Гарднер Дозуа - City Under the Stars

As he became more comfortable with the unfamiliarity of riding, he began to pay less attention to controlling his mount and more attention to breathing in the world around him, an unbelievable luxury he’d almost forgotten during the time when all he could experience of life was a slit-window in a stone wall. A breeze had come up from the south, smelling of spring, the first wildflowers were opening to either side of the road, and there was a kind of tree growing in clusters here that he was unfamiliar with, leaves a bright vivid red, as though it was burning, flaming with life. Even the pungent smell of his horse’s sweat was welcome.

He was still convinced that they were all headed for their deaths—but Death was not here yet ; there was still time to enjoy a few more heartbeats, a few more breaths, luxuriate in the sultry breeze rich with the smell of life. Life, for however long it lasted, was its own reward, its own reason for being, and Hanson thought again about his poor stunted tree, trying somehow to grow in inhospitable soil in a niche in a ruined rock wall; if it could think, would it rather it had never existed, or would it be grateful for whatever time it had been given? Existence was the greatest gift imaginable. Maybe that was why life was so filled with misery and heartbreak—because something so valuable required the highest price imaginable, just so it could be properly appreciated.

As their party approached another stand of the flametrees, they flushed a small herd of hoppers, who bounded across the road in front of them with prodigious leaps. Delgardo stood up in his stirrups, stretching his arms wide to either side in a flamboyant, look-at-me gesture, then drew a long-barreled pistol from a saddle holster and snapped off a seemingly casual and unaimed shot that nevertheless caught one of the hoppers in mid-leap and sent it crashing to the ground, where it twitched and gasped among the dust of the road. “Fresh meat tonight, boys!” he crowed, well-pleased with himself, and dispatched two of the soldiers to finish off the dying hopper, dress and quarter it, and store the hurriedly wrapped meat behind their saddles. While this was going on, Delgardo, still standing in his stirrups, grinning broadly, made his horse prance in a little circle, as though he were waiting for applause, and it didn’t seem to bother him that none came.

He couldn’t be more pleased with himself, Hanson thought, shaken out of his philosophical musings. He doesn’t need anybody else to applaud for him, he’ll do it for himself. Hanson had run across men like this a few times before, usually members of the aristocracy, with the unquestioned assumption of superiority that growing up rich gave you. With a chill, Hanson realized that Delgardo’s ego was so vast and swollen that not only did he think he was the most important person in the world, expecting acknowledgment and admiration from everyone else for that fact, but he thought that he was the only person in the world, the only real person, with everyone and everything else reduced to the role of unimportant spear-carriers in the unique and miraculous drama of his life. Such people were dangerous. He’d already known that Delgardo was dangerous, of course—he’d cut his throat, after all, even if he wasn’t really expecting Hanson to die—but now the realization set deeper in that Delgardo would sacrifice him, or anybody else, in a heartbeat if it enabled him to get what he wanted. He’d have to be very cautious with how he behaved toward Delgardo if he wanted to get out of this alive—but then, he realized, with a curious kind of relief, that really didn’t matter. The City would kill them all anyway.

After an hour or so on the road, they turned east, toward the City of God.

The road leading to the City of God had been considerably widened since Hanson had seen it last. Back then, when he was marched to captivity, hands tied behind his back, it had been little more than a track in the forest. Now it was big enough to accommodate a constant flow of mule-drawn army wagons, those headed inward loaded with food and supplies, those outward mostly empty, though some few were heavily laden and those few covered with heavy canvas tarps and guarded by more armed soldiers than seemed necessary.

“The fewer questions you ask, the less you’ll have to regret,” Delgardo said when he caught Hanson staring at one of those wagons. But Hanson had known better than to ask questions out of simple curiosity for longer than he cared to remember. It was one of the first things that got beaten out of you in school. He simply looked away—away from the wagons, away from the guards, away from Delgardo’s hard stare. He heard a snort of scornful amusement from the man as he did so, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

A few miles later, from the top of a small rise, they got their first look at the Wall of the City of God. Hanson had seen it at a distance every day of his working life, as he slaved away up on an outdoor platform at the State Factory in Orange, and, to his sorrow, he had seen it close-up once before—but it was still a breathtaking sight, beautiful and terrible, so that his emotions snagged in his throat as he looked at it. The Wall, hundreds of feet high, stretched out of sight in either direction, extending more than five hundred miles from south to north. It glowed, smoldering with pinks and coral reds, and Hanson well remembered the heat it generated, like walking into a furnace if you got too close.

The shining immensity of the wall had a black gap in it, directly ahead, as if someone had knocked out a great beast’s two bottom front teeth—marking the place where, long ago, Hanson had shut down that section of the Wall, allowing humans entry to the City of God beyond.

Hanson had a wild moment of panic where he considered turning his horse around and making a break for it, galloping as fast as he could go—but it was hopeless. Delgardo would bring him down as easily as he had the hopper, or some of the other, much more experienced horsemen would catch up with him. Reluctantly, he followed the others down the hill toward the City, his fear growing as the Wall rose higher and higher above them.

Since he’d last been here, an Army encampment had been built alongside the gap in the Wall, hundreds of tents clustered close around a few plain, obviously hastily slapped-together wooden buildings. As they rode up, Hanson saw detachments of soldiers working to raise a wooden palisade to replace the section of Wall that had been taken down. A second palisade surrounded the camp. Nearby was a cemetery and there were soldiers working there too, digging graves for canvas-wrapped corpses and filling them in again. Delgardo noticed him looking and said, “That’s right, Hanson. There was a big incursion from the South only three days ago, soldiers trying to drive us out and take over control of the City. There was a pitched battle in which hundreds died on either side. These are the poor bastards who lingered for a while in the hospital tents. See what you’ve wrought, eh? If you’d never opened up the City of God, those men wouldn’t have died.” He smiled gently at the graves. “And a lot more men are going to die in the future! All because of you.” He sounded oddly pleased at the prospect. Hanson tightened his jaw, but said nothing.

In the camp, they surrendered their mounts to the quartermaster. Hanson learned that horses went mad with fear if you tried to take them into the City, and refused to go no matter how much you whipped them, even if you whipped them to death. They’d have to walk from here on. Nor were horses the only ones afflicted. When the soldiers stayed too long in the City, they had horrible dreams which grew worse with every passing night until they refused to sleep for fear of what they would see, grew rebellious and hard to command, and even—some of them—went mad. So, after a few abortive attempts to build a base inside the Wall resulted in an untold number of deaths and suicides and one near-mutiny, the officers had given in and raised the camp outside, at a respectful distance from the City of God, and, they hoped, from the malign influences it seemed to radiate.