COLD GOLD [ Paul Webster ]

Euaridd’s stomach groaned in concert with his younger siblings around the fire. The cold night’s air smothered the warmth from their breaths. It wasn’t a piercing cold that drilled into your skin, like farther north; nevertheless, it seeped into your bones until your joints ached all the same.

“I wish we had some bread,” Bris shivered. “Or better yet, some hot soup.”

“Orphans don’t get to choose bread or soup.” Euaridd sniffled as he passed a half-rotten potato to his quiet sister, Caru. She took a dainty bite and handed it to Bris.

Euaridd could tell Bris didn’t feel like arguing about food tonight. They were all too cold and hungry to fight each other. Euaridd accepted the last bite of potato from Bris as the last few rays of light escaped into the valley from the western hills.

The night blanketed them as the chill air began to suffocate them with the reek of rotten wood burning in a gravel pit. Without food or joy, all three siblings drifted into a sleep, same as every night since the Flux ravaged the valley and made them orphans. Euaridd tossed and worried about how to keep his younger brother and sister fed and safe.

* * *

Daybreak came with the sun’s small relief as it slanted down on the small flat of land next to the brook where they had camped. Euaridd groggily heard Bris wake up first and jolt to his feet.

“I can’t take it anymore!” The words hung in the air, foggy breath streaming from Bris’ mouth and floating away into frozen nothingness. “I’m going to the Cult of Gold’s temple.”

Euaridd opened his eyes, wiping the sleep from them, and looked to the empty sack that used to hold their potatoes. He shook his head. “We can’t. You’ve heard the rumors of that place.”

“Why? We’re only ever told where we can or can’t be, but that place has to be full of food. You’ve seen their halls gleam in the sunlight. It’s all gold,” Bris said.

“And gold means they have food for dirty orphans like us? Mom and Dad never ever thought of going there, even when they were sick with the Flux,” Euaridd scrunched up his face, holding back painful memories of when food was the least of his concerns.

“All they needed was some horseroot,” Caru’s voice was laden with cold, somber sadness.

“You can’t get horseroot without money, and they still didn’t dare tread through the Cult of Gold’s treasure garden,” Euaridd said.

“So what? They’re dead, and we will be too before long,” Bris held himself tightly. All of their stomachs groaned in the halting morning air.

Euaridd looked towards the neatly huddled mass of buildings set against the east-rising sun. Gabled houses with shingles of red and amber caught the light as it poured into the valley like molten gold. The flood of light streamed down the river that cut the valley in half, gliding towards the western edge, onto the Cult of Gold’s hall. The halls drank in the dawn’s first rays, vibrating the countless towers and pillars with a soft golden glow.

“The city is at least safe.” Euaridd murmured. He remembered the old man with a soft, wrinkled face who gave them the sack of potatoes a fortnight ago. There was kindness still, despite the majority of city-folk being poor in it.

Bris began crying. “Safety doesn’t matter. I’m starving. Mom and Dad said you were supposed to take care of us.”

Tears stung Euaridd’s face. The salt seeped into the cracks on his cheeks and left blistering ice trails. He stared at the ground in shame. Poor Caru was curled into a ball with a moth-bitten scrap of fabric wrapped around her. She never complained like Bris. They were all feeling the cold and hunger.

“I tried, and I failed. You’re right, Bris,” Euaridd stood. “Let’s all go to the Cult of Gold.”

* * *

It wasn’t a far walk from the knoll they had camped on, and the rising sun warmed their backs as they approached the outskirts of the Cult of Gold’s halls.

Memories of youth filtered in through the rays’ heat; when Dad hoisted Euaridd onto his shoulders and marched around like the creation Titan or Mom’s curried lentil stew that made him feel safe even as it stormed outside. That was all before the Flux had crept into the valley. Before his parents fell sick and left him to care for his younger siblings. All alone.

Memories stopped short as they approached the Cult of Gold’s hall gleaming fully in the noon’s sun. Euaridd led the way to the outer arch wrought from fine gold while Bris tugged Caru along by the hand.

“It’s so beautiful,” Caru peeped.

“’Don’t go here!’ ‘You’ll die!’ ‘That cult’s magic brought the Flux’ Bah! They’re trying to keep it to themselves so we don’t get our dirty hands everywhere,” Bris said.

“Shush,” Euaridd couldn’t help but feel the same way. Why was such a beautiful place kept so far from everyone?

Euaridd approached the archway and brushed its gleaming metallic finish. The sunlight on the fine-wrought architecture made it seem glossy like a water-polished pebble, yet it was rough to the touch like worn stone. Intricate carvings of stories and myths he heard from his Dad wove through the strange, course arch.

“Hurry up,” Bris ran ahead through the arch.

“Come on back. We go together, Bris,” Euaridd waved him back.

“Are you serious? Come back? Do you see this?” Bris pointed around. Beyond the arch, the Cult of Gold’s garden swelled with ruddy light. Sun rays bounced from trinket to trinket as they illuminated pedestals of gold that held mundane objects or life-sized depictions of ordinary people; all wrought perfectly in gold. Some master craftsperson had shaped that art beyond the means of anyone in the city.

“I said come back—” 

A cloaked hand shot out from behind a perfectly rendered statue of a naked man and grabbed Bris. Euaridd broke into a run towards him. Caru stumbled behind, trying to keep up.

A man in a long amber cloak held Bris against his body. Several other figures approached from behind other pedestals and statues. Euaridd stopped before Bris and the man.

“Calm, young ones,” the man let Bris go and held his hands up. “All are welcome in the garden of the Cult of Gold, but you may not be unsupervised.”

“We aren’t in trouble?” Euaridd said. He was skeptical. Guards in the city always used calm voices before beating you half to death for eyeing a food cart too long. He’d gotten them all beaten so many times, for simply trying to feed his family.

“Oh no, no, no. We are quite happy to see brave young ones like you. So few come anymore,” The man waved them ahead. “You look cold and hungry, please come to our halls where the Eldest can give you an appropriate welcome.”

They followed the cloaked figures through the garden. Their supple, soft boots crunched on fall leaves that reflected the same ruddy, golden hue as the pedestals and objects around them. It stretched on and on through the most wondrous and weird sculptures. Life-like depictions of pet hounds sitting obediently and humans in an array of poses struck Euaridd as uncanny.

Soon, they neared the halls where the garden and buildings became more elaborate, more glowing, more warm with the golden hue that Euaridd started to find sickly. He held Caru’s hand close to him, squeezing small reassurance to his shaking sister. Bris was not so timid and would not be sated with following or obeying. He wandered and gawked at the value around him, deaf to his siblings.

The garden gave way to a basilica thatched with golden straw that gleamed with the sparkle of a sunny brook. Euaridd and his siblings were ushered in under the looming archway doors, hung on hinges of stark iron against the golden door, by the amber-cloaked cultists and were sat at a long table before the great apse. Euaridd’s eyes widened as cultists laid out honey, fresh bread seasoned with saffron, and juiced oranges, careful not to brush their cloaks against the provisions.

Euaridd leaned close to Caru and Bris. “Eat and we leave.”

“Why would we? They clearly have enough food and riches to feed us forever,” Bris reached towards the food. His dirty hands left smudges on the bread crust as he tore into a steaming loaf.

“Keep your voice down, Bris,” Euaridd grabbed Bris’ shoulder.

“You’ve never cared for us like you should have, and now that you have the chance to and you want to leave?” Bris’ words caused Euaridd to flinch and take his hand off of Bris’ shoulder. He had always cared, even if he had failed many times. He cared.

“Taking care of you two is more than just feeding your stomachs,” Euaridd said with finality as he shook himself.

They squirmed on the benches, hovering over their filled plates. Euaridd and Caru took little bites, looking around furtively for some trick or game to be played. Bris continued to dive in with gusto. Euaridd couldn’t truly blame him. The food was delicious, more than any rotten potato or cast-off pie crust. Their tummies filled as amber cloaks stood patiently. Until one came from the apse, wizened under a mottled cloak that glittered like the straw-thatched roof.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had hopeful acolytes,” the figure’s voice creaked like wood snapping in fresh snow.

“Acolytes?” Bris’ face wrinkled in confusion.

“Yes, young ones. You’ve taken our food and walked through the Garden of Scales. What else could you be?” the figure loomed closer.

Euaridd began to rise. An amber-cloaked man laid hands firmly on his shoulders, keeping him seated.

“What are you doing?” Euaridd said, knowing how this played out for urchins and orphans. Strong hands, demanding words, then a dungeon, a whip, and pain, or worse. 

The figure gently trailed his finger across each sibling’s head as he walked. It felt cold as iron. “The test, young ones. Now, you must prepare to join the Cult of Gold.”

“I’ll take any test for food like this every day.” Bris said.

“Ahhh, good, good. Very hopeful indeed,” the figure motioned to an amber cloak.

“Don’t,” Euaridd said to Bris.

“Watch me,” Bris glared down Euaridd.

Pounding feet and laboured grunts called Euaridd’s attention away from Bris. Six amber cloaks brought in a golden scale the size of a grown auroch while more removed dishes and food. With pristine, white gloves, the six gracefully lowered it onto the table in front of Bris and receded into the shadows of the hall after completing their task.

The figure bent low besides Bris. “Now, young hopeful. Choose your value.”

“I have no gold or money to give, uhm, sir,” Bris said.

“Oh, young hopeful. The Cult of Gold is not about avarice or coveting money. We weigh gold against what we truly value. Gods and men trade in gold. It is the universal scale of value we use,” the figure motioned towards the scales, his eyes locked on Bris with a smile.

“I... I don’t have anything worth anything,” Bris began to sweat.

“Oh, you are not understanding yet. We endeavor to seek the true value of gold and all things, the only way we can. By weighing our most valuable possessions against gold. Will what we love come up wanting? Or will the gold descend?” the figure motioned to his side.

An amber cloak emerged from the shadows and placed a gold weighing bar on one side of the scale, dropping the flat plate down with a clang.

“Choose,” the figure’s cold, lonely tone echoed in the hall.

Euaridd had enough. They had full bellies and every instinct was telling him to run. “This is crazy. Let’s go,” he grabbed Caru’s hand and tried to get up. An amber cloak shoved him down again.

“I said choose,” the figure’s voice cut like ice.

Bris looked around. Euaridd didn’t see fear in his eyes, just a half-starved child in thought. He knew Bris was thinking of what to choose. What he was going to tell the figure devoid of human warmth.

“I value Caru most!” Bris said as he pointed his finger towards his little sister.

“A most fine choice that many of us have made before, as you could see in the Garden,” the figure chuckled and motioned towards Caru.

Amber cloaks surrounded Caru. She whimpered as they grabbed her. Euaridd struggled to hold onto her but men with strong arms held him. 

“Bris, what have you done?” Euaridd yelled.

The amber cloaks lowered Caru onto the scale. She stood for a second, tears streaming down her face, but she didn’t cry out. She never complained. Instead, she curled up into a ball on the scale. Her plate slowly descended against the solid gold weight on the other side, equaling out.

“Ahh, you’ve truly chosen well, young hopeful,” the figure said. 

“So now we get to keep eating here, right?” Bris looked up, truly hopeful.

“You will, for as long as you live. Though, she will not need food,” the figure’s words lingered in the air, settling on Euaridd like a heavy snow.

“What?” Euaridd said.

Euaridd looked back and forth between Bris and Caru. The scales were motionless. Caru’s tears froze down her cheeks, glittering like the figure’s cloak. Her breathing slowed as each rise of her chest drew shorter. Her clothes stiffened, gleaming golden. Her hair and skin snapped into place, every pore and strand etched in frozen metal. She had turned to gold. Her child features cast for all time.

“A fine piece for the Garden of Scales, wouldn’t you say young acolyte?” the figure said as everything fell silent.

Not a sound echoed in the hall, not even a groan of a stomach. Euaridd sat there, staring at Bris. Hadn’t he always tried to keep them safe? And now his own brother had ended Caru’s soft voice. She would never need to hold back her complaints again. Bris wept. The hunger had wrought pain worse than the Flux.

“And now you, what do you choose, young hopeful?” the figure motioned to Euaridd.

Euaridd only wanted to protect them. He was the oldest. Father had made him promise with a dying breath to keep his siblings together and safe. A cold gust of air circled around Euaridd. He couldn’t leave Caru and Bris. He couldn’t take Bris back to the valley to starve with moth-eaten blankets wrapped around their scrawny bodies.

“I. . . I choose my family,” Euaridd said.

They would all bear the burden of guilt together. Bris’ guilt of choosing Caru. Euaridd guilt of failing them. Caru’s guilt of trusting him to keep her safe. They could gleam in the sun’s warmth without fear of cold or hunger, as a family.

Euaridd climbed onto the table, setting himself on the scale next to statue-Caru. The amber cloaks grabbed and lowered the tear-stained Bris alongside Euaridd. All Euaridd could think was how they’d finally be safe as the scale tipped them down against the gold weighing bar.

Paul Webster is a Maine writer, musician, and degu dad. He focuses mostly on fantasy writing, using the frigid and wild nature of Maine to inspire ancient cultures and weird creatures.