Wayward Son by Tom Pollack

money, he offered his services as a laborer, helping his host build a new storage barn. Thankfully, Omak didn’t seem to care about his guest’s past. Cain had no need to use the fable of kidnapping, slavery, and escape that he had concocted just in case. He saw no reason, however, not to use his real name.
    Omak seemed to enjoy his new acquaintance’s company. Perhaps he was lonely, Cain thought. The merchant had been married, but his spouse had died many years before. All the children, now grown up, lived on their own and seldom visited their father. Indeed, the social structure of Nod, for all its technological advancement, seemed to lack cohesion. People went where they liked and did as they pleased. There appeared to be no civil government of any sort.
    One morning Omak suggested that they put the building work on hold and walk the city and its environs. Cain accepted eagerly. He had already seen and learned enough to know that he would make this city his home.
    The two set out toward the great edifice at the city’s center. On the way, Omak explained that the imposing structure had formerly served as a royal palace. Now, after the bloody revolution that had toppled the monarchy of Nod, the circular hall balanced on the flattened apex of the pyramid-shaped building functioned as a temple.
    “What gods do the people worship here?” Cain inquired.
    “No one really worships gods,” Omak replied. “There are idols of gold and silver in the temple. But no one pays them much attention. People do anything that comes into their heads. The only god anyone takes seriously is Lorac.”
    “Lorac?”
    “He rules the weather. Or so people think. And the weather makes the difference between good crops and bad.”
    When they reached the entrance, Omak encouraged Cain to climb the interior ramp that led to the temple. He himself would remain below, he said.
    “I am afraid I am nowhere near as spry as you,” Omak said. “I will wait for you here.”
    Curious to see what the idols looked like, Cain briskly ascended the ramp. At the top, he found himself in a ring-shaped corridor lined with gleaming statues. Some were clearly male or female; others seemed androgynous. The hall was protected from the elements by the translucent substance that Omak had referred to as “glass.” The glass wall afforded spectacular views of the city in every direction.
    Cain walked slowly around the hall twice—first to inspect the statues, and again facing outward, to appraise the city. What a vast place Nod was! He guessed that the population must be at least one hundred thousand—maybe closer to a quarter of a million. Beyond the city gates—he counted twenty-one—lay a broad expanse of grain and cotton fields on every side. Farther in the distance were vineyards and orchards. On the horizon to the north and south were snow-capped mountains.
    Returning down the ramp, Cain realized he had many questions to ask of Omak. Were there other cities like Nod nearby? If so, did the inhabitants of Nod make war? How had they acquired the knowledge to quarry and build their massive, one-piece stone monuments? What inspired their stadiums? Now that the king was gone, who ruled the city? And what was this thing called a “calendar” that he had overheard people talking about?
    But he didn’t want to seem too eager. Omak was a taciturn sort, seldom initiating conversations and usually replying to questions tersely. It would take Cain time to establish the contours of Nod, and to appraise the opportunities.
    Meanwhile, if he really was to settle here, there was the issue of a mate. Omak raised the subject several months later.
    “People here,” he said one evening, “are live and let live. But if you really want to stay and be accepted, you will have to find a wife. You are of the age to marry. You will not grow younger.”
    Cain mulled this over for a moment. Then he replied, “And where would I find a wife, Omak?”
    The older man grinned wryly.