The Sorrow Anthology

by Helen Allan

  1

  Sorrow dreamt, a whirlwind of memories flooding through her mind, she knew she must be in a regeneration tank, the memories were not hers.

  Naunet stood on a branch as wide as a footpath and stared across the Avalona plains, a smile on her face, a baby in her arms. Behind her, her lover flexed his wings and yawned.

  “The dawn is my favourite time too, my love,” he said, stifling another yawn, “yet it is too early to rise, come back to the nest.”

  The memories changed suddenly, she gasped and frowned as they swirled into her mind.

  The child screamed as the needle came towards her.

  “I want my wings, I want my wings,” her shrill cries echoed through the surgery as her wild eyes saw the terrible knives waiting.

  The needle entered her neck; she struggled against the arms holding her down.

  “Mother, oh Mother, please, I want my wings,” her words, slurred now, quieter, “can’t you love me as I am?”

  Waking with a start, her eyes red from weeping, Sorrow coughed. She tried to focus on the world outside the tank, but her vision was cloudy, her eyes covered in a thin green film which combined with her tears and temporarily blinded her.

  “Wait, wait a second,” a soft voice said, “don’t panic.”

  A warm, wet cloth was wiped over her eyes, and the world swam into focus.

  “Mum?” she croaked, her throat feeling as though it was full of phlegm.

  “No,” the woman chuckled, “but someone who cares. Here, spit into this,” she held up a stainless-steel cup.

  Sorrow cleared her throat and spat.

  “Natron?” she asked, “Rejuvenated?” shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes, you and many others were brought through the portal with terrible injuries. Your slave chose a good gate to send you through, we have many, many tanks, more than most planets – you were lucky.”

  Sorrow sat up slowly and looked around. The woman, if that is what she was, Sorrow wasn’t quite sure, was not exaggerating. All around her she saw regeneration tanks glowing green, filled with natron, each holding the body of an Earthborn in regeneration – there were easily 30 to 40 tanks, all full – others looked as though they had only just been opened.

  “What are you?” she asked, taking the cup of proffered water from the hand of her saviour.

  “I am one of The Chosen,” the woman said, spreading out her arms, “and you are Earthborn I am told, part God, part human – we are not so very different, despite appearances.”

  Sorrow nodded and studied the woman before her. She was tall, they were probably about the same height, although she wouldn’t be sure until she stood. Her head seemed also similarly shaped, slightly more elongated than human skulls, although not as markedly different as Amun’s and the other Gods. But she was also clearly not of human origin, her face and hands were covered in a light downy coating of gold and white feathers, her amber eyes were large and gentle, and her nose was distinctly pointed, almost beak-like.

  “Chosen?” she shook her head, her thoughts jumping from one thing to the next. “I saw things,” she whispered, “terrible things.”

  The woman handed her a robe and, avoiding her eyes, began to prattle about finding her food, accommodation, letting her slave know she was awake.

  “Wings,” Sorrow whispered, gripping the woman by the forearm as she passed, “I saw children having wings cut out of their shoulder blades. Is this true? Was it a nightmare?”

  The woman sighed.

  “It is the history of this planet. Of Avalona,” she said quietly, “we have a sad past, one which is still playing out, one which it would be wise you do not comment on until you know more.”

  Sorrow was about to ask another question when she froze. Walking towards her from across the room was an alien very like her late father. She breathed a sigh of relief as she realised it was not, could not be, Amun.

  “Another has awoken, I see,” the tall creature said to the woman as he nodded in Sorrow’s direction.

  “Yes,” the woman said, a frown creasing her brow, “should she stay in the colony or here where she is off the ground?”

  “Oh, the colony, undoubtedly,” he frowned, “she and the other strange-breeds will be needed in the rebuilding, and they are clearly warriors. The defence of the town will require them if the miasma does not get them first.”

  “Perhaps they will be immune,” the woman said, her voice rising hopefully.

  “You are not immune, Calarnise,” the God chuckled, “you have survived and adapted, as many have. These,” he nodded in Sorrow’s direction and waved his hand towards the other Earthborn, just starting to wake in their tanks, “are doomed.”

  “I have faith they will be immune,” the woman said quietly, bowing her head respectfully to him, “I will pray it is so.”

  “We shall see,” he said, narrowing his eyes and frowning at Sorrow before striding from the room.

  Sorrow watched him walk away, his back straight, his long, white robe brushing the floor and making him almost appear to float from the room.

  “Immune from what?” she frowned, “and wait, what is his name?”

  “He is Lokan,” Calarnise replied, her voice full of reverence, “our supreme God. As for your immunity, that has yet to be determined, but don’t worry I am sure you will be fine.”

  Sorrow was about to question the woman further, let her know she was a doctor, when more pressing concerns crowded into her mind.

  “He mentioned defence? Did creatures other than Earthborn enter this planet when your portal opened?”

  “Yes,” the woman’s eyes widened. “Creatures that looked like lizards. They killed many thousands of our townsfolk; thousands,” she shuddered, “they sacked much of the town before leaving, we hear reports that they are making their way through the countryside, killing and destroying everything and everyone in their path, there is nothing we can do.

  “Don’t you have an army?” Sorrow frowned.

  “No. We live in fear that they will return, a small militia has been formed to protect the town – but we are unused to battle – there has been no war on this planet for hundreds of years. Many refuse to fight; they say the Gods will protect us. Your coming through the portal was a wonder and a hope for those who would seek defence alongside prayer. Now you and the other Earthborn are healed you can bolster our new guards, train them perhaps.”

  Sorrow pulled on the clothes the woman had handed her while she was talking, but paused, thinking through what she had just been told. If there were Gharials on this planet, she didn’t want a white robe – she wanted her battle suit.

  “Uh, the suit I was wearing when I came here?”

  “It was badly damaged,” Calarnise replied, “I have had it cleaned, but I do not think it can be repaired. Some who came through had little damage, they are over there,” she nodded to a row of suits hanging near the wall, “yours I have sent to the township for alterations.”

  Sorrow grimaced. She didn’t want to think about how much damage her suit had sustained. Anhur’s attack, she knew, would have seen it virtually ripped in half, like her body. But unlike the suit, her body was now newly regenerated and showed no scars.

  “You said I had a slave?”

  “Yes, your little human, Etienne,” the woman smiled, her face flushing slightly, “a lovely creature, so gentle, so soft.”

  Sorrow chuckled.

  “Yes, humans can seem like that can’t they – but they, we, are stronger than you know – can you bring him to me?”

  “He is just outside,” she smiled, “I told him you would come out of the tank today.”

  She turned and walked to the door and, sticking her head out, beckoned Etienne inside.

  “Ah, ma cherie,” he said, striding towards Sorrow and embracing her warmly, “how glad I am to see you alive and well.”

  “Etienne,” Sorrow rested her head on his shoulder, relaxing in his embrace, breathing deeply of
his familiar smell, “you saved my life.”

  “It was nothing,” he said, pulling away and looking her in the eye, “you simply like to give me a challenge now and again, I’m sure of it.”

  Sorrow laughed.

  “How have you been these months while I’ve been rejuvenating? I see you have a slight limp.”

  Etienne sighed, but the quick look he cast Calarnise was not lost on his friend.

  “Ah,” she smirked, “comfortable and well cared for, I’m guessing.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he grinned, “Calarnise saved my life. I have some scars of course,” he shrugged, “but they will add to my mystique. As you know, I am unable to use the tanks; luckily her knowledge of medicine is second to none – my limp is getting less every day – I should be right as rain within a few more months. But come, we have much to catch up on. Is there some reason you remain half-dressed?”

  Sorrow looked down at the gown she had pulled down to her hips, barely covering her nudity, and blushing, shook her head ruefully.

  “I don’t want a gown. I want a suit, but mine is buggered according to Calarnise.”

  Etienne nodded. “What about those?” he pointed to the rows of suits hanging along the wall, just as noises began to emanate from the other Earthborn, some now sitting up, unassisted and spitting out the natron, wiping their eyes. Sorrow realised they were obviously used to regeneration and did not need the adjustment time or help she had required. She recognised none of them, which was a relief, but she knew Etienne would have warned her if anyone particular was among the recovering. She shuddered briefly at the memory of why she was here, Anhur’s vicious grin as he stabbed her in the heart, twisting the blade deep.

  “Many of their suits were undamaged,” Calarnise interjected, snapping Sorrow out of her memories and motioning to where Etienne pointed.

  “Then I want one of them, please,” Sorrow said, “the suit will adjust to my size as soon as I put it on, they are indistinguishable from one another. Swap mine with one of theirs.”

  “But that would not be right, and yours is…” Calarnise paused as Etienne smiled at her and winked.

  “Come, ma caille,” he said in his most seductive voice, “a little favour for my friend? Is it too much to ask?”

  As he said this, he walked closer to Calarnise and touched her upper arm gently. Sorrow almost burst out laughing, seeing the woman’s eyes grow soft as she looked at him, her mouth parting slightly.

  ‘Busy alright. Is no one immune to his charms?’ She bit her lip to stop smiling at her next thought; ‘he could charm the birds from the trees – my little quail – she snorted - ‘he is lucky she doesn’t speak French.’

  Caving in to his seductive crooning, Calarnise retrieved a suit for Sorrow.

  Etienne turned to look out the window while she dressed, and she joined him to look at the view the moment the silver and black suit snapped onto her body, covering her like a flexible, breathable glove. It adjusted to its surroundings and turned a frosted white, but she knew when she stepped outside it would camouflage her to whatever her environment suggested.

  Leaning next to Etienne and focussing on what she saw above and below, Sorrow gasped. The infirmary was several stories above the ground. It overlooked a beautiful, white, walled city that stretched as far as the eye could see. Taking in the wall with an eye well-trained to notice strengths and weaknesses, she saw it was for looks more than defence. It would stop animals, wind, but it would not stop anyone determined to enter the area. Looking further along the paths and wide streets she could see that what she thought were houses were not, they were small gazebos set here and there regularly for those who loved gardens. The streets too were no more than wide paths, designed for walking, not driving. The entire city was a garden, water from fountains sprayed a light mist over the shrubs and grass. Small ponds and streams were dotted seemingly with perfect, almost Japanese precision. Beyond the gardens, towering hundreds of feet in the air were thousands of oval-shaped buildings dotted with windows.

  “It looks like the Jetsons,” Sorrow said, surprise and wonder tinging her voice.

  “Who?”

  “It was a cartoon on Earth,” Sorrow turned to her friend, laughing, “a space-age cartoon where the people lived in white, oval apartments high in the sky, just like these. They are beautiful. Have you been staying in one?”

  “Me? No. I have been billeted outside the city walls in the township. The buildings outside this city are clean and square, like those from the Earthborn capital on Heaven. The streets are not tended like this, and there are no public gardens. Only the Gods live in those eggs on legs, apparently, and descend at night to use the parkland.

  Sorrow laughed.

  “Eggs on legs, a great description. I’ll bet they are wonderfully modern and filled with light – everything looks so beautiful and white. Strange that the Gods’ should only come out at night.”

  “Calarnise,” Sorrow turned to the woman who was busy offering suits and robes to the other Earthborn as they rose from the tanks, “what are the apartments in the sky like inside? Are they white and modern, like the interior of the pod spaceships?”

  “I don’t know,” Calarnise said in surprise, “none but the Gods have ever been into one, and I have never seen inside a pod.”

  “What about servants or slaves?” Sorrow frowned, “surely the Gods have those; and they have seen inside.”

  “No,” Calarnise shook her head, “the township live to serve the Gods. We keep their city clean, leave food offerings, but we do not mingle with them. It would not be seemly, or right.”

  “But?” Sorrow began. She was about to ask Calarnise more about this when her attention was caught by a tall lightly-feathered man in dark breeches and a long, black-belted shirt striding towards the building.

  “And that,” Etienne whispered, “is the dark that counterbalances all this white.”

  2

  They sat with the other Earthborn and waited.

  The man in black, the head priest for his township’s religious order, had marched them all out of the infirmary, under guard, to the township beyond the garden city’s walls. Telling them to wait he had ordered staff at a local eatery to feed them before he departed with a further warning for them to stay seated where they were until he returned.

  Fruit was duly delivered to each table, along with jugs of water, and glasses. The Earthborn, hungry after so long in the tanks, ate ravenously – none attempted to leave.

  Sorrow and Etienne sampled the food as she worked to catch up to speed with all that Etienne had learned while she was asleep in the tank; discovering this planet was more complex than Heaven.

  “Her wings were cut out when she was a baby,” Etienne said quietly, leaning towards Sorrow so that others could not overhear their conversation. “She said she was of a line chosen to serve the Gods; otherwise she would have been abandoned in the woods, as all ‘abominations’ are. She left home to serve the Gods when she was 15. She is 28 now, but when she turns 45, she will be replaced. Before then she will adopt a female abomination and train her to take over her role. Her back, mon Dieu,” Etienne paled “it looks like two giant meat hooks have gouged out the flesh either side of her spine.”

  Sorrow shook her head. She didn’t need to ask how Etienne knew what Calarnise’s back looked like. The woman had obviously formed an attachment to him during the long months of Sorrow’s rejuvenation, and they had become lovers. The information Calarnise had given him about the planet during their time together though, was of more interest to her than what the woman’s body looked like.

  Studying her surroundings, she noticed the streets were strangely quiet for a town of this size, the people hurrying here and there as though scared to venture out. She surmised they were fearful of more Gharial attacks but saw no guards or evidence of army preparations. Those she saw pass by rode on horse-like creatures and dressed in muted browns and dark colours, reminiscent of the peasants of old England. On the hillside b
eyond where she sat, she saw solar panels and higher up a distant mountain, wind turbines. The modern renewable energy sources somehow incongruous with the otherwise seemingly technologically backward people.

  “I see lots of old people passing by,” she said now, suddenly realising what it was that was bothering her about the people in the township, “how is it, I wonder, that they don’t rejuvenate every 30 years, like the Earthborn?”

  “Calarnise said the Chosen had not used the tanks in centuries. She said the general population had perhaps even lost the knowledge of them. They stopped using them when they realised their wings would return during each regeneration. They see the wings as disgusting, a sign of evil. Over the centuries, from what I can gather, they have become more and more entrenched in their religious belief, to the point where they are virtually fanatics – only the head priest and the chosen female acolyte ever enter the garden city infirmary. The general infirmary, on the lower story, is for townspeople, upstairs is reserved solely for Gods. The only reason you were up there is because Lokan saw us come through the gates and decreed that you and the other Earthborn be regenerated – he apparently didn’t tell Calarnise why.”

  Sorrow frowned.

  “When I was in the tank, I saw a little girl having her wings cut out; I didn’t understand. So, you are telling me that the indigenous of this planet can fly, they are bird people, and that when the Gods bred with them, as they tried with all sentients they came across, the children were born with wings?”

  “Not all of them,” Etienne shook his head, “but some. Those were cruelly mutilated if they wished to stay with their parents. The Gods generally waited until they were six, old enough to survive a major operation. Then they gave them a choice – stay with them in a form more to their parents’ liking or be expelled into the wilderness to die.”

  “Horrible,” Sorrow shook her head. “And these people,” her eyes drifted to some of the locals walking past, leading their beasts of burden. “They are the descendants of those who chose to lose their wings.”