1. The birth of a bastard and the gates of Sodom.

The dark sky lay low above the tent, a herald so often of ill, lashing the world with a freezing hail of rain. The screams of a woman barely competed with the mighty thunderclaps for the ear of God. Soon enough the crying of a baby replaced the anguish. The clouds roiled above, forming hideous shapes for a fleeting time.

A woman, bent and crying staggered from the tent. She collapsed in the cold mud, writhing and wailing to the sky, calling upon beasts and demons to take her misbegotten son from the world. An old nursemaid walked into the teeth of the storm, holding the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. She bent low to the mad woman and whispered as though a lullaby.

‘This baby is the son of a dead man. He has no right in the world, judged before he was born. Your crime is his fate, you whore who lay with a murderer. You will make no mother to this child, nor any. I will carry out this duty, and never speak of it again. This doomed child will be delivered to King Ebrahm of Sodom. From then his life will be guarded and no one will know of his heritage.

Your life is forfeit for your acts. No place is left for you in this world or the next.’

The old woman turned in silence and walked away, leaving the howling woman to cry havoc at the cold, uncaring sky.

The road to the great city of Sodom was twisted and broken, with many bridges and fords. The way was rarely blocked, but was always difficult. There were no crossroads, neither right nor left, but long was the way, and hard. The woman walked the light of the rising sun at her back, trekking through a dark wood. The babe made no sound to alert the hungry she-wolves of the region to their presence. Leaving the mountains behind they appeared on a plain, dominated by the creation of man. The mighty city of Sodom was arrayed there in illuminated glory.

The plain was split into a poor patchwork of fields, but they made nothing of use. The broken down farmhouses had stood long unused, and the fields were high with weed, strangling the corn and thriving in the sunlight. Sheep wandered here and there, grazing where they may. Carcasses lay around about, feeding the flocks of carrion crows which circled in the clear air. For all the farms there were no farm hands, save a few men in the distance digging at a field. As the old woman approached she saw they were tied together with chains, and were being made to work by the tickle of a lash. The slave driver was a man who took great pleasure in his work, screaming at the workers to work harder, faster. He paid no attention to the road or to the woman. She looked around, and saw four fields ploughed thus, and not one was being planted. They lay fallow, a short time testament to the work of the slaves. A shadow darkened her eyes, and she looked up at the city.

The walls of the city were high, as to hold the world at bay. Towers rose high around the wall, and in the centre of the city one tower of such height that it’s top was lost in cloud. At such distance she could not see that the structure was still under construction, it’s flanks covered with many tiny people working there. Three walls split the city, the final division creating an inner sanctum that was impregnable by any enemy. In the first circle the houses were many and simple. In the second, few and extravagant, and in the third circle of the city there was but one construction, and that was the tower. From the towers that ringed the outer wall many banners hung, proclaiming the greatness of the Sodomites. The city was ringed on three sides by a river, snaking around the perimeter in a glittering crescent. The main gate bridged this river, giving access to the city. The gates were open, allowing all manner of traffic in and out of the city.

As the woman approached the walls rising high on either hand, she looked for guards to speak to. Two men sat at the roadside, paying no heed to the traffic on the road. They were loosely wearing uniforms of the same sickly purple as the banners on the wall. The old woman approached one slowly. She greeted him, but he appeared not to hear. He was engrossed in a gambling contest with his fellow, and should an army march past three feet away, he would still demand payment. She persisted, edging forward with the baby in her arms. Evidently, the guard lost the hand to his friend, and turned with clouded eyes to the woman.

‘What do you want, crone?’

‘I seek audience with the King. Could you tell me where to find him?’

‘That depends. What is it worth?’

Taken aback, the woman stuttered. ‘Ah, I, I have no money.’

‘Food then,’ shrugged the guard, losing what little patience he had.

‘I have this small sweetmeat, but I was saving it for the baby.’ Before she could protest, he had snatched it, and wolfed it down. Licking his fingers, he pointed at the gate.

‘The tower in the middle of the city. You can’t miss it.’ The guard turned back to his game, laying down his coin.

The woman walked under the huge gate, noting that the sentry boxes at both ends of the bridge were empty, as were the windows of the towers overlooking it. She hugged the baby boy close, and walked slowly into the city of Sodom.

2. Journey through the Cursed Place

The bustle of the street, which made the baby whimper to hear, made little sense to the woman. She had seen sizeable towns in her time, and all of them operated with some kind of loose order. Not so here. All around people were shouting, gesturing, exchanging goods or coin. People crowded everywhere, and no one parted to allow her through. While waiting for one man, who was in heated barter over the value of his daughter, to stand aside for her she watched as a woman in a long blue gown stole a purse from the belt of a man. The man was in the nefarious process of stuffing as many glittery trinkets from a stall into his pockets as he could, so he didn’t miss the loss. The tender of the stall was receiving a handful of gold coins for a tiara studded with stones all the colours of the rainbow, and when an emerald fell off he hastily brushed it aside.

A shout louder than that of the normal noise spun the woman around, and she watched as two men, after shouting at each other from adjacent windows in the houses at the roadside, stormed out into the street and began pounding each other with their fists. She knew not why they were doing it, and she suspected that they had less idea than her. Holding her head low, to see any hands drifting near, she walked into the city.

‘People? I call them beasts. Animals of the lowest order,’ said a voice at the woman’s ear. She turned, and saw a slight man in a baggy cloak talking to her from the side o his mouth. ‘Creatures not fit to bear the epithet man, nor woman either. He who values gold above all else will be sorely disappointed, for metal will not soften the grave.’ The woman tried to nod politely and pass on, but the man scurried after her and kept talking. ‘Who steals from the rich merely makes himself a target for thieves in his turn. Thieves are often enterprising poor men, making poor from the enterprising rich. Do you see the paradox that they are acting out, like poor blind clowns on this small stage of theirs? It is a curse that no one sees the truth but I. Come with me, I can show you true wealth. If you have on your person anything of value keep it guarded. That goes for the young one too, I hear they fetch a high price indeed from those who buy such heinous goods.’

The old woman walked beside the man, who scuttled through the crowd without touching anyone. She had no such skill, and bumped and apologised her way after him, too confused by the calamity of the place to wonder whether what she was doing was wise. He ushered her though a door with glances to the left and to the right. They were in a low room, with candles on the walls that cast flickering shadows on the walls, turning them into hideous twisted demons.

The man stood across the room, looking at her standing clutching the baby in her arms as though she were bent under the lash of a cruel storm. He smiled to himself, an expression much like the owner when the cat chases a string ball.

‘I said I would show you true riches, did I not? Do you wish to see?’

The old woman shuffled on the spot, suddenly uneasy under the zealot gaze of the man. His smile widened and he gestured at the door.

‘Them!’ he spat, they out there have no knowledge of the truth. To them a bigger meal, a finer wine, a little promiscuity, or better yet a lot, is all that they need to be happy. Do you know how much that pains me to watch? To see men and women so wrapped up in the chase for the raindrop in the oasis that they have no eyes for what they must really see.’

The woman looked blankly at him, gently shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He seemed to remember himself for a moment, and pushed a chair towards her before continuing.

‘I see you think I speak in riddles, and perhaps I do. What I say is not for all, because if it were it would be dilute, a footprint after the passing. I speak of happiness. Did you see, as you came here through the city, how people were engaged? In vice mostly, not a virtuous soul among them. They have no chance of virtue, because true virtue is to exercise the reason we were granted by God. They are as swine, rooting in manure until the only thing they know is the differing odours of excrement. I have seen such things, and one such I would do well to tell you. It has to do with a babe, much like the child you cradle as your own. I saw a baby crawl to the edge of the town wishing well, where the fools fling coin to temp their false gods to act. It had seen the glittering things, and with such innocent curiosity wanted to know what it was that shone thus. I saw it fall, head first into the water. Before it could struggle, rise to the surface it had grasped a handful of coins. It’s hands were those of a baby, small and delicate. He held no more than two coins in his hand. I saw this, and as I watched a man ran forward, grabbed the baby in the water and prised the coins from the fingers. Then he fled, or departed as though he considered no crime committed. I made haste to the waters edge, but I am sorry to say that I was to late. Not only this, but I was passing the spot some weeks later when I heard it referred to as the most lucky of wells, where the gods impart gifts of gold on their faithful. These people would rather gain by the death of an innocent than save a stranger. That is the curse of this city, and that is why you must be careful in your dealing with everyone. Each and every man, woman and child outside that door is intent of prospering no matter what. It is a dangerous situation to be in. This is a city of beasts, a rotten Eden of false happiness and bastard knowledge. They have abandoned God and reason, the pillars of humanity. With both one is strong, with one life is clear, with neither there is no hope. I weep for the city, and try to light the way of reason for those who would hear me. Please, go now and mind what I have told you here.’

He turned away from the woman, who sat for a few seconds in silence before quietly moving out into the searing sunlight. She looked at the milling crowd, and the noise melded to the chatter of the jungle.

She had little time to listen, as she walked close to the side of the road a heavy wooden frame fell to earth beside her, shattering into many small pieces. The painting that had resided in it crumpled in the dust, obscuring it’s subject. It was closely followed, not form the sky but from a door, by a man clearly in a rage. All covered in paint he ranted and raved to anyone and no one about his lost muse, cursing the heavens and earth for producing such foul creatures. The man sized a brush from behind his ear, waving it, gesticulating his words to an audience which gathered. The woman listened, hearing how he had spent many long nights at the easel, painting a woman, only to have his work mocked when he had finished. Such was his rage that he set light to the painting there in the street, and ran inside, throwing more out of the upper window to add to the blaze of his life’s work. He leant out of the window, when all his pieces were less than the blank canvas, breathing in the smoke of his own ruin. The woman sighed at the inability of men to deal with what must come naturally to all other beasts and then she turned her back on the smouldering pile of ash, and made for the centre of the city.

The next cause for pause in her track was the sight of someone perched high on a seat, twice as tall as a man. He seemed content, waving his arms as he spoke to a small group of people and the unwilling audience of pickpockets that gather around any group. Such was the spectacle that the woman stopped yet again to listen to what he said. The sky was darkening towards purple, but torches were being lit throughout the city, and night would have to be deep indeed to quell the city’s fire.

‘I say our so-called king is no more than a swineherd, throwing swill out when the mood takes him. He has no knowledge. If you were to ask him what beauty is, would he be able to tell you? I think not. In matters of justice, if there is such a thing within these walls, he has the base of a cutpurse. Why does he rule, will someone please tell me?’

From the group arranged at his feet, a gaggle of faces lit by dancing shadows, a voice cracked and old spoke.

‘I am wise in the way of things. If there was no king, who would rule? It may seem simple to you, but you are not king. Fishing to me is a formality, and yet I have caught nothing. Until you are in a position to do a better job, do not mock your betters.’

‘Betters? Pah! The fishers of which you spoke are better than he, for they have skill in what they do. Fish on the plate is evidence of this. What evidence do we have that this charlatan we call sire is doing his job?’

‘We are here and go on, that is the evidence. With no shepherd, does the flock not wander?’

‘From such pasture as this? I think not.’

‘Indeed, and why do we have this pasture if not for the rule of our king?’

‘From the hands of the workers, of the people. We live in a city of blind men, ruled by a man with one eye. He uses that eye to see those who would oppose him and put an end to them.’

‘Is that why you sit so high? To see the assassins as they come?’

‘You said that you are wise. On what do you base that?’

‘I am wise because people ask and I answer true.’

‘True indeed? And how is it you know the truth?’

‘Through my sense, is how.’

‘And your sense, is it special to you? Do no others have this sense?’

‘It is the sense common to all, if only they would know it.’

‘How can they know it if they have no knowledge of it? Then I will ask you a question, and if you answer true you will be worthy in my eyes to rule this city.’

‘Then ask, but I want no such post.’

Darkness encroached as the two men spoke rings around each other into the night. Steadily the crowd dwindled to nothing, people going to seek pleasures of their own. The woman stood at the wayside, watching and listening as the old men argued the colour of air with each other. In time the baby in her arms grumbled and reminded her that philosophy alone can not maintain a person.

All freehouses were full, no inns had a room. She carried th baby around the city, knocking on doors as he night wore on. Eventually she found a lit house with open door. Knocking, she entered. Inside, under the eaves of the room were eaves of a tree. It was as wizened as a vine, twisted as an old man and crooked as history. The small tree bore one fruit, an orange pink sphere, shiny skin and full, as though it had sucked every last drop of life from the tree in order to grow. She stood looking at this, and didn’t notice as she as approached by a woman in a white smock.

‘Hello, welcome. How may we help you?’

‘I need rest for me and the baby here, that is all.’

‘I see, you shall have it.’

‘Thank you, thank you very much. There is precious little charity in this city for one such as I.’

‘There is little of anything not taken here. You have found the last remnant of the old city. Here we care for others, without pride of prejudice.’

‘I am pleased to hear it. Please, why do you keep this tree alive here?’

‘It is the first, the oldest tree. It is our centre, our link in this place of fear and hidden evil to the Creation.’

‘I see, and the fruit?’

‘We have no rules, bar one. Do not touch the fruit of the tree. It is a simple rule, one which we are trying to make up for the breaking of.’

‘I will respect your wishes, as to break the fruit from the tree would ruin something of beauty.’

The woman nodded her thanks, and showed the couple to a straw pallet at the side of the room with the tree in. Night drew in, and sleep was about to take them when a creature scurried into the room and snatched the big fruit from the tree. The woman awoke with shock, watching the dirty little demon, child, goblin flee. The babe in her arms let out a plaintive cry, and the room was suddenly full of anxious people looking closely at the tree. It seemed that the fruit had indeed contained all the life that the tree had to give. It was dead, a stick in dirt. The house was no longer bright, the people were lost. She left quietly, and saw in the street outside a pile of chewed fruitflesh. Bending down she pulled a handful of seeds from it, and returned. The house was still empty, but the people held the seeds dear and left that night to plant the tree anew elsewhere.

A man was sitting next to a wall not far from the scene, tutting to himself.

‘It’s a real shame, it is I say,’ he muttered when the woman got into earshot. She turned to look at him, a person more sack than man.

‘Did you know them?’ she asked him.

‘No! I didn’t. That is what I’m saying. I don’t need to know them to be sorry for their loss. It’s not as though I am so inhuman that I have a desire to see others in pain, and if they are I am unhappy. Most are you see. Most can go on, not looking left or right, not looking beyond the end of their noses. But for me, I can’t look beyond my own nose. I cannot see my nose, nor my hands or feet.’ The woman looked closer and saw he was indeed blind, white irises peeping from beneath hair like a bush.

‘Are you a resident of these parts?’ he asked.

‘No sir, I am not. Nothing but a poor traveller.’

‘Heh,’ he chuckled, ‘do not be worrying, I’m not a beggar yet. A beggar only lives if begging yields results, and I fear that in this city no amount of asking can get charity. It begets itself, like flame in dry grass. No one cares for them, so they care for no one. It’s a state that I cannot foresee lasting, since why try and live separate in a place full of people. Each one is a hermit in their own mind, not letting anyone else get a look in for fear that they will steal what they see. People die of small things here. No care, you see. No hospitals or doctors. How could there be? Hospitals make no profit, and doctors do their good work out of sympathy. That is what this city has none of, sympathy.’

‘I see sir. You may not claim to be a beggar, but I think you are a more cunning beggar than most. All your talk of sympathy is a ruse to part me with what little coin I possess, and it will not work. Good night.’

The woman walked away, and from the ground the man sighed despairingly.

3. The Palace Of Vice

She was careful not to speak to anyone, not to look at anyone and not to let one that she was new to the city. Because of this it took all morning to get to the gates of the castle, as the roads wound cunningly, funnelling people into dens of vice buried at the foot of temples to false gods. Finally she came upon a plaza in front of the palace gates. It was a wide expanse of paving slabs, which had obviously been very rich in the past, but now they were dry, brown and cracked. She walked slowly towards the gate and the dozing guard there. The babe in her arms started to whine, waking the solider with a start. He took one look at the two people approaching him and reached for his spear.

‘Stands fast!’ he ordered, grinning a black, toothless grin. ‘And where do you think you are going, eh old mother?’

‘I dare say you never had a mother, and if I were she I would not have let you live so long. I have business with the King, and you will let me in.’

‘Oh is that so? And what makes you think I’d want to do that, much less that I would do that?’

‘Because it’s easier sitting there on that seat than trying to scrape a living begging in the gutters. But if you think you can do better than the other miserable wretches in this place please feel free to ban my entrance.’

The guard looked over her face, trying to see if there was any hint of falsehood in her eyes. All he saw there was darkness, a flinty will to do whatever was needed. He had everything to lose and nothing to gain by stopping her. There were other guards inside, she could be their problem.

‘Of course, please, go in.’ He pulled the gate open and ushered them through, standing just close enough to get away with coin.

The old woman stood at the entrance of the palace grounds in dumbstruck shock. There were great swaths of grass, real green grass, and huge trees in tight copses close to the wall. The palace itself was barely visible through the undergrowth. A gravel path led away into the green-shaded tunnels of foliage. Greeted by the lazy buzz of insects and the contented songs of many birds she walked in wonder into the grounds of the palace of the King of Sodom.

She was quickly rounded up in her wandering by two men in fine silk garments. They inquired as to her purpose, and, nodding knowing acquiescence all the while, guided her into the palace.

She found herself in the throne room, standing before the King himself. The man sat with an easy nonchalance in the throne, just low enough to suggest that he was not taking her too seriously. A couple of young women were draped around his feet, fawning over him with total sincerity. The fractured sunlight splashed the scene from a huge round window in the wall behind the throne, dazzling anyone standing in the middle of the hall. There were tapestries down each side of the room depicting many things, most of which were wholly unsuitable for private display. The old woman stood, her eyes fixed on a point on the floor three feet ahead. As the King raised a heavily jewelled hand he said spoke.

‘Speak,’ he said, imperiously.

‘Your highness, I have come on a long journey to ask you to dos something for me. Here is a child, fresh to the world, and I cannot look after him any longer. He is not my own, and his mother, the Devil take her soul, is dead some three weeks.’

The King raised himself in his seat, looking closely at the woman, and the child.

‘You want to ask me to take your child? Well of course no. Where did you ever get such a foolish notion? If I started taking in strays the beggars would move from the streets into my palace, they would be kings and I would be common. This, as I am sure you can understand, I cannot allow. You have had a wasted journey, and you may stay one night in my palace. Now begone.’ He waved his hand, and two guards stepped forward to escort the woman out the throne room, wholly deflated.

They took her to a room in the palace which was empty but for a bed and there they left her without a word. She stood for some time in the doorway, trying to rearrange what had happened in her mind. She now had no choice but to leave the city in the morning and move on to somewhere new. Perhaps it had been a foolish idea to try and give the child to a King. After all, a king is no better a person than a farmer, and there were many more farmers to choose from than kings. Her mind remaid she sat on the bed and nursed the child, speaking gently to him.

‘Well, look at where we have got ourselves now. Never thought we’d make it, that’s for sure. All those strange people in the city, I was certain we’d be turned away. And turned away we have been, young one, so it looks like you’re stuck with me for a little longer.’

She looked up sharply as there was knock at the door. A woman stood there, holding a bucket of water and a pile of towels.

‘I was sent to offer you a break. The king requests your company in his dining room. I am to look after the child until you return.’

‘I’m sorry, but I am not leaving him with you or anyone. The King will just have to wait until he’s asleep, then I will bring him along.’

‘The King is not used being told to wait. Might I suggest that you do as he says. I assure you, I will take the greatest care of your child—’

‘He’s not mine! He’s not mine.’ The old woman stopped herself, looking over the lady in the doorway. She had not liked the tone of the request, and was wise enough to realise that refusal was not an option while she was staying in the palace. Relenting, she stepped out of the doorway and let the lady in.

‘Ask a guard to take you to the king’s dining room, and we’ll be here when you return, all clean and rested.’

Nodding sharply, the old woman did as she had been asked and was soon in the presence of the King once more. There was a table loaded down by every sort of food imaginable, all stacked high on silver platters. The King was nibbling on a plate of food when she was guided in. He waved her to sit and eat before speaking.

‘I am intrigued, who is this child?’ he asked, staring at her from under long black hair. Carefully returning the look for a few moments she replied.

‘He’s a baby. Who can say who he is? He’s as decent a child as I have known, but the measure of a man cannot be taken yet. If I had to say who he was, I’d say a clean slate.’

‘And you would not mind giving him up? I have heard of the strong connection between mother and son. Alas, I have not experienced it, and my wife cannot beget children. That is why I wish to speak to you further.’

‘But, your majesty, you already passed judgement. We are to leave tomorrow.’

‘Many things here are not as they first appear. I said I would not have it seen that I am taking in all manner of waifs and strays. A private arrangement would avoid that, and it could also be said that my wife has given me an heir at long last. The Gods know I have given them much for such an event as this, and here they repay me tenfold. I will raise the child as my own, and he will rule this great city and all the surrounding lands after I am gone. What do you say?’

‘Thank you. I will be a weight off both our lives knowing he is in a safe home. If I may be so bold, could I meet your wife, sire? You can understand, I am sure, that I would like to see the lady who will be raising the child.’

‘Indeed, I can understand this. She is, however, indisposed at present. Now the matter it settled I will leave you to your meal. Please feel free to eat your fill, as you can se, we have plenty. I shall see you tomorrow, good night.’

The king rose and departed, his orange robe flowing in his wake. The woman was anxious to return to the child and left soon afterwards. She did not feel comfortable around such opulence as she had seen.