Mark Newton: The Book of Transformations

‘Well, where do you live?’ she asked.

‘Villarbor.’ He gestured to the forest.

‘You own the entire city?’

‘No one owns any of it.’ Cayce wore his usual serene expression. ‘There are no rulers to order us about. We share communal hab units grafted into sections of the forest. We choose where to live and, quite unlike Villjamur, no one has to pay a fortune to be in the most fashionable areas. We self-organize and choose everything about our way of life ourselves. Should any of us wish to live elsewhere, we can move and build other places, fashion them out of the forest providing others are not against this wish. One can make each place with as much craft and care as one desires.’ Cayce paused to contemplate his words. ‘When the first cultists came here,’ he explained, ‘around about the time Villjamur was established, they adopted the ways of the local tribes — the newcomers did not want to interfere with the natural way of the land, and that philosophy of self-organizing has evolved into what we have now.’

‘I understand, I think…’ Lan lied. ‘It just makes no sense without money and a governing body.’

‘We have found governments and traders do not have the majority’s interest at heart,’ Cayce replied. ‘We cope well — we organize, distribute, work mutually with other autonomous hubs and districts across the island… I know what you are thinking — this all seems impossible without money and without rulers. But, it helps that we are cultists, so we can do anything we want, because money does not dictate or place values. I had to run the decision bringing you here past assemblies of the community — because there is a reason we generally keep outsiders away, a reason we don’t like their influence or their ideas — and why I’m reluctant for you to converse with us too much: what we have here works well. The Empire is a hegemony, attempting to impose its dominance on the rest of the Archipelago, crippling island after island in order to sell the fineries you see in Villjamur, and you would do well to understand that. But out here, in Villarbor, it just would not be sustainable. On an island like this our systems would implode. Here, we take only what we need. We will have some food tonight and you may sample some of the delights the forest offers, and then you can return to Villjamur as one of the sacred few to have witnessed this place.’

*

Cayce led her into a humid tree grove. Fat roots had formed an organic archway, and citizens of the forest stepped out from between them, drifting along wide paths through the vegetation. The pace of life here was leisurely. People were standing idly chatting, gripping baskets of metal, hunks of bars and piping and cogs. Children played games among the foliage, whilst a handful of smaller ones sat down on the grass listening to a man for what must have been a lesson.

‘Presumably without money, these children don’t have to pay to be schooled?’

‘Certainly not!’ Cayce replied. ‘They have access to everything — it is extremely important that every child can learn to read and write.’

Lan was surprised, recalling the guilt of her own expensive education, despite the abuse she suffered. ‘What are they being taught?’

‘They’re being taught how to think.’

The treetops flared with purple lighting, which stretched under-canopy in flat pulses, and Lan’s heart raced at this electrical activity. No one else took notice of it.

They passed through an area that might have been an iren in Villjamur. Here it was something entirely… relaxed — a few rows of people openly weaving fabric or cooking food, stopping occasionally to talk to passers-by. Lan marvelled at the quality of decorative crafts on display, and the variety of fruit and vegetables. The choice.

Lan noticed that some of the wooden habs flickered inside, as if a smith was working steel — but she suspected it was magic being worked, rather than metal.

‘Is everyone here a cultist?’ she asked.

‘By your definitions, probably,’ Cayce remarked. ‘With one exception, I should add. On Ysla, we are all of us equal. On Imperial soil cultists use relic technology for their own gains, occasionally bartering their skills for positions of power, even to fight against others in order to further their agendas. One will find none of that occurs on this island — we do not express power over people in our communities, or even the local tribes.’

*

In the evening, Lan joined Cayce’s table at a large outdoor banquet, and basked in the balmy air. Such a mild evening… It’s something I’d almost forgotten.

Coloured lights and strips of bright material littered the forest clearing like a star-field. Children mingled with adults at a vast table shaped like a broken letter O, with people sitting both inside and out, mainly humans, but also a few rumels, and even one Ceph further down, who Cayce glanced to more than once. In the centre, a group of musicians played lute-like instruments, and drums and violins beat out loud melodies based on local folk songs. The forest vibrated with an energy that reminded her of the shows. There must have been a few hundred people there, each of them drinking and eating exotic foods — ones that could only really grow so far south, with such an altered climate. Succulent fruits and mellow-tasting mead, and thick stews and soft bread. The tables were overflowing.

And this was the first time she’d been amongst so many people, able to feel quite safe. Yes, she could think about herself now with great relief. There was no deep-rooted fear that she would be victimized. When people talked to her there still remained an echo of her former self-consciousness, and that would perhaps linger for some time, but for now she could cover it up with her interest in this other culture.

As incessant as midges, the locals attempted to quiz her about the outside world. Cayce kept suggesting that people leave her be, to allow her to recover in peace, and she softly smiled her apologies to them.

The discussion surrounding her was wide-ranging, though often concerning matters of organization: transportation, how many people would man the bridges the next week, assemblies to be held, union guilds, schooling, districts, skills. For the most part it seemed all these people did was plan what needed to be done, but there was a good deal of talk of spiritual practices and liberal arts. There was a lot of talk of the finer points of sorcery, too, but most went over her head. Conversations at some parts of the table flared into altercations and semi-rows, though elders stood up and softly waved for calm. They all seem a lively bunch on Ysla.

A name was suddenly whispered across the table, and the expressions on faces soured considerably and conversations quietened.

Lan leaned towards Cayce. ‘Who’s Shalev?’

As he struck alight a roll-up, Cayce observed the reactions of others along the table. Eventually, still looking their way, he answered Lan. ‘She is someone who was… of an unpleasant nature. She did bad things.’

‘A criminal?’ Lan asked.

‘We have no criminals here.’

‘What-?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Cayce muttered calmly, and took a drag. ‘I said we have no criminals. We have no prisons. We do not punish in the same ways as the Empire.’

‘How do you stop people from stealing things?’

‘If no one owns anything, how can someone steal? If someone can have anything they want by asking, work, relic, or by doing it themselves, then there exists no need to steal. Most crimes are against property — and here, that is a non-existent term.’

‘Who decides these rules?’

‘We all do,’ Cayce replied. ‘We all have a democratic say in our own affairs, and this includes making the rules by which we live.’