City of gods - Hellenica (5 page)

Saoirse’s Danna took off her hat to reveal long, flowing hair and then took off some of her outer clothes to reveal that she was clearly a woman.

“Good luck, Saoirse,” said Phoebe, and she quickly departed.

“Now, all sit,” said Hippolyta. “We have much to discuss.”

Hippolyta nodded at one of Saoirse’s guards, and the guard snapped her fingers. Three women came in with several chairs and soon they were all sitting down.

“This must all be a shock to you, Saoirse,” said Hippolyta. “Indeed, being ripped from all you’ve ever known, no matter how abominable the situation, is terrifying. However, your previous home was a stain on this earth, and now it is no more.

“You are one of us. You have been since the day we placed you on that island, knowing full well that your connection to Oshun would serve as a ‘time bomb’ which would eventually destroy the place. Does this make any sense to you?”

Saoirse couldn’t speak; there was just too much to take in.

“You’ll understand all of this in time,” said Hippolyta.

“Am I an Amazon?” asked Saoirse.

“Not quite; you weren’t born here,” said Hippolyta. “In fact, we know not from where you came. And though you’ll always be linked to the Amazons, your destiny does not lie with us.”

“Understood,” said Saoirse. “What shall I do to please you?”

President Hippolyta cast a knowing smile at Oshun.

“You’ve been trained to be a Hetaera, and unfortunately, this has become part of who you are,” said Oshun, “but your days of servitude are over. You have duties, yes. You have honor, yes. But you must cast aside your desire to please others. You now serve the Amazons, humanity and yourself. You’ll put no stock in the pleasure of a single person, be it Danna or even President Hippolyta.

“You’ve already done humanity a great service by destroying the concept of the Hetaerae. My connection to you allowed me to place these plates everywhere, and the plates turned the wearers into
Aziza
.”

Saoirse had heard of
Aziza; they were African fairy creatures with arcane powers. It wasn’t uncommon for them to set fire to an entire island.

“Indeed,” said President Hipployta, “you’ve done a great thing, but at the expense of your soul. Instead of learning warfare and camaraderie like a girl should, you’ve learned softness and servitude on the Isle of Elysia. It is time for us to make amends.

“But your training won’t continue here; it cannot. Once again, your destiny lies beyond the Isle of the Amazons.”

After a pause, Saoirse spoke.

“President Hippolyta, goddess Oshun, what am I?”

“We don’t know,” said Oshun. “I sense great power within you, but I don’t quite know what you are.”

“There is an Academy on Hellenica that’s calling for your kind,” said President Hippolyta. “I think you’ll find your answers there.”

“An Academy?” asked Saoirse.

“Yes,” said President Hippolyta. “We’ve inspected it and they’re nothing like your Isle of Elysia. Their goals are noble, and the skills they’ll teach you will surpass anything you can learn here as an Amazon.”

Saoirse didn’t know whether to trust these two or not, even though one was Oshun, a goddess to whom she had prayed every night of her life. It was true, the Amazons had saved her from a world of servitude under Emetor Kain, the Elsephela and a Danna, but she’d never been able to trust anyone completely before. Those with power might give her a place in this world, but it always came at a price. Ultimately, authority figures always seemed to sell girls like Saoirse for a profit, and now President Hippolyta was delivering her to an “Academy” that wanted to use Saoirse’s skills for their own ends. Whether those ends were noble or not, Saoirse was paralyzed with fear; after a moment of indecision, she subconsciously fell back on Emetor Kain’s training and became deferential.

“Thank you, President.”

President Hippolyta smiled.

“Yes, indeed, and one more thing. We spent quite a bit of time scouring Elysia for survivors and found something for you. Oshun can understand it and said that it was calling your name specifically.”

President Hippolyta snapped her fingers, and two more guards came in.

They had a long chain, and attached to it was the Elsephela’s striped hyaena.

PESTILENCE

Tommy Alderon woke up to the smell of burning leaves, or perhaps a Norseman’s funeral pyre.

“It’s the Isle of Elysia, right over there,” said Brother Kojo, who had come to wake Tommy up. “Someone burned it last night. It’s no more.”

Tommy looked out the window and it was true; there were a hundred boats salvaging people and goods, but the island itself was now ashes.

“My father told me of the Island,” said Kojo. “It ran twenty-four hours a day,
every
day, war time and peace time. Open constantly for two centuries. They claimed they held only Hetaerae there, but you could get anything you wanted there for a price.
Anything
.

“Their only rule was absolute privacy; no photographs, no paintings, no reporters. But now look at it. In a few days it will be as if it had never existed.”

Kojo always spoke so beautifully, rationally. He was a soft-spoken, thoughtful young man, and Tommy liked him. He had come to Lepros a year ago as a young Samaritan training to be a nurse, and within a year he had contracted smallpox. His Yoruban skin, once unbroken and new, looked like someone had dragged him over coals.

But he didn’t seem to mind; the Samaritans never seemed to mind when they contracted a disease from their denizens. The Samaritans considered scars a badge of honor and pointed at them whenever they used sacred words like
humility
,
faith
and
penance.

Kojo joked that his scars inoculated him against other infections; indeed, he was one of the few people that dared stay around Tommy.

“Will there be another island?” asked Tommy.

“Most definitely,” said Kojo. “Vice is part of humanity. There will always be those who’ll go to any length to acquire more than is allowed. And there will always be those who’ll
sell
more than is allowed. Vice isn’t a function of morality; it’s a function of opportunity.

“But that’s for Elysia, or whatever island will take its place,” said Kojo with a smile. “We are different on Lepros, or at least try to be. Speaking of which, some new denizens came in last night. Plague, I believe. I’d like them to see your suit at morning bells; it will give them hope.”

The sun was just beginning to come up, and Tommy saw Low Priest Aaron ambling across the courtyard towards the bell tower. The Samaritans always rang the bells at 5:00 a.m. No one was required to wake at the hour; some had sleep disorders and couldn’t wake at all. But most Leprosians attended the event; it gave them structure to their day and a sense of community.

Kojo helped Tommy into his mechanical suit; he loved the suit that Tommy had built. Tommy had originally created it as a hermetically sealed outfit that would keep others from catching his diseases, but he soon modified it to augment his crippled legs. He worked on it every day, and he’d given it night vision, the ability to go under water, and a belt full of tools.
It does more than protect others from your condition,
Tommy remembered Kojo saying,
it gives you the power of a god.

They walked out of their room into the hallway. A Samaritan was rubbing down the floors with bleach; the chemicals quashed the smell of smoke from Elysia. That was common in Lepros; there would be an odd smell, an odd noise, an odd feeling, but it would only last for a moment. It would be the smell of someone’s burst pustules or the groan of a dying man, but there would always be cleanliness and quiet soon thereafter.
You all have value,
Tommy remembered High Priest Elazar telling the Leprosians.
Though society has forsaken you, each and every one of you has value. And in order to realize your value, we must have calm, quiet, cleanliness and consistency.

Tommy snapped the facemask in place to hermetically seal himself into his suit, and he and Kojo ambled out into the hallway. Even with the added inches of his suit, Tommy seemed to be half the height of Kojo. But he was getting used to its features and was almost as able-bodied as Kojo.
We’ll improve the suit
, Elazar would say,
and soon you’ll be faster, stronger, quicker. You’ll have value. Perhaps you may one day re-enter society.

Tommy walked alongside Kojo like a pet, and traveled down the hallway to the outdoors. He passed the wing for violent patients and noticed the thick doors barring escape. That wing had filled up recently due to the new strain of syphilis that was spreading throughout the world.
Antibiotic-resistant, develops quietly, and doesn’t kill you for twenty years
, Kojo would say.
It’s the perfect disease.
Patients with the new syphilis became violent, yet retained much of their faculties. They could act normally, reason, and even hold elected office if left unnoticed. But they were dangerous.

“
If those doors would open,” said Kojo, “we’d be burning like Elysia within the hour.”

“I understand,” said Tommy, “but we must have compassion.”

“True,” said Kojo. “Above all else, we must have compassion.”

They walked down to the main courtyard and stood in front of High Priest Elazar and all Lepros’s able inhabitants.
One thousand patients, the contagious of the contagious, the sickest of the sick,
thought Tommy,
and ten healthy Samaritan priests to tend them all.

There were twenty new faces at the front of the crowd. Most were dressed in black cloaks; Tommy listened to the soft, sibilant tones they spoke amongst themselves, and guessed they were from the Mesopotamian quarter. High Priest Elazar confirmed it when he spoke to them.

“Where is your
Gilgamesh
now? Your
Djinn
?” he asked, half-rhetorically.

Not one of the new arrivals spoke. Low Priest Aaron began to translate, but still, not one of them took the bait. One boy was shirtless and was scratching a pulsating boil under his arm. A cloaked woman on the other side of the group came to him and made him stop scratching it, but the boy continued and then started to cry.

Elazar was a kind, rotund older man with a soft face and a graying mustache. Tommy had heard him give this “tough love” speech before, and he knew that Elazar didn’t enjoy giving it. Though it was necessary to rid the new denizens of their previous prejudices, Elazar didn’t relish giving immigrants the cold, hard truth: that the gods to whom they had prayed every night of their lives didn’t care for them.

“Your heroes and genies are not here,” said Elazar, pointing towards the mainland. “They are
over there
. They’re busy running around, working for their worshippers’ personal interests, but
you
? They have abandoned you. I’ve lived here all my life, and never have I seen a god take one of his people back from Lepros.”

The boy stopped crying. After Aaron began to translate the group stood still, rapt in attention.

“Look to your left, and look to your right,” said Elazar. “
This
is your family now.
We
will not forsake you. Continue to pray to Zeus, make a sacrifice to Ba’al, and tell your children the tales of noble Lugh. But if you need something, depend on your neighbors. All blood feuds, hatred, and linguistic barriers mean nothing here.

“The Celts and Apaches may be at war in the city, but they are
family
here. That’s the only rule here,
that we are all with each other
. No division. Do you understand?”

Again, there was only silence from the Mesopotamians. High Priest Elazar noticed it and began to smile.

“If you don’t believe me just yet, I understand. Lifelong habits are hard to break,” said Elazar. “But tell me, who are your mortal enemies on land?”

Again, silence after Aaron translated. The boy giggled and then spoke up.

“Yoruba!” he said. The woman tried to hush him, but he cried and started yelling, “Yoruba! Yoruba!”

High Priest Elazar smiled and took no offense.

“The boy only speaks what he’s been taught,” continued the High Priest. “And over
there
, you’ve been taught—”

Just then, the boy keeled over and started convulsing. The boil under his arm had burst and he was foaming at the mouth. The Mesopotamians exploded into a million bits of chatter, and High Priest Elazar calmly walked up to the boy and put his hand on the boy’s head. Priest Aaron spoke up.

“Shall I get the care specialist?” he asked.

“Yes, have Brother Zebulon bring an anticonvulsant, whichever appropriate. But I want Kojo here to administer it.”

Kojo nodded. The Mesopotamians began to chatter as he came near, but Brother Aaron seemed to say some words that calmed them down. Within seconds, Zebulon came with a needle. He prepped the skin and let Kojo perform the injection. The woman eyed Kojo warily, but allowed him to do his work. After the injection, the boy relaxed and Kojo smiled. Kojo wiped some stray fluids that had wound up on his arm, and then shared some words with the Mesopotamians in their own dialect.

“Nurse Kojo is a Yoruban, your mortal enemy in the conurbation,” said Elazar, “but here he is your friend.”

Elazar got up and then patted Kojo on the back. He told Sister Keziah to lead the group in song, making sure that the truly infirm could hear it from their beds. After the song and the daily announcements, he dismissed the group, but approached Tommy soon thereafter.

“In my office,” said Elazar with a smile. “We have something very important to discuss.”

/***/

Elazar caught Tommy looking at his strange Samaritan Torah placed against the wall.

“It’s okay,” he said with a laugh. “I understand you must think our religion strange.”

Tommy couldn’t help but respond.

“You have but one God,” said Tommy, “one God you cannot see or touch, one God who doesn’t respond; you just believe he’s there. It’s hard to fathom.”

“Our God is mysterious indeed,” said Elazar, “but tell me; who is
your
personal god?”

“Hephaestus.”

“Ahhh, Greek Hephaestus. He went by
Vulcan
when I was a child. One of my favorites too, he of the clubbed foot, he of the humble, he who likes to
build things
,” said Elazar, winking at Tommy. “But back to my God. It’s a good question, how to
worship something that doesn’t answer back.
Though the gods in the city may have forgotten the Isle of Lepros, they are visible, they are tangible; they forget us, but they are
there
to forget us.

“But I ask you: to what end is our society headed towards? What’s the natural conclusion of our polytheistic, polyreligious society?”

Tommy thought about this for a moment.

“Either one religion gains permanent domination, or we eventually reach a state of constant equilibrium,” said Tommy.

“Genocide or constant war,” said Elazar. “Do you like these options, Tommy?”

Tommy had no response.

“I want to ask you another question,” said Elazar. “What has our society produced in the last century? I’m not talking about a new temple or some shiny amulet, but what have we
produced
?”

“I made this suit,” said Tommy.

“Precisely. But you made it
here
, outside of the district’s constant feuds.”

“Perhaps.”

“The members of the conurbation are at a standstill, Tommy; they’re in crisis,” said Elazar. “They do nothing but appease their own personal deities at the expense of others.

“What little progress that’s made is made out
here
. Suits, medicines, electronics are all made
here
by a small fraction of the population—by the grievously ill, no less! You should be happy to know that Hephaestus himself has seen the prototype of your suit and is quite impressed.”

Tommy’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hephaestus is reasonable,” said Elazar, “as is Hellenica. They have their share of petty gods and infighting to be sure, but Hellenica depends on reason to survive. And they recognize that though Lepros brings in the sick of body, we are pure of soul. The same can’t be said for the conurbation.

“And so this comes to you, Tommy; what are
you
going to do about it? How are you going to clean up our city?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’ve never set foot outside this island in my life. I fear I wouldn’t survive if I left.”

“Poppycock. You’ve survived more than a phalanx of warriors face in their lifetime. Every disease on earth tried to kill you, but couldn’t. You built a suit to protect
us
from you.”

“Are you sending me there? To the mainland?”

“Only if you want to go. This island is nothing if not a society of choice. But if you go it’s not because I’ve sent you,  it’s because you’ve been called. Hellenica has asked for those with
your abilities
to join a special school, an
Academy
. They’ll train you to fight the corruption,
the pettiness
of our gods.”