Death and Resurrection (The Ballad of Broken Song Book 1)

by Simon Birks

  She wondered what had changed. She thought about telling Hoep, but decided against it. The more she kept from him, the safer he would be. She liked the man. He was kind, and kindness, in anyone, was a rare find indeed.

  She watched him now, from within her cowl, her habitual daywear. It was her second skin, and she liked it.

  She didn’t know how she was going to keep Hoep safe. She had lied when he’d mentioned the guilt, because she certainly felt guilty now. She had wanted him to stay with her, and had made the others forget about him. That wouldn’t last forever. In a few days’ time they would remember Hoep, and they would wonder where he went. They might even come after him. And that could happen because of her manipulations.

  Oh, yes, she had plenty of guilt, all right.

  *

  And all the time, the Vengeance watched. It looked, it paced. There was someone else out there it could use. Someone more powerful than this thief. What a find it had been! Where had this person come from? Why had it not sensed them before?

  It was a mystery that would have to be solved. It had to know about them. The Vengeance had to use them, or destroy them. But that was for later, this thief would have to do for now. It needed to wait, and be patient. It could be patient, when it wanted.

  Still Alive

  When Visenai woke, the Vengeance was gone, as was the creature. She looked over to the others, and saw that Ma Poppun was preparing something.

  “Where did you find the food?” Visenai asked.

  “From the best place there is, right in front of me. Hungry?”

  Visenai smiled.

  “Yes. Very.”

  *

  When Hossip woke up, the cook and the girl were expecting him to be in pain. But he simply blinked a few times and then smiled.

  “How the hell am I still alive?” he croaked, then coughed.

  Ma Poppun shrugged, and seeing her do it, Visenai copied her. They all laughed, and everything seemed to be better.

  *

  They found the carriage, and the horses, untouched. They loaded it up and set out before the day was done.

  “Still want to go to Langeph?” Hossip croaked.

  His back, now pasted with hardened green leaves, glistened in the sun.

  “Yes,” Visenai said. “The city on the ford.”

  “No problem,” the coachman said. “Let’s pray it’s an uneventful trip.”

  Ma Poppun smiled.

  “Amen to that.”

  Pretty

  Pinto and Fijefel moved through the forest. They had stopped once, with Fijefel climbing a tree and picking some fruit at its top. The fruit had tasted good. Perhaps not as ripe as it should have been, but good nonetheless.

  He hadn’t asked where they were going, and doubted their mimed conversations would reveal the destination anyway. He could tell they were headed somewhere, and for now that was good enough.

  They arrived at a clearing, which took Pinto by surprise. For the last hour, the foliage had been so thick you’d have thought it simply never ended. Now the two of them stood in a gap about thirty feet round. Fijefel pointed upwards, and when Pinto looked up at the sky, it took his breath away. The clouds, such as they were, looked as if they were on fire. In fact, the whole sky was red. It had never looked like that on Whate.

  He saw Fijefel watching him again.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  She regarded him carefully, then looked up at the view herself. Pinto watched her shrug and smile. Everyone shrugs, he thought, and almost laughed.

  Fijefel sniffed the air. Pinto copied her but couldn’t discern exactly what it was she was smelling. She looked at him with a frown, then held up a hand to indicate he should stay where he was. Pinto wasn’t going to argue. He watched as she shinned up a tree on the edge of the clearing. At the top, she looked over in the direction they were travelling. Pinto wondered what she could see.

  Fijefel made her way down the tree as quickly as she’d ascended, and pointed ahead. Pinto nodded, and, when she set off once more, fell in behind his guide.

  *

  There was nothing to be pleased about with the sky, Fijefel thought. It looked red because the Gods were warning them. It had always been this way. The Shroud was a place to be wary of. Fijefel had almost turned back on a couple of occasions; when she’d picked the fruit for them, and another time when she remembered a story she’d been told.

  There was no noise within the Shroud. It stole the noise so screams could not be heard. It was a bad place.

  Soon they would stop and rest, keeping the worst part of the journey until the morning, when they were fresh, strong, and could fight against whatever it was that would challenge them.

  She looked at the God, and he seemed strong. That was good. But he was also naive. He thought the sky was pretty.

  He wouldn’t think that soon.

  Killing Would be a Mercy

  “I guess I should be saying thanks,” Aponser said, rubbing the back of her head. “I wouldn’t have stood a chance if I’d opened the door.”

  Jenza looked at her.

  “I did what I had to do,” she said. “Sorry.”

  Aponser looked at the girl.

  “It wants you,” she told her. “It wants you and I’ve never heard of it wanting anyone. It just takes who it can get usually, but it really wants you.”

  The girl shrugged.

  “I have a gift,” she said. “Much like you do, I’m sure.”

  “Perhaps,” the old woman replied.

  She sat just outside the house. After the Vengeance had finished, Aponser had started digging the grave for her father, but after ten minutes or so had had to sit down. Jenza had taken over, ignoring the protests of the older woman, carrying on the digging with a shovel they’d found in the small back room of the house.

  “Who are these Harvesters you spoke about?” Jenza asked. “You seemed to think them formidable.”

  The old woman stopped rubbing her head.

  “They are ancient people,” she said. “Cowards, but very effective cowards. They take when they can, and they take when you least expect.”

  “What do they do with the people they take?”

  “They harvest them.”

  “Kill them?”

  The old lady shook her head.

  “Killing would be a mercy.”

  “We should watch our step then,” Jenza said.

  Aponser nodded. “That we should.”

  There was a pause in the conversation, and all that could be heard was Jenza’s steady digging. It was mid-morning.

  “I’m sorry about…” Jenza started.

  Aponser waved the rest of it away with her hand.

  “You needn’t worry. We hardly knew each other. He didn’t want to know me. Sometimes people aren’t who you thought they’d be.”

  Both women looked at the cloth-wrapped body lying on the ground.

  “Can I ask you something?” Jenza said.

  “You can always ask…”

  “Since I woke up, since I saw him, I’ve felt a need to try and listen to him.”

  Aponser looked round.

  “Listen?”

  “It feels like he has something to say, I can’t explain it more than that. I might be able to help him, though I don’t know how.”

  Aponser looked away, thinking about it.

  “Yes. If it helps.”

  Jenza shoved the spade into the earth.

  It was odd, the feeling she’d had. It pulled her, but underneath it also pushed her. It wanted her to be near, and it wanted her to leave the old man alone. She had thought it might be a trap, laid by the Vengeance. But it didn’t feel like it, and all she had to go on, all she had to trust, were her own feelings.

  Jenza went to the old man’s body, and knelt down. She made sure she didn’t have her back to Aponser. She’d been surprised by the old lady’s affable nature, considering what she had done to her only several hours before. No one was that happy about being knocke
d out.

  When she was fully knelt and settled, Jenza opened her hands and placed them on the shoulders of Aponser’s father.

  Wrylan was his name. She knew it the instant she touched him. A surface memory. It was his name, after all. She settled her thoughts. If this was the surface, it was as good a place to start as any.

  He was old. He was angry. He was… duped.

  Jenza wondered how he was duped. She thought perhaps these memories were the ones he thought about most. If so, she had to delve deeper.

  “What are you getting?” she heard Aponser say.

  “Nothing much,” she said. “Give me time.”

  Jenza moved around the surface of his mind again. She looked for the duped memory. Other information came at her: his routine, his favourite spot to sit, his favourite songs. It would be sad if she dwelt on it.

  He was duped. Jenza stopped moving. She tried to concentrate on that thought, tried to go underneath it with her mind. She couldn’t. It either wasn’t letting her, or she wasn’t doing it right.

  Then, another idea came to her; a picture in her mind of a pond. A pond of thoughts. She reached out with her mind, and touched the thought with something that resembled a hand. The water rippled. She let her mind follow the ripple.

  He was tricked by a woman. It looked like his sweetheart. It sounded like his sweetheart. But inside it was something else. And it was too late. One day she had been there, and he had loved her like he had always loved her, and then the next day she was gone. Gone with the Harvesters. But she wasn’t taken by them. She was one of them. So, who had she taken? And then Jenza understood. She had taken a child. An unborn child. And he hadn’t known. Hadn’t known back then. He just mourned for the loss of his sweetheart. And then the woman who’d said she was his daughter had come, and he could see she was. But how could he trust her? She was Harvested. She was like his sweetheart. Was she like his sweetheart? What was she here to take? Him? Did she want him? He wanted to know. He hoped she knew more about her mother, her mother he missed so very much, that no matter how much singing he did, and she had told him she’d loved it when he sung, no matter how much singing he did, it wouldn’t bring her back. But how could he trust her? How could he? How could he?

  The ripples stopped.

  Jenza looked at the surface again.

  Find it.

  It was strong. So strong, and this was the thought that was pulling her.

  Find it. Jenza touched the water. The ripples moved out once more. It had been stolen. He had been the guardian but it had been stolen. It was what she had wanted, but she had stayed long enough to take his child, too. It was powerful. It was a weapon against them. A weapon against them. A weapon. Then the ripples were gone.

  Rest in peace, Jenza thought, and she hoped he would. She took her hands off the body and opened her eyes.

  Aponser was looking at her, with an expression of desperation.

  “Did you get anything?” she asked. “What did he say?”

  “He was thinking about your mother,” she said. “Thinking about the past.”

  Aponser looked close to tears.

  “Was there anything else?”

  Jenza looked at the woman. She didn’t need to be gifted to know what she was hoping for.

  “He was thinking about how badly he’d treated you,” she lied. “About how much he loved you.”

  Aponser’s words caught in her throat. Her eyes grew wide, and the tears started to fall.

  “That… that was what… he was thinking?”

  “Some of the thoughts, yes.”

  The older woman wept fiercely. It was the loud, unashamed weeping of a bereaved child; cries of relief and anguish mixed. Jenza wasn’t sure if she’d done the right thing, even now. She hoped it would help.

  Find it, he had thought, and though it was a personal thought, it had felt like he had directed it at her, such was its force. Jenza wasn’t sure whether or not tell Aponser, certainly not whilst she was in this state. But even then, something told her to keep it quiet.

  Jenza put a hand on the old lady’s wiry arm.

  “I’ll leave you for a while,” she said. “Would you like that?”

  The old lady could only nod in reply.

  Tendrils of Blue

  Gideon and Ka Yeta walked, and the miles were eaten up under their feet. They spoke little, and stopped only to take on food and water when necessary. After many hours, Ka Yeta rested and checked her leg. It was no worse, no better. There was no infection, and she was pleased with that.

  She often glanced at Gideon, but did not think too much about him. They were together, because together they were stronger, and there would be plenty of things they’d meet which would challenge them. She didn’t think much about the Vengeance either, even though it had recoiled from her so absolutely.

  Am I a monster? But that thought no longer seemed applicable.

  “What sort of monster am I?” she asked.

  She thought she had whispered it, but Gideon, who’d been walking a few paces in front, stopped and turned.

  “Monster?” he asked.

  “You and me,” Ka Yeta said. “We do not like each other. I do not even like myself. I am changed, and I guess you are, too.”

  “I changed,” Gideon said. “I changed in my Resurrection. I changed again the day we broke out.”

  “I saw a monster,” Ka Yeta said.

  “I saw one, too.”

  She looked into the boy’s eyes.

  “Do you think I am the monster?”

  “I recognise you,” Gideon said. “I recognise you from the Complex.”

  “But the monster was so powerful. Do you not think it could plant those memories in you, or in me? It could look like me, and it could sound like me, and it killed those children. I could have killed them.”

  “I murdered the Ka. That makes me a monster in the eyes of nearly everyone. And I know it was I who did it.”

  “Do you? It could have been me with my tendrils of blue, I could have done it, and told you you had done it in your sleep.”

  Gideon smiled, it was true. This woman could be the monster, and could have murdered the Ka. It was an interesting idea.

  “What would you have me do?” asked the boy.

  “I want to find someone who can tell me what I am. There will be someone in the city who can tell me. I need your help.”

  “I could run you through with my sword,” he said. “That would end your worry, and your doubts.”

  Ka Yeta nodded.

  “And don’t think I haven’t considered it. But that’s not what I want. Not yet, not until I know more.”

  “Alright,” Gideon said. “But, for what it’s worth, you saved my life, and for that, I certainly don’t think you’re a monster, at all.”

  An Unwelcome Friend

  The sky was definitely darker now, and there hadn’t been enough time for it to get that way. Fijefel was aware the God had noticed this. He had slowed down in the past ten minutes.

  Now, the God put up his hand. She stopped. He gestured to the sky, and then cupped his hands gradually over his eyes to show the lessening light. Fijefel nodded her understanding. She looked solemn. She pointed to the two of them, and then got down on her haunches and covered her head to signify them hiding. He pointed at the sky, at the direction they were heading, and then made himself big and tall and contorted his face into that of a monster. She nodded. There were monsters that way, though she didn’t know their precise nature.

  *

  Pinto watched as she repeated his last mime, and pointed back to where they came. He smiled. Yes, there were monsters everywhere. Nowhere was safe. Wherever they were headed, it was going to be dangerous.

  This is a new day, Pinto thought. Or just the end to a bad one.

  No days were going to be easy until… well, he didn’t know when. One thing he did know, if he lost Fijefel, he’d be in trouble. He was totally dependent on her.

  *

  The God l
ooked scared. He was beginning to realise what lay ahead. It was natural. It was healthy. If he hadn’t feared the days to come, then his arrogance would have killed him for sure. Fijefel looked around. The light was worse, and she’d put off preparing for it until the last moment. Now, it was here. They would need torches. They could make spears, and some arrows. She put down her sword, and pointed to the floor.

  “Camp,” she said, in her own words.

  The God’s eyes, which had been peering into the trees, snapped to her.

  “Camp?” he said. “You call it a camp, too?”

  Fijefel felt a crooked smile appear on her face.

  “You speak our language?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” he said. “But, now I can.”

  Fijefel, the child raised in the harsh lands, a hunter, a tracker, a survivor in the face of horrors, and a soldier, felt the wetness on her cheeks, and realised she was crying. She bowed her head, got down on her knees, and raised her arms, as if to offer something.

  “You truly are a God,” she said. “God of language, of power and might, please accept me as your humble servant.”

  *

  She had got it wrong. Pinto didn’t want to tell her. A God? He was not a God. He didn’t really know what he was. He had been reborn, Resurrected for a second time. That was all he knew. And then…

  Something had spoken to him. In the Resurrection.

  What had that been? It had been important. It was almost there. But now was not the time.

  He looked at Fijefel.

  “There’s no need to kneel,” he said. “I am not a God. I’m pretty sure.”

  “You come from that Orb?” Fijefel asked.

  “Yes, I do. That was where I lived. Then I… died, and I get remade as this and put here.”

  “That sounds quite God-like…”

  “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  “And now you can speak in our language.” Fijefel stood. “I believe you are a God. And isn’t that what Gods are in the end. Objects of faith?”