The Sorrow Anthology

by Helen Allan

  9

  “So, angels really do exist,” Sorrow murmured, as Raphael circled down to the beings waiting for her on the wide, rock promontory.

  “Not the way you think of them,” he chuckled, pulling her tighter to him so she could feel the substantial manhood behind his shorts.

  Sorrow snorted. Of all the captors she could have fallen to, it was an oversexed Winged One who thought he was a gift to every woman of every species.

  “One of these days I’m going to take you up on your offer, birdbrain,” she laughed, “and then we will see what you are really made of.”

  “Oh, I know you will,” Raphael laughed, squeezing her as they wheeled low, preparing to alight on the flat landing pad at the city entrance.

  Despite his flippant words, she sensed his disquiet as they circled to land.

  Gazing down at those waiting, Sorrow saw they were more bird-like than Raphael’s Winged – these Angels all stood like people, as she had expected from being around the Winged. But, unlike Raphael, these Angels were covered completely in feathers and had wings much more impressive than any she had yet seen. Their massive wings hung down their back in pairs, the feathers trailing on the ground like the trains of wedding dresses. They also had beaks – something Sorrow had not expected.

  The shock of their faces as she and Raphael landed, was only topped by the awe she felt at the city behind them. It loomed, columns, domes, arched windows - carved into the mountain top, looking for all the world like a larger scale version of Petra. The glass in its thousands of windows sparkled against the sunlight like diamonds embedded in the rock.

  “Here we go,” Raphael said quietly, as they landed. Taking her by the arm, he led her towards the waiting crowd.

  “King Zephon,” Raphael bowed low, “this is Sorrow, the Earthborn.”

  “Sorrow,” the huge, bird creature said, bowing his head, “we seek to understand you.”

  Sorrow noted his speech was excellent for someone with a beak and his eyes were bright with intelligence and interest. The hands he held folded in front of him featured fingers with long, sharp talons and his feet also, were clawed; he looked like a big, white sparrow and her fingers itched to stroke his rich feathers, to feel if they were as soft as they looked.

  “And I am keen to understand you, Zephon,” she replied, looking behind him to another tall Angel with dark-green feathers and a more pointed beak who pinned her with unfriendly eyes.

  “Have the Winged treated you kindly?”

  “Yes,” Sorrow nodded, “although, of course, they did kidnap me at your behest.”

  “Yes,” Zephon nodded, “I apologise for the manner in which you were brought before me, but much has changed on our planet of recent months, we do not know who is friend and who is foe. We are very much relieved to learn you count yourself among the former.”

  Sorrow smiled, but cast a quick, calculating glance at the Angel behind him, which was not lost on the King.

  “Allow me to introduce you to my advisor, Nithiel,” Zephon said, stepping aside to allow the dark-feathered one to get closer.

  “Hello,” Sorrow said, smiling slightly.

  Nithiel brushed past Sorrow and, pushing Raphael out of the way with one long, pointed talon, circled Sorrow, studying her from head to toe. Sorrow knew some of the Angels were meat eaters, and some vegetarian, but now, seeing them up close, she realised why. Some, like the king, might look like sparrows, but others, like this Nithiel, were clearly more birds of prey.

  “You say you are half-God, half-Human,” he said quietly, giving her a harsh stare and returning to his place beside the king.

  “Yes.”

  “You look like a small version of a God.”

  “Yes,” Sorrow nodded, “as I’m sure you are aware, they are similar to humans, larger, their heads are more cone-shaped though, than human heads – but they found our germplasm to be highly compatible.

  “Our?”

  “Humans.”

  “So, you identify more with humans than you do your overlord ancestors?”

  “Of course.”

  “And why is this?”

  “Because they are alien invaders, just as they are on your planet. I aim to defeat them and free my planet from their tyranny.”

  A buzz ran through the crowd behind the king as she said this, followed by a murmur that built to a roar as the Angels began to talk among themselves.

  “Thank you, Sorrow,” Zephon said, turning, “you are free to leave now. Raphael return her from whence she came if that is her desire.”

  “What? Wait, there are things I need to know from you, and a warning I have to give,” Sorrow spluttered, incredulous that the King would leave after such a short interview, “the Gharials, they are coming, in force when the gates open, there is another God, I…”

  But the king had already begun to walk away, his entire entourage following him.

  “We know of these Gharials,” he said, not turning back, “they may destroy The Chosen, they may destroy The Winged, but they are no threat to us.”

  Sorrow looked, exasperated, to Raphael who stood impassively, eyes guarded.

  “Wait,” Sorrow called, to the retreating king’s back, “I want to see Naunet.”

  She heard Raphael emit a low groan as the King froze, his back and wings stiff, and turned, as though in slow motion, back to Sorrow.

  “What do you know of Naunet?”

  Sorrow followed Nithiel as he stalked along the broad, marbled hallway in silence. His stiff shoulders and the way he held his wings indicating his displeasure at his errand.

  She hurried to keep up with his strides and avoid stepping on his dark feathers. Looking around as she walked, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the opulence of her surroundings. The hallway they walked down now was lit by chandeliers bigger than the average family car back home. Framed by tall, marble columns, the walls featured art that could have graced the Louvre and sculptures here and there displayed on fluted marble pedestals denoted talented artists reminiscent of Rodin. Everywhere angels rushed by, their brilliantly coloured feathers the only clothing they required. She saw no Winged among those who bustled past, carrying this or that, many clearly employed on some menial task or other.

  Sorrow attempted to speed up to match Nithiel’s stride.

  “How far until we get to her?” she asked, “does she live in this palace?”

  “You will soon see,” he gritted, walking faster. As he walked, he fluffed his feathers in agitation, a light dusting of dander shedding behind him and making Sorrow sneeze. The dust from feathers was something she had become used to since living in Raphael’s city – it coated just about everything with its faint smell of baby powder and intermittently caused her to have sneezing fits. Raphael said it was a protective coating on their feathers, keeping them waterproof and their feathers healthy. It seemed the Angels were coated even more heavily. Sorrow wondered whether the races were born with it, or if it developed as they aged. She had seen very little of it in Landfirst but considered this must be because the Chosen burnt off and waxed their body feathers in a variety of ways.

  Finally, after several more twists and turns down equally opulent hallways, Sorrow’s thoughts were interrupted when Nithiel stopped before a plain timber door adorned with the royal seal; a silver wreath of leaves enclosing two golden feathers. Turning a heavy, metal handle, he strode into a small, dark room and clapped his hands. Lights turned on instantly, and Sorrow gasped. Before her were two marble tombs, one large, one tiny.

  “She’s dead?” Sorrow frowned, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “This,” Nithiel said, pointing to the largest tomb, “is King Zadkiel ‘The Deposed,’ and this,” he pointed to the small tomb, “is his half-breed son – both dead these six thousand years.”

  “Half breed?” Sorrow stepped closer to the small tomb and read the inscription, her heart constricting at its size. “Was this? Was this Naunet’s child?”

  “It was.�
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  “Tell me, please, I need to understand.”

  Nithiel strode to the other side of the room and, leaning on the wall, crossed his arms and stared at her.

  “The history of our dealings with The Gods is known by all, so that we will always remember, and always seek justice. It is taught to us as children; it is part of the fabric of our being. I will tell you because Zephon has ordered it so, but I spit on you at every word, for within you I see them.”

  Sorrow held her breath, she wanted to tell him she would spit right back, but she heard the pain and the threat in his words. She wanted to learn about Naunet more than she wanted to strike back at this dark birdman. She nodded and waited.

  Finally, he started to speak, his words clipped and harsh, ringing out and filling the confines of the small, room, like a hammer striking rock.

  “When the Gods came, we were unprepared. King Zadkiel met with their leader, Amun, and was fooled into thinking we could live in harmony. Then the women started disappearing, the pregnancies began, the half-breeds appeared, and we knew there could never be peace with these creatures. We attacked. They struck back; violence ensued, many of our kind were slaughtered, some, to our shame, sided with the aliens. Some Angels counselled wholesale war to dispel the Gods and destroy all the half-breeds, but the king had formed an attachment with the Goddess Naunet.

  “In time the King ordered a retreat. The monarchy and our populace fled the cities to the mountain-top homes of our forefathers,” he waved his hands around to indicate the area they were standing in, “and there we reformed our society and began anew. But Zadkiel would not give up the alien witch – he decreed he would marry her, make her his queen. It is written that for this he was cast out of his palace, his throne was passed to his cousin, and he and his half-breed were forced to live in the trees between the mountains. Zadkiel offered sanctuary there for those children whom the Gods rejected, those who insisted on keeping their wings.

  “There Naunet bore a son to Zadkiel, the ultimate heresy for our kind, for a royal to breed with an alien out of choice. But a short time later, the babe still on the breast, Naunet was forced by Amun to leave and journey to another planet, taking some Angels loyal to their cause with them, but leaving many thousands of settler Gods behind.

  “Zadkiel was heartbroken over the loss of his wife, but the records show it was not for long. Amun had ordered his destruction and that of the child. Pods were sent in the night time, pods full of vengeful Gods. Zadkiel, his child and most of the Winged refugees were destroyed.

  “Their bodies, Zadkiel and his son, were delivered here by surviving Winged and entombed; Zadkiel immortalised as a traitor, his name and his fate taught to children as a warning.

  “Many thousands of years passed, Naunet returned. She found this world much changed. The Gods, distraught at having to remove the wings from their children, had stopped taking our women, stopped breeding us against our will. Years before they had determined that when their children turned six, those with wings could choose to have them removed, or to keep them and be cast out. Despite the children’s love for their parents, most chose to leave and moved to the new city originally established by Zadkiel and Naunet. Many Gods could not bear this parting, and many more were dying of the miasma.

  “Over the years as less and less babies were born, the gods huddled, frightened of the miasma, living in our former apartments on the plains. Those children that stayed, The Chosen, half breeds without wings, did not suffer the miasma so badly and were made to serve their parents, to dwell in homes on the ground and farm like peasants. Violence broke out between the Chosen and the Winged. The Winged protected the forests; the Chosen cleared for crops – the Gods sided with their ground-dwelling spawn and attacked the Winged without mercy. We stayed separate, only guiding the Winged in their decision making. Children were born to the Chosen, most did not have wings, but some did, and those were left to die.

  “Naunet, heartbroken over the loss of her husband and child, nevertheless brokered a truce between the Winged and Chosen, but it was not agreed to by all the Gods or by us, the Angels - the true rulers of this land. No God could speak for us.”

  “But what happened to Naunet?” Sorrow asked, running her hand along the inscription on the top of the child’s tomb. “Did she go to another planet?”

  Nithiel sneered.

  “Following the truce Naunet journeyed here, seeking to view the bodies of her loved ones,” he nodded to the tombs.

  “Then?” Sorrow frowned, “I know she is immortal. Where did she go?”

  He laughed, a bitter, hollow laugh.

  “She slit her wrists and bled out on their tombs. Her final request was that she be buried with them.”

  “And was she?” Sorrow asked quietly, her eyes still locked on the inscription on the top of the smallest tomb.

  “No.”

  Sorrow swallowed hard and closed her eyes tight. Her plan to question Naunet about Seth, to learn something that might change the fate of Earth and all the other planets, had just bitten the dust.

  “So, you see,” Nithiel said brusquely, turning for the door, “our history with the Gods is not one we wish to celebrate or share. They stole our women, killed our men, drove us to the extremities of this planet and created abominations with their breeding programs that still, to this day, destroy our world.”

  “But the Winged, they don’t destroy,” Sorrow frowned, “they are like you.”

  “No,” he barked, his harsh tone seeming to darken the entire tomb, “they are not like us. They do not belong on this planet any more than the Gods do. One day we shall reclaim our heritage, and when we do, no trace of those aliens or their half-breed spawn will remain. If what you tell us is true, the coming of these Gharials is a blessing we have long sought.”

  Sorrow shuddered, it sounded all too familiar to what she had heard on Heaven from the Earthborn and Sin.

  10

  The flight home, to Raphael’s sister’s house, was quiet and fast.

  “Why are we flying so quickly?” she asked. Her voice was carried by the wind, but his hearing, like Calarnise’s, was so acute he could have picked up her words, even whispered.

  “The Hunt,” he muttered, “I’m pretty sure the Angels agreed to this date for a reason. The Hunt comes every month right about now. We have every chance of being shot out of the sky.”

  “What? But the lasers?”

  “The lasers protect the city, the pods come in a formation at the same time every month, their patterns rarely vary, and they make virtually no impact now – unless they see one of us in the sky – then it becomes a hunt to the death – lone Winged have been killed, many of us Scouts particularly. Even Angels have been caught out.

  Sorrow, held close in his arms, closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of the wind in her hair as they soared from the mountain top.

  “It seems strange,” she mused, “that they haven’t worked out another way to attack you. I know Earthborn Hunts, they were single-minded in their killing – they always seemed to find a way to strike, no matter how hidden their victims were.”

  He shrugged. “The Gods here are lazy – lazy but still deadly. Now hold on, I’m going to drop straight down, don’t be scared, I won’t lose you.”

  Sorrow held her breath as he turned, face down, wings flat against his body, and they dropped through the air like an arrow. The feeling of the sharp descent and the rush of the wind sent exhilaration and fear racing along her spine, and she gasped at the thrill of it. As they breached the laser, slipping silently between the beams, and levelled out, Raphael pulled up and opened his wings full stretch, beating them with a power and strength she felt ripple through his chest muscles. The rhythm of his strong beats pulsated through her body, and she was breathing hard when they landed softly on the rooftop.

  “How did that feel?” he chuckled softly as he set her onto her feet, and stood, wings enveloping her.

  “Uh,” Sorrow shook her head. She was
sure he knew perfectly well that her body had thrilled to the descent, tingles racing up her spine and through her lower regions. Sensation-wise, it was like having sex in the air – it had felt wonderful. But the last thing she wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of knowing his impact upon her; it would only feed his already out of control ego.

  “You know, don’t you?” she said, stepping back and shrugging off his wings, “you know they want you all to die.”

  “We suspected,” Raphael shrugged, “your meeting confirmed it. I must report to my superiors as soon as possible.”

  “Wait. I thought you worked for the Angels? I thought you captured me so they could question me?”

  Raphael grinned and dipped his head.

  “I am,” he smiled, “what you might call a double agent.”

  “A spy?”

  “Of sorts.”

  “So, what was today really all about then? You just used me as an excuse to get to the Angels and see the lie of the land?”

  “Use is a harsh word,” Raphael murmured, raising his hands in supplication, “but an invitation to the Angel’s mountain top is something hard to come by. Even as someone who works for them, I needed an excuse to go there without raising suspicion from either side. You supplied that reason. I used the time I had available while you were finding out about the Goddess, to talk to an Angel I know and find out what was really going on in the halls of power. Now that we know they plan to leave us to our fate, the Winged government can make firm decisions with that in mind.”

  “That female?” Sorrow frowned, “the tawny-coloured Angel you were with when Nithiel and I returned?”

  “Yes?” he smirked.

  “Is she a spy?”

  “She is a friend,” he said firmly, “and they are few and hard to come by in these times. That is all.”

  “Is she your lover?” it was Sorrow’s turn to smile.

  “She may have had that privilege at some point.”