CHAPTER 17
~Date Unknown~
It was a fine evening for Storyteller's first Pinnacle exhibition - the air stirred and cooled by an early autumn breeze, a sea of stars glistening above the lamps that ringed the pavilion. Most of the town gathered in the space at the end of the main thoroughfare - the subtle curve of the palace facade forming an amphitheater, another demonstration of Conqueror's obsessive attention to detail. The massive crowd was certainly a change for a man used to entertaining groups of a dozen or so at most, and Storyteller himself became lost at times in his moment of celebrity. The feeling never lasted long before being sundered by one thing - the great tyrant himself, the Conqueror of the Southern Wastes, watching the spectacle from his place above the crowd with the faintest of smiles.
Following the exhibition, Conqueror's men led Storyteller directly back to his chambers and, after checking once more to see that his needs were met, left him to rest. Rest would not come, though - Storyteller was truly exhausted, but sleep eluded him. He couldn't get his mind off of the object in Conqueror's gallery, the one Conqueror had speculated was a time capsule. It had reminded him of something he had heard about but never seen, the "historical preservation chamber" that his brother had spoken of so often. Had this thing actually survived for so long? The chances were remote, and yet there it was, sitting in Conqueror's gallery, just a stroll down a short corridor.
Finally, Storyteller's curiosity got the better of him, and he could wait no longer. Rising from his bed, he crept to the door and poked his head through. Luck was on his side - Conqueror was not concerned that Storyteller might flee, and had left the corridor unguarded. With the lanterns extinguished, the area was dark, but there was just enough ambient light to guide him down the hall and into the gallery. Without Conqueror's presence, there was a peace here that Storyteller had felt nowhere else in the wastes, a kind of magic that was drawing him back in time. Moonbeams fell through the narrow windows, illuminating the capsule with a ring of bluish light - nothing short of fate itself, beckoning Storyteller to proceed.
Storyteller knelt down before the capsule, running his hands over the hatch. The latch and hinges were rusted through and through - no doubt the reason Conqueror hadn't attempted to open it. There were considerable dents in the hatch, warping it enough to give a narrow glimpse into the interior. After fifteen years of infiltration by dirt and moisture, Storyteller wondered if anything inside had survived, but it was far too late to ask such questions. Pushing aside his doubt, he grabbed hold of the latch and pulled with all his might. There was a loud and labored creak, enough to send a burst of fear through Storyteller's frame, but that dread vanished a moment later when the hatch swung open and surrendered its secrets. The moonlight fell on a tiny engraving on the inside of the hatch, worn by age and exposure but still mostly readable:
INTER--D APRIL 20-- ON THIS SPOT - P--M-S, ILLINO--
BY WILLI-M SCARB-RO--H
Storyteller let his fingers rest on the engraving, absorbing the detail on each letter, slowing to a crawl as his hands landed upon the name of the town and the name at the bottom. The dreamy fog faded before such concrete proof - it was real, and he'd made it. His eyes drifted to the interior of the capsule which, as he had predicted, was filled with a generation's worth of dirt. Gingerly he dug his hands into the mess, feeling around with eager but cautious hands for anything of value. Most of what he touched was in fragments, shreds of tangible history crushed beneath the infiltrating soil or simply ruined by inevitable time. But there was one thin object at the very bottom that felt intact. Digging through the dirt with renewed vigor, Storyteller fetched the object - an ordinary manila envelope, completely unprotected from the elements yet miraculously intact. He peeled up the flap with fearful fingers, silently praying that the water-damaged envelope wouldn't disintegrate in his hands. Inside, he found a sheaf of crumpled loose-leaf papers covered in hand-written script. Much of it was difficult to read, the ink blurred and faded after so many years, but the title at the top was still clear:
Valeri the Thief
Storyteller laughed aloud. "He saved it. After all these years-"
The sound of frenzied footsteps and the roar of barely coherent voices coming from down the hall interrupted Storyteller's thoughts. Spinning reflexively towards the door, he spotted a set of flickering lights closing fast on the gallery. Short of time and options, he crammed the papers into one of his pockets and froze fast in the shadows at the edge of the moonlight, hoping against hope that no one would spot him. Next there was a flash of movement, ranks of lantern-bearing guards racing through the corridor one after the other, barking orders and reports to each other. Storyteller's breath caught in his throat as one of them entered the gallery, the light from his lantern cutting through the doorway.
The guard stared at Storyteller, one hand holding the lantern aloft, the other wrapped around the hilt of a broad blade. "Found him! Gallery!" he screamed.
A second guard entered the gallery, his shadowy form towering over Storyteller. He held up his own lantern, giving Storyteller a look at his face - Captain, the man who had first found him out in the wastes. Captain gestured to the other guards. "False alarm. This is not him. Continue the search." As the other guards departed, Captain grabbed Storyteller by the shoulder and pulled him up. "You're not supposed to be out of your quarters this late. It could be dangerous."
Storyteller recovered his breath, hoping that Captain wouldn't want to search him. "Sorry, I wasn't aware of the rules."
Captain's eyes were hidden in shadow, but Storyteller could still feel the man's gaze upon him. "Very well. I trust you can find your way back?"
"I think I can manage," said Storyteller.
Storyteller obeyed the order, sliding around the guards as he returned to his room. No one else would harass him that night, and as the hours crept on the sound of movement faded into the night once again. Still, he was positive that someone was watching him as he walked, but this was not unusual - he had felt this ever since entering Pinnacle. After the night's events, he was certain that there would be eyes on him in the future, probing for signs of betrayal.
Sleep did not come to Storyteller that night, and he had never been happier to see the sun rise. The break of day returned life to Pinnacle's streets, its citizens emerging one after the other to take their places at the wheels of society. It reminded Storyteller of the daily routines of the old world, the cycle which he had always taken for granted as a child. In another place it may have been comforting, but here there was something ominous about it. Even after one day, he could sense something amiss in Pinnacle, some part of this wasteland paradise that had been concealed from him, some machinery driving the place that was not his to see.
"Are you awake?" A guard appeared at the door, speaking to Storyteller in a firm tone.
"I am," said Storyteller, rising from his bed.
"Good. Conqueror is taking breakfast on the dais, and he would like you to join him."
Storyteller didn't answer, merely rising to follow the guard. He was quickly learning that Conqueror's "requests" were truly the demands he made of people he respected - there was no point in asking further questions, and still less in arguing. The walk was an uneventful one - another lesson Storyteller had learned was that curiosity was a potential hazard - and he soon found himself at a curtain-draped passage at the top of the palace.
"Go on," said the guard, standing to one side and drawing back the curtain.
Storyteller shielded his eyes to the harsh desert sun as he stepped outside. The dais was little more than a great open air platform with a low wall around the edges, a place designed for the delivery of speeches and the issuing of edicts. Conqueror was already present, seated at a square table in the center of the dais, a large platter of food sitting before him - dried and cooked meat, grain meal, several dark-colored bread rolls, small jars containing a variety of seasonings, and a large clay pitcher of water. Foodstuffs of this type and quality were precious and rare in the wastes, but they were not what Storyteller noticed first. Rather, it was the long-barreled revolver resting on the table in front of Conqueror, just within his reach should he need to use it.
Conqueror showed his teeth as Storyteller entered, an expression Storyteller could only hope was a smile. "Good morning, Samuel. Please, have a seat. I had my staff prepare extra this morning in hopes that you'd be awake in time to join me."
Storyteller stayed where he was, staring at the revolver. "...Hoping I'd be awake in time?"
"Well, I know that one doesn't always keep a regular schedule when out in world beyond. I thought you might be accustomed to sleeping late, rising on your own schedule." Conqueror slowly stretched out his arm to retrieve one of the rolls. "Assuming you slept at all. There was no shortage of activity last night."
"It seems that I'm making a habit of apologizing," said Storyteller. "My curiosity got the better of me last night, and I know that I violated some of your rules. Rest assured, it won't happen again."
"I'm sure it won't. Really, I should thank you for opening that capsule. We haven't had a chance to examine its contents yet, but it should prove very enlightening." Conqueror leaned forward, head resting on his chin. "Tell me, did you find anything of worth within?"
Storyteller's thoughts drifted to the crumpled sheets of paper in his pocket, the ones he hadn't thought to check during the night. "...There may have been something there once, but I fear that it is all dust and ruin now. Time is the nemesis of all things, you know."
"That it is." Conqueror followed Storyteller's gaze. "You were looking at this?" he said, resting his hand on the revolver. "Oh, this has nothing to do with you. Perhaps you thought that this was a clumsy act of intimidation?"
"If we're being honest, it had crossed my mind," said Storyteller.
Conqueror smiled again, a sight that still gave Storyteller a faint queasy feeling when he saw it. "Not at all, Samuel, this is merely self-defense. Even a pacifist such as you must understand the value in arming yourself in dangerous times. You do carry a knife, after all."
"That was a gift of sorts, actually," said Storyteller. "I have never raised a hand against another."
"Such a noble sentiment for a brutal time," said Conqueror.
"Perhaps nobility does not play into it," said Storyteller. "I've never had the need. There were always giants around to shelter me."
"Even in the old world?"
"My brother protected me then."
"And you learned nothing from him, from what he did on your behalf?"
"On the contrary, he taught me a great deal. His lessons are all that remain of him now."
"I see." Conqueror slid the revolver closer to himself. "In any case, this does not concern you. One of the workers escaped into the palace last night, and my men haven't found him yet. This is just a precaution, in case he's armed himself."
"That actually brings me to what I wished to discuss yesterday." Storyteller took the seat opposite Conqueror. "You were a bit uncertain about whether or not I would be allowed to leave Pinnacle."
Conqueror reclined in his chair, his fingertips meeting each other. "Then you still doubt that my city can fulfill your needs?"
"It's not that," said Storyteller. "I am not a man to stay in one place for very long. It is in my nature to wander, to discover the world."
"Of course it is!" said Conqueror. "I wouldn't expect you to give up your travels. There are many unique opportunities I can provide for you."
"I'm afraid that it wouldn't be the same," said Storyteller. "A wanderer must make his own path, he cannot follow one that others make for him."
Conqueror lifted his chin just a fraction. "I can understand that. We are very different, but we do share that urge for the endless march, the unveiling of new horizons. But I don't think that's what you mean. Might you be asking if I would keep you here by force?"
"Certainly, it is within your power to do so," said Storyteller.
"Of course it is," said Conqueror. "I could shackle you to the wall if I so desired. I could shatter your knees, if I felt that the shackles were insufficient.""
"But having the power to do something does not justify it." Storyteller poured himself a cup of water. "I find it easier to make these points through stories. Do you mind if I tell you one?"
"By all means," said Conqueror. "It's why you are here."
"Thank you." Storyteller sipped at his water, then pushed aside the chair and stood before Conqueror. "There was an old hermit who had lived alone in the woods for many years. He bore no fear in solitude, but he felt the pains of loneliness every day. One morning, the hermit awoke to find a songbird perched on a tree just outside of his shack. The bird's melody was the sweetest sound to reach the hermit's ears in as long as he could remember. He sat until mid-day, watching the songbird prance and listening to its song, and by the evening he felt uplifted, as though he were the bird taking flight."
"But the next morning, the songbird did not return. The old hermit sat by the window all day, but not a note reached his ear. He wept all night, from the rise of the moon until the first rays of dawn broke through the window. Suddenly, the hermit heard a familiar song. Racing to the window, he saw that the songbird had returned. His heart leaped with joy, but sank just as fast as he realized that the bird could leave at any time and never return."
"The hermit, not willing to let such beauty leave his life, devised a plan. He crafted a cage of oak and pine, and wove a net from vines. Every morning, just before daybreak, he left his shack and hid just out of sight. Finally, the songbird returned. The hermit swung the net, ensnaring the bird before the creature knew what was happening, and shut him away in the cage. He was overjoyed at his turn of fortune, and celebrated well into the evening."
"The next morning, the hermit rose from his bed and sat by the window, where his prize was suspended. But that day, the songbird did not sing. It screeched and flapped and dug at the cage with its beak. The hermit was puzzled by the bird's behavior - he provided everything the beast needed, why was it behaving like this? The next day was no different, nor the day after. Gradually, the hermit acknowledged that the songbird simply wanted to leave. However, this was something he would not accept. He took the knife from his table and thrust it through the cage and into the songbird's breast. He removed the poor creature's body and, working through the night, stuffed it so that it had the appearance of life. The songbird sat in its little cage until the hermit died. It never again left, but neither did it sing."
"Bravo." Conqueror bowed his head. "And your point is not lost. You assume that if you wished to leave, that I would bind your body to stop you."
"Is this not how you control your workers?" said Storyteller.
"They are different." Conqueror drew to his full height, his skin glistening as bronze in the sun, less a man than a statue given life. "Not all men are of a kind, Samuel. The workers are little more than beasts, much like the raiders that prey upon them. Such men respond as beasts do, to force and nothing else. But a reasoning man such as you-"
Conqueror's thoughts were breached by fresh arrivals - a group of guards dragging something in tow. At length, Storyteller could see that their bounty was still moving. It was a prisoner, a slender man with ashen skin and desolate eyes, one who looked every bit a corpse even at he shielded himself. The ugly shackles that bound his wrists, the ones that the guards used to drag him, were a burden he could scarcely lift.
"We caught him, lord," said one of the guards. "He made it as far as the welcoming hall, but not a step further."
"The welcoming hall! So close to the entrance! Impressive, truly. There are so few who come that close to the daylight." Conqueror picked up the revolver, snapping open the cylinder, sliding a cartridge into the first chamber and snapping the cylinder shut. "You have great ambition for a beast, a fire that's rare in your kind. Unfortunately, you have no more intelligence. Your fire has only condemned you."
Storyteller ran to Conqueror's side. "What are you doing? This man means you no harm!"
"Doesn't he?" said Conqueror. "Not today, and maybe not the next. But a beast with ambition will bite one day. Better to put it down before that day comes."
"This is not a wild animal!" said Storyteller. "He doesn't have fangs or claws, he can barely lift his own bones, let alone a weapon!"
"Perhaps not now, but in time he will find the strength. Such is his nature. As long he has that rage within, he is a threat."
Nausea coursed through Storyteller's body as he searched for an argument. "Is this meant to be some demonstration of strength? Far better to forgive him, and prove that you are strong enough that you know no fear!"
"I think you are the one who is afraid. You are afraid of what we must do." Conqueror brought the barrel level with the prisoner's head. "Consider this a lesson. Not all lives are worth preserving."
Time halted as Storyteller's gaze flew back and forth between Conqueror and his helpless victim. He could see the tyrant's finger stroke the trigger, ready to deliver the death blow but halting each time. The prisoner could see it too, and he winced in time with Conqueror's movements, his inevitable death playing out in his head each time. Storyteller felt no less tortured, praying that Conqueror would put the gun away and spare this poor soul, praying that he would spare him the sight of this needless brutality. Finally, when he could take no more anticipation, he threw himself between the prisoner and the revolver. "Stop this madness!" he screamed.
"You would shield this man?" said Conqueror, resting his finger on the trigger guard. "He is a stranger. Do you believe that he would do the same for you?"
"It does not matter," said Storyteller. "He is alive. As long as he is alive, we are as kin."
Conqueror lowered his weapon, a smirk gracing his lips. "So many ways to control a reasoning man." He handed the revolver to one of the guards. "Take him back to his quarters. Use stronger chains this time."
Storyteller watched in awe as the guards dragged the prisoner away. "After your speech, you opted to let him live? Why?"
"I was merely making a point," said Conqueror. "There was some truth in what you said. I'd not waste anything as precious as a cartridge on him."
"Who was he?"
"Merely a worker."
Storyteller locked Conqueror in his gaze. "A slave."
"Words, nothing more." Conqueror clapped his hands together. "That was an admirable thing you did, and courageous. But you haven't answered my question. Do you think he would have done the same for you?"
"There is no way to know," said Storyteller.
"I think you could guess. That man would have watched you die and never entertained a second thought. That's why I have to bind him in heavy shackles of iron. But a man like you can be mastered in more subtle ways. Your shackles will never be as heavy as his." Conqueror walked over to the edge of the dais. "I doubt that there is one person below who would have done as you did. You are unusual, Samuel, not just in your profession but in your behavior."
Storyteller was silent for a moment, pondering Conqueror's comment. "There is something hidden behind your words."
"I am merely stating a fact." Conqueror gazed out over the crowded thoroughfare. "A fact about the moral caliber of all the men and women beneath us. You may be the only one with a heart. The only one who would weep if one of them were to perish."
"Now I see it clearly," said Storyteller, gritting his teeth. "You are threatening to punish them in my stead. To impose violence against people you claim to care for?"
"As you said yourself, I certainly have that power."
"You are every bit the monster I imagined."
"Do not trouble yourself, I have no intention of killing anyone today," said Conqueror. "Perhaps I am a demon after all, but I am not a monster, as you say."
"I fail to grasp the difference."
"Ambition, Samuel. The ambition to create order. A monster is a beast, it seeks only to ruin." Conqueror closed his head and breathed deeply of the dusty desert air. "I seek to build something new, to create a civilization where once there were but tribes clinging to the fringe of existence. I would not harm one of my subjects, but less for morality's sake than out of simple practicality."
"This is a cold decision," said Storyteller.
"These are cold times. The old world was a fine place for saints, but our world needs demons more." Conqueror swung back to Storyteller. "I have not been fully forthright with you. You were not brought here for them, but for me."
"I don't understand," said Storyteller.
"You know things about the world as it was, things I want to know as well. That's why you are here." Conqueror walked back to the door leading into the palace. "You wanted to know how long you must stay? Very well. You will not stay here forever. I will keep you long enough to entertain my subjects - perhaps six months, or nine, or a year - and then my men will take you safely back to the wastelands. In return for this most rare of favors, you will grant me your invaluable assistance."
Storyteller walked over to Conqueror. "How am I to assist you?"
"You lived in this area once, did you not?" said Conqueror.
"That I did," said Storyteller.
"There is something we found under the capital," said Conqueror. "Something that defies all explanation. But if you can explain it to me, my little songbird, then you will surely fly again."