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The following is an excerpt from City of the Gods.
For access to the entire story, sign in or create an account to purchase this issue. Yarun woke up in a shadowed room, to the sounds of gurgling water. The noise came from a courtyard fountain he could see through the window; the fountain had the shape of the first incarnation of the Creator, the turtle which had raised the earth from the sea. Sandstone carvings of heroes watched him from the walls, with unreadable eyes. Where—?
The city. The city of the Triad, the city of the gods.
"I am glad you are awake," a voice said.
A man dressed in red, with a kindly face, sat by the bed. He might have been the same who had welcomed Yarun to the city, but Yarun could not remember very clearly what had happened.
"Water?" the man asked, and Yarun, grateful, took a copper bowl and poured cool liquid in his mouth. It burnt as it descended, burnt as if he had drunk fire.
"Easy," the man said, when Yarun grimaced. "You have gone too long without water or food."
Yarun let water trickle down his throat, and did not answer.
"My name is Rakhte," the man said. "I am a priest in this city. What brings you here?" He paused, waiting.
"Yarun. My name is Yarun."
"One of the Deicide," Rakhte said, nodding.
Yarun waited, but there came neither biting reproach nor mockery. He knew that his violet eyes would give him away to anyone, would scream to them that his ancestors had been cursed by the gods for murdering the incarnation of the Destroyer. He was used to intolerance, to hatred. But Rakhte's face had not changed expressions. It was disconcerting, especially for a priest.
"I have come to see the gods," Yarun said.
"Many do," Rakhte said. "But this city does not belong to them."
"The wanderlust led me here."
"Yes," Rakhte said. "The gift of the gods led you here. But the one and only kingdom of the gods is far away from here, Yarun, at the summit of the heart tree in the great forest."
The great forest. Once, his people had lived in the forest, had heard the voices of the gods in their dreams. Before they had the temerity to stone the incarnation of the Destroyer. Before they were cursed.
No. All this, all this journey, for nothing. For a city that was no better than a mirage. "I have to leave."
"You are not going anywhere," Rakhte said. "I have seen too many like you: all those among the Deicide who manage to reach this place. I know you make the last leg of the journey on nothing but faith. You will die if you go further."
"I'm wasting my time," Yarun said. He had come to beg forgiveness of the gods, to beg them to take away the wanderlust. To make him normal.
He tried to rise, but the world spun and spun, and he fell back with a cry against the pillows.
Rakhte shook his head. "You are not wasting your time." His silhouette had started to blur; Yarun had difficulty focusing on him. "You are recovering," Rakhte went on. "I will send someone with some food. You need to fill your stomach with more than water, young man." Excerpt from City of the Gods © Copyright 2009, Aliette de Bodard
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