The Sorrow Anthology

by Helen Allan

  ‘These cells are obviously used to house those meant for execution, certainly not for criminals expected to be reformed, and definitely not for large groups of men for any length of time. The guards must have a cache of weapons around here somewhere.’

  Scanning the room, trying not to breathe too deeply, she saw immediately what she was looking for. Against a wall next to a door marked ‘Guard Change Room’ was a long metal cabinet.

  Gritting her teeth as she opened it as quietly as she could, she reached for a compact, silver weapon and studied it quickly. It was not like the chainsaw laser guns she was used to; this one seemed to hold much smaller ammunition.

  Scanning the cupboard while keeping one eye on the door, she found little blue pellets that seemed to fit the weapon and slotted them in – it took only six. Realising she might need a hell of a lot more than six bullets, she quickly loaded two more weapons and slipped them into her belt. Before strapping them on, she paused to flick a little black switch that said; ‘silent mode’ on each one of the weapons.

  “I fucking hope there are no more than eighteen guards down there,” she muttered as she turned to shut the cupboard doors, “and I fucking-fucking hope silent mode is silent.”

  Just then, the change room doors opened, and a red guard stepped through.

  “Ugh,” Sorrow wrinkled her nose and raised her weapon, “Executioner, I presume?”

  “Yeah,” the guard said, confused by Sorrow’s presence and stance, but also not yet seeing her as an enemy, given that she was dressed as a red guard.

  “Bye,” Sorrow said, pressing the trigger on the little gun.

  The man’s surprised expression lasted all of one second before he exploded in a loud splosh.

  “Wow,” Sorrow stepped over and peered down at what was left of the guard – a red uniform and a puddle of water. “Some kind of atomiser, or liquefier – given that we are mostly made of water, it makes sense – an instant soup gun.”

  Taking one more, horrified, look at her victim, and shaking her head, she strode out the door and down the hallway Requiem had left through. She didn’t have far to go before she heard the sounds of grunting and shouting and the dull thud of flesh on flesh.

  Rounding a corner, she peered around to see four guards, two holding Judgment as Requiem punched him repeatedly in the face and stomach, and two watching and laughing.

  The shouting, groaning and threats of recrimination from the resistance, forced to watch their leader being beaten to death, turned the close confines of the cell block into something Sorrow was sure Dante would have been proud of.

  “I’m only going to ask this one more time,” Requiem shouted to be heard above the noise, “where is she?”

  Judgment opened one bloodied eye and spat out a gob of blood, his only answer.

  Sorrow knew there could only be one person Requiem was talking about – he wanted to know where she was. She realised he had made no mention of a woman when giving his report to his superior – he was keeping her a secret – as was Judgment.

  She shuddered and gritted her teeth. Raising her weapon, she fired rapidly into the red guards, killing the two who had been standing by watching the beating.

  The two holding Judgment dropped him and reached for their weapons just as Requiem spun and launched himself at her.

  Sorrow, momentarily overwhelmed at his speed, dropped to her knees and took the full force of Requiem’s charge on her right shoulder, hearing it crunch as it dislocated. In the same instant, her left arm snaked out, and she fired two quick bullets in succession at the other two guards as they ran towards her. Her bullets hit their mark, but the price she paid was allowing Requiem to gain a grip on her as he wrenched the gun from her disabled right hand and knocked the other from her left.

  The weapons spun across the floor out of her reach as he pulled her from the ground by the hair and punched her, hard, in the stomach, winding her.

  Gasping for breath, she watched as he drew back his fist, ready to punch her a second time, only to liquefy before her eyes.

  The crowd of men roared in support as, retching, she fell to her knees and crawled across the floor to where Judgement lay, the gun having slipped from his hand as he fell into unconsciousness.

  Reclaiming her weapon, she rose on unsteady legs and stared at the now-silent men behind their bars.

  Turning back to study the puddles, she found the keys to the cells amid one and, shaking the water off them, staggered from cell to cell, unlocking the doors and liberating the men within.

  When all were free, two hefted Judge between them, and Sorrow paused for breath as she looked at the men who could stand, many supporting dying or badly wounded comrades. The corridor was crammed and quiet as they all considered their next move.

  “Anyone know a quick way to get the fuck out of here?” she asked quietly.

  6

  “I’m fine, really,” she smiled at the two men, sweat breaking across her brow as she gingerly flexed her newly put into place shoulder.

  “Then we must leave,” the first said, nodding to where Judgment lay on the cavern floor and moving to help him rise.

  “What about Ib and the other findailes?” Sorrow frowned, “how will they know we escaped or where we are going?”

  “They know.”

  “Do you think they are already there?”

  “They are.”

  “Is?” She swallowed hard, “did any of the little boys survive? Requiem said he killed them all.”

  “Many died, but still many lived,” the soldier who had held her down while the other put her shoulder into place laughed, “the findailes would not have allowed anything less.”

  Sorrow breathed a deep sigh of relief, her face suffusing in colour. She swallowed hard; tears close to the surface. She had tried hard not to think of the child since she had rescued the men, but every step closer to the mountain she had feared she would have to see his small body, and the body of other boys, murdered as the red leader had said. She knew it was a weakness to feel attached so quickly to Jury, but children had always been her weak spot, and this one was no different. She felt responsible for him. Especially now she knew how he was born and what his first few years had been like in The Finger. She shuddered and shook her head, lest her mind return to the infirmary and the nurseries.

  For once she was glad of the link the red leaders had with their findailes, a link she usually found eerie, but which obviously had helped save many of the boys’ lives. The findailes and red leaders knew each other’s thoughts, felt each other’s pain. She admired it, but also knew that it was unnatural and at the expense of the findaile’s true nature – she knew a lot now that she had worked at The Finger, more than she wished to know.

  But all this she had yet to reveal to Judge or his men – first, they must leave the cavern and journey deep into the mountain to a secondary retreat known only to a handful. Requiem had thankfully not been one of those privy to this information.

  With Judge leaning heavily on her, Sorrow glanced around to ensure she had taken everything of use, and they began the long walk through the hidden tunnels. As they walked, she filled him in on what she had discovered.

  “So that is why we don’t remember them,” Judge said, when she paused her explanation, “they remove our memory of our conception? Our birth? Those who raised us?”

  “Sort of, they don’t remove any part of your brain; they simply block it so that you no longer have access to that information. That combined with the training and terribly harsh treatment you endure as babies and infants wipes away any thoughts other than survival. But it is true; you are mostly like me, half-god, half-human. When the gods regenerate, every thirty years on average, their eggs are secretly harvested.”

  “So, they are our mothers, yet they send us to war; Treat us like disposable machines.”

  “You have to understand the gods would never agree to this if they knew what was happening – they firmly believe in Shu and Tefnut’s decree that mi
xed children are an abomination. They would never willingly breed with humans. Only those who work in the infirmary and the guardian know how Tefnut’s planetary domination leadership force is formed.”

  “And our fathers?”

  “The sperm of selected human male slaves is used to fertilise the eggs, which are implanted into the skinless ones – women from another planet that Tefnut and Shu took over long ago. These women incubate and birth you. I know very little about them, other than they have organs suitable for growing babies, and bodies that can accommodate giving birth to Earthborn babies with ease. And, although it doesn’t look like it, they do have skin, but it is transparent – so the foetus can be watched through its entire development. Girls are aborted, boys are raised in nurseries, very rudimentary nurseries with no comforts, no love, the conditions are,” she shuddered, “horrible, Judge. Many little boys die. The crying…. I don’t know if I will ever forgive myself for even pretending to help create such misery.”

  “You did what you needed to do, Sorrow. I know it is in your nature to care. I am sorry that you had to suffer.”

  “I didn’t suffer as much as you did, Judge,” she murmured. “When the boys are four, they are sent to The Fist to commence training as an understudy of another red leader. Just as Jury has been, just as you were before him. Your memories of The Finger are completely erased during the findaile joining when you turn twelve.”

  “Yes, it makes sense,” Judge nodded, “Jury said he remembered seeing a woman, but she had no skin. But tell me more of the findaile and the joining ceremony – why do they take our hearts?”

  “Well, that is where it gets really creepy. They take your heart so you cannot regenerate. When you die, you die permanently, and you are easily replaced. I think this is how Tefnut justifies using god ovum to make you; there is no chance you will be regenerated or ever be a real threat to the gods. But putting your spare heart in the findaile serves another purpose. It is when they receive your heart that they begin to share your thoughts, and your feelings – as they once shared the thoughts and feelings of their own families on their home planet. The operation removes their yearnings to return home and replaces their own desires with a determination to please you, to follow your directions and needs.

  “But we feel their pain too,” Judgment frowned.

  “Yes, that was a happy coincidence,” Sorrow snorted, “Tefnut realised that while findailes were a great weapon, as he had hoped they would be, they could also control you, the red leaders. Although you were bred not to have any feelings, raised as soldiers and killers all, you still required one attachment, something more than just duty. The findailes provided that – your only link to feelings, the only thing you truly cared about other than your prowess at war – was a creature in your charge.”

  Judgment was silent for some time, the only sound his heavy breathing as he laboured to keep walking, and the low murmur of those following. But his silence spoke volumes to Sorrow, he was shocked, deeply shocked by all he had heard, and needed time to process.

  “And the Gharial?”

  “Lobotomised upon landing. They are, as you say, vicious, mindless creatures – but they were not always so. The operation simply exacerbates their lizard brain and removes all civilised intent.”

  Judge shook his head, his face turning even paler if that were possible.

  Less than an hour after their discussion, he surprised her by calling a halt to their exodus.

  “Soldiers,” he turned back to those snaking behind in a long line, “continue on to the retreat. Treat your wounds, rest and recover. I must do something before I can join you.”

  No one questioned his word, except Sorrow. She frowned and opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but he forestalled her.

  “Come,” he said quietly, turning and limping back the way they had come, “you have three days before you must return to The Finger – and I intend to go with you.”

  “How?” she gasped, seeing him riding the horse, lance extended, his expression jaunty, as he approached the crowd and bowed, grinning.

  “He must have jumped through the portal within the past five years, prior to Lokan blowing it up – or else jumped through from another planet,” Judge whispered, “and been transported to The Finger.”

  Sorrow frowned at Judgment, dressed as he was as a human slave in a white, skin-tight jumpsuit, and turned back to the games. They were both playing a deadly ruse at the moment, and she couldn’t let her emotions rule her head. But at the sight of her friend riding a horse, a dead dragon at his feet, she was almost swept away with joy at seeing him, and confusion at how he could possibly have been at The Finger the whole time she had been living there, and she had not known.

  “But you said the Avalona portal wasn’t guarded,” she whispered.

  “And it wasn’t. How should I know how your ridiculous slave ended up here?”

  “I’ve told you before, Judge, he is my friend. If he is here, it is because he came looking for me.”

  “Well, your friend does not look as though he is in dire circumstances, now, can we go?”

  “What? No, I have to figure out a way to rescue him.”

  “If he is indeed being kept at The Finger as a favourite of the gods, or a slave, he will be wearing a torc,” he murmured, his eyes turning back to Sorrow and meeting her intense gaze.

  “So?”

  “It is a tracking device. He will have freedom to move where he is permitted, but should he try to escape his head will blow off.”

  “That is what those necklaces are that all the slaves wear?” she shook her head, “I had no idea. Fuck.”

  “Yes. I want to.”

  “No, I mean, fuck, that is bad.”

  “Yes, that too.”

  “Have you seen that happen?”

  “A findaile has a large appetite,” he answered dryly.

  “Ugh. So, escapee slaves, Gharials who do the wrong thing, critters great and small from other planets – pretty much anything is on the menu.”

  “Except fish,” Judge shrugged, “Ib does not like fish – or cats. He would not eat a cat.”

  “Good to know,” Sorrow snorted, “and yes, let’s get out of here and continue our sweep. But I will return for Etienne.”

  “I know,” Judge sighed.

  They rose from their seats at the furthest side of the games arena and headed out towards the parking area where Chauffeur 502 was waiting for them.

  “We would like to go to the airfield, please?”

  “Of course, Mistress,” he said, casting Judgment an admiring glance.

  Sorrow had to admit, Judge looked wonderful in his suit, probably a head and shoulders taller than many of the other human men, his muscles popped, making him look like a white-suited super-hero. She couldn’t help also when her eyes drifted lower to admire his hefty package in the tight pantsuit, something not at all lost on the flamboyant chauffer.

  “I need also to pass on a message, Mistress, he went on, “several of the other goddesses have requested a visit from your slave. One, in particular, was most insistent. She says she will swap her birdman for an evening, a high honour, as he is most sought after.”

  “Birdman?” Sorrow rolled her eyes, “tell me this isn’t a man with wings?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And how is it I have not seen this birdman since I’ve been here?”

  “He is,” the man giggled, “often very busy and most popular. Only those in the upper echelons and the guardian have enjoyed his, ah, talents. And you have been living in the infirmary quarter – no pleasure slaves visit there.”

  “Indeed,” Sorrow snorted.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Judgment asked, shaking his head.

  “I’m thinking,” she laughed, “that a certain French man with a penchant for the ladies, and a certain Winged man with the same, have landed in nirvana and might not even want to be rescued.”

  “Rescued?” the chauffeur laughed, “who wou
ld want to leave The Finger, not I, not any man I have yet met.”

  Sorrow said nothing. While it was true human men were well-treated slaves, she knew there were many who would chafe at the yoke – hence the torcs. What she didn’t know yet though, and could find no answers to, was why no male gods lived on the planet, apart from Tefnut, and why she had seen no evidence of Shu in either The Finger, or The Fist, apart from one golden life-sized statue in the centre of The Finger’s main square. She had to assume Shu was the guardian.

  She hoped that, depending on how long Etienne and Raphael had been in The Finger, they might be able to shed some light on these mysteries. Just how she was going to get to her two friends though, was something she was yet to broach with Judgment.

  As the airfield came into view, Judgement turned his attention to the hangars dominating a large industrial area that Sorrow had not yet seen. She saw as they approached that it was abuzz with spacecraft loading and unloading goods and creatures.

  “You can leave us here,” she said to the chauffeur, “return for us in two hours, oh and tell the goddess ‘yes’ we will swap lovers for the evening.”

  “What?” Judgment swung wide eyes on her as she waved away her driver.

  “You want sex. I want to see Raphael and offer him the chance to escape; win-win.”

  “I do not want sex with a monster,” he growled, “I want sex with you.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she laughed, “lie back and think of England.”

  “What?”

  “You are doing this for your country.”

  “I don’t have a country.”

  “Very well, you are doing this for me, think of it as good practice.”

  “I will not do it,” he said firmly.

  “We shall see,” Sorrow frowned, catching the eye of a sorrowful woman in a group of tethered skinless as they were poked and pushed off a newly arrived airship. She shuddered, knowing their fate.