Sorrow's Flight

by Helen Allan

  “The Chosen are of no concern to us,” he said, frowning.

  “I know,” Sorrow sighed. They had discussed this many times over the past month as she had learned the history of the Winged and the Angels and how they all fitted together. Centuries of wars between the people over their heritage and over land had decimated both sides. The Winged and Angels needed the forests; the Chosen needed cleared land for agriculture. Finally, there was a truce called between the races, albeit an unsteady one, held together only by the agreement that babies born with wings would be adopted by the Winged rather than killed, and the Chosen would encroach no further on the forests as part of their agricultural pursuits. But in later years more trees had been felled, and the truce had begun to unravel on the edges, like an old mat, untended and trodden beneath the feet of countless generations who had no understanding of how it had been crafted.

  “If they all die we no longer need to concern ourselves with the protection of the forested lands,” Raphael said as if reading her thoughts, “and that would make the Angels very happy indeed.”

  “They’d be happy if you all died too,” Sorrow said quietly, raising her eyes from her teacup and meeting his.

  “Yes,” he sighed, “but that hatchet has long-since been buried. We are more like them than we are like the invading alien Gods.”

  “And yet, many of your parents are Chosen…” Sorrow left the words hanging.

  Raphael gave her a hard stare, but said nothing, leaving Sorrow to consider his silence as agreement that this planet had an unhealthy undercurrent that had nothing to do with the disease that ravaged outsiders. Her discussions with the Winged since coming to this city had slowly been formulating an idea about the Angels, the birdlike beings who once ruled this planet. The Winged talked about them as though they were benevolent rulers, and yet they also acknowledged the rules that separated the species – the ancient class distinctions. The Angels lived high on the mountain tops in cities of their own, driven from the lower parts of the planet by the arrival of the Gods thousands of years prior. They were above the parliament of the Winged, much the same way the English Royal Family was above the UK parliament – above, but not directly involved, in theory.

  In practice Winged like Raphael worked for the Angels as spies and scouts, enabling the Angels to keep tabs on what was going on around the planet. Winged also supplied the mountain cities with produce, but as far as interspecies relations went, no Angels willingly associated with Winged. Those few that had in the past, due to love or other reasons, had been cast from the hallowed halls of their ancestors to live in the modern cities of the Winged – some willingly, some heartbroken. The laws were ironclad as far as the Angels were concerned, but mutable and open to occasional subversive testing by Winged. From what she could gather, Angels were not ‘wholly good’ as they were portrayed in Earth mythology, they were just another race, albeit, with wings. Raphael, while cagey about the species, had laughed when she had told him how they were perceived on Earth.

  Now, focussing back on the conversation, Sorrow put her cup down and eyeballed her captor. “Either way,” she said firmly, “I have to get back to Landfirst and be ready to leave via the portal when it opens in a few months. But, since I’m still technically your prisoner ‘until I escape’ if I must appear before this King, I have my own request, despite what you say.”

  Raphael shook his head and laughed.

  “You are a stubborn woman, Sorrow. I take no responsibility for how he reacts when you ask him – I’ve told you, I don’t know anything about this, but I do know they don’t take lightly to questions about their dealings with the Gods – or questions at all, they are not like us.”

  “Never the less,” Sorrow said firmly, “I’ll put up with their scrutiny, I’ll answer their questions. But I must know if Naunet is with them.”

  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 and prepared 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 they were covered completely in feathers, had wings much more impressive than those of Raphael’s people – massive wings that hung down their back in pairs, the feathers trailing on the ground like the trains of wedding dresses – and beaks – something she 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 who spoke from 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, was clearly more a bird 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.”

  “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.