Songs for a Deviant Earth

by Luka Petrov

  Firstly, the monks took away their personal effects, including Siobhan’s medical kit, all the student’s knives, and anything of personal value. Under the promise that these would be returned, the children reluctantly gave them up. The children did this reluctantly. They had been told that these items were the only insurance they would have for their survival. The monastery could not be certain that these items were not infected, therefore, they had to take them and keep them in their safe. In addition, they were not sure if the students would use their weapons on them. They needed to have the assurance that the children could not harm them in their sleep.

  Hamish’s blanket, the one he had arrived in so many years before, was particularly difficult for him to abandon. Siobhan held him as he wept beside the altar, the final object connecting them to their mother taken away. After prayer sessions, the group of islanders was separated into separate genders by Brother Simon and Brother Michael, each boy and girl facing another in the wide stone room. Though they had come from a religious island, the dogma of the monks was new and unexpected. It was clear from their arrival that the residents of the monastery believed the blackouts were a punishment from God himself.

  The monastery adopted the doctrine that the Earth was plagued with such evil, that it needed to rid itself from the villains of thee world, infected the wicked souls and spraying nuclear fallout on the parasites that the world called humans. They developed their own belief system to explain the apocalypse and how the monastery had survived unharmed thus far. The holy devoted prided themselves in their steadfastness and unwavering faith that their God had protected them from the infection and from savage attacks. Each attack they endured was met with them prevailing. Therefore, each prayer session was imperative for their survival. The piety and faith had kept them safe, and they intended on keeping it that way.

  “For the remainder of your stay here at the monastery, boys and girls will be kept apart,” Simon began, one of the monks moving down the aisle with a silver ball expelling pungent smoke. “There will be specific occasions where contact will be permitted, but without asking the Abbot and having explicit permission, you may not break this rule. This is a rule of our Lord.” The children looked up at the monks, their faces barely visible in the wavering red warmth of candles. None of what they were told sounded like it was on the island. Their dorm rooms had strict time schedules, most hours reserved only for worship. Their safety would be a cage, their minds kept away from the violence of the blackouts.

  Pulling Siobhan and Hamish apart proved more difficult than the monks imagined. They fought tooth and nail to not be apart, and as they dragged them down the hallways at separate ends, both of the pale-faced siblings screamed to the other for help, calling out their names in Scottish dialects. They had become effectively one person, one relying on the other for their survival. One protecting the other, one caring for the other. They were the only comfort that the other knew. The only constant in their lives was each other.

  Hamish was vastly stronger than Brother Simon and managed to push him away in one final shove. Running over to his sister, he grabbed her and squeezed out a final hug, the last close contact they would be allowed. Though only a second, it seemed to last forever. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll see each other again.” The monks acted in a group to raise the albino boy by his arms, plucking him over their shoulders and carrying him off.

  Siobhan watched as he descended the corridor, pounding at their backs with his fists. She knew the power he held in his hands, the strength of a fully-grown man, and with some relish, she delighted in the bruises they would have the next morning. How the adults lied to the young when they had their own ideas of what they should and shouldn’t know! Around half an hour later, she and the other girls were moved into the convent and forcibly dressed in habits and gowns. A series of mirrors were laid out along the stone walls, positioned so as to show the young girls their future in the convent. Siobhan stared at herself and knew that it wasn’t her future, knew that it wasn’t her destiny.

  When they said their prayers at bedtime, each girl knelt down by her bed. Siobhan concentrated her mind of the movement of that blade from class. She’d only held it for a moment, but she could picture its weight, its usage, how it could devour a beast or a man. And her eyes searched the walls for a scalable surface, for ledges she could use to lever herself upward, for iron bars that might be loosely attached. This place felt like a death trap, a place that would easily be her demise, if only she waited for it to happen.

  Lying awake in bed, she dreamt of Hamish and wondered how the monks were treating him. She thought of the deep green lights in the sky above the building and of the places on this island it was forbidden to enter. She would need to take a map from one of the monks or sisters, anyone in charge, and memorize it by heart. If they ever were to escape back to their island, they couldn’t get caught in the midst of a cursed forest, nowhere that they could become contaminated. But then, she reasoned, in a place as small as this, it would be easy for an outsider to enter and poison everyone within.

  By the time Hamish awoke, it was dawn, the vacant sunrise creating an eerie halo over the sea. Through the iron bars, he could see the shore where the boat had arrived, the dock now empty and their island far away from visibility. He knew that it was out there somewhere, a place of freedom where he could fight for the survival of those he loved. But here he was, ensnared in the bowels of some stone building, ordered around by people in capes. Brother Michael arrived without warning, pulling Hamish away from the window. “It is no time for sightseeing, my boy,” whispered the monk, pointing to the bed. “It is time for morning prayer.” The look of scorn that the boy gave said volumes about what he thought. In moments, he was restrained once again, thrown in a dank cell to contemplate his behavior.

  Deep in the cell, the boy cowered in a moss-covered corner, only a single candle for light and warmth. He had never understood what caused the blackouts nor why they destroyed all things that lit up, all the fine circuits within special objects. Hamish had known the stories that people told of the demons of the woods, of the land that could not be entered by man. He had heard that there were special things there, magic items left behind, treasures of the old world. Almost all the non-perishables had been taken from the island, but some still remained in those dark, sacred spaces.

  Siobhan, clad in her dark cloak, was led out into the grassy yard between the buildings and joined the sisters in a high-pitched song. She did not know the lyrics or their meaning—some fusion of Latin and other lost languages—but each girl followed phonetically, mirroring what the haggard sisters sang. As they left the courtyard of stone plinths and gravestones, it was there Siobhan saw the modestly sized boats, deep brown, hand-carved dinghies, the only method back and forth from the island. She wondered just how the monks of Stronsay protected themselves until she saw the ones holding rifles in their arms. There were rows of these cloaked men hiding on the grassy knoll of the shoreline, their masks like those of executioners. Getting out of the convent, it appeared, would be vastly more difficult than she had anticipated.

  In the days and weeks that followed, the siblings found life beneath the rule of the monks and their sisters to be both tyrannical and cruel. Gone were the lessons of how to survive in the wilderness or the classes on the meaning behind of the events of the blackout. All children were kept in the dark, both on the state of the world and of their loved ones on Ronaldsay. As time moved on, they felt more ignorant and less connected to time itself. Nothing seemed to move on the island, save for the ticking of the clock and the rhythm of prayers. Only between meals did Siobhan and Hamish see one another from other sides of the great wooden hall.

  Siobhad worked in the field along with her sister nuns. One day out in the field she asked the sister whom she was working next to, “Why do you believe the world is like this? So cruel?”

  The sister turned to her and responded, “My dear child, it states in the Book of Revelations, chapte
r three, verse ten, ‘Since you have kept my command to endure patiently, I will also keep you form the hour of trial that is going to come on the whole world to test the inhabitants of the Earth.’”

  “I realize what the Bible says, or what we think the Bible is telling us about the world now, but what do you believe?” Siobhan continued to pry, looking for answers. Answers about her home back on Ronaldsay.

  “We are in the middle of the second coming,” the sister explained. “It is of the upmost importance that you keep steadfast and faithful with your prayers. God rewards those who are steadfast. The poor island was overtaken by savages. You see, they were not steadfast and pious. They were blasphemous and wicked. God punishes the evil and rewards the good. Child, I see great power in you. Although you are dressed humbly, you are exquisitely beautiful and have an essence in your soul. You can overcome the cursed areas of the land. You have the power of Jesus in you.” Siobhan blushed at what the old sister imparted onto her. It was rare that a sister would give so much encouragement to a young girl.

  Siobhan was also mournful of what the elder had said about Ronaldsay. She wondered if it was intact touched and pillaged like she had said. That would mean that the only father that she knew was dead. Tears began to form in her eyes, but she did not want to let the nun see that she was sad. Instead, she kept working next to the sister, weeding the vegetable field as she kept her thoughts to herself.

  One evening, the acid rains fell hard against the walls of the building, with the children kept away from the outside under strict warning of the ‘demon rain.’ One child in every group was appointed to look after the others and escort them to the sheltered outhouses while the older monks and sisters took holy communion. Siobhan was appointed the duty of walking through the tepid hallways as a leader of the children. Siobhan had earned the trust of the other sisters in the monastery. She was the first one to prayer and leaned at least two dozen bible versus since arriving at the monastery. Therefore, she was chosen to be the leader. She was the child who was most trusted and respected.

  It was on this day that she made her attempt to escape. While the other young sisters entered the wooden outhouses, she stood to watch outside, making sure the coast was clear. When all doors were closed, and no one was in sight, she crept past the rusted back gate.

  Siobhan, however, would not leave without her brother. She had a plan, however naïve, to snap the lock of the boys’ chambers. It was rusted, something she knew from her knowledge of singing outside the grounds. As she had recalled those ancient songs, she too had kept a reminder of every detail of the area. Taking a large brick in her hand, she battered at the lock in the downpour of the unholy rains, smattering the decaying metal to pieces. The rain, she reasoned, was poisonous enough to act as a corrosive.

  Once the lock was open, she quietly crept between the beds, noting each hooded boy praying by the foot of his bed. She looked at them, seeing their eyes were closed, and circled the dusty room in search of her brother. There, in the center of the room, was the pale-faced Hamish, his face now colored by bruises of different shades. As she plucked him by the elbow, the familiarity of her touch awakened him from his trance. Together, they stepped quietly past the boys, their hearts pounding within their chests.

  Once they were outside, stumbling beneath the ever-falling skies, they ran down toward the beach. Though she had failed in learning where the cursed places were, she saw that a boat was kept afloat at one side, attached to a rope that anchored it to a dock. It looked as if it were built in the shape of Noah’s Ark, or at least what she had seen from the illustrations; it had a roof to it and tiny square windows. “Tis sae guid tae see ye…” whispered Hamish, his voice much louder than he imagined. Siobhan had loved the story of Noah’s Ark, how Noah out of steadfastness and unwavering faith took immense action to build the arc, and in return, he was safe from he flood.

  She placed a finger to his lips and looked sorrowfully into his face. What a number they had done on the boy. His scalp was scratched into scabs from poor shaving, bald, and egg-shaped. Scars ran up and down his face, a remnant of bruises and torture. As they walked, it snowed, their hands locking finger to finger. It was the sign of another fallout, another plant failing somewhere beyond the isles. They walked through the picturesque ash toward the old boat, watching as it bopped up and down on the calm of the waves.

  Before they had reached it, the rain fell heavier, soaking through their hoods. Siobhan encouraged him to walk faster, but a feeling clenched his heart, a sensation of unease. “We’re so close now,” she whispered, gripping his hand harder. Hamish turned to nod, but she could see the acid rain had flooded his eyes, giving them a rainbow hue. “Keep your eyes closed,” she added, pulling them toward the shoreline. There were a series of storm-straggled trees, branches all bent out of shape, lying out on the horizon like soldiers on a moor.

  Moving toward the shade of the trees, Siobhan could feel her twin start to shake. And somehow, in a symbiosis that only twins could share, she shook too. It was not with the excitement of getting home or escape or rowing the boat, but a deep and unfortunate realization of something—a sixth sense linked to something disturbing and unnatural. As they reached the blackness beneath those trees, she held her brother by his waist, bringing him toward the entrance of the boat. Through the falling rain, lightning illuminated the skies in endless waves, and the heavens became a duller green.

  Suddenly, both of their faces were aglow with the fresh brightness of the Merry Dancers, the emerald colors bathing the landscape in layers of phosphorescence. Then, the lightning flashed out of the soil itself, illuminating the air like a strobe light. “Keep your eyes closed,” she said, “closed tight.” She knew all too well what this was, the deep intuition reflecting in the depths of her pink irises. The land was being poisoned by Light and was soon to be a cursed place. The sand itself rumbled with stones being thrown around on the ground. If they got onto that boat, she believed, they would be safe from the plague that could befall them. But moments before they could enter, gunshots whizzed toward the sand. The monks were shooting at them from the hills.

  Grasping her brother tighter than ever, Siobhan leapt aboard the wooden schooner and clambered into the shadowy darkness of the boat. She looked for oars, for some way to paddle it away, but the dark overcame her sight. Her brother sobbed, trembling uncontrollably. She attempted to hold him close, to console him, but time was running out. She darted back into the green glow of the world outside, the sky swarming in nauseous flowing spirals. Reaching out to grab at the rope, she attempted to pull it loose from the steel pole in the sand. It was tied and knotted tightly, and her pale white fingers struggled to undo it.

  Another gunshot was fired, this time striking her in one leg. The initial shock took a moment to flood into her system, as her fingers finally managed to free the gnarled tether from its metal. But then the pain set in with great, unfathomable agony, sending her backward into the sand. The bullets continued to hit the sand around her, and for a moment, she believed the monks wanted her dead. But looking up from the wet sand, her snow-white cheek turned toward the glimmering green of the tree, she saw what the monks were shooting at.

  She heard the hissing, the ringing, the sound of a thousand whispers filling the brain and the blood within. Twisted moon shapes of something like a shadow were cutting through the ground with its motions, moving across the sand like a series of gyrating hands. The monks were aiming at its dazzling dance, firing every bullet at their disposal. Without any sense of reason or thought, Siobhan returned to the boat and dragged her brother out, the boy screaming and whimpering, her leg pouring blood into the sand below. She saw the things only spoken of in stories, the demons that the monks were afraid of. By the time they had made it beyond the tree, the monks had leaped on both of them, snaring the children and taking them back to the confines of the old stone buildings.

  6. The Pale-Skinned Goliath

  Ten long years passed within the Golgotha Monaster
y. The young girls were now true sisters, living lives of purity and abstinence, reciting prayers, and living beneath the shadow of the Abbot. They toiled like clockwork, living to serve the older sisters and the word of the Abbot, facilitating his every rule and desire. He was an ancient man, frail and peculiar, with a long brown cloak that dragged along the ground. He liked to see the girls undress and don their attire through a hole in the wall only he had access to. It was something that the monks knew, and ignored perhaps, but in many ways chose to encourage.

  The Abbot would arrive early in the morning and late at night to have his inspection of the sisters and their rituals. Only the favorites would he pick out for private confession, only those who had proven themselves within the convent. Many of the girls fought over the privilege of such visits, becoming competitive and full of spite. That day was fast approaching for Siobhan, who had long since bloomed into womanhood. She was now a beauty of unimaginable proportions, standing out among the sisters with an almost spiritual glory. She recited her prayers with diligence and without error, making no further attempt to escape.

  Hamish had become, in turn, quite gigantic. His stature was now well above those of the other monks, his skin still without any shade of tan or pigment. There would have been a certain fear in dealing with him, in telling him what to do, save for the fact that his intelligence had stayed exactly where it was since he was a child. When looking at the man, the monks would notice a certain nothingness lingering behind his pink eyes, a vacancy of spirit. It was true he had been shaken by the events of their escape, and perhaps that had contributed to his sheltered nature. But it was the simplicity of his thought that encouraged manipulation and allowed those of the monastery to control his every movement and decision.