AntiHisTor is a world just a step aside from our own. Long Lives is the first set of ten short stories from that world. Each one usually runs to around 30 pages.
A new translation goes up on Substack every month - the first third of each story is free. Links appear here as each one is ready.
We're closing in on the icy city in the mountains. We fly over the edge of the snowbound forest, and far ahead a cluster of stately towers is already visible at its centre, though there's still a stretch of smaller temples, murmuring marketplaces, and monumental aqueducts between us and them. Rem is the largest city in the world, and you can sense it from its most famous squares down to its remotest alleys. Not least because its inhabitants have little idea what goes on beyond their peninsula on the continent, let alone in the rest of the world.
The Remans are too proud to give any deeper thought to what happens outside the city of cities, or even outside the empire above all empires. And from up here it's no wonder; the city stretches for dozens of miles from the coastline all the way up to Albacan, the pontifex's white-marble seat set inside an extinct volcano. From the air, all you see are the polished fruits of this civilization - not the millions of hours of labor that were sacrificed for them without any claim to reward, or even to dignity.
We've left the insula tenements and the clattering workshops far below us, and the smoke from their chimneys has given way to clean steam. It rises from steam pipes and from the heated ribbing of balconies, it wreathes the walkways that link the arabaroque turrets, and here and there it makes the astrolabe garlands on the copper cupolas tremble. This part of the city looks like one great steam engine, pressurized by the indecision of whether to finally get moving or simply explode.
Rem
Although Rem had long been the capital of an empire other than the one that wrote its name into history forever, the city had remained reliably in the same place. Ever since the year of its founding 2453 years ago - that is, 753 before the Annulation.
Among the many legends attached to its founding is the one about two brothers who couldn't agree which of them would lend the city his name. When the more hot-blooded of the two decided not to wait for the verdict from the lips of the local augur and instead, just to be safe, to physically dispose of his brother right there on the newly plotted field, he tripped most unluckily over his own rake, impaled himself on a plough and, with a heartfelt "damn!", breathed his last.
And so the chance to name the newly founded city fell to Remus. It was a near thing - instead of Reman numerals we might be counting in Roman ones; instead of remance, we might enjoy romance; and a certain East-Erebian carmaker named after the Dacian tribe wouldn't have been exporting its cars from Remania but from Romania. A bizarre thought.
We descend, slowing into a turn. We pass the most important temple of Albacan: the blindingly white Templum Circulare. Its enormous crystal Annulus is set into the tympanum above the main entrance. We sweep close past the extended presbytery and a truly massive obelisk-belfry. These dimensions exist for the sole purpose of exalting the importance of this holy place. They certainly have nothing to do with the inner lives of the successive pontifexes who oversaw its construction over several decades.
We carry just enough speed to circle the tallest tower of Rem and of Albacan: the Turris Borealis. In the final phase of the flight, we are descending so steeply that we almost trace the slope of the snow-covered staircase winding around the exterior of the tower. At its foot, we come to a halt, right in front of the wide-eyed face of the young, half-frozen novice Melco.
After an hour of waiting, Melco is aching to the bone with cold and hunger, and he might even be angry if he could feel anger through all the fear. The wait had felt like an eternity, and at the same time, it was unbelievable that not even twelve hours had passed since the prior had come to tell him he had been chosen for a task by Archprefect Altorius himself. Father Altorius was one of the highest-ranking churchmen, and, according to what people said, only the pontifex stood above him. Until yesterday, Melco wouldn't have dared so much as speak to him if he had somehow turned up in the same wing of the cloister. And now Melco was waiting for him in the frost, and only sacred dread kept him from cursing the man.
Are you ready?
Melco flinched. He turned slowly. Even though he was standing a step above Altorius, he had to lift his head to look at him. And lowered it again at once. In his threadbare habit, he felt smaller and smaller next to Altorius's gleaming blue cloak, thrown over a coal-black robe of felted wool. It was as if a piece of the night sky had fallen into the city of snow and was being held to the ground only by a pair of heavy leather boots.
Can you not speak? They haven't sent me a mute, surely.
I-I'm sorry, F-father. I'm fro-zen.
It was true, but even somewhere warm, Melco would have had no idea how one was supposed to greet an archprefect. Presumably, one ought to pick the most reverent and most formal mode of speech to convey the proper respect and, at the same time, not look like a country bumpkin - which, in truth, was exactly what he was.
In the shadow of the centre and beneath the light of the rim—
—spare me the drivel! We're not here for ceremonies. Come on, we've a great deal of walking ahead of us.
Melco had enough sense not to apologize. He fell silent and obediently scrambled up the steps, which Altorius climbed as smoothly as if he were sailing.
The novice, stiff with cold but slowly warming with the movement, wondered which floor they might be heading to. Surely they couldn't be going all the way...
You didn't have to wait outside, boy, just because I was running late. I know you were eyeing the entrance to the archive. Isn't that so?
The first few floors of Turris Borealis served as the archive, and Melco had in fact been thinking of asking the kindly old archivist on the ground floor for temporary refuge. He would no doubt have been allowed to stand by a window - the old man would certainly have minded less than that stern, gaunt monk in charge of the first floor. Not to mention the second. It seemed that the higher the level of the archive, the less humanity its keeper retained, consumed by his sheer passion for books, scrolls, and tablets.
Y-yes, sir.
I have no use for an assistant who stays put wherever he is placed and has no mind of his own. I'll take it, then, that you were held back by shyness, and not by want of wit. Am I right?
Y-yes—
Are you still frozen, or are you stammering?
I'm fro-z— it's better now, Father.
Good. And stop calling me Father after every sentence. We'll be spending a great deal of time together; otherwise I'll soon start feeling as though your mother is waiting for me at home.
Melco sensibly chose not to answer. But then he felt compelled to speak up after all.
I haven't got a mother. Just... so you know.
Altorius stopped and turned to him.
I know, boy. They brought you to Albacan when your house burned down with your parents in it. You were too small to be left on your own, and too hungry for anyone in that wretched Adsone to want the feeding of you. And by some miracle you could read, which is why at the age of seven you ended up in the largest cloister, and not somewhere on the edge of Rem. Isn't that right?
Melco only nodded, but his expression clearly said how the hellum can you know that?
I would hardly have some random brat sent to me without knowing anything about him - you might have figured that out. Look.
Altorius nodded towards the Templum Circulare. For a moment, Melco stopped being hypnotized by the cloak and looked. From this side of the tower, he had a view straight onto the temple's façade, and the largest Annulus in the world was just then alight with the rising sun. All twelve sigils blazed against the surrounding snow and ice so fiercely that their shapes were entirely obscured. It was like twelve suns, twelve stars, and together they made up a circle so unearthly bright that none of the twelve gods could ever doubt the pure faith of their servants here. And the whole endeavor, too, had come at a decidedly un-Circular price.
In all his eight years here, Melco had never been granted this sight, because at this hour he was always indoors, having to sing with the others. And now the singing carried all the way up here, and it was as if someone had caught his thoughts in one hand, torn them out of his head, and filled the empty space with those sacred verses.
Ex nocte alta surgimus, vox pura ducit nos in plus,*
per aether claras ascendit, chorus fidelis in arcus.
In orbe sacro vivimus, lux rotas movet in sinus,
*pactum aeternum canimus, de duodecim sigillis - annulus.
This was the season when the freshest batch of novices learned to cheekily drop the "L" from the last word of the chant, and so a heartfelt "Annu-us" rang out from the square across all of Rem. A few unfortunates picked out at random would be enjoying hours of kneeling without supper today, but that was already part of the tradition.
Let's go.
Altorius commanded, and it did not so much as occur to Melco to disobey, even though, left to himself, he would never have dared climb to these heights on an outdoor staircase without a railing.
Years of the Annulation (Anno Annuli)
Although the beginnings of the church were, in terms of provable historical fact, long since lost to the mists of time, its origin was officially taken to be the great convocation of the twelve regional cults, the Concilium Deorum, held in the year zero. The date was easy to remember, because the decision to set it had been taken at that very council.
Once the decision had been left to settle for a few centuries - and once the entire known world (which in this case meant one smaller continent and a few adjoining coasts) was under the rule of the faithful known as the Annulari, the Circulars, or "those damned wheelers" - the Circular reckoning was treated as a matter of course.
The fear of heights did not trouble Melco for long. A few storeys further up, they passed through a portal into the interior of the tower, and from there on, they moved almost in the dark. There was not much light to guide their way; but just a short way past the entrance, the air was surprisingly warm.
In Melco's disordered mind, thoughts that would never have occurred to him before today wrestled with feelings he had never known. Even so, in all the muddle, he could tell that the unexpectedly high temperature on the inner staircase had to do with a muffled droning, clattering, and whirring that he could sense somewhere halfway between the archives and the top of the tower, in its very heart.
Almost there now.
Melco was jolted from his thoughts in the monotony of the climb when one of them sounded out loud - only without the question mark. Was Altorius perhaps reassuring himself a little that they didn't have many more steps to go? Even though he was a huge, energetic man, and radiated not only mental but physical strength, he still had to be at least three times Melco's age. How could it be that Melco couldn't even hear the archprefect, four steps above him, breathing heavily?
At that moment, Altorius came to a halt. Melco squinted up into the dark and made out the cause: they had reached a door.
So what people whispered was true after all. The top of the tower was not empty. There was a space here inhabited by a human being. But such a place could hold only a prisoner - for who would willingly live so far from everyone, all alone?
Altorius rapped twice with his fist on the door, and from within came one of those sounds you can see. Even through the imposing slab of wood, Melco could clearly sense two skinny, pale legs hopping down from a bed, and somewhere above them a head, agitated by the visit, was looking around for footwear and muttering into its beard something about the disturbance, as though crowds streamed up here daily and gave it not a moment's peace.
It's open!
This information could hardly have been news to Altorius, yet he only placed his hand on the latch after it had been called out, slowly opened the door, and stepped through. Melco, dazzled by the strip of light, went after him without hesitation and found himself in a room unexpectedly spacious considering how pointed and narrow the top of the tower had looked from below.
The second surprise was the sight of a frail, bearded old man in a nightshirt. On the one hand, he looked exactly like the scene that had flashed through Melco's head a moment before, but at the same time, everything here was at least a little out of place, maybe even unsettling.
In that brief moment before the tower's tenant spoke, Melco caught sight, in the chaotically arranged space around him, of all sorts of brass parts, bubbling glass vessels, cobwebs, and a genuinely considerable number of drawings of ships suspended from spheres.
Altorius, you old scoundrel!
The bony, bearded man croaked at Father Altorius in a way that would have given anyone down in Rem an acute sensation of being throttled just thinking about daring to speak so. And yet there was at the same time something friendly in his voice, perhaps even a hint of pleasure at seeing the scoundrel. Although another impropriety was that Altorius had been called old by someone who looked long past his own expiration date at the time of Altorius's birth.
At this point, it could no longer surprise Melco in the least that Altorius did not bat an eye at the impertinence and instead smiled at the sleepy occupant of Turris Borealis.
My apologies for disturbing you so early, Master. I know you usually don't start your day until they've sent your lunch up here on the central dumbwaiter.
The reply was a shrug.
Well, you know how it is - of an evening I just go on inventing and inventing... and the next thing you know, there's daylight. So I have to catch up a bit afterward. You know how it is, a youth still growing like myself needs his sleep to think straight, heh.
Heh. Heh. Indeed. Master, surely you've noticed I'm not alone here this time.
You're not what? Oh, I see. Boy, I'd offer you tea, but after that last accident, they confiscated my burner—
Never mind, Master. I—
Melco looked questioningly at Altorius. What exactly was the situation playing out here, what conduct was expected of him, why were they up here, and what in Hellum's name was it supposed to mean that this man lived here at all?
Altorius looked as though he had, in quick succession, plucked out every one of Melco's unspoken questions, but he did not answer a single one of them. Although somewhere in his eyes a faint shimmer of amusement glinted, he tore his still-stern gaze away from the novice and spoke once again to their host.
Master, we haven't time for courtesies.
Then Altorius glanced back at Melco, and his features softened slightly.
Perhaps we might at least explain to our young friend whom he has the honor of addressing here. Boy, standing before you in person is—
—Francesco Lana de Terzi, Father. I know. Though it doesn't make sense.
Melco whispered the name as if he himself did not believe it, which was, in fact, the truth.
Well, well - so I don't make sense.
I see they do furnish you with some kind of education down there, after all.
Yes, Father. It's only... Signor de Terzi, we were taught you died before I was even born.
Indeed? That would explain why my back has been creaking so much lately, heh.
Francesco Lana de Terzi
This mathematician, physicist, optician, pneumatician, mechanic, and cryptographer was indeed, in the year 1687, what one might call removed by the church authorities - but, as is already clear, the heresy was punished only for show. Although de Terzi's overly bold visions were at odds with the official teaching of the church, the same church needed to wring de Terzi's genius dry to the last drop in service of its unofficial aims.
And so, in exchange for a pseudo-asylum, they required him to produce, alongside his own research into spheres, a steady supply of design improvements within Magna Polaris Albacana. He had long since stopped meeting this condition - not out of any moral doubt about the project, but out of sheer absent-mindedness. He had simply forgotten about the whole repolarization.
All the same, he remained here and quietly lived out his long life, because he was still being shielded by a hand in some respects mightier even than the pontifex's - that of Altorius.
Altorius remained pensive for a moment at the discovery that Melco had pieced together his old friend's identity on his own. But then he drew a quick breath and took the situation back in hand.
Master, we're here for the thing. I trust you understand me.
The inventor blinked and looked round at all the potential things.
Ah, you mean these. I'll have to look for a moment, you know - they're very small. And very... powerful. I don't leave them just lying about, in case they fall down the dumbwaiter shaft or something.
Quite. We'll wait while you find them, and in the meantime my young companion will resist temptation and WILL. NOT. TOUCH. ANYTHING.
Melco sprang back from the huge tube by the window into which he had been trying to sneak a sidelong glance.
Sorry. I just... was wondering what it is.
De Terzi rummaged through the clutter and answered over his shoulder, the way one explains the most ordinary thing in the world.
One of my failed inventions, that. I was trying to build a telescope powerful enough to watch what's going on in the colonies. I call it the colonoscope. Only instead of the regions I'm aimed at, in it I see the most utt— ah, here they are!
Lana de Terzi crowed in triumph and handed Altorius his find. Melco was now fighting his curiosity a bit more successfully and didn't stare too much, yet he couldn't help noticing the faint orange-gold glow shining between the inventor's fingers, and then between Altorius's. He would simply have to wait. Surely the mysterious archprefect wouldn't be taking him along if everything weren't to be revealed in due course.
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