The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

  ‘Why?’ Harl asked, worried by the old man’s sudden foreboding.

  ‘Well it stems from my own knowledge of something called diversity. I doubt the populous have noticed, but in the last generation many births had been defective or miscarried. The leaders are aware of it, I’m sure, but whether they truly understand it is another matter. Without a diverse population the people will sicken and die. The same happens with plants. Sow from the same family of seed generation after generation and your crop will eventually wither away and die. I would have thought that the council could relate the two, but that Jarlen and his beliefs of a “pure people” will bring about our downfall before too long.’

  Harl thought about Gorman’s words. It was worrying, but he knew similar problems during birth were happening back in his homeland.

  He followed Gorman from the room, but turned back when he reached the doorway. It seemed that each world had a room like this where judgements were meted out. He just prayed that Gorman’s people were wiser than his own.

  Harl was glad for the bright light outside after the dark council chamber. It seemed that the judgement had spread to the town quickly. Instead of the lingering gazes that followed him and Sonora when they arrived, there were now accepting nods from the people they passed.

  An old woman stopped Harl soon after he left the hall.

  ‘I have pity for you, son. They should not have taken the gift of children from you.’

  He thanked her and moved on, but not everyone was so friendly. More than once, voices were raised just loud enough for him to hear, even though the speakers never showed themselves. But they all boiled down to the same argument.

  ‘What right has he to land? Who knows what crimes he’s guilty of? Better to give it to us and let us bury him under it.’

  But it was a young girl who silenced them. She ran up to Harl and gave him a bouquet of bright red flowers he had no name for.

  ‘The god has graced us with you, Mr Harl. He has marked you special amongst us and it is a blessing.’

  The three of them stopped briefly at a tavern when Gorman declared a sudden thirst. A quiet spread through the busy room when they entered, but conversation was soon a dull roar again as they made for the bar.

  The barman saw them approach and slid a mug of ale to Harl. Harl took a sip and his eyes widened in surprise. The taste was better than Harken’s finest, rich and fruitful.

  ‘This, good barkeep, is probably the finest ale I’ve ever tasted.’

  The barman slammed his palm down on the bar and roared with triumph. ‘A man of taste. Hear that? The best, he says! The best! A keg of ale to you, sir, with my thanks. I’ll see it delivered to your holdings, and let no one say Olger does not reward a kind word. Is there anywhere on the land to store the keg?’

  ‘There is nothing on the land so far except trees and squirrels,’ Harl said, tipping the mug to his lips.

  ‘What,’ Olger asked ‘is a squirrel?’

  Harl was caught off guard and didn’t know how to explain. He was about to say it was a common creature but he was saved by Sonora’s quick wit.

  ‘It is a rare herb and is used for ulcers of the intimate area, Mr Olger. You wouldn’t be needing any now, would you?’

  Olger’s face flushed bright red and he mumbled something before turning away to clean some already spotless glasses. The room exploded with laughter.

  Chapter 14

  I did it! Thousands captured and not a single one left behind. There are so many inside the rectangular container that I will have to build more tanks to avoid them dying from disease caused by the cramped conditions.

  The next few cycles passed with a quiet comfort that Harl had never before known. He woke early each cycle and helped Sonora look after Gorman and gather plants, many of which he was starting to learn a lot about due to her careful teachings. The three of them got on well together and even Gorman had said the house felt livelier than it had before.

  Harl would take pleasure from the simplest mundane tasks. Chopping the firewood gave him time to remember the warmth of sitting with Sonora and Gorman late into the dark cycle. Even feeding the small clutch of chickens that roamed the lush garden between the back of the house and first fringes of the wild wood felt like spending time with friends. He would talk to them and gave them all names. Sometimes they would gather around him, as if listening to his words, and the weight of life eased in their presence. It was all absurd, of course, and he would find himself laughing as he shared his secrets with them, but it made him feel good. He was at peace.

  Having Sonora around only increased his contentment for what he now saw as a new and happy life. He hadn’t thought about his parents since being placed here, and that, more than anything, made him happy. He was part of a new family.

  He would sometimes find time hanging motionless around him while he watched Sonora working. The way she was so in harmony with the woodland, picking only enough herbs for her needs and singing as she strolled under bright canopy was mesmerising. Birds would flutter around her and the sound of her laughter was more refreshing than the coldest spring water. Her movements thrilled him – so graceful and gentle – and then she would steal his breath away with only a single glance or smile.

  Gorman became more than a friend. His trust in the old man grew with each cycle. Gorman would sit, whittling away at a piece of wood with a small knife, while he told Harl of the world. His senses seemed more alive than anything Harl could imagine. When Harl had been chopping wood for the fire, Gorman had laughed and then walked over, taken the axe from him and split a stubborn log that Harl had been battling with.

  ‘Follow the grain of the wood, Harl. Work with nature, not against it.’

  But it was on the thirteenth cycle after the hearing that Gorman sat him down and asked him what he was planning to do with his new land.

  ‘I hadn’t thought much about it,’ Harl said, ‘I should probably go and have a look at it. Will you join me?’

  A grin spread across Gorman’s face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Harl said. ‘I always forget that you can’t see. I see you doing things around the house and you seem so aware of everything that your blindness escapes me.’

  ‘It is nothing to be sorry about,’ Gorman said, ‘and I wouldn’t mind a stroll under the cool of the trees. Who knows what trouble you might need me to get you out of?’

  They set out, Harl leading the old man sure-footedly through the trees as Gorman waved his stick left and right ahead of him. It didn’t take long to reach Harl’s plot of land. It was not far from the cottage and the swathe of land had a bountiful look to it, even if it did back on to the imposing black barrier.

  He hated the constant feeling of confinement, even if it was only on one side. He knew that if the wall was suddenly removed then his old friends and house would be a short stroll away. Just how was Troy getting along? if only he could let Troy know that he was alright. Imagining the look on Troy’s face as he introduced Sonora, the blonde-haired beauty, was something that made him smile.

  Gorman insisted on being guided around the entire plot of land. He tapped everything with his stick and ran his hands over rocks and tree trunks. They discussed building a house and digging a well, and the techniques they could employ in doing so. Although Gorman could not directly help, his knowledge of construction far outweighed that of Harl’s. It was the same in all things, and it seemed to Harl that there was no end to the man’s knowledge.

  ‘There is a mystery to you, Gorman,’ Harl said as they sat before the fire. Darkness had fallen outside and he could hear the first patter of rain on the roof. ‘You know so much and your skills far outweigh those of most men, despite your blindness. How is that possible?’

  Gorman’s sightless gaze bored into the flames for a moment before he spoke.

  ‘Most men are blind, Harl. They go through life oblivious to the world around them. I only open myself to it and absorb it all. In my youth I studied everything, books, the skills of a hun
ter, the tenderness of a healer. Everything in life is important. And now-.’ He raised his hand and brushed his fingers against his eyes. ‘-with these sightless eyes, my other senses reach out and take control. I can hear the tread of a footfall before any other man; I smell the individual spices in a meal as if they were arranged on the table before me. Never ignore what’s around you, my lad. It’s all important.’

  Harl threw a new log on the fire and watched sparks flare up the chimney.

  ‘It just seems so impossible to learn it all.’

  Gorman nodded and patted Harl’s arm.

  ‘I will teach you what I can, lad, but I fear we may not have enough time.’

  Gorman’s words troubled Harl. He lay awake long into that dark cycle worrying what the old man had meant. What had he seen that others had not?

  A few cycles later, Gorman returned Harl’s bow and arrows.

  ‘I can’t say how glad I am to have it back,’ said Harl. ‘It’s the only thing left to remind me of home.’

  ‘It’s a fine bow,’ said Gorman, as he ran his fingers over the cool metal, ‘I’ve rarely felt one of better quality.’

  Gorman laid the bow on the floor and slid a knife out from behind his back. Harl stared at it and marvelled at the strange workmanship. It was the same knife that Gorman had used to challenge Felmar. The blade was the length of Harl’s hand from wrist to fingertips and its metal shone a pale silver-blue in the firelight. He had no idea what metal it was forged from, but the skill with which it had been crafted was that of a master. Even his father could not have made something so perfect. He watched it gleam in Gorman’s fingers as the old man rotated it in the firelight.

  ‘Isn’t that the knife you used against Felmar?’ Harl said at last. ‘Did you receive it from a gifting?’

  Gorman shook his head slowly.

  ‘No, not from a gifting, but it was, indeed, a gift. My father’s father gave it to me. A family heirloom, you might say. It is made from a metal unlike any found in the world, or this world at least.’

  Gorman handed it to him hilt first. The handle was bound not in leather, but a hard substance that sounded hollow when he tapped it, and was moulded to his fingers so that it fitted snugly in his grip. A small red button was set where the thumb could rest on it. Harl tested the knife’s edge with his thumb and gasped as it instantly drew blood.

  ‘Yes, it’s sharp indeed,’ laughed Gorman, ‘and I’ve never needed to hone it. Not once. But there is more to it than seen at first glance. Pass me the knife and the ceramic bowl I used for my stew.’

  Harl passed them over and Gorman clasped the knife so that his thumb touched the red button on the back of the handle. The knife emitted a slight droning noise that startled Harl.

  ‘Fear it not,’ Gorman said, ‘but watch closely.’

  He held the knife above the bowl and moved it downwards slowly. Before the knife made full contact, the bowl melted and split before Harl’s eyes as Gorman moved the knife down. Soon it had cut right through the bowl and scorched the table underneath. Harl sat and stared in wonder at the man and the knife.

  ‘It’s unique,’ said Gorman. ‘Nowhere else have I seen such cutting power.’

  An idea flooded Harl’s mind.

  ‘Will it cut the barrier?’

  Gorman sat back.

  ‘Yes and no,’ he said. ‘It will cut through the glass, sure enough, but it’s not long enough to reach right through. I tried in my youth to my folly. The marks were found and an investigation held. No one except my family knew of the blade and so it was hushed up over time.’ He put the knife in his pocket. ‘Harl, I know why you are so keen to be free. I have been in the same situation myself. But let me tell you there is much more for you to learn. I will tell you all I know when I can, but first I want you to build the house for yourself before you continue this line of thought. It pays to keep up appearances.’

  Gorman rose from his chair and walked towards his bedroom door.

  ‘There are always eyes on us, Harl, remember that. Time is not with us, but we must be patient.’

  Harl sat alone with his thoughts until the fire had dwindled to a few remaining embers of light. For the first time in many cycles he was afraid.

  Chapter 15

  I have built several more containers and have begun to divide the creatures into each. Now I must return to where I found them and continue to scour the area for the things they brought with them.

  His bond with Sonora grew stronger each cycle. She was consumed by her work and spent all of her time brewing potions to take into town and help those close to the sick families. She never seemed to tire from it, but with all her work, and no matter how tired she was, she still found time for Gorman. And Harl seemed to be a part of that world now. They would sit together in the evenings laughing and telling tales, stealing glances at each other in the firelight. Gorman would sit there as well, a contented smile on his face as he listened to them, but Harl had no idea what the old man was thinking.

  The cycles passed and they walked often among the trees and grasses discussing life in all the worlds around them. They would talk endlessly of the people inside each one, attempting to guess how many there were and what the differences would be. What would the people look like? How would the buildings differ? But what caught Harl’s imagination was the worlds themselves. What strange landscapes would there be? Would they all be the same size, or would some be vast expanses where you could walk for cycle upon cycle without reaching the barriers? Sonora laughed at his wild imaginings, but he could see the excitement in her eyes at the thought of it.

  Harl had started building his own house. He cleared trees and dug a well hole with the help of some local lads, rewarding them with a tankard of Olger’s ale at the end of each cycle. The house took shape quickly with all the help and, within a few dozen cycles, it was almost complete. One cycle a cartload of stone came rumbling up from the town, pulled by four stout oxen led by a jolly man. The cart was soon offloaded and stored despite Harl’s objecting and saying he hadn’t ordered it. The man just laughed and then puffed up his chest and announced that the stone blocks were of the finest quality as specified in the order. Dozens of red roof tiles were carted up next, along with two skilled labourers who set about the task of fitting them immediately. Gorman had paid for all of it, of course, but when Harl had begged to pay him back Gorman just waved him away with a smile and said, ‘You already have my lad. You already have.’

  Harl spent most of his time building the spacious workshop attached to the side of the house where he would establish a new forge in the hopes of paying Gorman back for his generosity, despite what the old man said.

  When that was finished, he spent his time recreating an exact replica of the bench he had made to honour his parents. This time he did not place it facing Sightwards but instead towards the opening of the valley far below the hills.

  The next cycle after lunch he stepped from his home and found Sonora sitting on the bench waiting for him. At first he thought something was wrong, but the smile on her face told him otherwise. The cycle was as bright as ever and a cool breeze brought the sounds of animals deeper in the forest.

  ‘It’s wonderful, Harl,’ she said running her fingers across the deep grooves in the wood.

  ‘Thank you,’ Harl said and meant it. He was immensely pleased that she liked it so much. He moved over and sat next to her as she turned on the seat to admire the faces carved on the back rest.

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘Yes,’ Harl said.

  ‘Are they back in your own land?’

  ‘No. They were lifted by god.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Harl,’ she said, lowering her head onto his shoulder.

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ he said, ‘and I was only a child. I argued with them over some trivial point and ran off. I obviously couldn’t go far, but they came after me and as they were calling for me, the hand of God came and snatched them away.’

  ‘It must have been drea
dful,’ she said.

  ‘What about your own family?’ Harl asked.

  ‘There was just me and my parents,’ she said. ‘No brothers or sisters. My mother was taken when I was small and my father died soon after from an illness which had afflicted him throughout his life.’

  Harl felt for her. At least he had memories of his parents, enough to remember their faces.

  ‘Without my mother making her cures for him, he was unable to keep going,’ she whispered.

  ‘And how does Gorman come into it all?’

  ‘He was close to my grandmother when she was the council’s head healer for the town. My grandmother was still alive when my mother was taken and it was Gorman and she who looked after me when my father became too ill to do it. When she passed, Gorman took care of me.’ She paused, clearly thinking of those she had lost. ‘I owe him so much.’

  Harl didn’t want her to think too much on it, knowing how self-destructive it could be.

  ‘Where does all his knowledge come from?’ he asked.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Sonora said. ‘He’s always been knowledgeable, although it was only when his sight went that he fully revealed that side of himself. I am sure there is much he doesn’t say.’

  ‘He keeps things from you?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Not in a malicious way, I am sure. But if he keeps things to himself then perhaps it is for the better. He is a good man.’

  ‘I think we should ask him,’ Harl said. ‘I feel like there is something he is keeping back, but I am ready to accept his judgement on whether to reveal what he knows.’

  They talked about how to ask the old man to tell them what he knew and only when the light went out signalling the end of the cycle did they realize how much time had passed.