Future Americas Page 3

  The air was dank, thick with odors and old things. We went up another set of crumbling stone steps, the lantern leading the way, until we came out onto a wide stone floor, which was beneath the dome. I felt my head go back, looking up overhead, at the dome, and with the awe of seeing what the ancients were able to do, there was a tinge of fear, feeling that the tons of stone above me could collapse at any second. Micah stood next to me, looking up as well, the lantern in his hand.

  ‘‘Don’t worry,’’ he said

  ‘‘Worry about what?’’

  He laughed. ‘‘Every tourist thinks the same. That the dome will collapse on them and kill them. Don’t worry. It’s been up for centuries, and it’ll be up for centuries more. The ancients—’’ and then there was a note of pride in his voice, ‘‘—my ancestors, they built this place well. They built it to last.’’

  And then he looked to me. ‘‘One wishes, sometimes, that other things they built lasted as long. Come, let’s take a look around.’’

  We walked further across the stone floor, and despite its age, I had to admire the handiwork that went into it. There were other tourists in here as well, accompanied by other guides, all wearing the same yellow scarf as Micah. Up above on the walls were heavy wooden frames, empty although it looked like they once held paintings. There were statues there as well, most of them shattered and broken and on their sides. I looked and saw that all had their faces disfigured, like they had been the focus of some rage, so many years ago.

  ‘‘Who were these people?’’ I asked.

  Micah said, ‘‘Oh, the great ones. We don’t know their names, or who they are, or what they did. But this building, being so big and ornate, they must have been very important.’’

  I followed Micah as we went down a long hallway, filled with more broken statues, more empty picture frames, and then I saw something odd. There was one statue, standing by itself, but it wasn’t broken, or torn down. It stood there and I felt chilled. It wasn’t fully human, that was or sure. There were offerings of some sort at the base of the statue, fruit and nuts and flowers from the jungle.

  ‘‘What is this?’’ I asked, standing still, looking at the form. It was tall and had a folded, leathery skin, with some sort of square shape at its rear. There was a human head on top of the shoulders, but its arms . . . held another head, it seemed. A blank, bulbuous head, held in its arms, like some sort of trophy.

  ‘‘No one knows,’’ Micah said. ‘‘Most people think he was a shaman, or a priest, or some mighty hunter . . . and that he carries the head of some monster in his arms, a monster he had killed.’’

  I looked again at the brave face of the man. ‘‘So that’s why his statue was left alone.’’

  ‘‘Maybe so. My father’s father told me that even back then, people left the statue alone.’’

  We continued down the wide hallway, our footsteps and others echoing on the stone. Torches had been placed along the walls, lighting up the way. Birds still flew overhead, and I unbuttoned two more buttons on my tunic. It was still very hot and muggy, and I wiped again at the sweat dripping down my forehead. Up ahead, the hallway seemed to widen some, and there was a crowd of tourists, and some beggars as well that must have snuck in past the keepers at the entranceway, but no one molested us as we went through an open arch. We were now in a great room, with balconies overhead, some of the stonework having fallen down. There were rows of benches of some sort before us, torn up, shattered, lying in heaps. At the other side of the room was a large rostrum or higher place, and other tour guides moved their small collection of visitors among the ruined benches and tables.

  Micah took a breath. ‘‘This is where we think the people’s assembly met. At least, that’s what the old stories and legends tell us.’’

  I looked around at the size of the room. ‘‘There must have been hundreds of them, to fit in such a space.’’

  ‘‘Yes, you’re right,’’ he said.

  ‘‘It must have been a large empire, back then,’’ I said.

  Micah replied, a bit of pride in his voice. ‘‘Greatest in the world.’’

  ‘‘Are . . . are there other places like this among the ruins?’’

  ‘‘Yes, on the other side of this complex. A smaller room, but set up the same, with a raised platform. Some feel that’s where the judges held court, or another assembly, perhaps representing other groups of people.’’

  ‘‘How fascinating,’’ I said, and I meant it. Micah rubbed at his chin and said, ‘‘May I ask you a question, sire?’’

  ‘‘Of course.’’

  ‘‘Your empire . . . isn’t there an assembly, similar to this?’’

  ‘‘Not really,’’ I said. ‘‘We have . . . a council of sorts. Of elders from our tribes, clans and the cities. They advise the emperor, but, of course, it’s up to him to decide whether he accepts their advice. More often than not, he does. Our elders . . . they’re wise. They know the lands, they know our peoples . . . and you folks, what do you have?’’

  Micah seemed to grimace. ‘‘We have Prez Thomas III. And the Prez is selected by a group called the College.’’

  ‘‘College? Like a university?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ he said, shaking his head. ‘‘This College is made up of guild masters, traders, and the like. And every eight years, they meet and select the Prez.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ I said. ‘‘And how long has Thomas III been Prez?’’

  ‘‘My entire life,’’ Micah said. ‘‘Look, would you like to see the other assembly room? It’s on the other side.’’

  ‘‘Is it like this one?’’

  ‘‘No, much smaller.’’

  By now I was getting tired of being indoors, among the gloomy stones, the sounds of water dripping, the fluttering of the birds overhead. I wanted to be outside, as hot as it was.

  ‘‘No, let’s move on.’’

  ‘‘Fine,’’ he said.

  After retracing our steps, we returned the lantern to the gatekeepers and resumed our walk down the wide stone steps. There were pools of water before us, and wide packed dirt roads, and more buildings, lining each side of a wide and long field that was kept close-cropped. We walked down more series of crumbling stone steps until we reached the ground, and by now I had my tunic almost unbuttoned all the way.

  ‘‘It’s so hot!’’ I said, wiping at my face with a kerchief. ‘‘How could any empire be governed from such a hot place?’’

  Micah smiled. ‘‘And this isn’t the hot season, not quite yet. Well, there are stories and legends, that this whole area had once been cooler, with more land, which I think is true. Some of the fishing craft, out in the bays and channels, their nets often drag up old pieces of metal and stonework from the ancients. There are a few stories that this place even had frozen water during the cooler months, if you can believe that.’’

  I wiped again at my face. ‘‘That would be a change now, a change I would like.’’

  He turned to me. ‘‘Is it true, up north, that the water sometimes falls from the sky, frozen?’’

  ‘‘Quite true. Even where I live, the water falls like that. We call it snow. In fact, some of our clans, they have more than thirty names for diffe
rent kinds of snow.’’

  Micah shook his head. ‘‘Frozen water . . . I see it in cooled drinks, on occasion, but to think of it on the ground and in the air . . . not natural.’’

  We plodded along in the heat and on either side were more ruined buildings. I asked Micah about them and he said, ‘‘A few of them, we think, were temples or exhibit halls. There were old things in some of them . . . bones and stones from long, long ago. One temple had some paintings of flying machines, made from metal. And in that one temple . . . ships that traveled off the world, into space.’’

  I wiped my face one more time. ‘‘I’ve heard those tales as well.’’

  The tone of his voice changed. ‘‘They are not tales. The old ones here, they traveled off world.’’

  I said, ‘‘Well . . . some of our science men, they know that they sent instruments and such off world . . . but to think people traveled there . . . they believe it’s just tales, or imaginings . . .’’

  Micah stopped and gently took the bottle of water from me, took a sip, and said, ‘‘My grandfather . . . he told me once . . . that when he was a boy, an elder, who was part of the College, let him touch a stone from one of these buildings, a stone that came from the moon.’’

  ‘‘The moon?’’ I couldn’t help myself, I chuckled. Tour guides . . . how ignorant do they think tourists can be? I took the bottle and after wiping the opening clean with my hand, took a warm swallow of the water and then recapped it. ‘‘If you say so . . . but these buildings, is there anything of interest to see?’’

  Micah resumed walking. ‘‘Perhaps, but after we visit the temple at the end of this walk, then we’ll see how much time is left. Some of these buildings are nothing but empty rooms, with nothing much of interest.’’

  We walked and walked in the heat, sometimes followed by young bands of boys and girls, trying to beg or sell us hand-carved souvenirs, but with a few shouts from Micah, and their eyeing of my sash, they left us alone.

  As we passed another open pool of water, the passing breeze brought cooking smells to me, and my stomach grumbled. In the heat, I had forgotten how hungry I was getting. By the shores of the pond stalls had been set up, with all types of food being served. Most of the people at the stalls seemed to be locals, and I looked to Micah and he said, ‘‘Are you hungry, sire?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I am . . . but it seems that these stalls are only for . . . the ones who live here.’’

  Micah smiled. ‘‘True, sire . . . and at the far, far end of these ruins, are restaurants for visitors, but if you wish to have a local meal, well, I recommend these places. The food is fresh and satisfying.’’

  We walked closer to the stalls, my stomach grumbling even louder, and Micah said, ‘‘If you allow, I will go there and get something for you. Will that be acceptable?’’

  ‘‘Quite,’’ I said, finding a large boulder underneath a palm tree that was shaded. I sat down and stretched my legs, and Micah stood there, not moving.

  ‘‘Yes?’’

  His face was set. ‘‘My apologies, sire. Perhaps I did not make myself clear. This food is for sale. If you wish some, I must politely ask you for some money.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ I felt even more warm and foolish. I reached into my side pouch and asked, ‘‘Will a brass sovereign be acceptable?’’

  He nodded, took it from my hand, and then he walked away. Then something came to me and I called out, ‘‘Micah!’’

  He turned. ‘‘Sire?’’

  ‘‘Is . . . is there enough there to buy something for you as well?’’

  A faint nod. I called out again. ‘‘Then do so.’’

  And then he moved into the crowd.

  I sat there in the heat, legs stretched out, took another swallow from the water bottle, gauged the time by the placement of the sun. As much as I would have liked to see the other ruins, time was getting on. Father kept a fairly regular schedule with his meetings, and I wanted to make sure I was back to our room in plenty of time . . . so it would probably be the temple at the end of this mowed area, and then back to the pedicab and the hotel.

  A young boy approached, about the age of my youngest sister. He was wearing a tunic that looked like it had been a sack for holding grain or vegetables, with a length of cord as a belt. His feet were bare, caked with dirt, and his brown arms were covered with scratches. One of his eyes were cloudy, like it had been injured at an earlier age. In his hands, he held out a wood carving.

  ‘‘Sir, sir, sir,’’ he said. I barely understood his words. ‘‘Please, please, please.’’

  He held out the carving, and I took it in my hands. The workmanship was remarkable, showing a man’s head, like a tiny bust, in dark wood. I looked again at the little boy, snot running down his nose, and I took in the ruins. Centuries ago, his ancestors had built and populated this place, and even had ruled most of the world, if the old stories and fragments of books were to be believed. And now? He and his kind were poor, diseased and corrupt, scrabbling for life among the ruins of such glory. Even in the heat, I felt chilled.

  ‘‘Please, please, please,’’ he said again.

  I began to look at it even closer when there was a shout and Micah approached, carrying a small bag. The boy snatched the carving from my hand and ran away, and when Micah reached me, I saw his face was flushed.

  I stood up. ‘‘It’s all right, no need to be angry . . . the boy wasn’t bothering me.’’

  I could sense Micah trying to control some anger, and he bowed for a moment. ‘‘Forgive me, sire. I wasn’t angry with the boy. I was angry with you.’’

  I was shocked. ‘‘Me? Whatever for?’’

  Micah said, ‘‘If one of the gatekeepers saw what was going on . . . the boy bothering you as you sat there, with the white sash, then the boy would have been in the cane fields by this evening hour.’’

  ‘‘He wasn’t bothering me!’’

  Micah said, ‘‘It doesn’t matter. All here know the law, especially what it means, for one to wear the white sash. You should have known better, sire . . . and not put his life in jeopardy.’’

  I said nothing else for a few moments.

  Our meal was cold drinks of some sort of fruit mixture, and bits of meat and vegetables, cooked on a long skewer of wood. The food was tasty and spicy, like nothing else I had ever eaten, and I asked Micah what the meat was, and he demurred. ‘‘Hard to explain, sire. Just enjoy the taste, and leave it at that.’’

  When we were finished, we resumed our walking, and we came up to a small rise of land, and at the top of the rise was a collection of square stones, tumbled in one place. Micah pointed to them and said, ‘‘My grandfather told me that his grandfather told him that years ago, a mighty stone column stood here, rising up to the sky. No one knew who it was built for . . . just a great man, many, many centuries ago. . . .’’

  I eyed the pile of stones as we walked past. ‘‘What happened to it, then?’’

  Micah said, ‘‘One of Prez Thomas III’s predecessors, many years ago, tore it down for the stone to build his own monuments.’’ He pointed off to the right. ‘‘There was a place over there, before I was born, where another monument was found . . . buried under stone and dirt and weeds. Flat stone that had letters carved in it . . . names, it seemed like. That stone, too, was removed for other purposes.’’

  Now we were skir
ting around a pond that was rectangular in shape, moving toward a building that Micah called the temple, at the other end of the pond. I said to him, ‘‘Micah . . . then who owns this place? And why hasn’t more stone been removed?’’

  ‘‘Prez Thomas III . . . his great-great-great grandfather, Prez George II, ruled during a time when trade was increasing . . . with your empire and other lands, and he sensed that tourists would enjoy coming here, and spending money, and learning about the city of Tomac . . . and so he issued a decree. This area of ruins was to be protected, as best as we can afford.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ I said.

  We came closer to the temple, and crossed a boulevard of packed dirt and broken stone, and then approached another set of stone steps. We walked up the steps, most of them cracked and shattered, and before me I saw an incredible sight. The temple was open to the outside, with pillars before us, and hidden in the shadows, beyond the pillars, was a huge statue of a seated man, staring out at us. He sat in a giant stone throne, staring out, wearing a coat and trousers and boots, his giant hands resting on each side of his throne. His face was somber, looking out with an old but knowing gaze. His eyes were firm but tender, and he had a beard, but no moustache. It was odd, I had the strangest feeling I had seen him before, and then I recalled: the young beggar from just a while ago, with the carving. The carving had been of this man’s face. I looked up at him and even with the tourists, the place was quiet. It seemed to be one of the holiest places I had ever been.

  ‘‘Who is he?’’ I whispered.

  Micah sounded proud. ‘‘One of our ancestors, one of the great leaders. Father Abram. That’s his name. Father Abram.’’

  ‘‘What made him great?’’ I said.

  ‘‘He freed slaves,’’ Micah said simply. ‘‘All of the slaves in the empire . . . Father Abram freed them, freed them all.’’