Unbound

Game settings:
Huge map.
Fractal landmasses.
Random Climate.
17 random opponents.
Random Civ.
Monarch difficulty.
Quick game speed.
Ironman.
One turn, one post.

I pull myself up.

The sky is a broad smear of light--nothing clear. I feel a second skin of wet soil clinging to my back and upper arms. Something is breathing.

Something is breathing very loud.

Forms begin to resolve themselves out of the blur of light.

Nothing is breathing.

There are waves crashing just ahead of me. A steady, inviting rhythm.

I walk along the shore for a few moments, stretching out my legs.

Too tired, I think.

Then I realize that I do not know why they are tired. I don't know how I arrived here. I don't really quite know who I am.

What do I know?

I know this world is young. New, even. I can feel its youth. Feel it in the emptiness of the sky. Feel it in the pounding surf.

I wade out, letting the salt lap up to my lips and soothe the reddened skin of my torso, tender from the morning sun that took its time to wake me. Beneath the clear waters I see teeming life.

Life.

I splash back above the waves. The hills along the coastline as far as I can see are covered in deep, verdant forests.

Life.

I dig a clam from the sea bottom. Nearly as big as my hand. Too impatient to build a fire, I claw out its meat and lick it from my fingers.

Untired from the swim, I climb out of the water and walk along the pristine beach.

It's then, with the sun coming low to cradle the distant western hills, that I see it. I kneel down to be sure. I'm afraid to touch it. I don't want to spoil it.

It's a shell, or it was. Finally I pick it up and examine it, to be sure.

The tip is sharp, showing the fantastic iridescence of pearl at its point. The blunt end has been rubbed down from having been fastened.

It is a spearpoint. I am not alone.





I found them in the woods.

They stare at me with wide, dark eyes. They marvel at my red skin, seared by the open sky and the summer sun. Their own is a uniform brown. When they speak, I begin to discern the hints of words.

I know their language, but not well. How can I know it?

I know I am here for a purpose. I've been sent to them.

They call me something. "Stranger."

Foreigner. Yes, I am foreign. I try to tell them, but stop myself.

How do I tell them who I am? I don't know who I am.

They are calling me something specific. Some other tribe. "They are mighty," they tell me. They speak of spears that fly from magic sticks. I can't help but laugh.

"There is no magic," I promise them. "They are just tools."

"You are one of them!"

"No," I tell them. "You've never seen anything like me."



Several days of walking brings me back to them, the Indus-speakers on the water's edge. I have seen the others, met their neighbors. Some derivation of Persian stock and culture.

"They will not bother us here," I tell them.

"You have spoken with the other strangers?"

"But you say you are not one of them?"

"I am not one of them, but I can speak to them."

"How?"

"I can do many things," I say.

"Who are you?"

"You are not ready to know," but I know this answer will not satisfy them. "I am unbound."

"We do not understand," one tells me after conferring quickly with his peers.

"I am unbound. By time and space. I have walked on world's like this a thousand times."

And I am about to begin again. Can I really mean to do all of this again? I don't even know why, but I feel tired before I even begin. What am I?

"I am..."

"What? Who are you?"

"You must wait."

"Wait?"

"Follow me and you will know."

"Follow you?"

"Follow me, and I will make all things possible."

I see them scoff. They do not believe. But somewhere inside me I know, I know that they will. I can wait. I can watch a generation slowly grow used to watching me outlive in vigor and years their leaders. I can be patient. They will follow in time.

They always do...

I continue my work in the clearing as Abhay prattles on, filling me in on the news he has brought back from his excursion into the woods. "They are spreading out, the Persians. Most of their numbers are now on the other side of the great lake."

I continue arranging stones about the circle I have etched into the ground, glancing up to the sky from time to time to mark the darkening.

"And our own people have moved further into the jungles east, so says my brother."

"They should rejoin us. Tell your brother that when he goes east again to trade."

"You want the eastern tribe here?"

"Yes."

"But they are...more war-like."

"Yes, I know."

"Their chiefs will kill you. You have too much power here."

I stand up, failing to answer him, and stare off into the deep blue creeping up the wall of the sky. The first pinpoint of starlight has shoved its way through.

As I stare at it for a long moment, he joins me in the center of the circle.

"What is it you do here? What is the meaning of this circle?"

"Many things."

"Tell me, please," the curious young man pleads.

"A map of the heavens. I'm trying to find where we are."

"With a map of the heavens? I don't understand."

"That...out there...we're in it. We're drifting in it. It's us. We're it. It's all the same."

The map in the ground is almost complete. The plan, that is, for something bigger, something grander. I step to the edge of the plateau clearing where I have sketched it out in the earth--night after night for generations.

The stars have been speaking to me all these nights.

Long ago they started bringing small stones. Leaving them about me as I stood still in one spot, watching the stars trace their routes through the sky. Rings within the rings, like moons orbiting greater planets.

Things they can't understand. Things they will not grasp for eons.

Will I be here with them then?

Now I will tell them to bring far larger stones. I will bind them to this endeavor. I will mark our little civilization on the surface of the planet, and announce this culture to a world unready for the likes of me.

I still cannot grasp who I am, but I know that I am something terrible come into the world.

I like it so far. Please do continue!

The dry grass crunches beneath my feet. My sandals are still soggy from the harrowing river crossing.

"Boats," I mutter to myself. "We need better boats."

"What?" Lochan asks from ahead.

"Nothing, carry on."

"The people here," he explains. "They are loyal to you."

"And yet I've never come out here."

"They hear the stories. They know you are not a man."

Not a man.

"Not a man like me, like a normal man," he explains, stammering a bit as he walks forward.

"Stop," I order, and he obeys.

They always obey. Always. Flashes of other lives. Other faces. Other cities. Other peoples. Where do these voices come from? It's almost as if there's too much in my mind and I simply can't recall it all. I pick up an object and I know it. I know I have held it, know I have used it, know it can be more than what it is. Like this rock in my hand now.

"What?" Lochan asks. "What is it?"

"This rock," I answer.

"They are everywhere. The whole of these grasslands grows atop this stone."

As I hold it in the afternoon sun, it glistens. Crystals sing out in the sunlight.

"Sometimes the people of the river carve small statues from it and trade to the other tribes. You know of it?"

"Metamorphic...calcite and aragonite crystals..."

"What? What do you say?"

"Marble," I say, standing with it still in my hand. "So they are loyal to me out here."

"They are of us now," he agrees. "They are beholden to the city. The Persians, they move further and further away."

I nod, listening to the rushing water of the nearby river and the sashaying sound of the dry, yellow grasses in the breeze.

"Do you want them to carve a statue from that?" he asks.

"More than a statue, I should think."

"Almost as many as our city," the traveller reports.

The town's elders have gathered around the fire. It's orange light casts long shadows along their faces. They avoid looking at me.

They're afraid. They're all afraid.

They have seen me--just like this--since they were boys. Never aging. I speak of their grandfathers casually, as if of friends I spoke with only hours ago.

"I am unconcerned," I tell them.

"This new Persian settlement is not far south of the great lake. They will claim territory that we have called our own," an elder protests.

"I said I am not concerned. That should satisfy you for tonight. Let us eat."

"But--"

"Do you doubt me?" I bark harshly. "You believe you know better than me? Is that it? I, who am unbound?" I point to the fire. "You see that bug there? That gnat? Watch it carefully." They obey, keeping their eyes fixed on the pathetic little thing as it swoons in the heat and is consumed. "There, see how quickly its life is over! That is what your life is to mine. You think you can know better what will come? You, who has but a gnat's life?"

Everywhere on their faces, fear and resentment. Let them answer it in their envious, jealous hearts. They know I am right. I must lead, because only I can unfold a plan for their people--for my people--over the course of eons.

"What have I promised our people? I have promised them that I will rise them up from lowly savages in the woods to a great nation. I will make the whole world as this city is, and this city as only the gods can conceive."

"You surely know best," he mumbles and turns his attention to the crude dish in his hand.

I know everything. A kernel of doubt. I know it is all in my mind. I know the map to greatness is within my memory. Yet that memory is imperfect. So much lies just outside my grasp...and there is something more. Some other doubt. Something...some uncertainty. Words in other tongues that I cannot quite resolve out of the aether of my consciousness.

"Do not forget it," I tell him, and go on eating.

I wear the long purple robe the city-folk have crafted for me. It is crude, but they favor this color which they extract painstakingly from the jungles south of the great lake.

As the warriors enter the city, I do not think they are much impressed by the robe.

"Welcome, brothers," I say flatly.

I spot the leader right away. Lean, muscular. A long nose running outward, making his eyes seem almost hawk-like.

"I am Jitendra," he says. "And you are no brother of mine."

The people around me are shocked. They look at me in horror, expecting perhaps some long-withheld magic to strike out and smite him.

"Am I not?" I say. "You have known of the city for many generations, you of the eastern woods. Now, you come here welcome in the city we have built, which I have built, and you dare to insult me."

"I don't know what kind of creature you are to have seduced these people--"

"Yes, I have seduced them. Look at their faces. Look at their fine cloth. Let them show you their homes which hold out the water in the raining season, the cold in winter, the blazing sun in summer. Would you not be seduced by these things?"

"No."

"No? Perhaps your friend here?" I say, singling out the one I perceive to be the next most prominent. I could see the tension between them as they approached through the plaza. "Perhaps his woman standing behind him would like to not always travel through the woods. Perhaps their are heirs who have died in the traveling. Perhaps there are those behind you who would relish a life here, among us."

"Why do you say these things to me? Your time here is at an end. Go from this place, from all our lands," he says, trying his best to be menacing.

I laugh. The city-folk are at ease. Somehow now, they know this will end in my favor. I laugh loudly. His followers see it. They see me laughing at him and they realize something too.

"Since the time of your grandfather's grandfather, I have done what I pleased. It is I who have brought all this to these people, who have led them to build this."

"And now I hear tell you lead them to draw shapes in the sand and haul great stones for no purpose!"

I laugh again, and this time I walk past him.

I speak loudly, to my people. "No purpose." I cross back before him, casually tracing an arc in the dust with my feet. "Your grandfather once told me that, Manish," I say, addressing one of our senior villagers.

He laughs too.

"There are higher purposes. Now you stand before us, wanderer in the woods with shabby clothing, with nothing to call your own. Every man hear owns more than you. You own only wits and your club," I say, gesturing to his crude weapon. "What are you to us? What could we expect you to understand? These people know me. They know I have purposes beyond the now, purposes for their children's children. They know that as my purpose unfolds, their lives grow richer, safer, and more glorious."

"I will show you my club, fool--"

More laughter. I face him stolidly as my people chuckle at his impudence.

"There was one who tried to fight me," I tell him. "Perhaps two generations ago. An unruly young man, but a sound fighter. Tell me, warrior cheif, how long have you practiced the art of war with your club?"

"I have led my tribe for thirteen seasons!" he shouts. "And I have slain many!"

"You cannot even number them because you don't have the numbers. I cannot number my victims because they are as numberless as the stars. I have lived more seasons than you can imagine, lived whole lifetimes on other worlds. I know too much for you to ever want to fight me, little warrior chief."

"I will--"

"You will quiet yourself now!" I command in a booming voice. "You will look about and see that though you have clubs, we are many. You will look behind you and see that your people crave a life here. You will settle with us, because that is logical. You will have an important role here, warrior cheif. You will enjoy the life of the city, and you will keep the Persians mindful of our strength."

"You cannot speak to me like this."

"Do as I have said. Look behind you. Speak with your people. Speak with mine. You will see that what I have said is true."

Few more words are exchanged. I issue orders for a feast to be prepared.

Manish comes to me as the warriors gather amongst themselves, just apart from us. "There will be trouble with that one," he tells me.

"Oh yes, much trouble. And he will pass that trouble on to his son, and perhaps his son's son. But someday there will come a time when I will sit and drink and laugh with a descendent of his over today. That is how it always is."

"You worry over nothing."

I have lived and died. What do I have to fear? Yes, beneath the bluster, I feel the unease, the trepidation. What am I hiding from myself?

"Nothing," I answer.

wenamon said:

I like it so far. Please do continue!

Click to expand...

Thanks....

"There are far larger stones that could be added to the great circle on the hills. If we concentrate our labors there, then we can excavate them and move them more easily on the hills. If we find suitable stones here, then we must move it over soft ground. Much harder."

I ignore him as we move the the dappled shadows of the forest. Women with children slung over their back dig nearby. I can see some of them stealing glances, watching us talk. They must agree with him. They must all wonder. There is this steady current of resentment that seems to run through every generation. There are always leaders from among them who ask these questions, year after year. This one is called Bhaskara. Fortunately, they all die eventually.

"Game is more plentiful in these woods. Root vegetables don't grow as frequently in the harder soil on the hill. The more food we have in the village, the more outlying peoples will be drawn to it, then we will have more labor to move the circles."

"But how long will this take?"

"Oh, years and years."

"Will I never see the stone circle completed in my lifetime!" he exclaims.

I turn to him, and I don't hide the truth. He sees it in my eyes.

"Will my sons?"

"No, not even them," I answer. I'm sorry. Am I? Does it matter? Do any of them matter?

"Why? Why do you make us believe in these things? What do you receive from building up our faith? Can you tell me why?"

"No, I can't," I say. "I don't know myself. I don't know why I do this. I just do. This is what I do."

"We are your marble."

"My marble?"

"You are carving something from us."

"Yes."

"We are just material to you."

I do not answer. Bhaskara eyes me in the half-light beneath the forest canopy.

"What am I? An eye on a totem? Or am I just something you have shaved off onto the floor?"

But why did you start to build stoehenge as the first thing?

For the story? It's really good.

Awesome story. Really like the way you tell the tale. Maybe I will try to start a project like this myself - when I've done my STACKS of homework...

The ground is red.

From beneath the monolith of stone a fragile, twisted hand stretches out limply. The sun and grime have made its skin almost black.

They have all fallen silent now. One by one, their heads turn to me, their eyes fall on me. Pleading eyes.

Do they think I have the power to bring him back to life? Or do they want me to give this meaning somehow?

So many eyes.

I look at the boy's hand again. I try to remember him from among the group of workers raising the stone block. He couldn't be more than fifteen. Fifteen.

So many eyes.

"What!" I rage at them. "Did you think there'd never be any blood? Did you think it would come easily? Did I promise I would free you from the bounds of life and death?" As I am free. "No! I have promised to make of you a great people! I will raise you up. I will teach your tribe to extend its hand upward and to touch the skin of heaven! It does not mean there will be no sacrifices!"

They watch me silently.

Come and tear me to pieces. Send me to another world. I have misled you. Everything is a lie.

Then there is a wailing.

From outside the circle a smaller group is approaching, half-carrying a shrieking woman. She is young herself. Still lovely.

The mother. She collapses beside the stone, just at my feet, still wailing. Still crying out.

Some of the workers--strong men, arms like great bands of metal--are weeping at her anguish.

"We must raise the stone!" I call out, kneeling beside the bereaved woman. "Raise it so that his body can be taken from here and set atop a pyre in the center of the city. Tonight we all feast! A solemn feast in this boy's honor! Tonight we feast to honor a young life lost...lost in the cause of greatness!"

The weeping men nod and set about resetting the ropes and the levers so that the stone may be lifted.

I pull the woman up from the ground and begin to take her away from the scene.

"You will not want to see him like this," I tell her.

She wails, but in her grief she clasps onto me. "Protect his soul!" she pleads through her tears. "You can send him to a better life!"

The others are watching, listening as I take her through their midst.

"Yes, yes, he will be a prince in another world. He will live a grand life," I promise her.

"Thank you, thank you," she stammers, her eyes clenched tight over tears. "Thank you," she says on and on, her warmth against me. Real, human warmth.

My feet sink into the soft, soggy earth, troddy over the weed-like grasses stretching through the swampy flatlands. "Rice," I say to myself.

There is no one to hear.

For months I have been walking the jungles, trying to escape myself. Telling myself not to go back, telling myself to leave them be, to let them find their own way.

I know better.

I kneel down and pull the wild roots up from the ground. "Too far to use now, but someday...someday this will help."

In the city, they labor on, following my plan for the circle, following my plan for their destiny.

Leave them be.

No.

I turn, my legs still dripping as I walk back toward the canopy of the jungle, back toward the city.

"The Persians are now working the far coast of the great lake."

"They will not trouble us."

"But--"

"I have said they will not trouble us. Our concerns are with greater things. The other people's of the world are not our concern. We look upward. Someday they will bow with our people in supplication."

"What if they--"

"The forest and the jungle is too rough for them to cross now. They will not covet what is ours. In time, they will know that we are the movers of stone and they will worship at our altars. Believe me...I know what is to come..."

"How do you know?" the young man barks angrily. The others--all elders, all men I have weaned of all resistance over the course of decades--stare at him in horror.

I raise my hand to placate them. So familiar this moment.

"Have you no faith in your fathers?"

"I do."

"And your fathers' fathers?"

"Yes, but--"

"They all had faith in me."

He is quieted, but not satisfied. As the population grows larger there are too many for me to control this way. Too many. Someday enough will bind together and come at me.

You are not what you pretend to be.

There is only one way.

Leave them be.

I have brought them this far. They will falter without me. They need me. They need me to guide them, to make them into something. Without me they are nothing. It is that simple and they must know it. All of them.

They must all submit.

The moon is high above us, casting blue light about the growing stone garden in the circle.

I have called all the people of the city to the moonlight. They have all answered the call. They sit about me as I stand on the tallest of the stones, nearest the center.

"Where I stand now is by design. Here, on my left is the center of all things. The cause, the beginning, the all. Everything is one thing, and the one thing is god. All are part of the circle. Tree, bush, bird, child, woman, man. We are all one. This I will teach you now and you will take it in your hearts and you will pass it onto your children and you will pass it onto travellers and strangers and friends and enemies for all of time. The whole of creation is one. God is the circle. The center is the highest manifestation of God.

"Here I stand near that center. I have come among your people to teach you this truth, to lead you beyond this world and into the next."

"Will you finally tell us your name!" one asks eagerly, feeling moved by revelation.

I still have no answer. I still have no name.

"To know my name would be to take me from this world into the next. To speak it would take me away from you and return me to my seat in the heavens."

"You did come from the heavens!"

"Yes!" I exclaim. "Yes, for I am a god. I stand near the center and know that which you cannot. I am unbound in time and space for I am divine! Worship and love me and I can lead your people to the destiny I have promised!"

In the pale moonlight, I see their backs begin to bow. One by one at first. Then whole masses. The raging torrents of human spines bent forward. Then all. All of them are bent forward, their hands reaching toward me as they reach toward the center of the circle.

"I am your god!" I proclaim again.

And for a moment, a moment of clarity and power and completion, I have no doubts.

Looking nice, I'll read it when I'm home tonight

edit: I read it. Nice job. Really interested to see where you end up with this...

Wow, the 1st person point of view is really well done. Very addicting keep going.

This is a really good story! I really like how you have combined the CIV components and a very interesting and mysterious character to create a fascinating and addictive story.

Very well thought out. Good job!