The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

The other servants looked wide-eyed at the man, one even attempted to pull him back, but missed and snapped to attention, eyes front, staring at nothing.

  ‘During an audience?’ Lou screamed at the servant on the metal floor in front of the throne, showering the cowering man with spittle.

  Lou lurched forward, but stopped as the One shook his head and gazed down at the servant. His red eyes narrowed. Lou hurried to join the men at the side of the room and bowed his head as if in expectation.

  ‘Die,’ the One said.

  The servant looked up at his master, horrified, then convulsions wracked his body and his eyes rolled up into his skull as he crumpled to the floor, twitching in agony.

  The smell of burning hair hit Harl as he watched the man writhe, before one final shudder twisted his tortured form. He fell still and his eyes glazed over. He was dead.

  The servants and guards standing around the room prostrated themselves on the floor. Others knelt or bowed in worship.

  Now Harl knew why these people considered this One a demi god. How had he done it? All it had taken was a simple word and the servant had dropped dead. That kind of power was impossible and yet the One had managed it. The lifeless body on the floor was ample evidence.

  The One waited for the body to be removed, then stared at Harl for a while before he spoke, taking in Harl’s cuts and bruises with apparent relish.

  ‘Do you know how I came to be on this throne?’ he asked. The voice was frail, but it still sounded imperious and strict, like a general commanding his troops. Harl could feel the menace in it. ‘I can see it bothers you, which I find amusing.

  ‘This throne was carved by the god beyond the world, when that god was young. And the god deemed my family worthy, so he gifted the throne to us. But the gift came at a price, for our own ascension to godhood meant binding to the chair. As it was with my father before me, and his father before that, my body and soul are bound to this throne. We are connected. Nails pierce my flesh and I am one with the divine essence. Dark or light, waking or soaring through the dreams of my people, I am doomed to never leave this chair. But I see more, I become more than any other man alive.

  ‘It is only right that my family honoured this gift by becoming part of it, for we have been chosen by the Divine. My food, my wine, the excretions of my body are things beyond me, for I am bound. I am tended by my loyal servants,’ he said as he glanced at the body as it was dragged away from the throne, ‘when they observe the proper formalities.’

  What did the man mean when he said “when that god was young”? An Aylen child? Harl had never heard of anyone seeing one, but it proved, once again, that the giants were as mortal as any other living thing.

  ‘How many generations have you had the chair?’ Harl asked, wondering if he could glimpse the lifespan of the Aylen.

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Perhaps, your highness,’ Lou said, trying to reel the topic back, ‘we can find out more about the rebellion and the scum behind it.’

  The One nodded but shot a warning look at Lou, who bowed his head.

  ‘You and your friends have caused much trouble for me,’ the One said. ‘My people are whispering to each other that you have come to save them. This book you have spread is being hailed as a new future, but it is as a disease. You have already poisoned the minds of so many. They will have to be culled, of course: we cannot have them infecting others with the blasphemy of your words. My men are already searching for how you came to be here. What have you to say?’

  Harl watched as they dragged the dead servant from the room. He tightened his fists until his fingernails bit deep into his flesh. No man should die like that. No one had the right to take a life without reason. Harl raised his head and stared at the One until the man blinked, but stayed silent. There was a strength to it that gave him new hope. To refuse to speak was about the only way he could be defiant.

  ‘Speak, you impudent scum‘ Lou shouted.

  Harl avoided the gaze of both men by staring at the glowing sphere set in the base of the throne. Metallic lines ran from the orb to the metal platform covering the floor. They reminded him of the cables Kane used to run electricity around the ship. The sphere was almost identical to the ones handed over to the Aylen in exchange for the humans. It was nowhere near as bright, though, but the patterns and colours were the same. His eyes were drawn deeper into the globe while he considered it.

  He knew he’d seen something similar before, but it was only when he looked back at the lines that everything fell into place. Kane would have noticed it straight away.

  The orb was a power source.

  The One, or more likely his great-grandfather, had somehow tapped into the orb and fed electricity down into the metal plate using the cables. But how had The One electrocuted the servant with a single word? Harl wrestled the pieces of the puzzle around in his mind. The power was not on constantly so the One must have an on off switch. Then it dawned on him that there must be connectors on the chair, possibly under his hands, allowing the One to connect and disconnect a basic circuit, turning it on and off.

  Did anyone else know the truth? Perhaps Lou would. But the One would want to limit that knowledge. It was the source of his power over the people. Anyone who knew the truth posed a threat to the One and whatever twisted legacy he wanted to leave behind. What had he said earlier on? As it was with my father… Perhaps the knowledge only passed from father to son?

  It gave Harl an advantage.

  ‘What is the tradition when you are connected to the throne?’ Harl asked.

  Anger flashed across the One’s ghostly face. Some of the servants whimpered.

  ‘Your mind is plagued with questions,’ the One said. ‘You are here to answer for your crimes, not show the deficit of your intellect.’ He laughed, coldly. ‘But I will show mercy and answer your question. The son releases the father and the father fuses the son to the throne. It is a reverent moment that you cannot begin to fathom. That you would even ask shows how low you have fallen below the eyes of the gods. Enough,’ he said. ‘Extract the answers from him.’

  Lou thrust a finger at him. ‘Where did you come from? Who sent you? What is your purpose here? Answer or you’ll die as well!’

  Harl sighed.

  ‘These people are slaves,’ he said, waving a hand at the servants and guards. ‘They should be free.’ He stared into the red eyes knowing that his words would mean death. The One was powerless against him provided he stayed away from the metal part of the floor. It still left the others though. Lou would kill him if this pretend god-king ordered it, the same with the guards around the walls of the room. Harl didn’t quite know what the servants would do. Were they in such terrified thrall of this beast that they would kill another? He didn’t want to test the theory.

  ‘You’ve no right to enslave and kill these people. I came here to free them, but if I die, others will complete my work. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.’

  ‘There is something I can do,’ the One said whipping his head sideways at the nearest guard. ‘Kill him. Take him outside and make it visible to all who dare oppose me.’

  A guard marched to Harl’s side and grabbed his shoulder.

  ‘If you’re so powerful‘ Harl yelled, ‘then why haven’t you killed me as you did your servant?’ He glanced meaningfully down at the metal plate and shuffled forward so his feet were almost touching the metal. He stared at those around the chamber.

  ‘Your god-king is a fraud,’ he said.

  The servants bowed their heads or turned away from him, avoiding being tainted as he looked around. Then he spotted the hooded jailer standing at the edge of the room. He had edged to the front and was holding his black cloak to one side. A flash of silver revealed Harl’s pistol and sword concealed beneath the dark material.

  The jailer nodded and held five fingers at his side. The One was paying no attention to the people around the room as he issued orders to the guard. A second guard stepped up to Harl’s other side as the jai
ler tucked a finger in to his palm, followed by a second, then third.

  It was a countdown.

  Chapter 66

  I have brokered a deal to sell the remains of the vehicles and machinery I found alongside them. I no longer need to worry about funding.

  Harl’s mind raced ahead as he watched the jailer. No one else seemed to have noticed what was happening. The jailer nodded one more time and then tucked the last finger into his closed fist.

  Harl interlocked his fingers and spun around, landing a doubled-handed blow to the side of the nearest guard’s face. The guard’s eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped to the ground. Harl kicked the other guard in the chest, forcing him backwards, and then charged towards the jailer with his hands out, pulling the rope tight between his wrists.

  ‘Kill him!’ Lou screamed.

  ‘Not the sword!’ Harl cried.

  The jailer tugged out the pistol and threw the weapon to him. Harl just caught it in one hand as the jailer pulled the blade free and stepped forward to slice down between Harl’s hands, severing the cord.

  Harl swung around to face the room. The guard he’d kicked was sprinting towards him, sword swinging mid-slice. Harl raised the pistol and fired. The wave of blue light incinerated the man in a blast that made the hairs on the back of Harl’s neck rise. Guards all around the room rushed them. Harl spun and fired, killing three more before two others closed in on him. He levelled the pistol at them and they froze, their eyes fixed on the weapon.

  Twitching the pistol, he ordered them to put their swords down. Transfixed on the gun, they lowered their weapons to the ground. The hooded jailer slipped around Harl and kicked the swords aside, then held the melting-blade up at neck height ready.

  Harl turned to the One and Lou. Both their mouths hung open in astonishment. It was obvious that Lou had meant to run, but awe had held him.

  ‘What is this power?’ the One asked.

  Harl ignored the question.

  ‘You will free these people,’ Harl said, holding the weapon level with the One’s head as he prowled along the edge of the metal flooring. ‘Then you will step down as ruler. Your hold on them is broken.’

  Lou was shaking with fear, his eyes flicking from Harl to the end of the pistol, but the One stared without fear. He seemed more curious than scared, and clearly believed either Harl would not or could not hurt him.

  ‘I will free no one,’ the One said, his voice full of authority. ‘You cannot overcome me. You are a mortal; I am a god.’

  ‘Your power is false,’ Harl said. ‘You can only kill those who step on the metal and even that is not your own power. It is the power locked inside that orb in your chair.’ Harl turned to the few servants who hadn’t fled in terror. ‘Do you think this man is your god? Has he struck me down for blasphemy? Has his godly might reached out to smite me even as I killed his loyal men? No. He is powerless against me. I could shoot him from here and he would die. His strength is a lie. Even now he sits there, pitiful and wretched in the face of my words. Look at the face of this,“Your God”. He is nothing but a man. He is nothing but a fool.’

  ‘Kill him!’ the One screamed, a red hatred flooding his pale features.

  Soldiers charged from the far sides of the room. Harl spun to face them.

  ‘Look out!’ the jailer shouted.

  Harl twisted as Lou leapt on top of him, dagger in hand. Harl dug the end of the pistol into Lou’s chest as they fell to the floor and fired point-blank. The blast threw Lou off him, practically incinerating the thin man in a rain of ash and blood.

  Swords rang out behind him. Harl scrambled to his feet then twisted around. The jailer was on the floor as the soldiers above plunged blades down into him. Harl stepped forward and fired at those standing over the jailer, killing both before he reached the dying man. The jailer moaned within the pool of his spreading blood.

  Harl knelt over the man and eased his hood back. It took him a moment to realise that he knew the face of his saviour. It was the man who had betrayed him for a bag of food.

  ‘Cheng?’ he said, looking into the man’s eyes as the light started to leave them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cheng choked, blood running from his mouth.

  ‘It is forgiven,’ Harl said, placing a hand over Cheng’s heart. ‘You’ve saved me and redeemed yourself. We all make mistakes.’

  The light was leaving Cheng’s eyes as he stared blankly up at Harl.

  ‘Free them,’ he said, his voice fading as his eyes went still.

  Cries and footsteps came from somewhere far off. Running, screaming, a wave of it was rushing closer and closer. But all he could focus on was Cheng. His death was a last desperate act in a tragic life and the One was to blame. But Harl had to shoulder some of that blame as well. Cheng would still be alive if they had never met. That guilt would fester away inside him as yet another burden. It had to have meaning though.

  Harl rose and turned away from Cheng’s broken form. A group of guards surged into the room intent on protecting the One. But a cold fury exploded inside Harl. He snatched his weapons from the floor and roared. Light scorched from the end of the pistol as he fired, dropping the guards one by one before they could close the gap. He tightened his grip on the sword and turned from their smoking bodies to face the throne.

  The One’s face was a mask of fear now that his subjects lay dead around the room, their killer stalking towards him.

  Harl held the sword out as he advanced towards the wooden throne, stepping onto the metal floor and then walking across it to The One. The ghostly man squirmed against the chair, held fast by the nails as blood seeped from each wound, then his red eyes flicked to the metallic floor and he smirked. But Harl was too quick. He raised the sword and sliced it down to sever the cables leading from the side of the chair to the polished surface. The One twisted his hand towards some kind of hidden switch built in to the arms, but nothing happened. The smirk turned to a snarl as his eyes locked on to the humming sword as it inched towards his chest.

  ‘How long can you last without your servants to tend your wounds?’ Harl asked. ‘With no one to administer treatment I would say seven, maybe ten days. Without water, three days?’

  ‘The gods will come for me,’ the One said straining against the nails. ‘My men will come once you are dead.’

  ‘No one will come,’ Harl said ‘because no one wants to be ruled over. If you want to live you will have to stand up and leave your throne, but I don’t think you can. It’s been too long.’

  He turned for the door, leaving the rotten king to decompose.

  Chapter 67

  Could genetic change be possible? We breed other species by artificial selection to gain the best genetics, so why not this one? Can they be made to breathe our atmosphere?

  Harl padded through the tower corridors searching for a way out. Panic reigned around him, with servants scurrying around in fear and guards running past, clanking under the heavy load of their weapons. No one seemed to pay him any mind.

  He had no idea how he was going to escape from the city. His pistol would run out of ammo long before he reached safety and he was not a good enough swordsman to battle his way through. And he had no idea what he might find out there. Even if he managed to fight his way through the city, would things be any better down in the farmland? What if all of his friends were dead or captured?

  He forced the thoughts aside and ploughed on. Running out from the tower, he found the streets were in chaos. Slaves yelled and dropped their burdens as they fled to their homes. The guards had abandoned their posts next to the tower, but some ran past toward the top of the ramp at the city entrance, shouting at the slaves to move out of the way. It was the first sign of meaning in all of the chaos, but Harl didn’t know what to do. Should he follow them and risk a fight or would it be better to find a safe place to wait it all out?

  Flinching back against the nearest wall, he tried to make a decision, then a familiar sound soared overhead as a streak of bl
ue light shot over the top of the nearest parapet. Grinning, Harl dashed between two towers and rushed up a set of stone stairs to the ramparts that overlooked the farmland below. He could make out figures scattered across the fields firing rifles as they headed towards the ramp. Damen was at their head and Harl watched as the group of around forty men fought their way to the base of the ramp. Callers dropped their weapons in surrender and stepped aside as Damen led his team up.

  Running down the stairs from the rampart, Harl made for the ramp. When he arrived he found Damen ordering men into a defensive position under the great stone archway. A few bodies lay scattered in the street, but there was no more resistance.

  ‘It’s Harl!’ Zane cried as he spotted Harl running across the smoking battlefield.

  Damen stepped out of the circle of men and grinned.

  ‘We thought we’d be avenging your death,’ he said looking at Harl’s blood-streaked jerkin. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘A disagreement with the leader of these people,’ Harl said. ‘He’s no longer a problem.’

  ‘Good,’ Damen said ‘And what of the traitor?’

  ‘He is dead,’ Harl said feeling the guilt come back to his stomach.

  ‘You got him as well?’ Damen asked.

  ‘No. In the end he gave his life for mine. He should be remembered as a hero.’

  Harl looked at the smoke rising over the fields below them. Some of the smaller buildings had been set on fire where Callers had used them as defensive positions. More bodies were scattered across the land. Slaves and Callers alike. So many dead. He felt sick. He drew a breath and turned back to Damen.

  ‘What’s next? You seem to have overwhelmed the guards.’

  ‘It was easy enough when we started shooting,’ Damen said. ‘Most of the slaves helped us, but some fled in terror. It took a while for Oscar’s men to arrive, but they’re below now securing the farms and rooting out survivors. We were planning on attacking the main tower as we assumed you’d be there, or at least this leader of theirs would be.’