The New Settlement

By David Morisset

'The New Settlement' is a dystopian fantasy set chiefly in a fictional Middle Eastern theocracy during the last years of the twenty-first century. Seven decades have gone by since a nuclear war turned parts of Shemesh's homeland into radioactive netherworlds. A chance reunion with Lamech, a childhood friend, sets in train a series of events that will see Shemesh join an invasion of his own country alongside the robotic forces of Asia's dominant power.
Pragmatic alliances and unprincipled betrayals punctuate the blighted existence of Shemesh and a handful of other individuals endeavouring to survive in a society that treats ordinary men as serfs, all women as sex slaves, and its most vulnerable citizens as organ donors and sources of food for immortal cannibals amongst the elite. As always, lives are transformed through incidental interactions shaped by love affairs, fragile friendships and misplaced trust. Gradually it becomes clear that some must be sacrificed to history so that the most ambitious amongst them can influence its course. In the middle of the interplay of fickle men and tentative women stands a lifelong relationship between Shemesh and Lamech that one of them describes as more than fraternal.
'The New Settlement' highlights humanity's defencelessness against religious extremism, corrupt governments, and the murderous overreach of state sponsored brutality. Amid the toxic shambles there is a longing for the better days of a possibly imaginary past usually referred to as the times of kings and queens.
David Morisset is an Australian writer and former diplomat who served in the Middle East and Sub-Saharan Africa. he has published several novels as well as collections of poetry and short stories. His poem, 'Persian Princess', was commended in the John Shaw Neilson Poetry Award (Fellowship of Australian Writers National Literary Awards 2009).

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Morisset
• Release date: Nov 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370676224

David Morisset

David Morisset is an Australian author who grew up in Riverstone, which was then a meatworks town in Sydney's semi-rural western districts. He moved to Canberra to study at the Australian National University and chose to roam the world, first as a diplomat and later as an economist. Although he has spent most of his life in Australia, he has also lived in Iran and Tanzania. His work as an economist involved extensive travel throughout Asia, North America, Western Europe and Oceania. Over recent years he has published several novels as well as collections of short stories and poems.

Book preview

David Morisset

THE NEW SETTLEMENT

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please visit Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Copyright David Morisset 2016.

All rights reserved.

For the next generation of leaders

in the hope that this story

does not predict the future

I

One of Shemesh’s first memories of the new settlement by the mountains involved a public hanging.  He was ten years old but his harsh life had made him mature for his years.  While strolling to the bazaar with his mother, they had chanced upon a morbid scene.  Two men, their heads covered by black hoods, swayed stiffly in the still air.

At first, Shemesh could not understand what he was seeing.  Then he saw the ropes and the elaborate knots, hard up under the left jaw of each victim.  Urine dripped from the hem of the left leg of one suspended man’s trousers.  There was a strong smell of fecal waste. The front of the other man’s black hood was soaked with blood, which dripped on to his white shirt and left streaks of crimson that sparkled in the sun.  Below them was a throng of fidgety men, crowding around the two tow-trucks that provided the grim infrastructure of makeshift scaffolds.  Someone kept repeating an exhortation in a strange language.

Nazani, Shemesh’s mother, had taken the wrong turn.

Shemesh, come this way. Quickly. Don’t look back. She immediately gripped the boy by his left forearm and retraced her steps at pace, forcing Shemesh to break into a brisk jog.  We shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here. Don’t look back. Women were not welcome at executions and Nazani’s presence could result in a brutal flogging.

The mother and son were almost outside the apartment block that housed their home when Nazani started to walk at a more leisurely pace. Shemesh kept looking back, hypnotised somehow by the horror of it all. Then his eyes were drawn to the sky. A huge bird – seemingly bigger than an eagle – flew slowly across the face of the sun, creating a shadow that somehow made Shemesh feel sad.

***

That night Shemesh dreamt about another bird. Why the marvellous bird was crying was a mystery. Shemesh had watched it swoop into view and, although he had had limited opportunities to develop an appreciation for beauty in his short lifetime, the magnificence of the creature had roused him. She (for he had known instinctively that the bird was female) had emerged from the flames of a fierce fire at the summit of a nearby elevation - the tallest peak of a magnificent range that shaped a jagged horizon. The mountain was conical, like a volcano, or a spearhead, and it was so lofty that it threatened to pierce the lower layers of the heavens.

Despite his weariness, Shemesh stood strong and erect on a dusty plain. He was wearing a military uniform. Cautiously he bent forward to look into a well that blocked his way forward. It was so full that the waterline was close enough to act as a mirror. Shemesh inspected his face and discovered that he had grown into a man. His features were chiseled and their sharp lines contrasted with the softness of his dark eyes. His high forehead was crowned with wavy black hair that was just long enough to appear silky. Thick eyebrows battled with a neat beard and an aristocratic nose to define the rest of his face.

While it had flown towards him the bird had seemed to darken the sky, so immense was its presence and so broad was its wingspan. As it came closer the wonders of its plumage had become more apparent. Scarlet and yellow with flashes of turquoise dominated the splendid cape worn by the bird. But there were many other colours besides.

Shemesh watched the exotic creature’s tears trickle like eternal rivulets that made its facial feathers glisten in the daylight. There was, also, a more profound sadness in its eyes as if it had witnessed the distress of Shemesh’s homeland and fallen into a state of misery beyond despair. But it seemed fearless. It had a dangerous manner and its beak was clearly strong enough to crush a man.

The weeping bird hovered for a while and then rested on a crag near the point where Shemesh had stopped, exhausted. Then it shivered as if cold air had disturbed it. Three feathers fell at Shemesh’s feet – one turquoise, one yellow, and one scarlet.

All are symbols. Symbols of our homeland. Our homeland as it was. As it was before they came. They are also the colours of fire. The creature was not speaking with words but its thoughts were somehow alive like moving pictures in Shemesh’s brain.

If you are without hope, burn these feathers. I will come to you. But burn them only when you are truly without hope. Burn these feathers then and only then. Do not fear and do not be discouraged. The bird took to the air again, flying towards the inferno that was its nest and, for a fleeting moment, blocking the sunlight once more.

***

Shemesh lived on the northern side of the new settlement.  His father, Ningal, was a military man who was reported missing in action a month before the boy’s birth.  So Shemesh’s mother was his only effective parent.

It was deemed likely by its oldest inhabitants that the new settlement was on the site of a former capital of Shemesh’s homeland. In the period before the war against the giant serpent it accommodated more than 15 million people. However, none of Shemesh’s generation would be taught about the history of the city in terms that made its previous grandeur clear. Indeed, there would be no explicit mentions of it in the few short years of education that were still ahead of Shemesh. In the nearly seven decades that had elapsed since the end of the war against the giant serpent almost everyone who could remember the place in its heyday, except, of course, for the sons of god, had passed away and taken their memories with them.

However, a few storytellers had regaled friends and family with anecdotes about the pre-war world that sometimes included tales about the wonders of the old capital. The people of today mostly regarded these accounts as unreliable because of their fanciful nature. Such fantasies were simply unimaginable in the paradise created by the sons of god. Talking about them was also dangerous and it was often punished.

It is, nonetheless, impossible for any government to ban the romance of history and the joy of idle reminiscing completely. So there were many theories about the origins of the new settlement. Some wizened old men who smoked hookahs in tiny teashops claimed that the location’s first permanent settlers arrived over 7,000 years ago. Others amongst them pointed out that their grandfathers had told them that this version of events was not entirely true. Instead, they argued, nomadic tribes had chosen to inhabit a region to the immediate south of what was to later become a huge city. Interestingly, nobody seemed to doubt that urban neighbourhoods of significance were under construction either on the site of the new settlement or nearby as early as five millennia before the first proclamations of the teachings that had evolved in the national religion of today.

Regardless of the exact location of the original site, everyone agreed that, as the population grew, development had focused on the northern fringes. Military men of ancient times, it was said, recognised the defensive advantages of fortresses nestling in the foothills of the range of mountains that formed an impenetrable barrier to the north and fostered a climate that, in the winter months, also blocked invaders from the east and west. They had obviously advised governments to take full advantage of the natural topography and the extreme weather. Nevertheless, those old men who were most certain about their knowledge asserted that it was not until about two hundred years before the war against the giant serpent that the city became the supreme capital and began its most glorious era.

Such discussions were usually conducted in hushed tones and, sometimes, in throaty whispers barely audible above the bubbling water pipes. The decision to make the city into the homeland’s capital was taken by a powerful king whose name had been forgotten by today’s citizens. The audacious few who were bold enough to remember it out loud risked becoming candidates for execution by the divine rulers of this era. It was widely believed that even the safe havens of the smoke-ridden teashops were often infiltrated by the spies and informants of the sons of god and their descendants and servants.

Prior to the proclamation of the new capital, the government’s seat was in the deep south of the homeland in what was now described, derisively, as the city of poets. Sadly, nobody lived there any more. It had once been known for its gardens and shaded streets and the devotion of its people to the literary arts. Some of the homeland’s most famous poets had been buried there in impressive tombs that had once drawn millions of devoted visitors.

The sons of god had long ago banned poetry and all other literary endeavours in the name of piety. Indeed, they had also outlawed all other artistic pursuits. But it was poetry for which they reserved a special contempt. Nevertheless, the sons of god always blamed the armies of the giant serpent for the destruction of the city of poets.

Similarly, their version of history recorded that an even more ancient capital just north of the city of poets was also a victim of the giant serpent’s military excesses. From time to time there were rumours of fabulous discoveries on the dusty ground of this destruction. In teashops smokers spoke of potsherds and artifacts beyond accurate description. Mysteriously, none of these relics ever saw the light of day. However, the sons of god made it known that fossicking was punishable by death and dispatched army patrols to enforce the edict.

The mountains near the new settlement had long ago cast some sort of spell over Nazani. When she had a moment or two to spare, she would gaze at them from her kitchen window, while she sang softly.  Her life was a relentless routine of drudgery.  She cleaned and cooked for other families to obtain cash and, with the energy that remained, she gave all the love and attention she could to Shemesh.

On summer days the sky over the mountains was a steely blue that accommodated visits from creamy clouds and flutters of spindly birds that rose and swooped in patterns only they could predict. When winter came the clouds gathered close and turned black before dispensing the thick white snow that was at first like powder on the streets and then transformed itself into icy obstacles. The men and boys would climb to the tops of the buildings and shovel the piled up flakes and hardened ice off the edges of the roofs with wooden spades, lest ceilings and supporting walls give way and homes collapse.

Almost everyone lived in stunted towers of apartments that looked like stacks of boxes with square windows and single doors. All of them were so close to being identical that it was often hard for children to identify their own homes. Only the sons of god and their descendants and servants lived in detached dwellings of any distinction.

Uniformity was necessary to expedite the building of the new settlement in the years immediately following the war against the giant serpent and to remind the ordinary people that they were all equal now that god and the unseen saviour had delivered them from their enemies. The people learned to be grateful for the benevolence of the sons of god during the years of war and now their descendants remained in debt to the new generation of priests who claimed direct lineage from the heroes of the victory against the powers of the giant serpent almost three quarters of a century ago. And gratitude was a sensible response because any dissent or innocent scrutiny of the order of things was met with stern suppression. People who spoke out of turn simply disappeared into one of the huge prisons. None were ever seen again. Those who committed common crimes were hung. Sexual misdemeanours brought death by stoning.

Southeast of the new settlement was a vast open space – a wilderness of coarse grey ashes and twisted speckled metal like many similar wastelands in other parts of the homeland. Patrols of soldiers ensured that no one entered these areas. Just visible from well elevated vantage points in the foothills of the mountains was a brick wall, which defined the perimeter of several prohibited zones. Nobody knew anyone who had been involved in the construction of the barrier so it was not certain what was on the other side. Conjecture was a taboo topic. However, some had claimed that it was merely more rubble, except that, occasionally, parts of these locales shone like the stars of heaven in the dead of night. Only the snow, it was said, doused the pulsing flames of green and yellow. Young boys with vivid imaginations suspected that it must be the home of the unseen saviour – a place halfway between heaven and earth.

The streets of the new settlement were usually busy with traffic and most of the main thoroughfares led to the main bazaar. Agricultural produce from farms to the west was brought into the bazaar daily. No meat was available and the fruit and vegetables were of indifferent quality, as if they had metamorphosed from varieties that had once offered more than mere survival. Only men could work in the stalls of the bazaar, although many bazaaris disregarded this regulation and hired women to run errands at much cheaper pay rates than a man would command. Of course, women were able to buy goods there but there were many parts of the maze of alleys and stores that were closed to them.

Most of the street traffic comprised bent men with heavy sacks on their backs and overloaded carts drawn by teams of workers from the farms. The women who hurried about were always dressed in black robes called tents that covered everything but their faces. Some of the women, it was said, wore very little under their tents; so young men were always watching them, waiting for a breeze to unveil a bare leg or arm. Girls under six were not required to wear the tent but they had to dress like the men and boys in plain shirts and slacks that were shapeless and sometimes much too large for comfort.

Occasionally a motor vehicle would wind through the settlement and cause a commotion as it negotiated the narrow lanes and sharp turns. The driver was usually a priest and the passengers were always servants of the sons of god. Shemesh liked the colours – they were all dappled green and beige – and he loved the way their motors growled as the vehicles gathered speed. The smell of fuel made his head feel light but it was a pleasant sensation. It was as if something long forgotten was being awakened in him. Indeed, most of the male children felt the same way.

***

The early life of Shemesh was mostly happy because he did not know anything else but the new settlement by the mountains.  Anything different – either better or worse – was simply unimaginable. Nazani cared for him and he was well enough fed because she often went without meals for herself.  By the age of thirteen he was a curious and energetic youth, with a thirst for knowledge.  However, he had already learned that asking questions was not the way to obtain information.

A year ago, one of his friends, Daon, had disrupted a class at the district school by asking a question about the unseen saviour.  Daon was somehow old for his years and eager to explore the boundaries of his teacher’s knowledge.  Whether Daon intended anything more than to find out about matters that had been puzzling him was never clear to Shemesh.  His conversations with Daon outside the classroom were limited to the pursuit of boyhood games and hobbies, like marbles and drawing.

Sir, where is the unseen saviour?  Daon asked the question respectfully and, as far as Shemesh could tell, innocently.

That is for another time, my boy.  Today it is time for arithmetic.  If the teacher was unnerved by the question, he showed nothing of it.  It is a question many people ask but it is for another time.

Why?  Daon appeared genuinely intrigued but he smiled at the end of his question.  For the first time it occurred to Shemesh that perhaps Daon was being provocative.

Why do you smile, my boy?  By this stage, the teacher was looming over Daon’s desk.  Moving away, he began to walk towards the back of the room, before turning as if he was about to resume his position in front of the class and continue with the lesson.  The teacher was typical of his profession – short, overweight, bearded so that his face had no character, surly to the extreme, and so smug that he communicated a weary superciliousness without effort.  His black robes were ragged and hung loosely over white garments that were stained with yellow sweat around the collar.  A grotty black turban sat sadly on his head.

Daon, on the other hand, was well dressed and carefully groomed.  Shemesh always noticed how clean his shirts and slacks seemed.  There were rumours that Daon’s family had been wealthy before the war against the giant serpent.

Delivering a round-arm swing from just behind the boy, the back of the teacher’s hand slapped hard against the base of Daon’s skull just behind his ear, catching him by surprise and causing the boy to lose consciousness.  At first Daon's head rolled as if he were anaesthetised and then he began to slump forward.  With cruelty beyond anything that the pupils had witnessed before, the teacher picked Daon up by the scruff of the neck and threw him, head first, into the wall at the front of the classroom.  Daon’s body crumpled limply and, by now, his head and face seemed to be completely covered in blood.

The teacher went to the door of the classroom and opened it.  For a moment, he waited, composed himself, looked at each of the other children, threatened them with his wild eyes, and checked the back of his hand for bruising.

Come.  Guards.  Come.  The teacher’s shout echoed down the empty corridor.  When the guards arrived, the teacher pointed to the bloodied body.  They carried Daon away, holding him only partially upright so that his feet were dragging through a trail of his own blood.  The stricken boy’s body seemed lifeless and Shemesh thought immediately of the victims of the hanging he had witnessed when he was younger.  Daon was never seen again.

***

Two weeks later, while Shemesh was eating dinner with Nazani, the mystery of Daon’s whereabouts finally overwhelmed him.  Nazani was simultaneously furious and terrified.

Never, never ask me that again.  I don’t know.  How would you expect me to know?  Never ask me that again.  But do not follow his example.  If you do well at school you will become a valued servant of the sons of god.  If you do badly, or behave with insolence and ignorance, the sons of god will punish you and your family.  That is all you need to know.  Never, never ask me that again.

***

Two years later the teacher called the boys to attention and slowly surveyed the room with his expressionless eyes. Fifty fifteen-year-old youths sat rigid in their seats. Some, like Shemesh, were already well beyond puberty. Most of them were wide-eyed and eager to make a mark on the rather mundane world around them in the new settlement beneath the mountains. It was winter and snow was falling silently outside. The room was closed up and it was warm with the bodies of growing boys. It smelled of perspiration and feculence.

Today, we will begin to learn about the truth of the war against the giant serpent. Once I start, I will tolerate no interruptions. There will be no questions. Truth cannot, by definition, be questioned. The teacher scratched his beard and broke wind loudly without a hint of embarrassment.

"For thousands of years our land was ruled by tyrants. These tyrants called themselves kings. Some used the term ‘king of kings’. They ruled brutally. The servants of god were imprisoned and tortured. The sons and daughters of the devils of the giant serpent came to our land. The kings invited them. They raped our women and forced them to appear undressed in the streets. Yes, our women were forced to go about naked.

"They stole money from our places of worship. They sent the treasures of our land to foreign places. They dug up the resources of our land. Ships carrying our precious land’s riches were sent everywhere. Our men were enslaved, forced to work for money issued by banks run by the giant serpent’s devils.

And the kings of this land were accomplices in all of these outrages. And their queens were harlots. They paraded naked in foreign lands. They bathed in milk. They encouraged our women to give themselves freely to men.

By this stage some of the boys were completely fascinated by the teacher’s story. Their imaginations were stimulated and, for some, it was all they could do to stifle a giggle. The idea of naked women was the most enticing thing they could envision. The brightest of them, including Shemesh, were also a little bewildered.

The teacher had once told them that if they succeeded in gaining the status of a servant of the sons of god then many pleasures awaited them in heaven. Among the delights were countless virgin women – all naked and all with insatiable appetites for godly men. So, some of the boys reasoned, was the crime of the kings and queens that they were pre-empting the glories of heaven? However, no boy could ask such a question and the teacher droned on in a monotone that seemed designed to cajole his audience into daydreaming and, ultimately, sleep.

"So god was displeased. And he sent his sons to depose the last of the kings. They were great men. They were more than men. They were truly sons of god. They still protect us. And the sons of god blessed many of our women with their offspring. Those whores who did not submit to them were executed. And so were the men who preferred to serve the giant serpent. For the first time in its history our land was free.

"But the rest of the world was not ready to respect the sons of god. So the army of the giant serpent invaded our land. But the sons of god resisted. Millions of our people became martyrs and went to their reward in heaven. Our cities were destroyed. And still the armies of the giant serpent attacked. But the sons of god resisted.

"Eventually, the followers of the giant serpent lost heart. But they did not surrender. So they sent black men and yellow men and brown men to fight for them. They patrolled the land in their haughty blue berets. They arrested several sons of god. Many were imprisoned and tortured.

"Then a great leader arose. All who heard him marveled at his words. He was the unseen saviour. He had returned just as the prophecies had said. The soldiers in the blue berets surrendered and left our land. And the unseen saviour took revenge on the