands to try and dislodge some of the ever-present dust and dirt.

  The quarry’s sheer cliffs climbed up around him like a set of stairs built for the gods. Three tiers in all, they were a warren of tunnels and worn out seams that had been abandoned long ago. Now the focus was a giant boulder in the centre. The titanic rock was surrounded by a tangle of scaffolding and rickety ladders, like an egg in a nest. Crawl holes pocked its surface and wormed their way inside, as if the starving prisoners that toiled around it had eaten their way deep into the ancient rock as they searched for ore.

  When they had first arrived, Troy had looked at the boulder in disgust and then dipped a damp finger into a mound of rejected slag and tasted it. ‘Huh. Doesn�
��t taste like cheese.’

  Five cycles in and Harl still hadn’t got over the shock of his arrest. So many questions buzzed around in his mind that he struggled to swing his pick during the cycle. Why had they been arrested? Why hadn’t the Eldermen seen reason? All he and Troy had been guilty of was talk. Was speaking your mind punishable now? He shook his head. He already had an answer.

  The whistle blew and the guards waved them all back to work. Harl checked his gear. There was a short length of rope, a candle, flint and tinder, a small hand spade, and a waterskin. It wasn’t much to keep him alive in the tunnels. He shoved it all into a bag and slung it over his shoulder, before lifting a small hand pick off the floor. He inspected the head, pleased the previous cycles’ sharpening had smoothed out the nicks.

  ‘You can do mine later,’ Troy said, hefting his own chipped pick. ‘I could use it to prise the smile off that stupid guard’s face.’

  Harl followed Troy’s gaze to the burly man. Queeg stood about a head taller than most men. A burn scar stretched along the left side of his head from where someone had tried to set him alight when he was younger. It had infected the man with a permanent distaste for people; it had also made him as ugly as sin. The rest of his hair was cropped close, but it was still thick enough to make the scar stand out an angry white against his skull. He was old, grizzled, and hated everyone. In other words he was a perfect fit for guard duty at the mine.

  He noticed Harl and Troy staring at him.

  ‘Oi, you!’ he roared as he strode forward. ‘Get back to your ‘oles. You’ve given us precious little so far, so pick up the pace, or you’ll feel more than a tickle.’ He raised his coiled whip and gave it a flick. It cracked the air over their heads as Harl and Troy scrambled away. Queeg roared with laughter.

  ‘If I didn’t know better,’ Troy grumbled as they ran for the nearest ladder, ‘I’d say he has personal issues.’

  ‘Then you don’t know better,’ Harl said, offering a hand to Troy and then heaving him up onto the rickety platform.