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

by Simon Birks

  Bone

  Ka Pinto had regained most of the movement in his body, and slowly sat up, knees drawn to his chest. His body was younger, but more than that, his physique had completely changed. He was muscular. He’d never been like this. Maybe he’d been slim at the beginning, after his first Resurrection, but this was something more. He was built to be…

  To be a warrior.

  It was like he’d been granted his dearest wish. He had no weapons, but by the look of his arms and hands, weapons weren’t necessary.

  I don’t understand.

  You’ve been given a purpose.

  He looked up to the sky again, and his stomach lurched. It always would, he thought. There was his home above him, and below his feet, the Orb he had always looked upon.

  But it wasn’t an Orb; it was a world, with air he could breathe.

  You won’t be the only one breathing it.

  This was no good, the light was fading and he was in the middle of nowhere. He had to find shelter. There were trees around him, on all sides. Everything was so green. Ossed was a planet of green plants.

  What sort of planet was Dilar?

  Ka Pinto looked at the flora around him. How would he know what was safe to eat, and what was poison?

  You’re missing the obvious.

  Ka Pinto pushed himself onto one knee, looking along the tree line for any movement, and then stood, tall and ominous. He wavered for a moment, but then settled, finding his balance.

  He took a step forward, almost stumbling, but brought his other leg forward quickly enough to break his fall. He was learning to walk again. Ka Pinto smiled.

  Then he stopped smiling.

  Something moved near the tree line. Only the slightest of shifts, but it had been there. Ka Pinto was impressed. He’d only seen it out of the corner of his eye, but he had been able to take everything in, make an assessment, and realise the movement as a threat.

  The next question was, should he let on that he knew about it? Should he turn to face it, and risk sparking a full-on confrontation, or pretend to ignore it and move toward the treeline in front?

  The question was answered for him. There was another movement, in front this time, and one to the other side. He was surrounded. Whatever it was, it hunted as a pack. Pinto stopped where he was, and put his hands up.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said. “Do not fear me.”

  He waited to see if they would react, but nothing happened.

  “My name is Ka Pinto,” he said. “I am here…” but then he stopped, because he didn’t know why he was here.

  He was as bemused about all of this as the things that hid in the trees. He thought they’d probably been watching him for a while. Did that mean they were friendly? Or just cautious?

  Something whistled towards him. Ka Pinto saw it the moment it broke the tree line. A spear, he realised. They had thrown a spear. He watched it approach. It had been thrown with precision, and skill. It flew straight.

  Ka Pinto had not seen many spears in his lives. He knew they existed, used by some of the eastern tribes on his own planet, but the life of a Ka is usually without incident.

  You’re a warrior, now.

  He watched this one with interest as it drew closer, and bore down on his position. He realised it wasn’t a normal spear. This had not been man-made. It was a long thin bone of some sort. Pinto was amazed. This was a place of wonder.

  He watched it land in the earth in front of him with a thud. It buried itself deeply into the lush ground. He had always known it was going to miss. It was a warning shot.

  “I mean you no harm,” he repeated, arms still aloft.

  There was a pause. Things were being said, were being decided, Ka Pinto could tell. This was the moment they decided to attack, or try to speak with him. He had never felt so alive.

  The first of them stepped through into the clearing. Ka Pinto gasped.

  The creature was two-thirds his height. Its skin appeared dark green in colour, and its clothing resembled, he thought, leaves. It stopped several steps into the clearing. Ka Pinto kept his arms up. He got down onto his knees, which made the creature move back a step.

  “It’s all right,” Pinto said. “I’m not going to harm you.”

  The creature bared its teeth. It made no sound, and to the foolish, it might have looked like it was smiling, but Ka Pinto had enough experience to look at the creature’s stance, the way its hands were balled into tight fists. Ka Pinto bowed his head in respect.

  After a few moments, there came chatter from the creature. Quick, staccato bursts of noise, some high, almost like a scream, some low, like a growl. Through it all, Ka Pinto stared at the ground in front of him. Then, more bushes rustled. Ka Pinto guessed more of the creatures were coming forward.

  Pinto’s breathing became shallower; he concentrated on it. In, out, attempting to keep his fear under control, keeping it hidden from the people surrounding him. Then the bushes stopped rustling, and there was silence. There were three short bursts of noise, starting low and ending higher. Ka Pinto was certain they were being directed at him.

  They want you to look at them. They need to see your eyes.

  He lifted his head slowly. The first of them was closer now, the rest staying at the periphery of the trees. It stood with its head to the side, inquisitive.

  Ka Pinto smiled, showing no teeth. He knew the creatures would not understand him, so he sought words he hoped sounded soothing.

  “Hello,” Ka Pinto said. “I am your friend.”

  And then something miraculous happened. At least that’s what it felt like to Ka Pinto. The creature cocked its head. It looked at the ground, as though in thought. Pinto watched its brow crease ever so slightly, and his eyes blink as if searching for something.

  It looked up at him.

  “Friend?” it said.

  Bar

  The creature was busy with something. They were in the outer corridor of the food store, so they could no longer see it, but the noises were enough to turn Hoep’s stomach. The important thing was it was distracted. All they had to do was move as quietly as possible, so as not to draw its attention.

  The front door was close and the two men moved to it slowly.

  The boy reached the doorway first. There were three large pieces of wood resting on metal struts across the door at different heights. Gideon looked at Hoep and motioned lifting. Hoep nodded.

  The boy moved around to the far side, and took hold of the end of the wood. Hoep did the same where he was. He watched the boy count to three, and then they both pushed up. The beam was heavy, but not impossible.

  Hoep thought they might be able to escape with their lives.

  Tendrils

  Ka Yeta came through the doors from the medical building to see the children’s homes spread out before her. In the last few hours, Ka Yeta had lost all sense of time. The light was fading, she could see, and she wanted to move them out before darkness fell.

  I’m not much good to anyone, she thought as she rested on the crutch she’d taken from the supplies on the way through.

  The nearest house was twenty feet or so in front of her. It all looked quiet. The child inside would be going about its simple, solitary, life. Ka Yeta felt a sudden pang of sadness for this child’s life. This was what she had known. It hadn’t been her own choice, but she had undertaken it all the same. Better things would come, she had always hoped.

  How am I going to do it?

  So many children. What she had to do required completely different skills to the ones she used normally.

  Ka Yeta reached the first house, took a breath and went inside. There was an odd blue light coming from the inside rooms. There was an odd noise, too. It was hard to work out what it was. It was neither a gasp, nor a breath.

  It’s a scream.

  An almost silent scream. Ka Yeta’s blood ran cold. She moved forward quickly, scanning the house as she went. Nothing in the hallway. Nothing in the meditation room. The light grew
stronger as she approached the bedroom. She stopped just outside the door. Her leg was painful. Her hands were shaking.

  She stepped forward.

  There was a tendril, coming up through the floor. It hadn’t been there yesterday. It was the same type of tendril she’d seen take Nayt. This one was attached to the child through its chest. Barbaric. Inhumane.

  The volume of the scream suddenly increased, and she realised it was coming from the child. Ka Yeta wanted to put her hands over her ears, to run, but she was transfixed by the sheer horror of it. Then the scream stopped. That was the worst part. The scream stopped, and Ka Yeta knew the thing had killed the child. Murdered it.

  Are you the monster?

  She wanted to look at the child, but couldn’t.

  And the child’s stopped screaming.

  Ka Yeta watched as the tendril swayed in front of her. It felt like it was looking at her, studying her, and then it retreated, back down through the hole. Within seconds it had gone.

  Ka Yeta went to the child, touched his arm, but it was cold. She felt for a pulse. There was none.

  “Dear Gods,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ka Yeta ran out of the house as best she could and threw up. When the retching finished she raised her head.

  Listen.

  Screams. Hundreds of silent screams, coming from every house around her. It had them all. The tendrils had them all.

  “No!” Ka Yeta screamed. “No, you can’t do that!”

  Then, as if in reply, the screams became audible, and the cacophony was the most desperate sound Ka Yeta had ever heard.

  Then silence.

  Ka Yeta ran to the next house, and the next. All dead. She checked the next and the next and the next. They were all dead.

  “Is anybody alive?” she screamed as hard as she could. “Is anyone alive?”

  There was no movement.

  “Is anyone there? Please don’t fear me!”

  No sound. Nothing.

  “What should I do?”

  Ka Yeta stumbled amongst the houses full of death.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Please forgive me. I’m sorry.”

  Then she stopped when a thought occurred to her.

  The creature was in the food store.

  She turned and strode towards the food store, filled with sudden rage, and a desire to confront the beast once and for all.

  Partnership

  The light was getting stronger. The tendrils were beating down the wall, making holes in it to get at them. Gideon stared at it. It was hard to tell the individual ropes now, they had become so bright. He and Hoep had managed to lift the first two bars, and they were in the process of lifting the highest one now.

  This man is useful, Gideon thought, for all of his shortcomings.

  “Come on,” Gideon whispered to his colleague.

  The man didn’t look around, or acknowledge Gideon’s words. The last beam came free and they placed it on the ground.

  “Pull,” Gideon said, but the other man was already pulling for all he was worth.

  What are you waiting for?

  What was he waiting for? Gideon looked at the man, and at the door. It wasn’t opening. Hoep looked over.

  “Help me!” he hissed at him.

  Gideon turned around. He looked at the creature. It was so bright.

  So powerful.

  Could he harness the creature? Surely that sort of power could only be an asset.

  “It won’t move,” Hoep said, but his voice was barely a whisper to Gideon now.

  Here was a nightmare he could control, he could feed, as surely as the guards had been feeding it the helpless children. Gideon could make the same deal. The creature was intelligent, and ruthless. It would be a great partnership.

  Gideon took a step into the room.

  *

  “What are you doing?” Hoep asked. “It’ll kill us both.”

  The noise was loud; hissing, crashing, creaking. It was getting louder, and to Hoep that meant only one thing.

  The end.

  This was going to end soon, and he didn’t want to be in here when it did. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t open the door on his own. He needed the boy to help him.

  Looks like he’s helping himself.

  Hoep stopped struggling. For the second time that day, Hoep was being set up, about to be sacrificed for a larger gain. He was not going to let it happen. He drew his sword.

  Use it now. Stop the madness.

  But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t kill someone in cold blood, even when his life was being threatened.

  What does that make me?

  Hoep pushed his right foot forward. He couldn’t even lift it off the ground, but he didn’t need to. He could still move forward. Gradually, with great effort, he inched towards the boy. He raised his sword.

  “Don’t do it,” he heard a woman’s voice tell him. Ka Loy. Ka Loy was talking with him, giving him advice, but she wasn’t there. She was his conscience, of course she was. An understanding woman, a fair woman. “Don’t do it,” he heard again.

  Hoep stopped. What if she was right? Maybe he was to be a sacrifice. Maybe Ka Loy’s wisdom was right.

  Maybe not.

  Hoep pushed himself forward again. One step, and another, and another. Now he was close enough to strike the boy with a simple swing downwards. Hoep brought his sword back behind his head. His hand was shaking. He moved his other hand to steady it. Two hands gave him more power, more confidence.

  I will do it.

  He started the downward strike. And the boy wasn’t even aware. He was just facing forward. Staring into the light.

  Something caught hold of the sword’s hilt; a third hand around Hoep’s two.

  “Don’t do it,” came Ka Loy’s voice again, but this time it was louder, closer, and the hand around his hands was old and frail.

  “Don’t turn around,” she said. “You’re better than a murderer, Hoep.”

  And there it was, his name spoken by Ka Loy. Hoep started to cry. Hoep stood, sword raised and weeping. He couldn’t kill him. He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

  *

  Gideon was so close to the creature, glowing in the light. For a split second, he became aware of his situation, at what it must look like. The boy walking toward the shimmering light beast. A suicidal stroll into the heart of the monster.

  Yet he knew what he was doing. He might not know why, but he knew what. He was going to make the creature understand their mutual requirements. To use it and abuse it. He was very close to the light, and it was very close to him.

  *

  Ka Yeta was almost there. She shot out into the courtyard and ran, legs pumping automatically, the pain long forgotten, propelling herself toward the source of the death she’d just witnessed.

  Been a part of.

  She was running, and she didn’t even know if she was breathing anymore. She didn’t know what she would do when she got there. She hoped she’d die, too. She would die, and all would be settled.

  Nothing will be settled.

  Closer and closer.

  Ka Yeta was at the door. The light was blinding. It was almost as if she was a part of the light.

  *

  Hoep thought he’d seen the light as bright as it could get, but he was wrong. The light grew brighter still, and then, with an intensity that threatened to burn everything, it belched out an impulse of pure brilliance, and was gone.

  It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He was surprised they still worked. Marvelled at the fact. What he saw was the boy, standing in front of him, arms low and outstretched, accepting some unspoken agreement.

  There was something else in front of him. Someone else was standing there. A woman Hoep had never seen. She was a warrior and a maiden and everything in-between, and she was saying something, over and over again. Over and over. Saying words that stretched and clawed their way through the suffering air, until at last, Hoep
could make sense of them, and what she said made him the most frightened he’d been that day.

  She looked at him, then at the boy, then back at him. That question. An Innocent question that was not innocent at all.

  Hoep remembered this scene; the Telar-Val, the boy and the woman, who kept on saying, “Am I a monster? Am I a monster? Am I a monster?”

  Fair Warning

  They saw no other travellers on the road by the forest, and for that they were happy. By the time night fell, they had stopped at an Inn where the cook knew the owner, the horses were stabled, and they had been served with warm food. After the Innkeeper put the plates on the table and left, Ma Poppun leaned forward to Visenai.

  “The news of the house hasn’t reached here,” she said to the girl. “Best keep it that way.”

  Visenai, who was already eating her bread, could only nod.

  They’d put Hossip in a room upstairs. Ma Poppun thought his pulse was improving slowly.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked the girl.

  The cook could see she had blisters on her hands from gripping the reins.

  Visenai wiped her mouth.

  “I’m all right. Hungry.”

  “Me, too,” the cook said with a smile, but it was only partly true.

  She had an appetite, but not one that could overcome her feelings of desperation. At least the girl was getting some nourishment.

  “You did well with the carriage today.”

  “Thank you,” the girl replied. “It took a while, but I think the horses and I have an understanding.”

  “Are they the master’s horses? From the house?” the cook asked.

  “I’ve never seen them before,” Visenai said. She pointed at her soup. “Is it all right if I start this now?”

  Ma Poppun reached out and stroked the girl’s hair.

  “Of course,” she said.

  *

  Upstairs, Hossip was mumbling. The fog in his head was starting to clear, and he knew he had to do something. His eyes, which had mostly been closed up to now, flicked open. He didn’t recognise the ceiling, at least not straightaway. It was not the ceiling of his lodgings in the house. But it was familiar. He looked to the side and saw the door to the room, the rough furniture, the stained mirror.