Blackbird, Descended, Singer

Blackbird

and sparrow tweet at each other between trees, branches all to themselves. Ellie eyes their greed, their lives lived as if expecting that the world is made for them. She made all that they appreciated, and in fact she made them as well.

From her toes, delicate grass spread like a carpet in all directions. From her fingertips a sweet-smelling breeze washed over the dozens of women and men who'd gathered in the place that would become Sanctuary. From her hair emerged swarms of bees in their hundreds, and a dozen more blackbirds that flew off to whistle at their own kin. Several children cowed close to their mothers or fathers, whomever they had left after the Last War. Despite all this, it was what sprang forth from her gaze that brought the most magic: love.

Elle Silver smiled at all of them, walking among each one as she made all of the living world. She brushed the cheek of a lady, blew a kiss at a man she passed, danced a tiny jig with a little boy who laughed along with her. All the while, the world changed from a domed wasteland of dust into a vibrant forest, as if it had always been there.

A man took her hand at the end of the procession, a man with metal legs and a metal pack slung over his back that glowed a dim blue light. His other hand beheld a remote, upon which were only three large buttons. When she stopped, he pressed the first.

Suddenly, they rose into the air. They spun on the spot, as if a rehearsed couple; she kissed him, and he her. As they ascended, she of her own accord and he through the gentle power of twin jets that spewed calm blue gas, the people applauded and knelt.

I remember that story from somewhere. Sometimes, I think about it when Ellie forgets I exist. When she is afraid, I relay it to her as best I can, even if it doesn't quite reach her.

Today, the dream ended early. A terrible screech cut her from her despair, and Ellie's eye was caught immediately. High overhead, a jet-black flying machine aflame with both the reflecting glow of the crevasse in the sky as well as an ignited turbine connected with the indigo barrier, once and twice and then thrice, as if pressed forcefully. It made a nerve-wracking tearing sound every time such transpired.

// - Mayday! Five-oh-zero under heavy siege! Hostiles engaged, weapons free to no effect! Calling all ground forces for a zapper-charge! Repeat, all ground forces available, calling in a zapper-charge at our location!

Ellie lay low, her hands clasped before her, shivering. "Just die," she whispered. "Let it kill you and quietly." She knew what it was; I knew what it was.

The bird crashed against Father overhead once more, and the barrier fizzled, reddening, letting loose a tiny shriek beneath the noise of it all.

// - God-d****t, Scion! All ground troopers, engage now! Answer me! PLEASE ANS-

The voice cut short, as the fuselage of the thing disengaged from its flight deck. The latter burst into a small inferno and pelted the reddened Father, exploding on impact and collapsing the barrier. As the Crimsonborn emerged from hiding, descending with fiery bits of metal, Ellie scurried to shelter as near as she dared.

She didn't watch more, leaping to cover beneath the shadows of the crumbled wall. A smashing sound she heard, but her head was hidden in her hands, and she did not see what caused it. It sounded extremely close, though; of this, she was frightfully sure.

"Go away," she managed, in this case far too truly, for she could manage no more before the Crimsonborn

Descended

until it hovered above her, so that she could feel the wind of its wings rustling her hair, and its chittering from above lay as a constant reminder that she was going to die soon. Go-g-waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawayyyy! she thought, but her Mind was addled, and she couldn't manage her grip on it. Her thoughts faded to blackness, and she simply could not conceive of any more.

She could only feel the breeze, and the fear.

And then, the claws which gripped her throat. Once, twice her face was slammed into the reducing rock wall, and she flipped over to her back and kicked and thrashed. And the monster released her.

She lay flat on the ground, staring up at the Crimsonborn, seeing its piercing pincers clicking about as if tasting the air, its claws at the ends of lanky arms riddled with sharp spikes as they clasped and unclasped. Its torso was thin, closer to a beam than an abdomen, but it moved fluidly along with the rest of its body. A thin tail darted back and forth like an excited pet, and daggers for toes hung, their threat real enough that Ellie couldn't dismiss them from her vision.

Wings of metal diced the wind around them, causing a blur of dust that, despite everything, was transparent to her. Still, it daunted her that she couldn't focus on them; the whole wing might as well have been solid, but she knew it was not. The Crimsonborn's wingbeats were just moving far too fast for her eyes to compensate.

She blamed the noise. With Father's departure, the viciousness of the Dustorm had returned, and thus reemerged the voluminous death cries of the planet. The strength of them buffeted her, and she held the wall for support as she cried in petrifying terror. The noise sullied her focus, wrapped her in a blanket of fear, and so it was a good thing to blame.

She blamed time. Worn and weary, she'd resisted its death touch, but she was finally beginning to show her age. She couldn't react, and her Mind was muddled, and her voice was lost where once it might have had the strength to rally the dead world itself to her aid, or soldiers gone forever back from the grave. It, too, was a good thing to blame.

Finally, she blamed me. Without even realizing, perhaps, she blamed me for her lack of ability to defend herself. As I narrate, so too do I know everything she thought then. She did have reason, but it all came back to time and noise. It all came back to the world of dust and memory, and to the Master in whom she placed all of her excuses. All of it was caused by my death, a remote

"Singer,"

the Crimsonborn managed, though its voice was metallic, almost imperceptible.

"Please, Father."

I regret to say that the scene of relative peace did not last. The Crimsonborn did strike again, and hide as Ellie might try, she could not avoid it when it had already spotted her. Divorced now from this world, I can say with certainty that I could not share in her pain, could not alleviate any of it. She felt the fullest of the Crimsonborn's violent ways, and she tried to fight back, but her rebuttal was as fruitless as her attempt to flee prior.

One could not have looked upon the scene of gore after the Crimsonborn's passing, at least not without nausea or the feeling of absolute sorrow overcoming them. I would know. I saw the aftermath, conclusively enough of what happened to satisfy even the harshest sadist.

It causes me no shame to admit that I closed my eyes and covered my ears while Elle Silver was brutalized by a being bred for war. It causes me no shame to tell you that I would have cried with empathy for this creature, that I would have felt her terror and done anything to protect her, or kill her quickly if only it quieted the noise. I blamed the noise then, and I blame it solely now.

All I felt were despondence and, when it was over, relief. She either felt everything or nothing, but after a time, she stopped moving. Maybe that was why it left her to a presumed death.

It dropped her into a mound of dust when at last the ordeal came to a close. She made no sounds, nor did she manage to crawl away, nor flee. An alert Ellie might have done just that, and been rend for her troubles. A stoic Ellie may have been her only chance at life, and yet, in no world could a being live through this.

In no world could a single being cough, take a reluctant breath, flex a shattered hand weakly, flutter an eye tremulously. It took seven hours, but I believe each happened, and I would have smiled had I that power still.

Still. . . .

The blood. . . .

Such small recoveries are the only events in which I can say I was pleased with the outcome of this day. I tried to speak to her, but as I'd come to expect, there was no bridge between she and I, no road I could travel to be with her.

She was still, barely, alive, and I'd remain dead forever.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading!