by Helen Allan
“Judge, I trusted you enough to follow you to this godforsaken shithole. But I didn’t come here to fuck you. I came here to help you defeat the Gharial and free you and your followers so that you can live a life where relationships with the opposite sex can be possible. To free you from war, from living like a robot created for a single purpose. I want to heal this planet and release those that inhabit it from the tyranny of the gods. Don’t misinterpret my agreeing to come here, please.”
“I understand,” he nodded solemnly, “but still, I want to fuck with you.”
Sorrow sighed.
“You never told me,” she smiled gently, changing the subject, “how is it that Ib lived after you didn’t return from your mission on Heaven?”
“Ib feels what I feel, he knows my thoughts,” he said, carefully thinking through his words, “he left The Fist and hid here, in these caves. He was waiting for me when I jumped back through the portal from Avalona.”
“Wait,” Sorrow shook her head, “he feels everything you feel? Like he was living through it?”
“Yes. It is how we feel each other’s pain.”
“And pleasure?” Sorrow grimaced, beginning to feel like there had been another party present to the very private moment she had shared with Judge by the stream that day.
“Yes.”
“Then,” she leaned back and set her meal aside for the moment, “why doesn’t he like me?”
“He likes you,” Judgment said, looking away and picking up a drink.
“Judge,” she lowered her voice ominously.
“He feels you are clouding my ability to think clearly,” he conceded, shrugging, “he feels you are a threat and a risk to our insurrection; he says you look like one of the gods. He does not trust you.”
“Huh,” Sorrow took the proffered drink and sipped the cool water, “is that why you didn’t tell me the whole plan before our attack yesterday?”
Judgment was silent.
“Because he is right to a certain extent,” she said firmly, “I would not have sacrificed planets to this cause, and I would not have sacrificed Truth. He seemed like a good man, if he was your second in command, he must have been a good leader.”
“He was.”
“Then, why?”
“He was not planned to blow the portal; he undertook the task left by another.”
Sorrow was silent for a minute.
“Requiem?”
“Yes.”
Sorrow frowned, disturbed, disturbed and upset that her arrival had cost a good man his life, although, she conceded, either way one of Judgement’s team was going to die to close the portal. Another of his plans that she simply could not agree with. Perhaps he had known that too, or perhaps Ib had.
“Judge, the portal you blew up today,” she swallowed hard, “you did that for me, didn’t you?”
“Any planet that could birth such a creature as you,” he said gently, “must be saved. But no, I did not do it just for you. The Gharial will not invade Earth; it is the will of Shu and Tefnut that this planet is set aside for some future grand plan. I have not impacted greatly on that plan, of course, because portals on every planet lead there – but I have stopped the importation of humans directly here for at least the next twelve months – they will have to hop from the Earth portal to another planet and then into here if more are to come next year.”
“This is a regular occurrence?”
“Every year,” he nods.
“You said you had never seen a woman before me, and yet the Earth portal is bringing in people, humans. Surely women have come through?”
“I have never seen one. Men are regularly delivered and sent to The Finger – those that are selected stay, those that are not, return to the cages for The Games and the Hunt, or to the kitchens of The Fist.
“To cook?”
“To become dinner,” he chuckled.
“Oh my God, you never told me…”
“We don’t eat them,” he snorted, “the Gharial do. They eat only meat, you know this, Sorrow – where else do you think we would get it, on a barren, desert planet such as this. We hunted out the locals centuries ago – all the food must be imported through the portals or from nearby planets by ship.”
“So, destroying the Earth portal is another key to weakening those that are left here – to stop the growth of the Gharial armies?”
“It will slow it, but not stop it. The Earth provides meat and salt. But it is but one harvest planet – there are many. I have targeted them specifically, yes, when I have blown the portals. The planets that the armies invade now each have the ability to become food bowls or mining colonies – each has a different reason for invasion.”
“What was the reason behind Heaven and Avalona?”
“Both had something the gods wanted; Heaven had an abundance of Earthborn; the gods want to destroy this race. Avalona was to have held a large population of gods, left behind from the original settlement – this was not the case. The gods who rule here do not care that the Angels survived the original invasion; they believed the Chosen to be doomed due to the miasma and understood all the Winged were killed at birth. So, it was no great hardship to abandon that planet – I thought I told you this.”
“No,” Sorrow shook her head, “you didn’t. I don’t understand. What would Shu and Tefnut want with other gods?”
“They wanted to return them here, to their centre of power, where they could join with the other gods they have collected over the aeons; they want to rule them.”
“There are other gods here?”
“Many.”
“Where?”
“The Finger.”
“Have you seen them?”
“No.”
“Huh.”
Sorrow bit into the oat biscuit to think through this information. If Shu and Tefnut were building their own little empire of gods, they must have an ulterior motive beyond ruling them – both were insane. Clearly, something else must be at play. And surely the gods were not happy living on a barren wasteland of a planet. No, the twins must be planning to move them all at some stage – but where? Earth?
“So, the food for the gods, they are all vegetarian, like us, it must come from other planets too?”
“I think it must, I am not certain, but the quantities that are brought in during the week the portals are open is phenomenal. I know of no production facilities on this planet. Water is pumped from underground, but few plants can survive the lack of oxygen.”
“Yes, it is difficult to breathe here, not impossible when you get used to it, but I do feel light-headed much of the time when I’m outside – it is better in here though. I imagine it is because the pools are constantly bubbling oxygen.”
“Yes, it is one of the reasons we chose this cavern. Its size, location and accessibility via underground tunnels also.”
“Of course. So are The Fist and The Finger linked via tunnels?”
“The Fist, yes, but none of us have attempted to find a way to The Finger.”
“Why not?”
“We have no reason to go there. And,” he paused, “if we were to admit fear, I would say none of us wants to return to the place that we left when we were four. We have no memory of our time there, only a lasting dread.”
“Interesting,” Sorrow nodded, “do you think the gods altered your memories in some way?”
“I do not know or care,” he said, his tone indicating he did not wish to discuss this.
Sorrow changed tack.
“So, what happens to the male slaves who stay at The Finger?”
“I do not know.”
“Jury said he remembers he was birthed by a woman, but she did not have skin.”
Judge looked irritable at the conversation turning back towards The Finger.
“I do not know.”
“Judge?” she focussed her attention on the man before her as he shifted uncomfortably where he sat.
“I said I do not know. Enough now, Sorrow. I must return to my garriso
n and finish my report to my superiors.”
Sorrow said nothing. She could tell she had upset him with her questions, but how or why, she wasn’t sure. The fact that he had shared so much information already, though, was a positive sign. On Avalona he was reticent to talk at all.
“Wait,” she called to him as he left, “what do the findailes eat?”
“Meat,” was his one-word reply as he continued stalking away.
4
“I need to get to The Finger.”
“It cannot be done.”
“There must be a way, Judge.”
“No.”
“Judge.” Sorrow eyed him across the length of his small room in the cavern, her expression stern, “why are you scared to go there?”
He said nothing for a moment. She expected that like so many times in the past months he would simply walk away, putting an end to the conversation, but this time he stayed, his eyes shifting occasionally to Ib, who lay near the wall, the findaile’s eyes not leaving Sorrow.
Biting her tongue, she waited, hoping he was finally going to put his thoughts into words. It was time; she could no longer simply follow orders. She wanted to take the fight further, take the war to the heart of the planet where the gods felt safe, rather than these constant guerrilla attacks on outlying garrisons.
“We have no need to go there, Sorrow,” he said finally. “With my inside information I am keeping the rebellion up to date about all Gharial manoeuvres, our ambushes are working to thin out their numbers and divide their attention – we are set to blow more gates when they open next year.”
Sorrow watched him shrug.
“I know, Judge, but it is not enough. Sure, you might blow another one or two portals, at the expense of another two of your most loyal rebels. And sure, you will knock out a few thousand more Gharials between now and then, but Judge, they keep coming, their numbers are swelling day by day – you and I both know the answer to that must lie in The Finger.”
“The Gharials do not come from The Finger,” Judge said, again lapsing into silence.
Jury squirmed where he lay on his rough straw pallet at Sorrow’s feet.
Looking down at the boy, she smiled. The months she had been at the cavern had been fruitful in terms of gaining the trust of the child and others who followed Judge. She had taken part in every attack, small and large, fought side by side with the rebels. So far, she was winning hearts and minds one at a time, but there was one heart she still had not reached – Ib. And she felt, although she did not know how, that this also had something to do with whatever went on in the white city that no one ventured to. A city that seemed to be completely out of bounds for discussion.
“Something bad happens there,” Jury whispered to Sorrow, “but we are not allowed to talk about it – and the red leaders do not remember.”
Sorrow frowned.
“Judge? Is that true? You can’t remember what happened to you there?”
He cast a quick look at Ib before answering.
“I know enough,” he said quietly, “Ib and I were joined there, I was birthed there, as were all the red leaders. But the Gharial,” he shook his head, “the Gharial come from another world, they are sent in six-monthly on ships – that is why I have ensured that our rebels escalate their attacks. With the exodus of the main armies during the last portal opening we have never been in a better position, numbers-wise, to have a severe impact on those that remain here and any new arrivals.”
“Why do they arrive at The Finger and not at The Fist?”
“I do not know.”
“What happens when they arrive? Do they land and march straight to their garrisons?”
“No, there is a delay of three to five days. I believe they must be acclimatised.”
“Or something else,” Sorrow bit her lip and thought about all that she knew of the creatures she had now fought on three planets.
“They are not bred by the gods,” she said, thinking through her words as she muttered them slowly, “I cut one open on Heaven, they only have one heart. They are creatures seconded to this mission, not bred to be a part of it. But are they captured or enticed to fight in the army for Shu and Tefnut?
“They seem happy to be here when they reach the barracks,” Judge said, looking to Ib for confirmation, “but they need a great deal of training to follow orders. They are vicious and stupid creatures; the red guards spend much of their time disciplining them – they learn slowly, if at all. They do not care for honour or glory – they are very food driven. A promise of meat and violence seems to be the only reward they seek.”
“And their families? Presumably where they come from they have females, children. They do not seem so wholly animalistic that they have no social structure at all.”
“Of this, I do not know,” Judge shook his head, “the only ones who might know are those humans and other creatures that are taken directly to The Finger from the portals – and none ever return to say.”
“And what a fuck-up that was for the gods this year,” Sorrow mused, “those humans and creatures who came through the portals were either killed outright by the blast, shot in crossfire in the battle for the gates or, perhaps, ran to the hills,” she smiled slyly as she said this.
“No,” Judge said, his voice gravelly, “don’t even think about it.”
“I’m afraid I already have,” Sorrow said quietly, “tomorrow you will deliver me, a runaway slave you have captured, to The Finger.”
Judge sat staring at her, his face pale, as Ib growled deep in his throat and bared his teeth.
Sorrow stood in the sun, hands cuffed behind her back, and waited for whoever or whatever was coming to take her to The Finger.
Judgement, despite his non-stop arguments, had delivered her to The Fist as a runaway. Correspondence had been sent to The Finger to advise that not every human import had died at the portals, although this one was female.
Now someone was coming to collect her.
As a small vehicle came into view, Sorrow almost sighed in relief that a) she wasn’t going to have to walk the entire distance to the city and b) the person driving looked to be human.
As the vehicle approached, she realised it was nothing more than a golf cart, and almost burst into laughter. Of all the high-tech things she had seen the gods use, that they should have transported golf carts through the portals from Earth at some stage seemed ludicrous.
Still, she was not going to argue about her transportation as the driver, a man dressed in a shiny skin-tight white jumpsuit that left nothing to the imagination, screeched to a halt and jumped out, prostrating himself on the ground.
“Oh dear,” he moaned, “I am sorry, these philistines would have had no idea of what you truly are, please forgive this lowly driver coming to collect you, Mistress.”
Sorrow stood stunned but recovered herself when she realised he was waiting for her to allow him to stand.
“Rise,” she said, her voice containing as much a question as an order.
“Please, here,” he rose and reached around to uncuff her quickly, “tut, tut, my poor, dear mistress, such mistreatment.”
“I’m fine,” Sorrow said, again more a question than a statement.
“You cannot appear like this, no, no that won’t do,” the man said, waving his hands around in what Sorrow could only think of as a very flamboyant and overly feminine way, before he ran to the back of the cart and opened a large box. It was once used, Sorrow was sure, to hold golf club bags, but was now obviously perfect for another purpose.
She leaned forward to see what he was searching for and saw he had red leader suits, white jumpsuits, white robes, pretty hats and a range of other garb in the large box. Finally, he emitted a cry of relief and brought out a dark blue robe and a small golden belt.
“Do you always carry so many clothes in your cart?” Sorrow shook her head in astonishment, seeing the huge array of costumes.
The man paled as he turned to her and threw himself once again o
n the ground at her feet.
“Oh, Mistress, I know, I have been bad, I should be punished, please, please forgive me.”
“What? No. Get up,” Sorrow frowned, looking around lest his bizarre reaction draw attention to them.
“I know it is wrong for a slave to have possessions; I promise you none were stolen,” he said, his face still on the cobblestones, “I beg forgiveness.”
Sorrow shook her head, trying desperately to think of what the best thing to say would be.
“Hey,” she squatted down beside him and, gripping his hands, urged him to his feet, “we all like to dress up sometimes, right?”
He nodded morosely, staring at his feet.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she whispered, thinking that sharing a secret might just help gain her first ally in this strange place.
“Oh, thank you for your mercy, Mistress, oh beautiful, merciful goddess.”
Sorrow smiled to cover her shock, her mind racing as he handed her the robe.
“Here, please, put it over the terrible thing they have made you wear, Mistress. As soon as we arrive, I will ensure you are taken to a room for a bath and haircare.”
“Okayyyy,” Sorrow said, donning the long, blue velvet robe and cinching the gold belt.
“Here,” the man handed her a little golden rope, “for your belt.”
“Very Wonder Woman,” Sorrow murmured, but the man, if he heard, made no comment.
“When you are ready, Mistress, I will take you to the guardian of The Finger.”
“Thank you,” Sorrow said, graciously nodding her head, “but I would like that bath and refreshment first.”
“Of course, of course,” he bobbed his head repeatedly in agreement and subservience, “foolish me, of course.”
As they drove, she determined to make the most of her unusual situation by finding out as much as she could about the mysterious city in the distance.
“So,” she leaned forward to speak to her driver as he concentrated on driving her carefully across the wide cobbled causeway that ran from The Fist to The Finger, “what exactly is your role here?”
“Chauffer,” he smiled.