The Hanging City
Charlie N. Holmberg
PROLOGUE
“Let me tell you about Paca’s journey to Eterellis,” the old bard says, sitting on a dried stump and drumming knobby fingers on his knees. Everyone gathers around, even the adults. I approach cautiously, still very much a newcomer in this township, even after two months. But I’m keenly fond of stories, and of learning anything this man knows that I do not.
Finnie, of an age with me at thirteen, nods encouragement. I kneel behind a cluster of children, the youngest ones shoving at each other for better seats.
One complains, “We know that story. Tell us another.”
The bard feigns shock. “But there are so few stories to tell. They all dried up with the rain, and folk are so few and far between, no one has a chance to weave new tales.”
I have stories, I think, but none of them have happy endings. Not yet. Out of habit, I look up at the emerging stars. The South Star burns brightly already; it is always the first to appear as the sun sets and never shifts from its position in the sky, ever shining the way to Eterellis, even after the city’s death.
Another child groans.
“My version is special, little ones,” the bard insists. “Listen carefully.”
He sits up straighter, pulls a seven-string mandolin onto his lap, and plays a song that is simple in melody but complex in technique. My mother had an instrument like that. I was never allowed to touch it.
“Paca was a poor woodworker,” he begins, “who wanted to marry the local lord’s daughter. Mind you, back then wood was common and didn’t have the value it has today, and lords were well known and powerful.”
I think of my father and shiver.
“And so he wrote her a poem confessing his love, pleading for just over one year’s time to make his fortune and win her hand.”
The bard begins to sing.
My love is true, my heart is yours
You deserve much more than I am
Four hundred suns, and I will come
A wealthy and affluent man
“Then Paca set out to go where any man would to seek his fortune—the great kingdom of Eterellis. Where every building touched the sky and was made of topaz and marble. Jade lined the sidewalks, and the trees grew taller than the mountains.”
I’ve imagined the dead human city many times, though the buildings were always white as sun-hot sand and the cobblestone gleamed silver. But before I can adjust the image, the bard continues.
“He traveled far over this land, crossing the rivers that once flowed and the forests that once stood. His rations grew thin, but he always managed to sell a carving or fix a wagon wheel when he grew desperate. And soon he came to the great crack of Mavaea, and the mighty Empyrean Bridge that spanned it.”
His playing takes on a darker tone.
A canyon so deep, a canyon so wide
Monsters who feast upon flesh lurk inside
On his way to the glory of man
Crossing the bridge built by ten thousand hands
“But of course, as soon as he stepped onto the bridge—”
“The troll came out,” interrupts the first child, his tone bored. His friends snicker.
“Two trolls came out.” The bard sounds smug at the soft correction, and I smile to myself. He waits for his small audience to quiet before continuing. “Two trolls came out, their tusks sharp in their mouths, their bodies heavy and green as moss.
“The one on the right said, ‘Human, give us all you have of worth if you want to cross the bridge. That is the toll of the trolls.’
“Paca, though afraid, held his ground. ‘But if I do not give it to you, you will kill me where I stand and take it anyway.’
“The troll chuckled. ‘I give my word that I will not.’
“Paca gestured to the troll on the left. ‘But he has not made the same promise.’
“The two trolls looked at one another, smiling. The troll on the left said, ‘But I may.’
“Now, Paca was very clever. He saw that these trolls were trying to be smart; he needed only be smarter than they. Or, in this case, more confusing.” The bard touches the side of his nose and glances at the interrupting boy. “And so Paca said to the left troll, ‘And then you will take all I have for yourself, and leave us both empty-handed.’
“Now the first troll narrowed his eyes, trying to follow Paca’s logic. For of course the two trolls had come out together, and thus the earnings should be split fairly. The first troll argued with the second, saying he should not take it all for himself, and the second grew angry that the first would think him a thief. Their honor came into question, and then their seniority, and finally their strength, which made it a sore discussion indeed, for trolls value nothing more than their strength.”