You are listening to a Clarks World magazine podcast with your host and narrator, Kate Baker.

Welcome to the fourth story of the month.

Our story is titled The Eighth Pyramid and is by Louis Inglis Hall.

Now, this story, like every other story we bring you here at Clark's World each and every month,

is brought to you by your support.

So if you are a subscriber, if you've gone to patreon.com forward slash Clarksworld.

Or Clarksworld magazine.com to see the myriad ways that you can help support us each and every month.

Thank you. And if you haven't yet, please consider doing so. We simply cannot do this without you.

Now, Louis Inglis Hall lives and works in Scotland. His stories can be found at Clark's World,

Strange Horizons, the Dark, and Podcastle, amongst others. If he isn't writing or cooking,

he might be talking about writing or cooking at Louis Anglis Hall.

That blue sky.social.

Now, if you like what you hear, you can go back to numismatic archetypes in the year of five regents and fishing the intergalactic stream.

So, my dear listener, I hope you can sit back, relax, and let me tell you a story.

There were seven great pyramids in Meridian, the city of Sigurots. There always had been. Meridian had retained them over eons. The pyramids belonged

to a time long before canticle, before even her ancestors, who had come to an alien world

and pitched canvas tents in long grass. They were remnant, a memorial, and they had been

thoroughly repurposed.

Now the pyramids were cobwebbed with silver scaffolds.

Now their terraces were painted in white and burnt orange.

Meridian's jungle no longer pushed so greedily at their borders.

The spaces in between were occupied with human detritus.

...