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

by Simon Birks

  *

  Her hand was fragile. That was the best description of it. Neither hot nor cold, just fragile. Hoep closed his fingers around it carefully.

  “I don’t feel anything,” he said, “but your hand.”

  Hoep saw the look of wonder on her face. She looked at their hands together.

  “Come rest,” he said. “I have a crook of a shoulder that will comfort your head.”

  Orsa smiled so widely he thought she would explode.

  “A crook for a thief,” she said, and Hoep smiled widely, too.

  He wondered when she’d last said a joke to anyone.

  He watched as she moved slowly closer to him. Tentatively, she rested her head.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “It is my pleasure,” Hoep replied, but by the time he’d got to the end of the sentence, he could sense her breathing had changed, and she was asleep.

  Hoep held her steady. If he was to die soon, then helping this girl, whatever deadly power lived inside her, had made him as happy as he’d ever been.

  Wet

  Wet. Although that hardly seemed to cover it. Pinto thought he’d never been so wet. He’d dropped out of the building, along with the effluent that had gone before him, and had plunged into the river below. It was surprisingly and thankfully deep. He had kept his concentration, held whatever breath he could, and resurfaced gasping further down the river, seemingly unscathed.

  The good thing, possibly the only good thing, in doing something as utterly stupid as this, was that the sane people, the ones who’d been chasing him, weren’t likely to follow. On Whate, the flat land that was actually round, Pinto had been unable to swim, but with the Resurrection had come many new skills, and he quickly found himself moving gracefully through the water, his powerful arms pulling him effortlessly toward the shoreline. As the greenery at the edge of the river approached, he reached out and pulled himself onto the bank.

  Pinto looked back over the fast-flowing water, to see if he could see the guard anywhere. He couldn’t.

  “Thank you,” he said, quietly. “You saved my life.”

  He waited a moment more, then squared his shoulders and headed into the forest.

  *

  It was an exceptionally warm day. Equal to some he’d experienced in Broken Song, which of course stood on the edge of a desert. Pinto ripped a piece of his shirt off, and wrapped it round his head. He tied it at the back, hoping it would at least keep some of the sweat from his eyes.

  The forest was thick, but even in the places where it grew most dense, Pinto could always find a way through. It was tough, though. He was unused to such physical exertion, however much his new body seemed equipped to take it. He pressed on, not wanting to waste whatever light was left, unwilling to rest until he’d put a day’s worth of walking between him and his previous captors.

  Two, maybe three hours passed, Pinto couldn’t be sure, before he heard the sound of what could be water. He was thirsty, so diverted his route in the hope he’d be able to drink whatever liquid he could hear. The sound grew louder, and as it did, his need to drink increased with it. His pace quickened, and he was about to break through the last line of trees when he saw something moving ahead.

  He stopped and held his breath. It was probably too late. He had already made too much noise to conceal his whereabouts. Still, better to be safe. Carefully, he edged forward. There, sitting by the side of the stream, was a person, a woman, of the same species that had kept him prisoner.

  She seemed to be drinking. Her hair was long, and dark. She looked slight, agile, well-adapted to the environment.

  Almost immediately, she turned and looked at him, though she made no move to raise an alarm. She raised her hand, and beckoned him forward.

  Pinto looked for evidence of a trap, but saw none. It was unlikely they’d have had time to set anything up; he’d been moving from the moment he’d left the tower.

  He moved closer along the line of the trees, not yet confident enough to leave their shelter. She watched him for a moment and then looked away.

  At the last tree, Pinto stopped again. This was odd. Something was wrong.

  What’s right anymore?

  This was a second chance, technically a third, at life, and he was long overdue in taking some risks. He stepped away from the trees. The openness near the river seemed to give the air a freshness not apparent in the forest. The sound grew louder.

  “Hello,” he said. “I am Pinto.”

  The woman turned her head slightly, indicating she had heard him, but didn’t look at him. Pinto took this to mean she was happy for him to come closer. Carefully, he moved to the stream, putting about ten feet between them. He saw what she was doing. She had caught something, a fish maybe, though there was something different about its anatomy, and she was now in the process of skinning it.

  “Can I drink the water?” he asked.

  She looked around, and Pinto did a mime, scooping up imaginary water in his hands and drinking it. The woman nodded, and Pinto drank until he thought he might throw up.

  “Thank you,” he said, and lay back on the bank.

  He’d wait here for thirty minutes, he thought. Just to get his bearings. He looked over to where the woman sat, going about her work.

  She finished preparing the food, and turned to him, arm outstretched, offering a piece of the brown meat. She wanted him to take it.

  Pinto was hungry, and he saw no reason why the woman would waste food in order to kill him. Besides, he was being reckless now. He took the meat from her, which was slimy to the touch, and put it in his mouth. It was good, better than good, and as long as he ignored the slippery feeling, everything was fine. He chewed for a minute, and swallowed.

  “Thank you,” he said to her.

  “Thank you,” she replied, mimicking his tone.

  He smiled. He watched her eat a piece, and then she offered him another, which he took, and ate.

  Pinto sat up, and crossed his legs.

  “I am Pinto,” he said, pointing at himself. “Pinto.”

  She looked at him, and there was something…

  “Pinto,” she said, pointing at him.

  That was when he noticed her clothes were slightly too large for her. They hung on her. When she saw him looking, she dropped her arm.

  “Yes, Pinto.”

  He waited to see if she would tell him her name, but she was quiet. She ate some more, and once again offered him a piece, which he took.

  Pinto looked up at Whate, his old Orb. When he looked back, the woman was staring at him. She pointed to him again.

  “Pinto,” she said. Pinto nodded.

  She pointed at herself.

  “Fijefel,” she said.

  *

  Fijefel looked at the God. His name was Pinto, he had just told her, but knowing him as God was fine. She had tracked him from the river, pleased that he had survived the fall. She had worked out his general direction, and moved ahead. He did not know she was his guard. Did that mean he wasn’t a God? She wasn’t sure.

  She offered him another piece of the Colot she had caught in the stream, which he took. He was hungry.

  She knew there was no point in trying to make him understand her change in appearance. She would change again, no doubt soon, and that would tell him everything. Not yet though. Changing was tiring, and she needed all the strength she could muster.

  The two of them weren’t in the clear. They needed to keep moving, to get beyond the control of the tower they’d escaped from. There were other towers within a few days’ walk, but they weren’t necessarily friendly.

  They would wait a short while, and then, before nightfall, move further away, toward the Shroud. No one would follow them there. She wasn’t sure how long it would take, but Fijefel knew that when everyone was your enemy, the best place to head for was the last place they’d ever want to look.

  Temptation

  The Vengeance continued. Aponser was awake on sheer adrenaline. Ready
in case the darkness should try and get to the girl again. She had heard nothing else since she had fastened the door, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t out there, waiting.

  She had moved her father’s body to the side of the room, closed his eyes, and placed a blanket over him. She hadn’t felt like crying.

  The girl’s restless sleep had calmed now. She was recovering, Aponser thought. Or maybe that was just blind hope. She wondered about waking her, but thought it might do more harm than good. Whatever threat she held, it paled in comparison to the Vengeance.

  Aponser went to the cupboards, and took some of the food out. She would stock up here, she thought. Maybe even rest a while. When the Vengeance was gone, she would bury her father outside. She was not looking forward to it. She wondered what sort of burial he would have wanted, and it hit her hard how little she knew of him. Still the tears did not come. Aponser would just have to do her best, and hope he’d have approved.

  What they should do after that, she wasn’t sure. They didn’t have to move on immediately. In fact, it would be better to stay here for a week or two, maybe even a month. The girl needed to recuperate. And Aponser even had a small claim to the house. Yes, a solid foundation would be sensible.

  The Vengeance would be ending soon. There was a knock at the door. Aponser looked at the door, but didn’t move. The knock came again. Knock-knock-knock. Gentle, in no hurry.

  “Aponser?” came the voice. “Aponser?”

  It was a male voice. Old. Very old. It was her father’s voice.

  “Aponser, won’t you let me in?”

  Aponser looked over at the body under the cloth. It was not moving. He had not come back to life. It was the Vengeance talking.

  “Aponser, I’m so sorry. Won’t you let me in? I want to make it up to you. All those years. Won’t you let me do that?”

  Aponser shivered. This was what the Vengeance had done to her father. What had it promised him? What had it tricked him with? Her mother, she thought. Or perhaps a precious seed or two…

  Wasn’t that what she had done? Hadn’t she used her father’s weaknesses for her own purpose? Was she no better than the evil that lurked outside the door? She didn’t need to answer that. She knew. A life on your own made you selfish, and you needed to be selfish to survive out there at all.

  “Please forgive what I did, how I treated you, it was a mistake. I was selfish. I want to make it up to you.”

  Again, Aponser wondered what her father had succumbed to. What had been his price? Whatever it was, whatever the trick being played, Aponser was cleverer than her father. She saw it for what it was…

  “Will you be my daughter? I so want you to be my daughter,” it said.

  Aponser caught herself frowning, feeling a lurch inside her, wanting to respond to the voice.

  “Please let me in. I have so many stories to tell you. So many different tales. I can tell you about your mother…”

  It was this last statement, the one about her mother, which caught her attention. Her mother was a mystery she’d long sought the answers to. She had tried so very hard to find out the smallest scraps of information about her, but it had all been in vain. Aponser had almost given up, before she realised her father would know everything. She had looked for him then, and, in contrast, he had been so easy to find. His own trail of stories, fights, and debts, had been as bright as a beacon, and she’d found him in months.

  But her father was her father and he’d given her nothing. Since the moment he’d seen her, he’d denied she was his daughter, and thus would not relinquish any details about his wife. Aponser had wanted to shake him until he admitted who she was. But she didn’t. Heartbroken, she’d struck out on her own to try and find the answers elsewhere.

  “I so want to tell you about your mother,” came the voice that had once belonged to her father. “You look like me, but you look more like her. Oh, she had so many secrets I can tell you…”

  Then Aponser was up on her feet. She didn’t remember standing up, but that voice...

  She knew it wasn’t her father’s; knew it was just a monster with his tones. Yet it seemed to know so much, and if it knew about her desires, perhaps it did know about her mother.

  All she had to do was open the door. Aponser looked at it again and she was two steps closer.

  “That’s right, let me tell you all about her. How her hair fell, how she laughed, how she so wanted a daughter and always talked about having one.”

  Aponser was near the door. So near. But she was strong. She had nothing to worry about. She knew what the creature was and how to control it. She would let it in, and it would be under her control. Of course, that’s what she would do.

  Aponser reached out for the handle.

  “I’m just outside the door. Just outside, and I can come in, and I can tell you everything.”

  Aponser’s hand grasped the doorknob.

  “I have so much to give you. It will all have been worth it. All those years. All those hopes. All those let-downs.”

  Aponser began to unlatch the door with her other hand.

  This was it. This was what she had been waiting for. She would finally find out.

  A flash of red, but too late, her mind had been elsewhere. Something hit the back of her head, and Aponser instantly lost consciousness.

  *

  Jenza stood near the door, a chair in her hands, and the old woman on the floor.

  “You will not have me,” Jenza said to the voice outside.

  Then came a terrible sound; a scream that was a roar, and a roar that was a scream. So fierce. So loud.

  “I will have you!” it shouted.

  The house shook for a second, and then was still.

  Vengeance was over.

  Awake

  In the barn, Orsa woke. Hoep, who’d woken ten minutes previously, thought he heard her say something like ‘I will have…’ but wasn’t sure. She seemed dazed.

  “Where…?” she began to say.

  “You are in a barn,” Hoep said, “you fell asleep.”

  “Asleep?” the woman said.

  She sounded amazed at the word, like it was the first time she’d ever heard it.

  “I cannot remember the last time I slept.”

  “My conversation can send anyone to sleep.”

  Orsa smiled.

  “You don’t know how thankful I am for that.”

  Hoep looked over the edge of the loft. The others were stirring too. He heard birdsong from outside.

  “Vengeance’s gone,” he whispered.

  It was a habit of his to say this afterwards. It made the end of Vengeance seem more final.

  “Vengeance’s returned,” Orsa said.

  Hoep looked at her. From what he could see of her face, she looked resigned.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Go with your friends. That’s where you’ll be safest.”

  Hoep laughed.

  “Have you met my friends? If it’s all the same, I’d rather take my chances with you.”

  Orsa took Hoep’s hand.

  “I was hoping you would.”

  *

  Gideon woke up. His dreams had been strange. Dangerous. There had been a chase in them, but he couldn’t remember if he was the chased or doing the chasing. It took a moment, but then the memory of the woman coming out of the Vengeance, picking him up and taking him to freedom reappeared. He looked around the barn until he saw her. She was incredibly powerful, and an odd sense of jealousy flared for a moment. He thought he was powerful, but he couldn’t fight off the Vengeance.

  That’s how you’re powerful. You can see how people will help you.

  He nodded. The voice was right; he was happy again. And hungry. The fight and the terror had taken their toll, and he needed to eat. But he didn’t want to leave the woman, and he certainly didn’t want to come back and find her gone. He thought about restraining her, but that wasn’t going to work. At least, not for long. He couldn’t get people to h
elp him if he hurt them.

  He looked up to find that the woman was staring at him. He smiled, but her face remained passive. She was confused.

  “Hello,” he said. “Would you like some food?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice faint and weak. Then she said, “I think we should be moving on, soon.”

  Gideon nodded.

  “Yes, it’s still quite a way to the city.”

  There was something niggling at the back of Gideon’s mind. Something about Broken Song, but he didn’t want to think about that. The Complex was in his past.

  They’ll be looking for you.

  He needed to travel secretly. This woman might provide him with a disguise, a story to hide behind.

  Won’t they be looking for her, too?

  Yes, he supposed they would. Perhaps they should hide out in the country a bit longer?

  “We must go,” she said again.

  There was no debate about it, no doubt in her voice.

  “Then let us go,” he said. “We’ll eat on the way.”

  *

  Hoep watched them leave.

  “They didn’t remember me? Did you do that, or am I that forgettable?”

  “I stole their memories for a while,” Orsa said. “Being a thief has its benefits.”

  “So does being friends with one. It’s like having all the skill, but none of the guilt.”

  “Guilt?” Orsa said. “Guilt is something I left behind.”

  Hoep breathed in. It still smelled of stable.

  “So, what do we do now?” he asked. “How do you get about in the daylight?”

  “Very, very carefully,” she replied.

  The pair of them descended the steps, Hoep first, and then Orsa, in a hooded garment, that covered her completely from head to toe.

  “I’ve never had a partner before,” she said.

  “I’ve never helped a thief before,” he said.

  “I’ll look after you.” Orsa told him. “If you’ll look after me?”

  “Agreed,” he said.

  *

  Something was different this time. Orsa could feel it. The Vengeance within her was not calm. It was angry. Not at her, but at something else. It longed to get out again. It needed to get out, but it couldn’t.