Twilight of the Gods by Mark Clapham

Author:Mark Clapham [Clapham, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Science Fiction, Space Opera, Adventure, Juvenile Fiction
ISBN: 9780426205364
Google: 3yEGAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0426205367
Publisher: NA
Published: 1999-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

The sun was high over the courtyard when the workers were

allowed their lunch break. Cwej joined his fellow toilers as

they sat in the meagre shade given by the scaffolding, and

drank greedily from the water bottle that was passed around

the group. The scaffolding supported the great statue they

had been press-ganged into assembling, a statue to the glory

of Tehke. The statue had been under construction for some

time before Cwej’s arrival, and had originally been intended

to honour Mor’yuchi. But loyalties change, and even deities

can fall out of favour. Cwej and his fellow workers, all strong

and disposable as far as the Sultan was concerned, were

currently involved in moulding sheets of red-hot metal to the

surface of the statue - uncomfortable and dangerous work.

Earlier that day one man had fallen from the scaffolding,

reeling in pain after he accidentally dropped his welding

equipment on to his thigh. Black, fatty smoke poured away

from the wound on his leg as he lay dead on the stony

ground, blood pooling around his shattered head. The palace

guards had dragged the corpse away, and ordered the work

to continue. Veiled servant girls were forced to mop up the

stain, cleanse the mosaic tiles for the Sultan’s pleasure.

Cwej twisted his stubby neck around to look up at the

shrouded figure of the statue. With the metal applied, it

would appear burning scarlet in the midday sun. A man

aflame. Behind tarpaulins sculptors worked to etch blisters

and scars into the face, sharpen the teeth, change

Mor’yuchi’s face to the hideous visage of Tehke. From the

glimpses of the whole thing he had seen while bashing plates

of soft metal into shape, Cwej thought it was probably going

to be the ugliest, tackiest piece of crap he had ever seen. And

Cwej had been to 1970s England, so he’d seen a lot of

tasteless crud to compare it to.

The inhabitants of the Sultan’s palace seemed intent on

pushing towards both heaven and hell at the same time,

recreating the most extreme of experiences possible. It was as

if the contradictions of being bounced from one faith to

another, from god to god, switching rituals and symbols every

time, was taking its toll. The whole place was being driven

mad by its eternal contradictions.

But the sun was out, and that was at least some

consolation. Cwej leant back against the rock of the statue’s

broad base. The rough stone felt warm through his shirt. He

closed his eyes, felt the rays soak his skin in warmth. Almost

hypnotized, he remembered how he had managed to get into

such a mess.

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