A New Night

Friends Among the Night People

On the peninsula ahead of me, I saw Humanoid creatures with brown bodies walking along the beach. I wasn’t sure from this distance, but it seemed like their bald heads might have been a colorless gray—like literal ash. Seeing them, I stared in disbelief—overwhelmed momentarily by confusion and shock. Were they humans? The shape seemed mostly right. I wondered if the brown color of their bodies was actually clothing.

However, the way they moved seemed a little … off for humans. Maybe they were just a race of humans I didn’t know of? Or … more likely … they weren’t humans at all.

Even if those gray walking creatures were humans, I didn’t think they were people who would know anything about robots. At least, I couldn’t see any flying cars or spaceships docked at their island.

Living in tents on a tiny island. … if these were humans, they were not high-tech humans. They wouldn’t have the answers to my questions. I doubted they would even speak to me. Even if the distant islanders happened to be friendly, there was no way they would recognize a giant robot as one of their own. And what if they weren’t friendly?

No, it was better not to risk it by trying to get to the peninsula to talk to them. Instead, I would ask the Night People about them … after I learned about the Golems. I needed to figure out whether they were really a danger to me—and if I had any hopes of defending myself or anyone else from them. Maybe the knives in my arms would help—so long as I could use them.

I concentrated on my arms, trying to will the knives out, but nothing happened. I inspected one of my forearms—twisting and rotating it for a few minutes in a vain attempt to find some sort of button. When that idea didn’t work, I tried shaking my arm wildly—to maybe jostle the blade loose. However, the attempt was also useless.

Okay, fine—fighting did not seem like a good option if my body wouldn’t cooperate. If I really was in danger … there was always running away.

As soon as the thought of running crossed my head, a subconscious feeling emerged like a nauseating itchiness. It wasn’t fear, this feeling. More like … guilt. Something in the back of my mind was displeased at the idea of leaving friendly bat people behind to be tormented by a monster.

The feeling surprised me … but I felt inexplicably inclined to bend to it. Besides, I told myself, there was a technical problem with running away: water.

Even if I could fight through my guilt enough to clear-cut the entire island, make a boat big enough for myself, and tie it together with vines, I couldn’t know whether it would fall apart in the ocean. Also … there was no way for me to see if I was waterproof. Considering I was a robot, sinking could mean my circuits frying. Or, if I was waterproof but not buoyant, sinking indefinitely into the sea.

Even the idea of success in escaping the island came with problems. If the Wall really was encircling something like I thought it was, where would I go? Out into the infinite sea? Around the Wall only to find out that it was a giant circle? No, that wasn’t worth the risk. The best thing to do was just to learn more by talking to the Night People … and maybe figure out how to activate the blades in my arms.

I walked around for a few minutes on the edge of the hill that marked the boundary between the inner island and the beach. I glanced around, looking for Krogallo in the sky, then on the Wall, before I finally spotted him on the beach. He was speaking with another brown Night Person who seemed slightly younger.

I walked toward them.

Krogallo saw me, nodded, and said, “This was how he taught us. Not too deeply, just a brief show of mutual respect to acknowledge one another as ‘guys’.”

The other Night Person tried it in my direction, his eyes bright and excited.

I nodded back, still feeling awkward but a little more used to the nodding.

The brown bat turned to Krogallo and asked, “Would you like me to get your dinner?”

“Later, thank you,” Krogallo said. “I would like to speak with the Sleeping God first.”

The other Night Person nodded one last time before spreading his wings and taking flight.

Krogallo revealed his teeth in a friendly-seeming display and said excitedly, “I believe that everybody on the island now knows about your presence. There should be no alarm when they see you walking around. I instructed them to go about their business as usual, at least for tonight, as you settle in. Now, I’m sure you have questions, requests, and ideas. Please, share them with me.”

I scratched the back of my metal neck, mostly just nervously since I didn’t actually feel at all itchy. “I was … thinking … about what you told me. And I saw the creatures on the far island.”

Krogallo’s expression became somewhat grim. He shook his head and said, “We call them the Servants.”

“They serve you?” I asked, suddenly a little worried. I didn’t want my affection for the Night People to be tested by finding out that they were some kind of evil, upper-class slavers.

“No,” Krogallo said, his tone somber. “I do not believe they even recognize us as people. But rather, as animals. They serve the Golems.”

Somehow, this news made the threat of the Golems seem more … real to me. I hoped again that the Servants kept giant, smelly armadillos as pets. Or maybe the Golems were like imaginary “devils” that the Servants figuratively obeyed when tormenting the Night People. However, my continued attempts at denial seemed increasingly futile … making my rational explanations seem farfetched.

“Do the Servants … mess with the Night People?” I asked.

“Mess with?” Krogallo asked, furrowing his brow.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “They aren’t aggressive?”

“We Night People have heard of the Servants being aggressive in some places,” Krogallo said, scratching between his toes with his large wing-claws. “We have encountered the occasional tribe of Servants who have tried to attack us as prey. And I’ve heard that a few villages have had to protect themselves from them more regularly. However, the Servants from that peninsula have never caused us harm.”

“So, you don’t interact with them at all?” I asked.

Krogallo wrinkled his face a moment before he replied. “They do sometimes lure us there with food gifts so they can collect our excrement.”

“Ew,” I said automatically—and then stopped. It occurred to me that my response might have been rude … and that brought a bit of worry. I certainly didn’t want my disgust with collecting excrement to be conflated with disdain for the bats who made it. After all, poo might not be a taboo to the Night People ... or blood. Or the consumption of blood to make blood poo. Oh god—I was making myself sick.

Krogallo, however, seemed far less bothered by my commentary. With widened eyes and a tone that was alive with excitement, he said, “Indeed! However, their use of our excrement is not as foul as it might seem. I have been to their island and observed them mixing the leavings of the Night People with black soil. With it, they nurture plants that they eat.”

“Oh … so they’re farmers,” I said, feeling a little silly. But now that I thought about it, I was pretty sure that most fertilizers were made from manure. Though, in my defense, this was still blood manure.

“That is a good word for their plant-growing!” Krogallo said and nodded vigorously. “Far’mers … as they make little bits of food go very far. Excellent! Oh, it is so exciting to observe their ways!”

I thought, for just a moment, about explaining this misunderstanding—to try to tell him about farms and agriculture … beyond what he had clearly learned for himself. Instead, I let it go and asked, “Have the Servants … always been there?” The idea of a small number of humans living permanently in a few dozen tents struck me as odd. The humans I knew of would have expanded quickly. I supposed that was another clue that maybe these weren’t humans at all.

“They have only arrived in my lifetime,” Krogallo replied. “They journeyed here floating on large, hollow trees—making them move using loud stones.”

I wondered if he was talking about motors on the backs of boats. However, something wasn’t quite right with that idea. Why would the Servants have ships with engines but still be living in tents on a tiny island? Were they a cult of anti-technology humans that put ash on their faces? Were they another species altogether that had only recently developed engine-like technology? Or were my guesses wrong entirely?

I sighed. Just more mysteries to add to the growing list.

“Do not worry; you will figure all these things out in time,” Krogallo replied. He bared his teeth in a bat smile, like I remembered from my dreams. His stomach then let out a low whining sound, which he ignored. “For now, can I bring you anything to eat, Sleeping God?”

Actually, I felt no hunger pangs whatsoever. “No, thank you—but you should get something for yourself.” Again, I felt nauseous pangs of guilt. He was older … and here I was, keeping him from eating. Of course, this led back into my existentialist spiral of wondering why I was the sort of person who would feel so guilty at the drop of a hat. That emotion just came so naturally to me. Well, that one and fear … and worry. These were my predominant emotional traits, even without memories.

Great.

Krogallo—having missed my inner dialogue—nodded and said, “Of course, Sleeping God. I will return soon. In the meantime, Romalla will answer any questions you may have to the best of her abilities.” He gestured with a motion of his head. Then I heard the sudden flapping of wings.

I turned and saw Romalla land a few feet away from us. She didn’t say anything at first. Her wide eyes made her seem excited but also somehow hyper-focused.

Krogallo spread his wings, took a few hops, and then took off into the air—leaving me with his apprentice.

“Hey,” I said, feeling a little awkward.

“Hello, Sleeping God,” Romalla said, speaking quickly. Then, without even a breath, she continued, “I have spoken to Krogallo about your memory loss. We agreed that the best thing to do would be for me to tell you more about yourself. Where you came from, your siblings, everything you could have questions about! We are lacking in divine knowledge compared to what you surely knew. But perhaps if you were to learn more, you might remember more!”

“Oh,” I replied, unsure of how I should answer all this. Until now, I had been unconvinced by any of the claims about my origins by the Night People. But maybe it would be good to know more of what they believed … if only to avoid being offensive and to find out if there were any cultural taboo pitfalls I needed to avoid. The last thing I needed was to accidentally mock or desecrate some ritual or holy rite of my only friends in this new world. Especially since this civilization of Night People did seem like a little theocracy—with the priests in charge.

So, I replied, “Krogallo said that I have sisters—the sun and moon? Or the gods of the sun and moon? Something like that.”

Romalla nodded eagerly. “Your sisters are Mulla—who powers the moon and pulls the wind along the seas. As well as Magolla—whose wrath fires the sun. You also have a mother; her name is Ragalla—god of the sea, from which all life comes.”

While her mythology was something I wanted to know, I did feel a bit curious about what she meant about the gods. So, to clarify, I looked up at the pale moon and asked, “You believe that a god named Mulla is up there?”

Romalla opened her mouth before pausing and looking around. She stared intently at me for a moment—maybe judging whether I would strike her down with lightning? Then she said, “According to the old traditions of our people, yes. But … I think that this idea is preposterous.”

While the heresy didn’t bother me any, I felt surprised by this confession. I looked around—as Romalla had done—to see if anyone was in hearing distance and then knelt so we could talk in hushed tones. “Go on.”

Romalla nodded excitedly, seeming even to tremble a little. “You, for example, have been in the cave since before our people came to this island. Krogallo found you here. But your stone form wasn’t really you; it was an image of you. And you came here from the Spirit Realm to inhabit that image!” Her tone became much louder for a moment before she winced and brought it back down to a whisper.

I wasn’t sure about the logistical accuracy of her beliefs about me, though I could see why she thought them. As organic beings, it would make sense that the Night People would see my metal body as artificial—just like I did. Instead of perceiving that I had woken up, she thought my consciousness had been transferred. In fact, that was a distinct possibility. However, transitioning from my dreams in the pod to being in the cave with the Night People felt more like waking up. I also highly doubted that I would have ever been the sort of person who would transfer their consciousness into a stupid-looking machine.

Romalla looked around again and then continued, “Additionally, we hold that the gods cast the Golems from the Wall. However, they could not do that if they were in the sky. It would be a moot point. And if the gods were the sun and moon themselves, then when would they convene? It is utter madness.”

“I … agree,” I said, completely shocked (and very much relieved) to have found another non-believer, and a priest no less. “So you know that I’m not-”

“From the sky or under the ground,” Romalla finished for me, though it was certainly not what I would have said. “You are from the Spirit Realm, somewhere beyond the Gods’ Wall, from which you and your kin manage the world remotely by the power of your spirits. At least that’s where you were until you came to inhabit your stone image.”

I paused … a little bit disheartened. Still, I could agree that her personal mythology made more sense. So I nodded and asked, “I don’t know about all that … but it’s a bit more logical. What does Krogallo think of this idea?”

“He says that it is a wise thing to ponder but that I should hold to it quietly until I am the village elder,” Romalla said, sounding somewhat deflated. “Deviations from the traditional understandings of the gods are difficult for him. He … has had disagreements with the priests of the other islands. Years ago, they nearly excommunicated him for claiming your divinity.”

I felt my cheeks get warm and itchy for a moment … though most of that feeling was probably in my head. It seemed I had been causing problems for the Night People even before I had woken up. The information was helpful, though. I was a tribal deity … not belonging to all Night People. I suppose that meant I might not be as welcome on other islands as on this one. I might even be seen as a heretical figure … or some sort of devil.

Romalla continued, “We even added you to the Song of the Night Gods.”

“There’s a song?” I asked.

“There are many!” Romalla said, again excited. “All communication of the gods comes through song. Music is what divides the priests from other Night People.”

“Because you can sing well?”

Romalla let out a loud snorting sound that took me a moment to identify as laughter. “No, it is because we can hear the music … the divine proclamations and inspirations of the gods.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. From how she said it, what she told me did not seem like some kind of con that priests were pulling on the people. On the contrary, she seemed sincere about it.

“It isn’t constant,” Romalla said, furrowing her face and looking entirely concentrated on the matter. “However, if we are high up, if we face the Wall, if the light of Mulla shines clearly, or if the gods speak particularly loudly, we can sometimes hear the whispered music of the gods. They tell us … what is good, what is beautiful, and what are the many ways to live. Their language is not completely like ours, but our priests learn how to speak it. I could hear and understand some of the words as a child. That was how Krogallo knew I was a priest—when I spoke a word he had also heard from the spirit realm.”

This fascinated me, and I did not feel inclined to disbelieve her. Of course, I didn’t know Romalla well, but she seemed too smart to think that lying to a god was a good idea and too blunt to make things up. Perhaps I was wrong, but that was just how she struck me. For that matter, Krogallo was more of an eccentric older person than a master manipulator … unless they were both so skillfully deceitful that I had never stood a chance.

But what did that mean for me? It certainly cast a little doubt on my previous resolution that they were entirely wrong about who and what I was. Maybe they did know something. The issue was my feelings about being a person and my awareness of the existence of another world beyond the one I had woken up in; both seemed a bit too real to be a mere hallucination on my part. So, all in all, I was not yet close to the truth. I’d have to wait and find out more.

In the meantime, I switched the topic of conversation with Romalla to more frivolous things that didn’t require as much of my emotional energy. Life on the island, the many delicious beetles, and how to pick the perfect walrus creature—called a bloodbag—to drink from (spoiler, the ones who had recently eaten the most, but you had to wait a couple hours for their blood to get a pleasant, fishy taste).

We talked until her stomach rumbled, and I had to urge her to leave and get food. I was quickly figuring out how much Night People liked to talk. But that was okay with me.