Ben Chaney - Son of Sedonia

In the fading violet bath of the setting sun, thousands of silent faces watched him. Rusaam and Kolpa stopped.

“Stand me up,” Jogun heard himself say. His caretakers obeyed with delicate care, lowering him to touch first his right foot, then his left. The coarse shipyard soil ground into the soles of his work boots under his gathering weight. Legs trembling, he willed himself to stand. The electricity of the moment coursed from his fingertips to his toes and to his ears. His head felt light, as though it would carry him away. The lights across the Pits trembled at first in the gathering twilight, then seemed to rise into streaks of charged color.

Cold with sweat and shaking, he reached up to shield his eyes. The streaks bled together into a blinding aurora. The last shape he saw was the ocean of people holding their hands up in unison. Jumping. Dancing. Everything went white and Jogun swooned. He felt the dull impact of the earth beneath him before everything just stopped.

Jogun’s eyes fluttered open and awareness flickered on to the sensation of violent, shaking movement. The dull orange sky of dusk hung above, or rather in front of him. The tops of slum buildings passed to his left and his right. I’m on my back . His hand drifted to his face to touch something warm and wet. Red smeared fingers. My fingers… my blood… The stabbing pain above and behind his ears mounted in a single, sharp pulse. He winced as it subsided. Then it came again.

More sensation switched on throughout his body. He lay on something hard. A wood cart. He spread his livening fingers over the rough planks. The roaring noise in his ears became the familiar rhythm of wheels on a packed dirt road. He lifted his head and peered through the dissipating fog.

The familiar shapes of Rusaam and Kolpa loomed ahead. They had their backs to him, pulling the cart handles as they ran at a fever pitch. Jogun tried to speak, but the sound came out as a cut-off croak.

“Brothe—Jo! Can you hear me?!” Rusaam glanced back with wide, angled eyes. Jogun gnashed his teeth for another knife surge in his skull. Nodded. His head fell back onto the wood with a thud and his eyes clenched shut. After a never-ending instant, the pain melted away again. He spoke.

“W-where?” was all he could get out.

“Don’t worry, Jo, we takin’ you to the Temple. Gonna see Doc Utu,” said Kolpa. The name was warm in Jogun’s ears. He felt a teardrop stream down his cheek, then drifted back to blackness.

Jogun awoke again as the cart stopped underneath him. The sudden stillness, after the constant rhythm of movement, vibrated in his bones and slackened muscles. Night now… The far-away dotted stream of headlights crawled across the dim clouds above him. To his left and right, gas torches flickered playfully along the Temple walls. The headache still pressed deep into his head, but was somehow less important here. Footsteps coming this way… fast. He lifted his head and saw the blurry forms of Rusaam and Kolpa. They came into focus as a third joined them. Utu .

The relief of seeing this man slipped away before Jogun was ready to let it go. The laugh-creased, rich brown face of the family friend turned into a look of shock and deep sadness.

“Hi, Doc,” Jogun rasped.

“Jo…” said Utu. The man who always had a word and a smile for any situation was speechless. Jogun looked down at himself, remembering his busted body.

“You uh…” Jogun coughed a dry breath, “I don’t guess I could get some water, could I?” The flanking jab of the question staggered Utu. His wrinkles accepted the familiar, squinting smile like the embrace of an old friend. He laughed. The sound washed over Jogun and spilled throughout the Temple alley.

“Of course, my friend, of course!” Utu shouted, scrambling to grab a hold of the hollow gourd canteen that hung from his shoulder. He rushed to Jogun’s side and set the mouth of the canteen to Jogun’s lips. Tipped up slowly. The cool, earthy liquid flowed down Jogun’s dry throat and landed cold in his gut. He raised his trembling hands to take the canteen as though it were a holy relic. Drank deeply. Utu withdrew it at the proper moment, then started prodding. The Doc felt Jogun’s forehead with a palm, then the back of the hand. Took Jogun’s wrist in his fingertips and waited, counting seconds on a wristwatch. Utu spoke as he worked.

“Where have you been?” he asked, gently lifting Jogun’s leg at the knee. Jogun gritted his teeth as the throbbing in his muscles seemed to squeeze tight to the bone.

“Get ready, my friend. It’s a long story,” said Jogun. He felt Utu suddenly stop the examination. The pulse of distant voices caught in the air. Three shouts then a pause. Three shouts then a pause. As it got louder, the sounds came into focus.

“RA-SA-LLA! RA-SA-LLA! RA-SA-LLA!” they chanted in unison. Soon, the tromp of hundreds of feet underscored the chanting. They rounded the corner. T99s, house-wives, old men, old women, children. The beating heart of the Slums filled the temple, then stopped at the sight of Jogun and Utu. All lowered their heads.

“Of that,” Utu said, “I have no doubt.”

SURROUNDED BY THESE people, Matteo never felt more alone. But at least alone could be safe for now. Time enough to try and absorb the sensory overload. Up close, the City moved differently. In the shadow of giants, the Sedonia citizens and their world had real color and texture. Lights of juicy bronze, aqua, red, gold, and emerald danced everywhere, transforming the buildings into collages of colored animation. People in the street walked past wearing intricate circuit-like patterns all over their clothes. Some glowed slightly, pulsing to the rhythm of their heartbeats. So much power, they wear it… He thought of all the cold nights when he couldn’t afford fuel for his tin lantern. Most people in the crowd were so distracted with their weird hand gestures that they didn’t notice the puddles and trash they walked through.

Tints of the smells wafting through the air were familiar, but rotated into things entirely new to his nose. Freshly baked bread mixed with a bite of something salty-sweet. A slightly fishy smell tinged with a distant cousin of Utu’s garden spinach. A pale, spikey-haired couple passed him holding skewers of something that smelled like pork. Where the hell did you get that? He picked up the pace in the direction from which they’d come.

At the end of the bridge, a block of neon storefronts hugged the base of a massive, tiered neighborhood of buildings. The pulsing beats of several stereo systems overlapped. Matteo felt like every step took him out of one song and into another. He saw more people holding skewers. They were centered around a semi-circular counter that jutted out in neon yellow from the wall. A gigantic cartoon pig ran, did backflips, and faced the crowd over and over above the counter. Going near it was out of the question.

“It’s kinda over-cooked this time; must have the B team on the grill tonight,” a voice said as it walked by him. A milk-faced teenager ran fingers through a fountain of hair and tossed a full skewer into a round can on the street. Matteo pounced, reached into the can, and pulled out the meal. He sank his teeth in and tore at the juicy, brown flesh, swallowing chunks before they were fully chewed. His eyes teared as they rolled back into his skull.

Digging into the last morsel, the rest of his senses trickled back to him. The crowd kept its distance. A group of exotic, mouse-like girls crinkled their noses at him through their multi-colored hair. Shame-faced, he stuffed the last bite in his mouth.

A hard knock to the shoulder almost sent it flying back out. He whirled, ready to fight, but froze when he saw her.