Sorrow's Fall

by Helen Allan

  Guiding her to the doors, the chauffeur showed a plastic card marked with hieroglyphs and the guards nodded, waving Sorrow in. The doors closed with a whoosh behind her the moment she stepped through.

  Freezing, she stood wide-eyed as she saw a tall woman in a white gown approach – it was a god, there was no question.

  The god strode over to where Sorrow stood uncertainly in the doorway and extended her hand.

  “Welcome,” she said, staring intently at Sorrow’s partially concealed face, “you seem, somehow familiar to me.”

  “I get that a lot,” Sorrow smiled, recovering some of her poise, “but I don’t believe we have met.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Sorrow.”

  “Mine is Dependura,” the woman smiled.

  Sorrow smiled back. She hoped it wasn’t a mistake giving her real name, but she had been caught on the spot and hadn’t had time to make up one that would sound realistic. Her attention now though, was focussed on the regeneration tanks that she could see through various doorways; hundreds of them, each filled with a god, all female.

  “We have long wished for someone with medical expertise to join us,” the woman smiled, “come, I will show you around the complex, you can begin immediately.”

  Sorrow followed, noting the woman was at least a head and shoulders taller than her, and that her head was much larger and more conical than human skulls, as were the heads of all the true gods. But dressed and cowled in her robe, her heels hidden by the long folds of the gown, Sorrow knew she passed well enough for one of them.

  “So which portal did you come from?” the god asked as she led Sorrow to the rear of the infirmary.

  “I jumped from Heaven,” Sorrow said, hoping like hell that at least one god had been known to live there with Osiris.

  “I heard we had all left that planet,” the woman turned to frown at Sorrow.

  “All but me,” Sorrow shrugged, “I stayed to heal those hurt by the war.”

  “Not Earthborn, surely?” the woman scowled.

  “We are doctors,” Sorrow said, raising her head and meeting the woman’s eye, “it would have been remiss of me to withhold my skill based on what heritage my patient had, however unfortunate,” she added hastily, seeing the woman’s face pale.

  “You would do best to lose such noble beliefs here,” the woman snorted, “we all believe in the vision of Shu and Tefnut. We will not allow those with mixed blood, our godly heritage, to walk the worlds. We all work to defeat them and keep our race pure and noble, as it was meant to be.”

  “Indeed,” Sorrow nodded slowly, “except for the red leaders, of course.”

  The woman spun to Sorrow, her face a mask of anger and shock.

  “How do you know of this?” she hissed.

  Sorrow shrugged, trying to hide the shock she felt that her guess had been correct. Since arriving, she had been thinking of nothing else. If this city was inhabited only by female gods and male humans, and the red leaders all originated here, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were being born here, only to be sent to The Fist to be raised as war leaders and essential cannon fodder. As to why they didn’t remember anything, she could only conclude their minds were tampered with before they left.

  “It is well-known,” she said now, keeping her face neutral, “we do what we must to allow the Gharial to be led, a small price to pay for the ultimate in victories.”

  “Yes,” Dependura whispered, taking Sorrow by the arm and pulling her quickly into a small room off the main corridor, “but only a few know of this, only the medical staff inside this regeneration ward, and our guardian. We do not fraternise with our godly sisters; How? How do you know?”

  “I have friends,” Sorrow said quietly, “in high places. You need know nothing more than that. I have been sent to help you, but if you should insist on me revealing more, I shall leave and report this to be the case.”

  “No, no,” Dependura shook her head, her face suddenly fearful. “If it is the will of the guardian that you are here, I would never question that.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Sorrow said, meeting Dependura’s eyes for longer than was comfortable for the woman. “Now, show me everything.”

  5

  Sorrow sat quietly as Chauffer 502 drove the golf cart with its lights off, along the cobbled road towards The Fist.

  She prayed she would make it without being stopped, but she had primed her chauffeur with an excellent cover story, should that occur.

  She smiled as she thought back over recent months, as she had slowly cultivated a friendship with this flamboyant little man. An outfit given here and there, the odd pair of shoes or piece of costume jewellery – he was the most grateful recipient of hand me downs that was ever known. Tonight he was ostensibly paying her back for her generosity by delivering her to The Fist for a triste with a red guard lover.

  She knew this was something that would never, could never, happen with any of the real gods, but he seemed to accept that whatever a god desired should be accommodated, even if that meant complete secrecy and breaking every rule he had ever lived by.

  She was dressed in a red leader’s outfit, courtesy of the box at the back of his cart, and her breasts were bound down tightly and painfully – giving her the look of a small, perhaps a trainee, red leader. She knew if she could get into The Fist she would be fine, she had passed inspection before, by Tefnut no less, but the journey from The Finger to the citadel of the armed forces was the most dangerous aspect of her risky plan tonight.

  Finally reaching her destination and breathing a sigh of relief, she hopped out as her chauffeur gave her a quick wave and headed back the way he had come.

  They had arranged that he would come back to pick her up in the dead of night, in three days’ time during the annual festival of The Games.

  She had given up a gold sequin robe and matching slippers as an assurance he would not forget, but she knew he had a mind like a steel trap when it came to appointments, and he would be waiting for her at the agreed time.

  Holding her breath, she retraced the steps Judgement had shown her during one of only two journeys she had made into this city, to the hidden tunnels that would lead to the resistance cavern beneath the mountain.

  It had been four months since she had come this way, to be led to The Finger, four long months of pretending to be a god. Four long months of crying herself to sleep over the breeding program she was ostensibly taking part in as part of her subterfuge.

  She knew the memories of the babies, the tiny children, the skinless ones, would stay with her forever. Even thinking of it now made her want to vomit. Realising she could take no more of her life there, and that she had all the information she needed, she was now determined to return to the resistance and help destroy this world’s gods entirely. Unfortunately, this would also mean she must return in three days’ time to help execute those plans, and she would need Judgment’s help.

  Hearing heavy footsteps, she gasped and slipped into a nearby corridor, pressing herself close against a column, willing herself invisible.

  She frowned as she heard the voices approach and pass by, one sounded familiar.

  “And you are sure you caught them all?”

  “Yes, Sir. Those that were not killed in the initial raid were captured and imprisoned below, where they await execution.”

  “Red guards every one? And their trainees?”

  “Yes. We killed all the trainees we found, no point in having little vipers brought back to the nest.”

  “Absolutely,” the superior agreed, “you did well.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Sorrow scowled as she recognised the second voice; it was Requiem, the resistance fighter who had assaulted her in the pools on her arrival at the cavern. She held her breath, hoping against hope that what she was hearing was not what she thought she was hearing.

  “And what of the traitors’ findailes?”

  “Most escaped, many wer
e not there, perhaps out hunting. They will not last long; we will send out hunting parties for them at dawn.

  “Good work, Requiem. You have served us well; you will be rewarded for your loyalty. We will execute the leader at daybreak, but the remainder will stay incarcerated until we catch their findailes – they can suffer the slow, excruciating death of their partners before their own.”

  “I will take great pleasure in letting them know this,” Requiem laughed.

  “Do a headcount while you are down there,” his commander said, “find out exactly how many still have findailes unaccounted for.”

  Sorrow heard heels click together and knew the men had saluted, and therefore most probably walked in different directions. She furiously debated with herself over what to do.

  ‘Could this be true or just another ruse being performed by Requiem on behalf of the resistance? No, he had never truly come around, had he? You often caught him watching you with an unfriendly eye. Trust your instincts, Sorrow. So, if it is true, then what? Should I go back to the cavern? Surely some resistance escaped. Should I see if I can get some help to rescue those that have been captured? Should I try to do something now? Perhaps I can help. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

  Still in two minds, Sorrow slipped out from her hiding place. She ducked from column to column and followed Requiem as he strode, fast, down the corridors and eventually down four flights of stairs, to the prison cells beneath the city. Pausing three steps before the bottom, she strained to listen as he talked to a prison guard.

  “How many in all?”

  “About three hundred, some are dead from their injuries, others dying.”

  “Take me to Judgment.”

  “I can’t, Executioner has gone to relieve his bladder, I’m the only one on duty up here until he returns.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Requiem chuckled, “we have the entire resistance behind bars.”

  Sorrow’s eyes widened.

  “True,” the other man laughed, “come on then.”

  She listened to their footsteps retreat and slipped down the last few steps to peer into the room. The stench hit her first, the smell of sweat and blood, shit and fear – a far cry from the antiseptic world she had inhabited these past months.

  ‘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, gasping and 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 col
our. 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.”