Sorrow's Fall

by Helen Allan

  “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, and 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, once used, Sorrow was sure, to hold golf club bags, but 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 on 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, ‘goddess?’ 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 to minimise the bumps across the wide cobbled causeway that ran from The Fist to The Finger, “what exactly is your role here?”

  “Chauffer,” he smiled.

  “Are there many human men working in the city?”

  “Of course, we are here to follow your will and word, always.”

  “Are there human women?”

  “No.”

  “Huh.”

  Sorrow frowned. This information did not fit with her hypothesis. Since arriving on the planet, she had the opportunity to treat many of the rebel red leaders for their injuries – all bore exactly the same physiology as herself; they were clearly half-god, half-human. She had surmised, without telling Judge of her theory, that human women were transported to the planet and used, as they had been on earth, as disposable incubators. But if there were no human women here, who the hell was giving birth to the boys who grew to become red leaders?

  “Are there females of any type in The Finger?”

  “Of course.”

  “And they are?”

  “Gods, like you,” he said.

  Sorrow gasped.

  ‘Earthborn? Or gods? Why did this man think she was a god? Was it because he had only ever seen Earthborn men, like Judgement? Were Shu and Tefnut breeding red leaders with human fathers? If that was the case, who were the mothers? And,’ she swallowed hard, feeling a little sick, ‘why did Jury say his mother had no skin?’

  Sorrow sat back in silence for the rest of the drive, lest she blow her fortunate cover, and waited.

  The corridor the man took her down was bereft of life, cold, white and long, just as the corridors were at The Fist. Sorrow was beginning to wonder if there was anyone living in the city at all, but as they passed some doors, she could hear faint laughter, the tinkling of glasses, and music.

  Finally, the man led her to a room and opened the door for her, beckoning her inside and prostrating himself before her again.

  “I hope this pleases you; I am sure a more fitting apartment will be made available to you when you meet the guardian. And if you don’t mind me asking, what shall I tell her is your interest.”

  “My interest?”

  “Yes, do you ride, do you game, are crafts something you enjoy, hunting, or perhaps music?”

  “I’m a doctor.”

  “Oh, I have not heard that before. Very well, I will let her know – are you satisfied with all you see?”

  Sorrow turned from him and looked around, a slow grin spreading across her face, despite her intent to look serious and pretend she belonged in whatever role this silly little man thought she should fill.

  The room was luxurious by any standards; it featured a round king-sized bed covered in a white cotton coverlet and luxurious white fur pillows. A huge aquamarine square tiled bath filled one corner while an open fireplace and sunken sitting area with leather lounge chairs fronted the fire and the windows, overlooking the city skyline.

  “It will do,” she said quietly, “are there towels?”

  “Oh yes, of course,” he blushed, rushing to a nearby wall and pressing a button marked ‘bell’ recessed next to a range of other switches.

  Sorrow stood, uncertainly as he turned back to her.

  “Uh, the towels?”

  “Oh, they will come with the servants,” he said hastily, backing towards the door, “your bathing attendants and hairdressers, masseuse and entertainment will all arrive shortly. I will return when you call for me.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “Just send one of the attendants for me, I will be waiting by the vehicle.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sorrow shook her head, “I don’t think I caught your name?”

  “Chauffer 502,” the man said, bowing low again and backing out.

  “I’ll be sure to return your robe, Chauffer 502,” she said, smiling at him.

  He gave her a cautious smile in return as he pulled the door shut.

  Sorrow sighed and walked towards the bath, ready to investigate whether her dreams might come true and she might have hot and cold running water, as she had not enjoyed since Raphael’s city in Avalona, when there was a light tap at the door.

  “Enter.”

  The door swung open, and her eyes widened when four human men, muscular and dressed only in shiny one-piece jumpsuits, the same as the chauffer’s, came through the door and bowed. One carried a stack of towels, another a basket of lotions and creams, another a bag which he promptly opened on a nearby dresser, pulling out brushes, combs and a hairdryer. The fourth bore a plate of fresh fruit and a jaunty expression as he began to unzip his suit.

  ‘I’ve died and gone to heaven, the real heaven,’ Sorrow smirked as one of the attendants turned on the taps, and the room began to steam up.

  Primped, polished, perfumed, and dressed once again in a new dark blue, velvet robe, Sorrow followed the chauffer back down to the golf cart and, eschewing the back seat this time, walked around to sit beside him in the front of the cart.

  “Was everything to your liking?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes, thank you,” Sorrow laughed, although she felt sure she was probably reading more into his question than he intended.

  Her bath and refreshment had gone wonderfully, but the attendants had not left pleased with her. The bathing attendants and hairdressers she had ordered out as soon as she realised they intended to actually bathe her. The fourth man was most put out of all; he had been sent for her pleasure and looked none too pleased to learn she did not require any physical entertainment.

  She laughed now as she recalled his expression.

  “But I am very good. I assure you I will pleasure you thoroughly.”

  “I am sure you are, and I like your confidence,” she laughed, “but I do not feel like being pleasured today.”

  “Perhaps you would like me to come back later.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  “Very well.”

  He had cast her a most perplexed look as he left the room.

  Sorrow had enjoyed a long bath, washed her hair until it felt like silk, dressed in the blue gown with its deep blue hood, and filled her stomach with fresh fruit; a welcome change from the dried oat biscuits she had lived on for the past
few months while hiding out with the resistance.

  When she surveyed herself in the mirror prior to leaving the room, she realised that hooded, the only thing giving her away from actually being a god was her height. In all other respects, she did not look too different from those she had seen in the forced memories of the regeneration tank. She hoped the subterfuge would work on a true god, as it worked on the humans who had served her.

  Frowning, she rang the bell for an attendant, and one appeared almost instantly, as though he had been waiting outside. It was the pleasure slave. Sorrow smiled and shook her head at his hopeful expression.

  “I need some shoes,” she said, gesturing down to her feet, “high heels if possible, the highest you have.”

  “Please ring the bell again, Mistress,” he sighed, “the dressing attendant will be able to meet your needs.”

  Sorrow nodded, rung the bell and watched a figure race down the corridor towards her, eager to do her bidding.

  It wasn’t long before she was being led, tottering on the highest heels she had ever worn, to where the golf cart was parked.

  “Where are you taking me now?” she asked, her mind returning to the present.

  “To the infirmary,” he smiled, “the guardian asked that you be taken straight there. She said you would be a most welcome addition to the medical staff.”

  Sorrow swallowed hard.

  “Is it far?”

  “At the furthest end of the city near the spacecraft hangars,” he nodded, “I myself have never been there, but I trust we will find it.”

  “Great,” Sorrow said, biting her lip.

  She frowned as her driver whizzed her down the cobbled streets of The Finger towards the infirmary. They passed dozens of men, all dressed in white suits, hurrying here and there, and several other carts bearing blue-robed figures.

  Finally, they pulled up outside a large, modern building with security guards standing either side of large metal sliding doors.