by Simon Birks
More Like It
There was no Vengeance where Ka Pinto was; that much he’d worked out. Or if there was, it didn’t appear with the same regularity as it did on Whate. Pinto sat on the edge of his bed, fidgety and restless. He was beginning to feel imprisoned. Sogal lay at the end of the bed, its eyes fixed on Pinto, its tail wagging, periodically.
Who am I now?
Pinto asked himself this question more and more. Too much time cooped up in here with nothing to do. He no longer understood who he was. Before his latest Resurrection, he had been a Ka, ensuring the children of Broken Song were looked after, but that felt like a long time ago now.
There was something else about that second Resurrection. Something different, but what? And why was he here, on Ossed? What did that mean? He had to find out, and if they weren’t going to set him free, he would have to try to escape. He didn’t like the option, but he was here for a reason, and it wasn’t being stuck in this room.
He looked outside. It was morning now, he would wait until the night came, then he would leave.
Pinto pushed himself back on the bed and closed his eyes. The dog, Sogal, inched up slowly and lay next to him. Pinto put his hand to the dog’s head. He would take Sogal with him. They could flee together.
*
Fijefel stood outside the door, trying to work out who he’d annoyed so much to be given this task. Maybe it had been Ulla, she had always…
There was a noise below him; a door being opened. He almost ignored it, but something in his training told him to stop and listen. What was it? Why was it important?
It was opened quietly. There’s no need to open the door quietly unless you don’t want to be heard.
Fijefel’s hand went to his sword. There was a guard stationed downstairs, but he’d heard no talking, which meant the guard was down. No scuffle. Blow-spike would have done that. Fijefel squatted down on his haunches. Almost instantly something thudded into the door where his head had been. He didn’t need to look at it to know he’d been right. He was under attack.
He grinned. He couldn’t help himself.
“This is more like it,” he said.
*
Both Pinto and Sogal were up the second the spike hit the door, Pinto’s hands itching for a weapon he didn’t have. Desperately, he looked round the room for anything he could use. There wasn’t anything obvious. He could have panicked then. The old Ka Pinto would have done, and looked for somewhere to hide. Within a few moments, he was lifting the bed, and grabbing at one of its legs. This is crazy, he thought, but pulled at the piece of wood anyway. He heard it splinter, then it was in his hand; a club of sorts.
This is who I am now, he thought with a leap of understanding. I am a fighter.
Pinto looked at Sogal, ready to fight by his side.
“This is more like it, eh?” he said to his new friend.
*
Fijefel waited, knowing they’d have another spike trained on the place where he’d stood. Fortunately, the stairs were hindering them both; their view up, his view down. They were there, though. The guard could feel the tension. He looked around. His position was far too open. It would be sensible to get back into the room, and find a way to block the door.
Fijefel smiled. Next to the door was a plant in a heavy container. That would do. He scooped it up and threw it in a looping arc over the lip of the stair posts. It shattered on the floor below and Fijefel heard someone swear. He hoped it’d be enough of a diversion. He wouldn’t get another chance.
In one smooth movement Fijefel turned, opened the door and rolled himself into the room.
*
Pinto watched the guard roll into the room, saw the spike embedded into the wood of the door and guessed it wasn’t the guard who was the threat. Pinto reached forward and swung the door shut. No sooner was it closed, than the guard was up and pushing a heavy drawer unit over the front of it.
Sogal growled, but when Pinto looked, he wasn’t growling at either of them. The dog’s eyes were fixed solely on the door. Pinto gestured to the guard to help him drag the bed to the makeshift barricade, and together they swiftly moved it against the drawer unit.
“Sword,” Pinto said to the man. “I need a sword.”
He made a swishing motion with his arm, indicating an invisible blade and pointing with his other hand. The guard nodded.
He reached behind him and detached a sword from his back. It was shorter than the warrior would have liked, but it was a weapon.
“Thank you,” Pinto said.
There came a banging noise on the door. The furniture shook, but did not shift. Pinto looked at the guard.
He put his shoulders up, palms out, and said, “Where?”
The guard looked at him confused, so Pinto put his hand flat above his eyes, and made a motion as if he was searching.
“Where?” he said again.
*
They had to get out of here, Fijefel knew, and by the look of the actions of the God, he thought the same thing too. Although he had been guarding the God’s room, Fijefel had no idea about the layout of the rest of the floor. He was a soldier after all. There was the window, but they were too far up. He watched as the God went to it and looked out; first down and then up. Next, he went to the walls, knocking on them and listening. Instantly, Fijefel understood what he was doing. The guard went to the opposite wall, and started knocking himself.
Knock. Solid. Move on.
Knock. Solid. Move on.
They continued all the way around the room, fanning out and away from the door without any luck. The house was built well.
Knock. Solid. Move on.
The door was being bludgeoned. Harder and harder. The furniture there was shifting. It wouldn’t be long…
Knock. Solid. Move on.
Fijefel reached where the bed had been.
Knock. Solid. Move on.
Knock. Hollow. Stop.
The God heard it too. They looked at each other, and nodded.
*
Twenty seconds later, when the furniture eventually gave way to the constant battering, the others rushed in, only to be met by a growling Sogal, who guarded a hole in the back wall. A guard blew a dart and the dog fell on its side.
Through the hole, they could see another room, the door of which was open onto a corridor. The guards looked at each other, and the leader shook their head.
They would not get far.
Flight from the Dark
Vengeance was closing in.
Gideon was going as fast as he could. Normally, he’d make the distance in a matter of minutes, but the blow to his head was slowing him down. That, and the constant checking of where he was. He looked up and over in the direction he thought the barn lay. His urgency was making him rush, and there was a chance he’d lose his way because of it. But he was sure, well almost sure, that the barn was through the trees. There was a track that went up, then branched into two. He needed to take the right hand branch, follow it a short way and then he’d see the barn.
Probably.
He looked around to see if he could identify any other landmarks. He couldn’t. The dark was stealing them away.
Vengeance comes and you must run.
That was how the saying went. But running was hard.
He reached the edge of the trees, and took one final look back. It did look familiar.
Perhaps.
But the light was fading fast, and how familiar can grasslands and trees be? In the end, it all looked the same. It certainly didn’t help that the three of them had been out walking this type of terrain for a week now.
“Mercy me,” he said, and almost laughed. He was to be shown no mercy. He knew what he was, and mercy was something he did not deserve. “Mercy me,” he said again, before he could stop himself.
Why did you do it?
Gideon turned and went into the trees. It was even darker here. The trees hid whatever half-light was left.
Vengeance comes…
&nbs
p; Gideon kept moving forward. The terrain was uneven, but not impossible. He remembered that some part of his brain had thought the same thing earlier. Yes, he had come through here. The trees had been high, and the rage had been building, but he’d had the presence of mind to look where he was going, and he’d noticed how uneven the floor had been.
He pressed forward, his faith slowly turning into blind hope. Visibility was no more than ten feet in front of him. He had to get back. Somewhere off he heard a creature howl, and it occurred to Gideon that it sounded like a warning.
…and you must run.
He must keep moving.
The First Rung
Hoep had all but forgotten about Gideon. In the barn, he looked in the stables for Ka Yeta, but found nothing.
“She left,” came a voice from the darkness.
The vowels were elongated, so the sound was more like “Sheeee leeeft.” Something about it made Hoep hold his breath.
“Where? Where did she go?”
“Through the doors when you weren’t looking.” Throoough the doooors wheeen yooou weeeren’t looooking.
“There wasn’t enough time to do that,” he protested.
“Maybe, not for you.”
Hoep went to the main door.
“Not through that door,” the voice said.
Hoep looked around. He was pretty sure he hadn’t seen another door.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Neither does she.”
Hoep went to the foot of the ladder that led to the loft, expecting to hear a rebuff telling him to stay where he was. When none came, he put his foot on the first rung and started up.
As he climbed, he began to feel safer. The barn floor had been too low. The loft was more defendable.
If the thing up there doesn’t slit your throat.
Hoep reached the top, slightly out of breath. He reached up and over without hesitation. Nothing helped him, but nothing pushed him away. He heaved himself up and sat by the ledge, looking down.
“I need to rest,” he said, tiredness threatening to overcome him. “I will rest my eyes.”
He received no reply. Perhaps the creature is in my mind. Perhaps I’m going mad.
“If you must kill me, try and do it quickly.”
That got a snigger. He hadn’t expected that.
“Are you not worried about your friends?” the voice said.
Hoep laughed.
“If they are what passes as friends these days, I’d rather take my chances with a disembodied voice. I’m Hoep, by the way. Telar-Val deserter.”
There was a pause. Hoep thought he could feel eyes looking at him.
“And I am Orsa,” came the reply. “Thief of fools.”
From All Sides
The trees cleared a little and the track came into view. Gideon dismissed the thought that it could be any track, and that, in fact, all tracks looked the same, and turned left. The branch-off was on the right, so he made his way over to that side. His head, whilst not better, was feeling good enough to attempt some speed. He started to jog. It was painful, but he could put up with it. He increased the pace until he was running. Visibility was now no more than seven feet. Too much speed and he could find himself running into something unpleasant, or immovable.
All he could hear now were his footfalls, his breathing and the sound of his clothes as he moved. Sound outside of the circle of visibility was non-existent. He’d heard the rumours about people caught in the Vengeance, about the silence the darkness brought.
“I need to get out of here,” he said.
He nearly missed the other path as he jogged. Nearly dismissing the offshoot as just a heavily trodden part of the edge. Fortunately, the navigation inside his head told him to stop and check.
He turned and jogged down the branch, visibility gradually decreasing with each step, but so slowly it was hardly noticeable. Five feet at best now. He moved across to the left of the dirt track, where he knew the barn was.
Keep focused.
Gideon moved off the path onto the left verge and a foot beyond, two feet beyond. The track was barely visible now, making it difficult to know whether he was going straight.
It has to be along here.
Gideon cursed himself, for his stupidity. He suddenly felt young and inexperienced. Suddenly felt he was going to die and it was his fault and he’d never… he’d never…
He fell. Arms out, face first, skidding along the ground. He didn’t know what he’d tripped on, and it didn’t matter.
“Damn Gods!” he shouted.
He got up, disoriented, unable to remember which way he’d been running. It was stupid. He felt stupid.
“Help!” he called, but it was useless. The sound would not travel past his enclosed bubble of space, he was certain. “Help me!”
Gideon looked around at the darkness as it closed in. He had killed someone, and had no reason for doing so. Now this was his recompense. This was the Vengeance.
He closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst.
*
Ka Yeta looked at the darkness too, and it looked back at her.
What do you see?
The Vengeance. It could be her Vengeance. This could be a way out of the pain.
“Take me,” she said. “I am no longer important.”
She took a step forward. The Vengeance took a step back.
“Take me,” she repeated, through gritted teeth.
She moved forward, it moved away. Ka Yeta screamed. A low, guttural scream.
Like a monster.
She ran forward, but it didn’t want her.
She ran at it again. And that’s when she saw him, curled into a ball on the floor, screaming, and shouting for help.
And she had this thought: here’s someone I can save.
The Vengeance had shown her. Or she had shown herself. It was too confusing to really make sense of.
“I’m here,” she said when she got close. “Get up.”
The boy couldn’t hear her. He was still screaming.
“I’m here now!” she screamed, and the boy instantly quieted.
His hands came away from the back of his head, and he twisted his neck to look up at her.
“Help me,” he said, putting his arms out to her.
She pulled him up, and turned.
There, behind her, was the path back to the barn. The Vengeance didn’t want her, so it was showing her the way out. She took the boy, held him close, and made her way back through the corridor towards the barn.
Do You Really Want to Know?
Ma Poppun opened her eyes. Visenai was no longer next to her. She looked up quickly, feeling slightly nauseous, then stayed still for a few moments.
“Visenai?” she said.
“I’m over here,” the girl replied.
Ma followed the direction of her voice and saw her standing at the window, her hands on the ledge.
“Is everything all right?” the cook said, her voice croaky with sleep.
“Yes,” the girl said quietly.
“What are you looking at?” Ma Poppun asked. She instinctively wanted to rise and go to see her, but managed to resist. Something wasn’t quite right.
“The Vengeance,” she replied.
“Is it not just darkness?”
The Ma could tell Visenai smiled at this question.
“I don’t look with my eyes, Ma Poppun,” she said.
Of course she doesn’t. Ma Poppun thought for a moment. If the girl can see past the darkness…
“What’s inside the Vengeance?”
“Do you really want to know?” the girl answered.
The question had sounded distant, as if someone else had been asking it with her voice.
“Yes, I want to know,” the cook said.
“Things,” she replied.
Ma Poppun waited for more, but nothing came.
“Things?”
“I don’t know what they are,” Visenai said. “They loo
k unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Are they small or large?” Ma Poppun said.
“They are both,” the girl replied. “And they have no arms or legs, but they speak to me.”
“What do they say?” Ma Poppun said.
There was a slight pause, and the cook thought that perhaps the girl hadn’t heard her.
“They say I mustn’t tell you,” Visenai said.
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you, they will kill us all.”
Escape Route
The moment Fijefel knew he was in real trouble was the moment he heard the alarm being raised. An incredible sound, it was made by pumping air up and through the hollow bones of the beasts. It rose from the ground far below, quiet at first, then as more joined in, swelled until it was all they could hear.
The God stopped, and listened. He turned to Fijefel, and must have seen the expression of shock on his face. Shock, betrayal and utter helplessness. The alarm meant his own people had tried to kill him. Maybe not all of them, maybe just a handful, but it had been a handful of the highest.
The Council, as they’d taken to calling themselves.
They didn’t want the God, and, by association, they didn’t want Fijefel, who’d been happy and content to live each day being a soldier, believing he was on the right side. He should have seen it coming; the Council didn’t want anyone to believe in Gods. They wanted everyone to believe in them.
Whilst not a politician, Fijefel had no doubt the Council would have discussed it, held meetings, probably even voted. A vote to determine the God’s life in their new order of things. And the God must die. Which made him, Fijefel… disposable. For a second the guard didn’t understand why he had to die. He was a good soldier.
Dead men have no alibis.
It was a saying he remembered his officer telling another recruit long ago. Fijefel thought about it. If he was dead, they could blame the God’s death on him, say he was the assassin, and that they killed him as he tried to escape.
This angered Fijefel. It was wrong. It was against the code his people had lived by for hundreds of years. He wanted to tell his people what the Council had tried to do. He would somehow have to come back and make everything right.
