The Sorrow Anthology

by Helen Allan

  Their conversation had ended there, but she had replayed it over in her mind. Etienne was right, she did need to find out more about the man she was increasingly attracted to.

  Now, turning for the door, she ignored Etienne’s snort as she opened it and stepped back to allow her guest to enter.

  “Hello, Judge,”

  “Sorrow,” he said quietly, “Slave,” he nodded in Etienne’s direction.

  Etienne narrowed his eyes at him and frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sorrow smirked and shook her head as Judge turned and she followed him from the room.

  “Be careful. And don’t stay out too late,” Etienne shouted to them as the door shut, “I still need to speak to you, Sorrow, it’s important. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Your slave is impertinent,” Judge noted, walking down the stairs, as she followed close behind, “he lacks discipline.”

  “Who? Etienne?” Sorrow laughed, “he is a friend, not a slave, Judge, I have told you this before.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, he turned and watched as Sorrow stepped lightly down the last two.

  “And what are we?” he asked, staring at her intently, his eyes dark.

  Sorrow stepped closer to him, her breasts almost touching his chest. They were both wearing their battle garb; they wore little else, always on alert even in their leisure time, which was little enough.

  “What do you want to be?” she breathed.

  Judge took a step back and shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly, “shall we walk?”

  She smiled and took a deep breath; it had been the same for months now. Walk, very little talk, just the surety of someone strong by your side. But he was warming; there were little things, strange things admittedly, but she felt sure they had become, what? Friends? No. Still, there was something intense about him that she had come to admire, and desire. When they were on duty, he stayed by her side. When they were off duty, lately, at her invitation, they walked. She had become accustomed to his physical proximity; he seemed to have no notion of personal space. But while physically he had no barriers, mentally he was a high wall almost impossible to breach. She had told him about her life, but he rarely answered any of the questions she asked about his.

  She let him lead for about ten minutes as they passed a fenced, pastured field and into the edge of the deep forest that bordered this side of the town. The trees, if they could be called that, were so high that dense shade ringed them for hundreds of metres, and in between small patches of sunlight illuminated grass and flowers. Sorrow estimated one hundred people could stand in a circle hand in hand and still not reach the entire way round the girth of one of these giants. It saddened her to know that the Chosen and the Gods had cut down so many to form their city and township, and they continued to encroach, bit by bit every year on the forest in order to create more pasture. She wondered how people so technologically backward even managed to fell one of these giants but figured the Gods must help occasionally – for she could see no other way they could be taken down. She imagined that the sound and impact just one would make falling would reverberate the length and breadth of the planet.

  To one side of the pasture, just inside the rim of the forest, a small stream ran through this area, supplying the townsite with its water needs. Wind turbines located further up the hill supplied the energy required to power the town and pump the water. Some had been damaged, but enough were intact to keep the townsfolk in power, especially now that the population had more than halved. Sorrow and Judgement often walked this way to check on the turbines; they sometimes sat for a rest to watch the wildlife on the section of stream that widened to a deep, natural pond.

  “Judge,” she pulled him to a halt, her hand on his arm.

  “You want to rest already?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and walked to the soft, mossy bank where they usually sat, folding down, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  Sorrow stood, looking down at him. Making an instant decision, she clicked the button that unlocked her suit. It fell away from her body in one, clean shell and she heard him gasp as she stepped out of it and raised her eyes to his, standing nude before him. She was aware that she was very pale, she had seen no sun virtually since she left Egypt more than 15 months before. There had been very little sunlight on Heaven, and certainly no chance to sunbake or wear anything other than thick, warm clothing. Her skin though, was clear and unmarked, no new scars or bruises marred her since her exit from the regeneration tank.

  Taking off her helmet, she dropped it to the ground and unwound her ponytail, allowing her blonde hair to swing long and loose around her shoulders. She held her breath as he looked at her, wondering if he would be disgusted, as she was sure he had been in the bathhouse so many months before. She needed to know, needed to find out if he wanted her the way she had come to want him.

  “Never have I seen such beauty,” he whispered, his eyes roaming her body and coming back to rest on her face, his arms limp at his sides.

  Sorrow smiled and let out the breath she had been holding.

  She knelt down beside him and, before he could stop her, pressed the corresponding button on his suit, watching as it fell away from his body, and gasping as it revealed a broad, tanned chest, hairless, crisscrossed with scars.

  She stopped his hand as he moved to put his suit back on, to cover his torso.

  “No,” she said gently.

  Carefully, as though she was approaching a scared animal, she ran her fingers lightly across one of the scars, following its deep line from his chest, right around to his back. She looked up as he shuddered.

  “So much pain,” she whispered, frowning, “why didn’t you heal in the regeneration tank?”

  He shook his head, his jaw tense.

  “Judge?”

  “I could not,” he said, moving to rise.

  “It’s ok,” she whispered, looking him in the eye and putting her hands on his shoulders, holding him down. She would not press him for answers just yet; there was something else she wanted from him first.

  Leaning forward she kissed the scar where it started, near his nipple, feeling him tense. The scar reminded her of those she had seen at home on people who had experienced open-heart surgery. She realised this might answer his only having one heartbeat – but it didn’t explain why he had not regenerated. Feeling him stir she knelt back, took his face between her hands and pressed her lips to his, holding his face firmly as he tried to pull away.

  “Judge,” she whispered, “we could be killed tomorrow. We should live while we can, enjoy life. I know you want me. I want you; we are consenting adults. Why do you resist?”

  He looked into her eyes, his, almost pained in indecision. Shutting them tight and groaning, all resistance swept aside, he raised his arms and placed his large hands on her hips, pulling her onto his lap. Gently, as though he was holding a piece of glass, he pulled her tight against him and ran his hands down her back as he leaned in to kiss her shoulder blades, his lips trailing lower, capturing one of her taut nipples.

  Sorrow gasped as he looked up into her eyes and sucked, his own eyes dark with lust. Throwing her head back with pleasure she closed her eyes and gripped his hair as he moved his mouth across to her other nipple, licking and nibbling it until it became as rock hard as its twin. Moaning she pressed closer to him, rocking her hips forward onto him and guiding him inside her. He tensed, his eyes wide as he looked down to where their bodies joined, and back to her face, his own, full of wonder. Leaning her head back again, her face to the sky, she moaned and began to rock, back and forth on his body, the sensation sending exquisite shivers up her spine. Looking back down, she saw his eyes were intent on her face, watching her expressions as he followed her lead, pushing deeper into her, rocking her faster.

  “Judge,” she whispered, as their rocking accelerated and he gripped her harder, his fingers digging into her flesh, his muscles bulging with the force of his t
hrusts. Their motion intensified, she forgot her surroundings, who she was, who she was with. Everything, everything, revolved around the sensation, the tide of passion she was being borne on as he pulled her tight to him and buried his face in her neck, groaning his release. Her own was close on his heels, and she screamed, high-pitched and soft, as she climaxed and clung to him sweating, panting. Her release had been like nothing she had ever felt before, and she shook her head in wonder at him as, planting light kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, she slowly withdrew him from her. Releasing his grip on her waist, he fell back on the grass, eyes opening momentarily to stare at her, before closing tightly.

  Rising and grinning, Sorrow turned and plunged into the icy pond behind her to wash off their love-making. She swam underwater for as long as she could hold her breath, before digging her toes into the stony bottom and pushing herself upwards with force.

  As she reached the surface, she opened her mouth to take a breath and screamed as a net encircled her, and she was pulled at jet speed up into the sky.

  7

  Sorrow struggled in the net as the creature above her laughed. She was acutely aware that she was naked as the mesh dug into her skin and the cool cloud-filled air chilled her body.

  Her captor laughed again.

  “Don’t wriggle so, beautiful worm, I might crash, and then you will be screaming again, but for all the wrong reasons.”

  Anger surged through Sorrow at the mention of screaming; anger and embarrassment. How long had he been flying above, watching what she and Judgement were doing on the riverbank?

  “Who are you?” She shouted, “let me out.”

  “All in good time,” he said, wheeling to the right and heading higher, towards the mountain tops.

  She gripped the net and peered down, they must be several hundred feet in the air now. She held her breath, heights were not her forte. Looking up she realised the net was being held in claw-like feet, and above her, while he looked to have the body of a man, the creature had wings, huge, tawny-coloured wings.

  “Are you a Winged One?” she shouted, hoping her voice could be heard above the wind, now rushing through her ears as he flew at great speed.

  “Obviously.”

  “An Angel?”

  “No,” he laughed, “now shut up - I need to concentrate, ahead the eddies are strong.”

  As he climbed, another flyer joined them and urged him to hurry. Sorrow could tell from its slighter build and higher pitched voice that it was a female. Her wings appeared black silhouetted against the sky, but her body looked distinctly human, apart from the feet.

  “We must return before nightfall for the babe,” she screeched.

  “We will, don’t panic,” he replied, “this one must go to the city first.”

  “The wind will turn if we take too long.”

  “Three hours tops, Krysta, stop panicking, just fly.”

  The woman said nothing, and Sorrow felt the net rock violently as the wind battered her body. She gulped. If her life depended on this man/thing needing to concentrate on flying in wind, she was certainly not going to argue with that. She tried to sit still but squirmed as the net dug into her thighs and back, her teeth beginning to chatter as they neared the icy mountain top. She had no idea where the Winged lived, despite having ranged across much of the lower pasture land and forested reaches around the township over the past few months. She had surmised earlier that if indeed they existed, they must live some distance away. If it was, as the creature holding her suggested, three hours as the crow flies, then this would be at least two days walk from the town, perhaps more if they flew over mountains.

  As she lay shivering, her captor continued to climb until they were soaring in the clouds over the mountains. Her chest began to constrict tightly, and her mind felt cloudy as the oxygen thinned to dangerous levels.

  “I can’t breathe,” she tried to shout to him, her voice strained, weak.

  “Nearly there,” he shouted back, his voice carried beyond them on the wind.

  “If you mean to freeze me to death, you are succeeding,” she moaned, but whether he heard her or not, she couldn’t tell. The pain in her chest began to mount as the flight continued and she lost all feeling in her extremities. She had no idea how he could fly so high and not suffer as she did. She began to suffer the full effects of high-altitude sickness, her awareness drifted into a headache stronger than she had ever felt as she began to slip into a frozen coma.

  Finally, after several hours, just barely aware, Sorrow felt the net begin to descend and the air warm. She looked down to see a rich, dark green valley hidden between the peaks of the mountains.

  The Winged One began to fall in slow loops down towards the treetops and Sorrow realised he was using the gusts of wind to glide in, rather than flapping as he had been during the ascent over the top of the mountains. She surmised he was also descending slowly to allow his body to adjust to the oxygen levels, ensuring he didn’t suffer from making too rapid a fall.

  Gripping the net with blue fingers, her teeth chattering and eyes blurry, she lay still as they entered the fringes of the trees and she was dropped onto a large timber platform. Her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, she said nothing as the man who had kidnapped her untied the top of the net and revealed her, naked, curled and shivering.

  Sorrow raised her eyes and looked up at his face, not sure what to expect. If it wasn’t for the fact she felt like vomiting due to the change in air pressure and was frozen stiff, she would have gasped. He was beautiful. His skin was covered in a light down of feathers, his face, while bird-like was also distinctly humanoid, with high cheekbones, a square jaw and full, sensual lips.

  Staring back at her, he also looked slightly taken aback by what he saw.

  “Shit,” he said softly, prising her fingers from the net and gripping them in his own large, warm hands, “why didn’t you say something?”

  “I d d d did,” Sorrow stuttered, “p p p prick.”

  “C’mon,” he frowned, releasing her hands as he reached down to place his own around her waist and raise her from the net. Cradling her in his arms, he wrapped his large, warm wings around her body, cocooning her against his hard, feathered chest.

  Sorrow, feeling the warmth emanate from him, burrowed closer against his skin and pressed her face into him. The feathers were soft, downy, and she could hear his hearts beating loudly. She closed her eyes and tried to regulate her shallow, harsh breathing, as the enclosed space inside his wings warmed the air, and her lungs began to hurt less. Somehow, she wasn’t sure how, his wings reminded her of the feeling when she was little when she would fall asleep on the couch, and her mother would carry her to bed. Safe, warm, secure; without realising she was doing it, she fell asleep.

  Waking to the sound of running water, Sorrow opened her eyes and frowned, not remembering where she was, but realising she was desperate to empty her bladder.

  Looking up she saw a curved timber roof and, turning her head, smooth timber, windowless walls. The realisation hit her that she was inside a tree. Pushing off a mountain of light-coloured woollen blankets, she sat up and pressed her hands to her head, groaning. She had a splitting headache.

  ‘No wonder! I almost died from altitude sickness and freezing to death.’

  Squeezing her head, she twisted her neck left and right, rolled it round and round, and felt an easing of the pressure behind her eyes. Taking in her surroundings further she saw she was in a small, rounded room, about four metres in diameter. Not unlike her room in the Landfirst township, it was rudimentarily decorated, featuring a table with a small lantern just shedding enough light to vaguely illuminate the room, two benches, the wide bed she was sitting on, and what looked to be a washing area on the far side. She could see a small stream of water running into a low, timber shelf, and out again in a never-ending trickle – the source of the sound that had woken her. Surmising the Winged must be even more technologically backward than their ground-dwelling relatives
, given they didn’t even have taps and running water, she rose on stiff legs. She knew there was no point trying the door; it would be locked.

  Heading towards the source of the water she saw a timber bucket near the door and, beyond caring that she would be caught, determined to use it as a toilet. Swaying as she stood, she remained still for a second, righting herself, before staggering to the empty bucket and squatting. She sighed in relief when she had finished, sitting quietly for a second, head in hands as she considered what her next move might be. She was still a naked prisoner, so she must have passed out when they landed, that much was obvious.

  ‘But how to escape?’

  Noting a small, green hand-towel near the washing area, she scooped up some water and washed quickly all over, before drying herself with the towel as best she could. She instantly felt better after the cool splash down and retraced her steps towards the bed, seeing what she had not noticed earlier – a short, cream-coloured dress hanging over one of the benches. The fabric was light, as the towel and blankets were, made from a soft kind of wool, although it didn’t have the lanolin smell of wool on Earth. In fact, it smelled faintly of baby powder, or something of that nature, and when she shook it out, a light dust filled the air, making her sneeze. Holding the dress up to the light she turned it over twice, surmising that it was backless in order to enable the wearer to use their wings. It was short, coming in just above the knee, and featured a high neckline and a row of small, delicate fabric buttons running down one side, more for show than use, because the dress could easily be pulled over her head. Donning it and cinching the cream belt tight, she immediately felt less vulnerable.

  ‘But no knickers,’ she grimaced, ‘so I won’t be bending over any time soon.’

  She was about to walk towards the door to give it a try, just for the hell of it, when there was a short, sharp rap on the timber and it opened a crack, allowing a familiar face to peek in.

  “Awake, little pink worm?”