The Sorrow Anthology

by Helen Allan

  Moving to rise, she found herself pinned by his heavy, muscular body. “Are you hurt,” she gasped, her eyes raising to meet his.

  “No.”

  “Then get off me, you great oaf.”

  He frowned and placed one hand on her left breast, gently squeezing it.

  “What the fuck?” Sorrow shouted, brushing off his hand, “what are you doing?”

  “They are so soft,” he said, frowning.

  “Are you soft in the head?” she spat, pushing his hand away and struggling to rise.

  He, as if suddenly remembering where he was, jumped up and leant down, offering his hand to help her rise.

  Sorrow batted his hand away with her gun and, scrambling from the ground, turned to set off at a jog behind the troops that were now in the thick of the fighting, leaderless.

  She didn’t need to turn her head to know he was right beside her, she could feel his arm brush against hers as they ran, and her spine tingled at the remembrance of him squeezing her breast.

  5

  Sorrow fired at close range, cutting off the head of the Gharial with one click of her laser chainsaw’s button. She grimaced as its body toppled over, onto the torso of the child it had been eating.

  Feeling Judgement at her back she closed her eyes tightly for a second, willing the tears to absorb back into her body, unwilling to show weakness in front of someone who barely showed emotions at all.

  Months now they had fought the Gharials, tried to prevent them preying upon the local populace, and yet still, the enemy managed to get through. The deaths of the children, though, hit her the hardest, hit them all hard – broke the spirits of even the staunchest Chosen, caused many to simply give up.

  Staring down, she fought back the memories of her own child, just a few months inside her womb when she miscarried, but still, so loved, so anticipated. ‘Would I give up too, if I found my child mauled by an alien. Would the sadness be so great that I could not go on? No, I would use that anger and despair to fuel my revenge, just as I had done when I cut Anhur’s head off – if only I’d finished him that day, taken the head, burnt it, if only I’d been stronger.’ She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and concentrated away her frustration.

  “We were too slow, again,” Judgment said, his voice low and deep.

  “No shit,” she retorted, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, “what clued you in? The half-eaten child or the burning buildings?”

  “They raised the alarm too late. They sit and pray and do not run,” he shrugged, “If alerted we can prevent the attacks, but these Chosen,” he shook his head, “perhaps they do not wish to be saved. Perhaps they do not deserve to be saved.”

  Sorrow shook her head, the tears spilling over. He was right; this dwindling township was its own worst enemy. What hope did she or anyone else have of saving a populace who wouldn’t lift a finger to save themselves – or even to save their own children?”

  “Why do your eyes water?” he gripped her arm as she began to walk away, spinning her back to face him.

  “I feel for the child,” she frowned, “obviously.”

  He stared at her, processing what she had just told him.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you care what happens to this child?”

  “Jesus Christ, Judge, because it is an innocent and we didn’t protect it. Are you so far removed from any humanity to have absolutely no feelings about this?”

  She pointed to the young boy’s body. He looked to have been about five-years-old, gnawed like a chew toy he had most likely died from the bite mark to his torso, but his death, she knew, would not have been swift or painless. Tears welled again; she wondered where his mother was, if she would return to find her child this way, or if she too were dead.

  “He is not like us,” he frowned, as though considering his words carefully, “but you are wrong. I feel.” As he said this, he wiped one of the tears from her cheek with his thumb and licked it.

  She frowned at him, speechless.

  Over the past months he had done many bizarre things like this. But she had become mostly used to them, knowing that no matter how strange he was, he always had her back. On more than one occasion she had heard rumours of this or that Earthborn beaten up for making an ill-considered comment about her. Even Etienne, who disliked the soldier immensely, begrudged that she couldn’t have been paired with a better fighting partner. Without realising it, she had begun to rely upon him, and she knew, he upon her.

  She shook her head at him now as he stepped back from her and stared down at the dead Gharial.

  “They grow bolder, they hunger. This one, he kicked its body, looks thinner than any I have seen. We are making a difference, Sorrow.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it,” she sighed, moving towards the burning building and holstering her weapon to pick up a bucket. “Come on, we have to help them fight the fire, it’s only one home, but in this weather, it could spread quickly if the wind picks up.”

  Judgement reached for the bucket she held, his large, tanned hand, covering hers.

  “I will fight the fire,” he said gently, “you are needed in the infirmary.”

  As he said this, Sorrow realised she was deliberately trying to avoid joining Calarnise and felt shame run down her spine and a lump build in her throat. The injuries would be terrible, most of those attacked would die, only the few Earthborn who fought could be rejuvenated, all the rest would succumb to infection or shock. She had seen it time and time again. The Chosen, extremely pious and pacifists in the main, were not hardy or capable of weathering injury to the same extent the humans were that she had healed during her brief time as a trainee doctor on Earth. And as for the Sin she had healed on Heaven, they were virtually bomb-proof, hardy as hell, difficult to kill and quick to heal. Those she could work with, but these people? She felt as though she had no medical skills at all that could be used to aid these townsfolk. It was almost as if the shock alone killed most, their nervous systems simply not built to withstand trauma at any level.

  Taking a deep breath, she handed the bucket to Judgement and turned slowly to make her way to the infirmary. She would be there to help Calarnise, as she knew Etienne would be, to hold the hands of the dying. If that was all she could offer she knew it was better than nothing, and the nightmares that would come later were the price she would have to pay for her inability to heal these bird-god hybrids.

  “Wait,” Judgment said quietly, stalling her.

  She turned back to look at him, ignoring the running and shouting of those all around them as they raced back and forth from the nearest taps, buckets overflowing.

  Judge stood, his eyes illuminated by the flames and studied her face.

  Sorrow stared back before taking two steps towards him and slamming into his body. He said nothing, his hard arms encircling her as she pressed her face into his broad chest. She stood like that for some time, blocking out everything around her, concentrating on feeling held, safe. His battle suit felt smooth beneath her cheek and absorbed her tears. She realised she had come to rely on him as a partner in more ways than she realised and that in offering the shelter of his arms, he was offering her more than his reluctant and often brusque conversation revealed. She had been wrong to accuse him of having no humanity.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped back from his embrace and walked away without a word.

  As she headed towards the infirmary anger overtook her despondency, rage at the Gods and their procreative experiments that would produce a race only to leave them to languish in ignorance and die undefended.

  ‘Were her ancestors so evil that they would allow their own genetic relatives to worship them and fall?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She knew the answer to this already, she had seen it with her own father; they must be stopped. Grimacing she turned her head and looked towards their white Jetsons’ homes in the sky. Were they sitting up there now, watching this destruction and yet doing noth
ing?

  And why had she only heard one heartbeat as she rested her head against Judgement’s chest?

  6

  Etienne tossed the bible aside and considered Sorrow’s profile as she stood, gazing out the window from her second-storey billet.

  Five months they had lived in the town, and still, their understanding of the planet was rudimentary.

  “It is all the same rubbish as on Earth,” he sighed, “the Gods descended and made mankind, or in this case, birdkind, in their own image. The meek shall inherit the world. Stay pious, stay pliable, obey the Gods and all will be well. When you die, you will end up in a better place.”

  “And that sure as hell isn’t Heaven,” Sorrow muttered.

  Hearing Etienne chuckle she couldn’t help but laugh also. How strange their understanding of life had become since they had begun travelling through space.

  “What I want to know though,” Sorrow said quietly, still staring out the window, “is where are they, Etienne?”

  “Who?”

  “The Gods? The Angels? The Winged-ones? You and I have both read that bible back to front. It clearly says there are four races on this planet. And yet, despite living here for two months, all we have seen are the people who call themselves The Chosen. Where are the rest?”

  Etienne shrugged. “They are around.”

  “Undoubtedly, but I wonder if the Chosen’s beliefs are based on a lie. I don’t know Etienne, but I don’t want to sit around idly for the next seven months waiting for the portals to open only to find myself inundated with lizards again. We need to warn the powers that be, whoever they are, that war is coming. It might not be this year, it might not be next, but it is coming – and if these Chosen won’t listen to us, perhaps the other races will.”

  Etienne sighed and rubbed his head. Since their arrival he had continued seeing Calarnise and gardening in the city, gathering all the intel he could about the planet. Sorrow, meanwhile, had been guarding the township, as had some of the surviving Earthborn, from the intermittent attacks and raids made by seemingly gorilla parties of Gharial.

  “Well, I know one thing,” Sorrow said quietly, “the Gharial numbers are dropping, attacks seem to be less frequent and the last ones we killed,” she shook her head and frowned, “they looked sick, desperate.”

  “It could be the miasma,” Etienne put his head to the side, thinking out loud, “Calarnise said it was deadly for the Gods until they learned to live in the sky, and it is the cause of the low birth-rate of the Chosen, they don’t die from the disease, but impotence is a side effect for many who catch it.”

  “Yes,” Sorrow nodded, considering carefully what she knew of the disease and its effects. “I’ve heard the Chosen are mostly immune though, and even though they don’t have a particularly great fecundity, they say they outnumber everyone else who once lived on this world – or they did, we can’t know how many Chosen were killed by the Gharial elsewhere on this planet.”

  “Then there’s the Angels,” Etienne shook his head, “they were, and still are apparently, being exterminated by the Gods during their hunts.”

  “Which leaves the Winged,” Sorrow frowned, “where are they? How many do they number? Are they immune? What do they look like?”

  “I can help you with that,” Etienne grimaced, “but you are not going to like the answer.”

  “What? You’ve seen one?”

  “From a distance.”

  “What the fuck, Etienne? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because ma cherie, I knew you would intervene with what was going to happen or get upset. Or both.”

  Etienne sighed and rubbed his head again.

  “Speak in full sentences French man, or I will wring the information out of you – and why do you keep rubbing your head?”

  “A headache, nothing more,” he snorted, “very well, you know Calarnise is for all intents and purposes a chosen one, a healer, a representative of the Gods, called upon to heal the populace when needed.”

  “Yes,” she motioned with her hand for him to hurry up.

  “Well, another of her key roles is to ensure that if an abomination is born,” he left the words hanging, “and by abomination, I mean a baby with wings – it is left on the hillside. These throwbacks appear one in one hundred or two hundred births. The Chosen pretend no baby was born at all and submit it to the wilderness; but they don’t die - Calarnise said the Winged adopt them under the terms of a treaty that stopped the war between the races hundreds of years ago.”

  “And do they?” Sorrow narrowed her eyes at him.

  “They did,” Etienne said quietly, “until the Gharial came. The last babe perished on the hillside. The Gharials attacked as the Winged One landed and tore her and the infant to shreds.”

  “Etienne!” Sorrow almost shouted, “how could you allow this to happen?”

  “Me? This practice is centuries old, ma cherie, I only recount what occurred. Calarnise and I watched from a distance; we were too far away to have been of any help. To my eyes the thing looked like a giant bird descending from the sky. Calarnise has much better vision, she described what occurred to me. I would not have even mentioned it only,” he paused and swallowed, “another was born – it will be left tonight.”

  Sorrow nodded and looked her friend in the eye.

  “Then we will be there to meet this Winged One, won’t we Etienne,” she said firmly.

  “Oui,” he said groaning, “we will be there.”

  Sorrow smiled and walked to where her battle suits hung on a peg on the wall. She had three now and alternated them daily. Their former users had either declined to wear them, or died, which was serendipitous for her because she no longer had to wash her suits out daily.

  Etienne watched her straighten the suits and remembered what he had come to tell her before getting side-tracked with her questions.

  “Ma cherie, about the suits, there was something strange when they came back from the repair in the townsite,” he was about to go on when he was interrupted by a heavy knock on the door.

  Sorrow smiled as Etienne sighed and shook his head.

  “Can we talk about it later?”

  “It could be of great importance, Sorrow, I’ve been making enquiries, and I think...”

  “Please Etienne,” she cut him off as she turned to the door.

  He nodded his agreement reluctantly, seeing her excitement as she walked to the door to greet Judgement.

  She paused to straighten her ponytail and slip on her helmet. She was anticipating her meeting with the tall Earthborn this afternoon, as she did most days lately, in order to find out more about him. So far all she knew was that he was a good fighter, incredible in his strength and speed, and a natural leader. But other than that, he was, her mother would have said, ‘a tough nut to crack.’ She wondered if it was partly this that drew her to him. Today though, she was not going to allow him to evade her questions, she was going to find out about his hearts, or heart. And if he only had one, a suspicion she had not revealed to Etienne yet, who or what, was he?

  She had discussed him, in general, with Etienne just a few days before, evading his questions as neatly as Judgement evaded hers.

  “You asked me once if I find him strange,” the Frenchman had said, “and the answer is yes. He is stranger than usual for an Earthborn.”

  “Just how many Earthborn do you actually know?” Sorrow smirked.

  “Touche,” he nodded, “but do you not think so? I have been asking around about him; I think there is something odd, no one seems to have known anything about him before his arrival here.”

  “He is a quiet man, he doesn’t talk about himself much, and anyway,” Sorrow shrugged, “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, in case you haven’t noticed, with preventing the last few hundred people in this town becoming lizard dinner – and he has been helping with that.”

  “Yes,” Etienne said slowly, “but it would seem to me that when it comes to this man you are thinking perhaps with som
ething other than your head if you haven’t learned more about him.”

  Sorrow laughed. She knew there was no hiding her feelings from her friend.

  “Why do I want to know him so badly? I swore I would never get involved with another Earthborn again?”

  “You want him because he is a challenge,” he said, leaning on the bed in Sorrow’s room, sharpening his sword, “as all beautiful women want what they cannot have.”

  “I don’t see why I can’t have him. Although, he doesn’t seem to want me,” she laughed half-heartedly, “I’ve given him every opportunity of late, it is as though he just ignores or doesn’t understand my body language.”

  “He is perhaps a man who prefers men?” Etienne wiggled his eyebrows up and down maniacally, “for who else could resist you, you brazen hussy.”

  “I’m not a hussy,” she threw her pillow at him, laughing. “I’m experiencing life. I was practically killed a few months ago. I want to know all there is to know about enjoying myself before I’m murdered. And anyway, you know that old saying; all work and no play….”

  “Yes, and he certainly is a dull boy,” he snorted, dodging another pillow, “but, you’ve chosen many a stranger bedfellow; you really do have odd taste.”

  “Says you!” Sorrow shook her head, “have we been any place where you haven’t seduced someone, or should I say dozens of someones? I know you and Calarnise are closer than you admit if you have confined yourself to sleeping with just one woman on this planet.”

  “Sleep is a relative term, ma cherie,” he raised one eyebrow and gave her a cheeky grin, “very little sleep goes on when I woo someone.”