by Helen Allan
Etienne had been billeted closer to the White City because, much to his disgust, he would be required to continue working as a gardener, not act as a member of the city’s small protection force, as Sorrow was. Humans were considered too puny to be any use in the town’s defences, and it was believed they succumbed quicker to the miasma than most and would not live long.
Checking out Sorrow’s new accommodation soon after she had been assigned her billet, Etienne had promised he would slip away later in the evening to meet with her and discuss strategy, but she had urged him not to.
“You need to pressure Calarnise, Etienne,” she urged, “find out if she has seen where the pods are kept. I need to get into one and call Mum; I need to find out what is happening on Earth and back on Heaven. And you need to let me know if you start to feel ill, I’m worried about this miasma everyone is whispering about.”
“I’m fine,” he sighed, and I will do my best with Calarnise, but she is not unlike the pious people we met in the square, she believes the Gods are actual Gods, she believes she has been chosen to serve them. I doubt whether she will even consider what you are asking.”
“I know,” Sorrow frowned, “but you need to educate her,” she paused and smacked him hard on the arm at his dirty snigger, “you need to find out all you can about the aliens; how often they come down to the gardens for instance. They must land their pods; they can’t fly down or jump from their apartments. I just need a few minutes inside one, Etienne, you have to make it happen.”
“Inside an alien? Mmmm an interesting thought….,”
“No, you dickhead, inside a pod.”
They both began to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation as Etienne rubbed his arm in mock pain, where she had hit him.
“Alright, alright, calm ma cherie,” he chuckled, “I will find out all I can. In the mean-time get some rest, you look strangely frazzled for someone who has slept for the past 70 days.”
“I did almost just get blown up by a Gharial,” she murmured dryly, pointing to her blood-stained suit and immediately feeling sorry for the young woman who had lost her life in the attack.
“But you were saved by the cavalry,” he smirked.
“Yes,” she frowned, “do you think there is something strange about him?”
“Who?”
“You know, the Earthborn who saved me, he looks different from the others.”
“Well firstly, I like to think it was I who saved you but don’t bother thanking me, secondly,” he snorted, “they all look odd to me.”
“Thanks.”
“You are very welcome.”
“I mean thanks for saying all Earthborn look odd.”
“Except you, ma dove,” he laughed, walking towards the door, “I will see you tomorrow, perhaps your mood will be a little better.”
“Enjoy your gardening,” she muttered, rolling her eyes at his chuckle. She locked the door behind him before walking towards the end of the room and sitting heavily on her low, timber-framed bed. Resting her face in her hands, she allowed herself the luxury of a few tears. Etienne was right; she didn’t feel quite like herself. It had been a strange day, and her head was still full of memories that were not her own. She needed quiet reflection, but the grumblings of the Earthborn and low, heated discussions could be heard throughout the complex, despite the thickness of the stone walls. After a few minutes, she sighed heavily and shook her head.
“Get a grip, Sorrow, go have a shower, wash the blood off and start again.”
She felt better talking to herself out loud and, nodding, rose from the bed and left the room.
Stalking the corridors, she listened carefully to each door as she passed, but they all seemed occupied.
“Shower, shower,” she muttered to herself, following the long corridor to its end and then taking the stairs down to the lower storey. Finally, reaching the end of the lower hall, she came to a bathhouse. Rows and rows of deep timber baths filled the room, each was plumbed, but none featured a privacy screen or any other option for cleaning in seclusion. She walked quietly up the lines of empty baths, the tiled floor smooth beneath her bare feet. The room was cool and silent and soothed her rattled nerves. Clean, white towels were folded over the end of each bath and bars of a hard, yellow soap sat in holders near the taps – most looked used. She lifted one and, frowning, sniffed it. “Plant-based,” she mused quietly, “you’ll do.”
Making her way to the bath closest to the corner of the room which afforded the most, albeit limited privacy, she turned on the taps and sat on the hard, flat timber edge, waiting for it to fill.
Recognising she needed to rinse her blood-stained suit, she ran a second bath, close to the first, and dropped a bar of soap into the water. When her bath was full, she stripped off quickly, putting her suit into the bath next to hers and pushing it into the soapy water to soak. Turning she stepped into her bath and sunk chin-deep into the hot water, groaning in pleasure as the heat seeped into her muscles. She had never had a soak in a timber bathtub before, but it was not as uncomfortable as she imagined, the bottom and sides worn smooth by countless others before her. She smiled as the water soothed away some of the knots in her muscles, she hadn’t realised how tense she felt until now.
‘Timber bath. Bathing like a cowboy – no, bathing like a cowgirl, but even cowgirls get the blues.’
Shaking her head to dispel more depressing images from the regeneration tanks she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the water, only briefly opening them to lather up the soap and scrub her hands and face where she knew blood had sprayed. Despite her earlier plans to be quick in case others wanted to use the room, she gave in and washed her hair with the harsh soap, feeling it turn to straw. ‘Clean straw at least.’
Finally, fresh and relaxed she rose and wrapped a towel around her hair and another around her body. Kneeling to hand-scrub her suit, she frowned at the difficulty she was having removing the green blood of the Gharial, compared to the ease of soaking out the red from the girl. The Gharial’s blood seemed to have a slightly brownish tinge to it and Sorrow raised it close to her eyes and squinted. ‘If I had a microscope,’ she murmured, picking off some of the brown with her fingernail and considering it carefully. It reminded her of something she had seen, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember what. Frowning she scrubbed the suit harder until all the stains were gone before wringing it out and standing, watching in puzzled consternation as the red and green coloured water swirled down the plug, both colours independent, refusing to mix. Her knees hurt from where she had knelt on the hard floor, but she was too busy concentrating on what the stain reminded her of to care.
Rising, she undid and retightened her towel before turning towards the door, when she froze, her breath catching in her throat, her face flaming in anger and indignation. Standing close by the door, watching her, was the Earthborn who had saved her life.
“How long have you been standing there?” she demanded, her throat choked with anger.
“Long enough.”
“You have no right,” she spat, tightening her grip on the towel but making no move to head towards the door where he stood.
“Your body is,” he paused, seemingly groping for words, “not what I expected.”
“Fuck you,” she frowned, her anger stripping her of her ability to think up any other response.
“No, I..” he shook his head and leant back as though what she had said was completely out of sync with his comment. But she was mistaken in thinking he would clarify. Instead, he turned on his heel and left without another word.
Sorrow, shaking in anger, clutched her dripping uniform to her chest and stalked out behind him. He was nowhere to be seen in the long corridor as she stomped up the stairs into her room and slammed her door.
4
Etienne laughed so hard his body rocked.
“It’s not funny,” she spat, as they made their way towards her room.
“Yes, ma belle, it is. First, he saves your life,
then he says you have a horrible body, and now you are stuck with him as a fighting partner – that is funny.”
“He didn’t say I had a horrible body,” she retorted, “he said it was not what he ‘expected’- that is all.”
“Ah Sorrow, if your body is not what a man expects, then he must have a very poor imagination. Never mind, I have some good news for you, I know where the pods are.”
Sorrow set aside her outrage at her new predicament and concentrated on her friend. The day had started poorly; she had been called at Reveille to the training ground, where the Chosen priests had paired the Earthborn and assigned each pair to a squadron of Chosen trainees. They were expected to train the squadron and lead them in regular reconnaissance around the township to warn and defend against Gharial attacks. Each squadron, made up of around 50 Chosen, was put on a roster and assigned an area which would be rotated weekly to keep them fresh. Sorrow had been paired with the rude Earthborn who had watched her bathe, mostly because none of the other Earthborn wanted to pair with either a woman or the strangely intense man with the odd name. She would begin training exercises with him and rotational reconnaissance tomorrow at first light.
Now, turning her attention back to Etienne she listened as he described all he had learned from Calarnise.
“What?” she frowned and held up her hand to stall his next words, “in the actual Jetson apartments?”
“Oui.”
“So, they keep them in hangars in their apartments, but they never, ever land them in the gardens?”
“No, the only time they leave the apartments are on the monthly hunt for the Angels or if Lokan lands on the roof of the infirmary. The pods leave in the dead of night, go out for three days and return in the dead of night. Calarnise said they are silent – which we already know - and that most people had forgotten all about them except for the priesthood, and even they talk about The Hunt, but not the pods. She has seen them because she works strange hours sometimes in the infirmary. They have almost the same reputation UFO’s have on Earth – mythical, not really there, even if they are seen those who talk about them are considered crazy – it is very strange.”
“And Angels?” Sorrow mused, “Are they the type we know from mythology? And if so, were some of them taken to Earth to do the bidding of the Gods? And, if this is so, why do they hunt them to kill them here?”
“All valid questions,” Etienne said sighing, “and I’m afraid I don’t know the answers yet.”
“Perhaps you haven’t been asking the right questions,” Sorrow scowled in exasperation, “but, let me get this straight. The pods fly out once a month, but people don’t see them, and if they do they assume they have seen a messenger from God and accord it some kind of meaning?”
“The priests know about The Hunt, they know the pods hunt the original inhabitants of this planet, but they say it is God’s retribution towards the unbelievers. The general populace seems to go along with whatever their priests tell them.”
“So strange,” Sorrow shook her head, “So, Angels were the original inhabitants of Avalona. But if the pods never land,” her conversation jumped in line with her thoughts, “the only way we can get on board one is if we figure out a way to ascend into a hangar, or…” she chewed her lip and went silent.
“Or?” Etienne threw his hands up in exasperation.
“We go where they hunt.”
“I was afraid you might say that.”
“It is logical.”
“Sure, if you want to get killed.”
“But we will need to plan it out carefully, learn all we can about this planet and its peoples first,” Sorrow said, thinking aloud.
Etienne sighed. “In the meantime, I believe your training partner would like a word.”
Sorrow looked up quickly, standing in the doorway, was the Earthborn she had been paired with.
“What is your real name?” she asked, throwing her nose in the air. She had heard his answer already in the training ground but wanted to double check.
“Judgment.”
Sorrow cast a quick glance at Etienne, who frowned at the man and considered him carefully.
“I am Sorrow,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” he said, “that much is obvious.”
They eyed each other carefully over the short distance separating them, both so focused on each other; they barely noticed the ring of Chosen standing, circled, no more than 15 metres away, watching their every move.
“You need to keep out of the way of their jaws,” Sorrow shouted, slowly turning to the left, preparing to begin her mock attack on Judgement, “but not at the expense of losing sight of where they have their weapon aimed.”
“They are not intelligent, but they are ruthless,” Judgment added, his voice booming across the training ground as he feinted right and made a lunge at Sorrow.
“But close combat is not their forte,” Sorrow shouted, dodging his attack and rolling, suddenly coming up behind him. “So, a few moves should help you out-fox them,” she pretended to stab Judgment in the stomach as he spun, not quite in time to block her move.
“Dead,” she grinned.
The group murmured their appreciation, a few applauded.
“Go get your weapons now,” Judgement ordered, nodding to Sorrow to acknowledge her hit, “and practice on one another. Take turns being the Gharial.”
The group moved off as Sorrow walked to the walls surrounding the training area and hung up her wooden sword. They had been training their force together now for two weeks and had yet to face open combat. So far, they had shot and killed Gharial at a distance, but both knew that would not be enough experience for their recruits if a full-on battle occurred. The Chosen had very little knowledge of open warfare and even less of hand-to-hand combat. According to the little she had managed to garner from them, they had not fought a war in hundreds of years. They had an uneasy truce with the Winged who occupied the forested slopes of the mountains, and the Gods would destroy the Angels – the great bird-people who once inhabited the land, through fiery retribution and religious justice. As to what this meant, Sorrow had no idea. Most of her ‘soldiers’ were farmers, trainee priests and shop-keepers and all were extremely pious.
“I think they are learning,” she said, watching her Chosen men begin to train as Judgement also re-racked his weapons.
“They are all going to die,” he sneered, turning to walk away.
“Why are you even bothering to help train them then?” she rounded on him angrily, shouting at his back, “why not just lay around in your room moaning like the other Earthborn?”
She stood, hands on hips, waiting for his response.
“Do you need to ask?” he said, turning back to her slowly and looking her in the eye.
“Obviously.”
“You interest me.”
“Me? The woman with the disappointing body?”
He shrugged. “There are still many months until the portal opens – I do not wish to die on this planet.”
“That’s more like it,” she snorted, turning to walk away. She had only taken two steps when the alarm sounded. “Shit,” she muttered, running to where she left her real weapons on a bench in the shade.
“Army,” a voice boomed over the loudspeakers, “Gharials attack in the southern field – several hundred have been seen on the borders, make haste, may the Gods have mercy upon us all and strengthen your righteous arms.”
Sorrow clipped her weapons into place and turned, stepping back immediately, feeling Judgment literally standing at her back.
“Gah. Don’t do that,” she blurted.
“Do what?”
“Creep up on me and stand so bloody close.”
He inclined his head, “very well. Shall we walk together at the head of our force?”
“Sure,” Sorrow frowned, still feeling uncomfortable at how close he stood, “we can walk side by side, but unless you are planning on holding hands, you might want to leave a gap wide enough for me to
draw my weapons.”
He nodded and stepped slightly further apart from her.
“Moron,” she muttered under her breath as she walked out of the training grounds and towards the road where their soldiers waited, formed into marching lines, weapons at the ready. Although she had trained with him for a while now and he had been nothing if not strangely attentive and polite, she was still, if truth be known, hurt by his words in the bathhouse. She would train as they were bid, but that didn’t mean she was in any way planning on becoming friendly with him, no matter how physically attractive he was to her.
“At a jog,” Judgment shouted, his voice booming across the troops.
As one, they set off towards the southern part of the town, speeding up as they heard screams and saw streams of people blocking the streets, running in the opposite direction. Sorrow knew there was nothing to really stop any invasion. The fences around the town were built to stop the numerous rodents who inhabited this planet and preyed upon crops, nothing more.
“Judge,” Sorrow yelled, projecting her voice to be heard above the panicking populace. We should split up; you lead half, I’ll lead half.
“No,” he said, jogging on, “we stay together.”
“Judge,” she turned to face him as they ran, ignoring the chaos around them, “it makes more sense to split.”
As she said this, she glanced up and saw a Gharial on top of one of the buildings, its laser aimed at her partner, easily the tallest target of all those surrounding her. She moved instinctively, shoving him roughly aside, their legs tangling as they fell headlong into the dirt. Ahead of them, their soldiers ran on, some panicking and dodging down alleys, many falling dead, shot from above. The Gharial projectile aimed at Judge slammed into the ground behind them, exploding and showering them with dirt and flesh from nearby people hit by the shrapnel. Sorrow aimed her weapon from where she lay, half under Judge, and shot the lizard in the chest, watching as it tumbled down, landing a few feet from where she and her partner were sprawled.