John Hawks - The GoldenCity

“Some say guardians could never cut spark in the waterfields,” Verga announced. “But you carried your blade better than that thief ever did.”

“What happens now? Do we eat?”

“Eat all you want, Tolmo. And then it’s the night for the visionary…”

Michael nodded as if he knew what the old man was talking about. They returned to the courtyard and followed the crowd to a trellised area where stew was being served in metal bowls. No spoons or forks were on the tables so they ripped off chunks of gunder-spark and used them to scoop up their food.

Verga led him over to a long table where their work crew was eating dinner. As they approached the others, Michael was startled by what he saw. About a hundred yards from the dining area was a screen as big as a billboard with a shimmery gold surface. The screen was about six feet above the ground, and benches and stools had been placed in a semi-circle in front of it.

The faithful servants gobbled down their food, laughing and gossiping, but Michael stayed quiet and studied a line of black and white circles on the surface of the screen. Every few seconds, the circles changed their configuration, like an odd clock keeping time.

It took him awhile to realize that the circles represented a binary number system-the same system used by computers back in the Fourth Realm. Each digit in a line of numbers was either on or off, one or zero. When number eleven () was transformed into number ten (), people tossed their empty bowls into a bin and sauntered over to the viewing area. Parents called to their children and, for a few minutes, Michael felt that he was back in a small-town movie theater where people arrived a half hour before the show to save seats for their friends.

The three suns were a hand’s width above the horizon. The cooks had finished their jobs and found their seats in the little amphitheater. Michael was cautious about asking too many questions, but he wanted to know what was going on. “How long do we have to wait?” he asked Verga.

“Soon enough. When the dark sky comes.” The old man jerked his head at the screen. “Just keep watchin’ the visionary.”

As dusk fell, the sound of a choir singing came from hidden speakers, and then the image of a crystal sphere appeared on the screen. Stars floated on the surface of the sphere, changing position as it rotated in space. The camera passed through the translucent surface to a second sphere that held the triad of suns and a third sphere that held comets and asteroids. At the center of all this was a round disc colored with patches of blue and green. Like an avenging angel, the camera swooped down from the sky, and Michael saw that they were entering a world with grasslands, forests and waterfields. A city was at the center of this world, and now the camera was gliding past brick buildings and streets filled with steam-powered crawlers.

A group of nine towers dominated the only hill in the city. They were tall, bright spires, composed of translucent glass or plastic that concealed those inside but allowed light to glow from within. Just down the hill from the towers was a white triangular building with an open roof. As the music reached a climax, the camera floated downward to where one man was standing on a stage.

The guardian was a slender blond man in his thirties with a pallid face. He wore a dark green robe that resembled a priest’s vestments, but had the ingratiating manner of a game show host. “Welcome everyone!” he shouted. “This could be the night the gods smile on you!”

Music boomed from speakers and beams of light shot across the stage. The camera angle changed and Michael saw that the guardian was facing an immense audience in an amphitheatre. Men and women were sitting in different sections of the room, and quick close-ups revealed that everyone was young and enthusiastic. Most of the audience were faithful servants, but a smaller segment of the crowd wore silver tunics and black trousers. Michael decided that these people were the church militants that acted as both police force and army.

“This is the moment when two halves become one.” The guardian spread his hands and then slowly brought them together. “This is the moment when the gods create a new unity, a new creation.”

Again, the lights changed and laser beams moved around the amphitheatre as if searching for someone. Back on stage, a row of lights on a panel began to blink rapidly.

“And the gods have searched and the gods have chosen…”

The row of lights froze-expressing a binary number. There was a brief moment of silence and then a woman in the audience screamed and jumped up, waving a slip of paper that showed her number. Her girlfriends hugged and congratulated her as she hurried to the central aisle and climbed a staircase to the stage.

The young woman had wrapped silk flowers around her red collar, transforming it into a necklace. She seemed awed by the bright lights and the fact that she was now a participant in this event. When one of her friends shouted from the audience, she giggled nervously and waved her hand.

“And what’s your name?” the guardian asked.

“Zami.”

“Welcome, Zami! Did you think this was going to happen to you tonight?”

“I-I prayed to the gods…”

“And now we’ll see how they answered!”

The binary lights began blinking rapidly as Zami clasped her hands together. When the flashing stopped and a number appeared, shouts and laughter came from the men’s section of the auditorium. A broad-shouldered servant emerged from the crowd and ran toward the stage. The moment he reached Zami, his aggressive energy disappeared. He glanced down at his feet and smiled nervously.

“We-We know each other,” Zami said.

“Wonderful! Sometimes that happens.” The guardian shook the young man’s hand. “And who am I speaking to?”

“Malveto.”

“You look like a happy groom.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, I am.”

As the evening continued, more brides were introduced to their grooms. Some of the couples were strangers, while others had known each other since childhood. At certain intervals, the guardian presented wedding gifts: tools, clothes, and simple furniture. No one seemed to find it surprising that that lasers and video screens existed in the same world as wet crawlers and horse carts.

Finally twelve new couples were led off stage. The lights dimmed and the music became slow and solemn. The harvesters sitting around Michael stopped chattering to each other. They looked tense and expectant. Verga leaned toward the screen.

“Each of us is a strand of thread woven tightly into a piece of cloth. The faithful servants are strong. The militants are brave. We guardians are thoughtful. But all of us serve the gods,” the Guardian said. “Unfortunately there are a few heretics who attempt to destroy the sacred unity that binds us together.”

Militants waiting in an off-stage area rolled out three men strapped to heavy wooden chairs. The prisoners had shaven heads, and bandages covered their necks. They wore only flimsy white robes that reminded Michael of hospital gowns.

The guardian approached the oldest prisoner. “This enemy of the gods was once a faithful servant.”

The prisoner was trembling. His mouth and tongue moved, but only a gurgling sound came out. Now the reason for the bandages came clear-someone had removed the man’s vocal cords.

“But he was a servant who committed a vicious crime!”

The visionary screen showed the prisoner chasing a young woman through a warehouse filled with storage bins. As the woman fumbled with a door latch, the man grabbed her from behind, threw her to the ground and began to rape her. The surveillance cameras photographed the scene from a variety of angles, but no one called for help.