Death and Resurrection (The Ballad of Broken Song Book 1)

by Simon Birks

  Gideon smiled and nodded. There was just the two of them, then.

  Gideon watched as the man strode away, heading towards the medical building. He called it a base, he thought. A base. The man disappeared from view. Gideon gave it a few seconds more and then retrieved his weapons, stepped inside the food store, and pulled the door shut behind him. He shot the bolts, turned and eagerly scoured the inside.

  Dark again. There was a corridor along the circumference of the building. At its centre was the food store itself. Gideon couldn’t remember precisely where he’d learnt that, probably in his early years before coming to the Complex.

  Base.

  Gideon wondered what that meant. Maybe that’s what the people who work here called it. Why would he know any different?

  And yet…

  Gideon looked at the door in front of him. It wasn’t shut properly. He imagined the man he’d just met in a hurry to answer his knocking, forgetting it. Gideon was hungry. And he’d need to stock up on provisions.

  He went to the door and pulled it open gradually, not wanting to find more guards in there.

  He didn’t. What he saw was far, far worse.

  “Oh, dear Gods,” he said.

  Hopeless

  Hoep moved as fast as he could, not wanting to encounter whatever it was that Ka Loy had warned him was down there.

  What else could be here?

  He held his sword in his hand. There was no room to swing it in the tight corridor, but hopefully it’d keep whatever creatures he ran into at arm’s length.

  He had little sense of how far he’d travelled. There were so many houses above him; for all he knew, he’d not even made it a quarter of the way round.

  Then there was the question of his fitness. In the years since joining the Telar-Val, he had let his fitness drop to what might be considered unacceptable levels. He wasn’t the sort to spend hours and hours improving his physique. He was more likely to be the one on sentry duty, watching citizens in the city, and thanking the local tradesmen for their kind offers of food that were always welcome.

  He was aware of what they called him. Hopeless Hoep. It was hardly original, and it wasn’t anything like the sorts of names that weasel Graim called him in front of other people. A shot of annoyance flew through him. He’d be happy if he never had to see that man’s face again.

  Still, he didn’t want to prove these people right. He didn’t want to be hopeless. He wanted to live, even if it meant being a fugitive.

  Somewhere ahead, a door opened.

  “Oh, no,” Hoep whispered.

  Noises. Hoep would like to have called them steps, but they weren’t. Something was moving this way; dragging was the word that appeared into his head. He wished it hadn’t.

  Hoep steeled himself. Whatever it was, he had to face it.

  “I have to live,” he whispered again.

  Hoep moved forward. His muscles ached. He had to live. He had to face this. He had known about the confrontation for so many years. Whether or not he’d originally believed Ka Loy, he’d still known about it. So why had he become so lazy?

  Do you really want to live?

  “Yes, yes, I do.”

  Hoep moved forward. The noise was getting louder, the curve of the wall amplifying every sound.

  “Hell…” came a voice.

  It was rasping, like it was having difficulty speaking.

  It was hell all right, Hoep thought.

  “Hell…” the voice came again.

  Hoep gripped the sword as tightly as he could.

  “Hell…eee.”

  Something inside Hoep’s panic-stricken mind shifted. There was more to this horror than he could understand. The glow from the fire-rock was almost non-existent. Hoep could hear his own breathing above everything; shallow, rapid, scared. His eyes searched the gloom before him, desperate for a first look at the other inhabitant.

  “He…eee,” the thing wheezed. It coughed. Then, as clear as if it was being said beside him, “Help me.”

  It was a child’s voice. Such a thin, pathetic sound, that Hoep immediately quickened his pace. The tunnel had become wider, taller, and he was able stand bent over.

  “Help me,” it came again.

  “Hold on!” Hoep called, “I’m coming. Just hold on.”

  He couldn’t run, but he jogged as best as his health and the tunnel allowed him.

  “Help…” came again, then the noise of metal on stone.

  Silence.

  “Are you there? Are you all right?” Hoep called.

  But there was no reply. Hoep searched the walls for an opening. Several feet on, his hand brushed against metal doors, cold to the touch.

  “Where are you?” he called, but heard only his echo in reply.

  The child had gone. Without warning, his fear of the confined space became almost unbearable. He had to get out.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the darkness of the tunnel, and with tears falling from his eyes, he continued on into the darkness.

  The Barn

  They had cried for what felt like hours, but it could not have been any longer than a few minutes. Afterwards, they had packed up all the food they could carry, placed it in some makeshift shoulder bags, and put them around their necks. It was impressive how much the girl could carry. They had walked for nearly ninety minutes when the barn first appeared within view. Ma Poppun had groaned theatrically, and it had made Visenai laugh, and it was that laugh that had kept the exhausted cook going.

  It had been the mistress’s carriage. That was why it was hidden all the way out by the fields. It’d been there for ten years, since the accident had taken her life. The master hadn’t been able to look at it, but hadn’t been able to get rid of it either.

  “It’s further than I remember,” Ma Poppun said, as they made their way along a dirt track.

  Visenai, as ever, was three steps in front of her.

  “Are you sure you haven’t been out this way?” Ma Poppun asked her.

  The sun was high, and the sweat trickled down her back.

  “No,” the girl replied. “The master forbade us to come anywhere near here.”

  “Well, for someone so obedient you seem to know your way extremely well.”

  Visenai’s face was half-turned away from the cook, and Ma Poppun was certain she saw a sly smile play on the girl’s lips.

  “What do you think it looks like?” the girl asked.

  “I expect it looks like it did when I last saw it. Only rotten and run down.”

  They climbed over a gate and walked through a field of small turquoise flowers, which gave out a strong and pleasant odour as they brushed against them.

  “Look, Ma Poppun, look!” Visenai said.

  The cook looked up and saw the girl was pointing in the direction of the barn.

  Outside the barn, tethered and eating grass were three of the finest horses Ma Poppun had ever seen. She should have felt happy, but instead she felt uneasy. Something was wrong.

  “Come here, Visenai, quickly.”

  The girl complied with the same urgency Ma Poppun had put into the request. As she ran back, they heard the noise of the barn door being opened across the field. Ma Poppun crouched quickly and Visenai followed suit. This far away from the house, both women knew no one could be trusted.

  The first person they saw emerge from the barn was Hossip. He seemed relaxed, with his shirt off, and had a sheen to his torso which indicated he’d been working hard. He walked over to the horses and stroked them.

  Ma Poppun was surprised. At least once a day, Hossip would pay the kitchen a visit, where he would sit and talk to her about pretty much anything. At times when she wasn’t feeling well, he would make her sit down and he would do her work for her. He was a great cook, and she had always liked him, and always thought of him as an open and honest person. He got on well with Visenai, too. In a house too full of egos and bravado, Hossip took time to show the girl how to care for the horses, how to hunt, how to grow plan
ts.

  So what’s he doing here?

  They were too far away to hear anything, but someone else was there, in the barn. They could tell by the way Hossip was gesturing towards the open door. The Ma squeezed Visenai’s hand involuntarily. Something about this unseen companion heightened her concern.

  “Who’s he talking to?” Visenai whispered.

  “It could be the master,” the cook replied.

  “Did he do it? Did the master kill all those people?” Visenai said quietly.

  Ma Poppun was about to say no, but checked herself. The master wasn’t a bad man, not by far, but she supposed it was possible.

  “What do you think?” the cook asked instead.

  There was a pause.

  “I think he’s the most likely.”

  Ma Poppun nodded. The girl wasn’t wrong. She was still watching Visenai, thinking how mature she could be, when the girl gasped at something she’d seen. Ma Poppun looked up and over to the barn. A figure had appeared. It could have been the master. He was a similar height, and the build seemed to fit, but the figure she saw was covered in armour, like none that the cook had ever seen. In fact, it looked like scales. Dull, black scales, with a helm adorned with long horns.

  “What is it?” Visenai asked from her crouched position.

  “I don’t know.”

  The armoured man said something to Hossip and the servant backed away. What happened next was difficult to see. There was a flash of movement, right to left, and Hossip crumpled into a heap on the floor. Ma Poppun instinctively gripped Visenai harder.

  The armoured man turned, and climbed onto a horse. There was something wrong with the way he did it, like he’d been hurt. He flicked the reins and dug his heels in, and the horse trotted away, heading out into the fields and towards the forest.

  “Let’s go,” the Ma said, and the two women rose as one and headed toward the barn and their fallen colleague.

  Water

  Jenza was sweating. She had never called upon her gift like this. It was always something that happened naturally, she never forced it. Now, as she stood outside Broken Song, arms held out, her fingers spread wide, she concentrated with everything she had.

  The image of Doshan flashed across her memory. He had been the one person who’d really accepted the power she’d had. A boy who she’d met soon after the confrontation with the robed woman, as she’d travelled from the village towards Langeph, the city on the ford. He’d almost been waiting for her, at least that’s what it’d felt like, and it made her smile when she thought of the moment she’d first seen him, leaning against a building without a care in the world.

  *

  “Do you have any water?” the young Jenza had asked the boy. He looked down his nose at her.

  “Maybe. Why?”

  “’The city was further than I thought,” she’d said.

  The boy had laughed.

  “That’s foolish.”

  “So, do you have any?”

  Her thirst didn’t have time to entertain him.

  He’d looked at her and then looked away, making no move to help her.

  Jenza had kicked him hard for his indifference, though she knew not much of the kick would get through his thick leather trousers.

  He’d just looked at her and laughed again.

  “I’d kick you harder if I thought it’d hurt you,” she’d said, seething.

  He shrugged.

  Jenza had watched him for a moment, and then entered the house he’d been leaning against to find her own water. There was a pail sitting on the side in the larder. It looked cool. It looked like the answer to so many things.

  There was a ladle sticking out of it.

  “I don’t need you,” she’d called behind her, to the boy. “I don’t need anyone.”

  And she’d taken the ladle out, brimming with water and held it to her lips. It felt so good. She let it rest there for a moment or two, before slowly opening her mouth and drinking in the smallest amounts.

  She could feel it run down inside her.

  There was a noise off to one side, and when she looked, a large man stood in a doorway holding a dagger.

  “What do you think you’re doing? Stealing my water?”

  Jenza dropped the ladle, watching as the precious water splashed over the sides of the bucket and onto the floor.

  “I’m s… s… sorry,” she’d stuttered. “I thought it was the boy’s outside. I thought it’d be all right.”

  “Well, it ain’t,” the man had said, getting closer. “Nothing for free here. You better have something to trade…”

  Jenza’s mind was in a rush. Do I have anything to trade? She looked at her clothes, felt in her pockets. Finally, she’d looked up at the man.

  “I have nothing to offer you.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” he’d replied.

  Jenza felt a hand on her elbow. She was moved aside, and the boy stepped in front of her.

  “I have something,” he said to the man. “I have something to give you.”

  Jenza watched as the man stopped, rocked back on his heels and took a deep breath. His eyes flicked from the boy, to her, and then back to the boy.

  “What?” he’d asked, although he wasn’t sure of himself.

  “She gave it to me outside. Have a look,” the boy said.

  He took his pack off his back.

  The man took a step toward him. The boy had moved so swiftly Jenza couldn’t tell what happened, but a second later the man was on the floor, and the boy held his dagger.

  “We shall let her drink what she wants, don’t you agree?”

  The man looked up, shocked, his eyes flicking between the pair of them. He didn’t say anything. The boy had glanced at her.

  “Drink,” he said, and Jenza did.

  The thirst she had felt then was even greater than the one she’d entered with, as if her body had suddenly remembered how good it was to drink.

  “And I think some of your bread.”

  He reached over and took a loaf that was sat on the side.

  “That’s all I have,” the man said in a pathetic voice.

  “It is more than we have put together,” the boy replied. “I am sure a man of your talents will find some more.”

  Jenza had smiled then. This arrogant boy had made the man look stupid. He had saved her, though whether it was for his own enjoyment or for her welfare, she couldn’t be sure. The important thing was he had saved her, and she owed him.

  They tied the man’s hands and legs together, and backed out of the house, keeping both his knife and his bread.

  “Will he be all right?” Jenza had asked.

  “What does it matter?” he’d replied.

  When he saw the look on her face, he’d added, “Yes, he’ll be fine. I didn’t tie the rope so well that he couldn’t escape.”

  The pair had stayed together till they reached the city. Doshan had never been there either, and that had pleased her. They were together, a partnership, and it had stayed that way for quite a while.

  *

  Standing in the desert near Broken Song, something changed. It was almost imperceptible, like a dense fog lifting the smallest amount. Jenza refocused; tried to concentrate her mind on that pinprick of perception and on Doshan’s face.

  There was a shudder. Jenza snapped her eyes open, projected her mind forward a fraction, as if she was putting her foot in a closing door. She opened the hole with her mind to spread it as far as she could. Even with her full power, she guessed it was little more than the size of her thumb.

  The shudder came back, stronger. And there was his face, not Hoep’s, but the boy who had committed the Ka’s murder. He was in a building, but she wasn’t sure which one. She was in his mind, seeing the shocking sight he could see.

  Jenza gasped, staggered, and closed the opening she had made as quickly as possible. That was not right. What she had seen could not be. She sat on the floor, exhausted and panicked. She should go back to Broke
n Song. They needed her, yet if she stayed she would be punished. Ja Jenza had long known she wasn’t a good person, now she had to decide just how bad she was.

  Ropes

  The room was abnormally cold. Gideon, all of seventeen years old, stood looking at the scene in front of him; partly shocked, but mostly amazed.

  This is supposed to be the food store.

  In the centre of the room, near enough three feet in diameter, stood a column of, what looked like ropes; moving, glowing ropes that came out of the ground like a tree. These ropes glided over each other, criss-crossing in perpetual motion. Gideon was reminded of eels he’d once glimpsed slipping and sliding underneath a river’s waves.

  The light they gave off was a strange, not-quite-white, colour, which lit up the room in an eerie blue glow. Gideon had never seen or heard of anything quite like it.

  Yet that wasn’t all.

  At the top of the column, the tendrils snaked away towards the sides of the circular room. Here lay the real horror. Here, the vision that made Jenza close her connection so suddenly could be seen.

  Gideon stopped counting when he reached thirty children, but he supposed there were almost twice as many in total, lying next to each other on flat stone tables, not unlike the Resurrection plinth he’d been on only a few days before.

  What are they doing here?

  The children were positioned with their heads nearest the wall, feet pointing towards the trunk of the tendrils, the plinths angled forward so their feet were lower than the rest of their body.

  Their bodies... that was the worst part.

  Each child was pierced by multiple lit ropes, snaking into and under their skin.

  Look at them again.

  Gideon concentrated, and his eyes grew wider as he saw that the ropes expanded and contracted at regular intervals, as if they were breathing.

  He got as close to one of the children as he dared. They were not moving, and at first he thought they were dead, but as he looked closer, he saw their eyelids flickering.

  Where they dreaming? What dreams must they have?

  He heard a noise behind him, and in an instant he’d twisted round, sword aloft. He saw a tendril, a new rope not yet lit up, winding its way towards him, seeking him out.