Believe

By S. F. Malik

They are the most brutal Empire we have known for generations.
I am a seventeen year old slave boy, who must endure a life of servitude and sacrifice to keep my family alive.
They took away my mother, my sister, my friends, everything I have cared for including my love.
I inadvertently struck out and my actions started a chain reaction which led to war and a full scale rebellion.
They have sent two armies to crush our resistance.
I have an army of 300 maltreated slave children.
They have an army of 5000 battle hardened men.
I have hijacked an armoured State train.
They have a limitless arsenal of the most sophisticated weapons on the face of the earth.
I have promised my army of slave children to get them to freedom or die trying.
They have vowed to kill every single slave child and have promised to handsomely reward the one who brings my head.
I have made a pledge to my younger sister and will cheat death as many times as it takes to fulfil it.
They are planning victory celebrations as a foregone conclusion, and have ordered ingeniously gruesome deaths for my soldiers and our families.
What they dont know iswe have a stolen nuclear warhead in our possession and we intend to deliver it to the Emperors doorstep.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491882757

S. F. Malik

I grew up and went to school in the historic city of Nottingham, where the legend of Sherwood Forest and Robin Hood enchanted a young boy’s imagination. Encouraged by remarkable teachers I fell in love with writing stories. Growing up I did a variety of jobs all of which were rewarding, but it was my love for writing that won in the end. I now live in London and write to my heart’s content. I sincerely hope my books can provide joy for my readers and most of all inspire more people to write! And keep the magic alive.

Book preview

1

Joseph’s Story

Why won’t anyone help me? My mind repeats the question over and over as my expectant eyes search for help which my sinking heart concludes will never come. My blood races, heart pounds as I take another hit to the side of my face. A dull thud registers followed by a moment of darkness before the pain radiates off my burning face. I spit blood which forms a small round patch of crimson where it lands on the dry, thirsty, sunbaked ground of the arena. My lungs work overtime to supply air to my tense, aching muscles. I look up at the clear blue sky, shining brilliantly as it witnesses my desperation. The sun furiously beats downs upon me as I wipe the sweat away from my forehead with the back of my hand. I am trembling and exhausted as I take in the hopelessness of my situation and I find it increasingly difficult to breathe. I eye my two opponents. They have barely broken a sweat as they rotate their swords slicing a horizontal figure of eight through the air, flexing the taut muscles on their impressive torsos. Both of them bigger and stronger than myself, confidant of an assured victory, they casually walk closer aligning themselves at equal distance to my right and left. For them, a quick victory and my imminent death means a freedom from the bondage of slavery and a new life free from the misery of poverty. For me, the life of my ten year-old younger sister hangs in the balance. I lose this fight and she loses her life. As long as I can stay alive and keep fighting, she will keep breathing.

I glance nervously in her direction; her fear-drenched widened eyes are streaming tears down her pale thin face as she calls out to me in a trembling child’s voice. Joseph! A frightened younger sister’s desperate plea to her older brother to save her from the cruel and heartless situation we find ourselves in. I draw in a deep breath and forge my heart with all the precious courage I can muster. With the responsibility of my sister’s life weighing on my shoulders, I grip the swords I’m holding in each hand tightly and in my last ditch desperate attempt to keep my sister alive, prepare myself for my last stand. Looking into the confident eyes of my opponents, I launch myself at them hitting with every last ounce of strength my exhausted body can provide. I strike with enough ferocity to push both of them back, our metal blades clashing against each other igniting sparks. My intensity takes them by surprise. I know I can’t win, my death is inevitable, but if I must go then I will do everything I can to take them with me. I fight and hit with intensity and rage I’ve never felt before. I cut my opponent’s skin and draw blood. He stumbles back in pain and disbelief enraged, they both reply by unleashing a vicious counter-attack. Every time I’m hit it feels like a hammer blow… my entire body shudders and trembles violently, my limbs burn with pain and they quickly strike the sword out of my left hand. Their onslaught continues as I try to defend myself using my remaining sword. I’m cut and my blood paints the ground red; my sister gives out a half muted cry drowned by her tears. Realising I am prepared to die and kill them both so that my sister can live… my opponents hit back at me with primeval vengeance. I’m punched, kicked, their blades cut through my skin making me jump in pain. They emphatically make me believe they want the exact same thing as I do, to live… to survive.

Darkness beckons and my legs tremble with exhaustion. My eyes plead to everyone in a desperate last search for help, but all I see is the zealous glee of excitement in the spectating State nobles’ eyes, as they realise one of us is about to die soon and for them, this is the ultimate high in entertainment. When my eyes lock with my fellow on-looking slave children, most of them lower their glances in shame; they can speak no words yet the undeniable anguish etched on their faces speaks volumes. Others just stare back knowing that they will have it no different when it’s their turn to fight tomorrow. Knowing my time is short a desperate pang of pain rises up to the back of my throat as I realise all the things I will never be able to do: watch my sister grow, take care of my ailing mother, raise a family of my own, live to see the majesty of a new sunrise. Another savage blow sends me crashing on my knees. I’m spent; I have nothing left to fight back with. I can sense the end is near. People say that before you die your entire life flashes before you, but all my terrified mind can think is, how could this happen to us? How did I end up fighting for my sister’s life, when just two days ago I was a newlywed holding onto my childhood love, surrounded in the safety and comfort of my family and friends?

It was the last night of my sixteenth year of life. Tomorrow would be my seventeenth birthday and it would also be the last time we could ever be together. So we decided to do the unthinkable and break the most severe law of the Governing State Empire—punishable by death, if we were caught. On that night, in the presence of our few family members and cherished friends, in one of the last remaining outlawed and hidden houses of God, we got married.

I had loved Grace since I was too young to remember. Maybe since we were both around six years of age. Grace and Joseph are inseparable, everyone used to say, from playing in the woods to carrying out our chores and even while praying, in the few secret remaining prayer houses still left. We were destined to be together, our love had remained unbreakable and endured hostility from our parents and objecting community elders alike. As they constantly kept reminding us, no matter how innocent and pure our love for each other was, it was doomed from the very start. Because of one simple yet cruel twist of fate, we were both firstborn children.

And in the time we live in today, all firstborn children became the property of the State Empire, as soon as they reach their seventeenth year of life. Tomorrow, the State troops will come and gather all the firstborn children from our slum towns, including the both of us and take us away. We will never see our families again. It was a price every family had to pay for the crime of believing in God and having the courage to keep faith.

Generations before us had paid this price and so would we because we were believers as our forefathers were before us. We believed in God, in his prophets and scriptures, in heaven and hell. In the old days we were split into nations and tribes, calling ourselves different names. But this was the new age and in this time the old religions were abolished and blamed for being the cause of war, famine, division and hatred. All sacred places of worship were destroyed. And all believers of religion were persecuted, imprisoned and exiled until we simply came to be known as one mass of ethnically diverse people, known as the believers. We still carried out our prayers and held onto our beliefs hidden deep inside our hearts, but we were ruled under the iron fist of the State, and the State had a new religion for a new age. A sea of people had already converted to the new religion and became known as the purists, pure from religion. The new religion began with the acquisition of limitless wealth and power and was quickly hailed as the saviour of humanity; a bright shining beacon of light which removed the seeds of discord from all men’s hearts and instead brought unity, prosperity, health and peace which had eluded us for so long. Of course, that was just one side of the story, a story that began with a single event changing the course of our history, the assassination of the renowned scientist, Artiel Jenson. It was he who was primarily responsible for the invention of limitless power through continuous nuclear fusion, a constantly renewable supply of energy which eradicated world hunger. Machines began to run endlessly without the need for refuelling for years, providing infinite amounts of food yields which meant more money for the State, who then began to withhold precious food and medicine reserves for only the ruling elite and their following purist believers of the new religion. It was a simple and effective way of waging a silent war. Convert to the new age religion and renounce all previous faiths, or slowly starve to death. As usual, our children and the elderly were the first to die of hunger and malnutrition-related disease. A believer by the name of Elias watched his children slowly starve to death and, in revenge, he stole one of the Elite State guard’s uniform and managed to infiltrate their security. When he came face to face with Artiel Jenson, he simply said one thing: This isn’t for God; it’s for starving my children to death. He pulled the trigger and shot Jenson where he stood. Of course they never gave Elias a trial; his body received more bullets than could be counted as they executed him on the spot.

As expected, brutal retribution followed against all believers. As the purists tore down and burned all places of worship, nothing was left to stand. Beatings and killings of all believers were commonplace as the State showed no restraint and wanted to set an example that would instil fear in the believers for generations to come. Inevitably there was a backlash from the believers as all faiths came together. What followed was a global holy war. We were outnumbered and, more importantly, outgunned, but what we lacked in numbers we made up for in courage, dignity and selflessness. Thousands of Battalions, and Regiments, defected to fight alongside believing men, women and children. We all sacrificed everything we could. We knew we were fighting for our very survival.

Starving and heavily outgunned we made our stand, and fought courageously to the very end. But we were no match for the might of the ruling Elite’s war machine. We fell and lost our holy war, lost our last chance for freedom.

Retributions started soon after the war had ended. Most of the believing men and women who had defected were captured and killed. The rest of us were sent to prison camps and sentenced to hard labour. Every defeated rebellion has a price to pay and we were no exception. After rebuilding the State’s losses, they had to make sure we could never rise again. And so they devised a plan imposing the harshest penalty they could think of: something that would instil fear into every believer’s heart for generations to come. They derived a population culling scheme. Every believing family was ordered to surrender its first born child as soon as they reached seventeen years of age. They would be taken away to become servants of the State—and their families would never see them again.

This was my last night with Grace. Tomorrow the armoured trucks of the State will rumble into our town and take us away from all we’ve ever known. My mother and my younger sister will be left alone without me. I have taken care of them since I was seven years old, after my father died in the war against the purists. My sister, Sophie, is only ten years old, and has always been so tiny, she looks more like an eight year-old; she barely weighs more than a small sack full of potatoes. My mother looks tired, and has aged prematurely because of sickness and hunger. It’s almost hard to recognise her from the few photos we have of her youth before she got married. She was stunningly beautiful, as is my younger sister, Sophie who, we can tell from old photos, is a younger copy of our mom, and is adored by everyone in our town; everyone wants a sister, or daughter like our Sophie. I place both of my hands on her tiny fragile shoulders and she looks up at me and smiles, her beautiful eyes full of sadness as the reality slowly begins to sink in that she will never see me again. She was barely two years old when our dad died, and I have always taken care of her as part brother and part father. ‘You need to be strong, Sophie, stronger than you’ve ever been. You’re all Mom has left now, and I will always love you. I will always try and find a way to come back to you.’ I try to reassure her, but it’s a well-known truth nobody ever comes back.

Tears fall down her face and she hugs me holding on to my waist. ‘I don’t want you to go…’ she pleads with me.

‘Sophie, I need you to be brave, I need you to take care of Mom. Make me the proudest brother in our entire town.’ I lift her chin up, wipe away her tiny tears and kiss her forehead.

She gives me a half-hearted smile and says, ‘I will try, Joseph.’

I look at my sister for a moment, so thin and so fragile, her pale white face and gleaming blue eyes that pour love at you when you look into them, her long blonde hair, the tiny freckles on her nose. I want to remember this moment forever, instil her image deep within my memory, for the only photographs we can afford here, are those buried in our hearts. I shall never see my little sister again. I will remember these expectant, loving eyes, her innocent adorable tiny face, the way she waits to hear the sound of my returning footsteps and then comes running to greet me at the door. Until my very last day of life, I will remember.

Then I turn to my mother, the poor fragmented soul who gave both me and my sister life by bringing us into this world; whose dry, cracked lips have laid a million kisses upon us, whispered endless prayers for our well-being. Losing my father in the war nearly took our mother away too, but she cheated death and survived, living through endless nights of unyielding hunger and freezing cold to feed us whatever precious scraps of food she could scrounge. Many times going hungry herself. How am I to leave and never see my mother’s face again, a face that has always filled my heart with comfort and courage, her gentle kindness enriched in my childhood memories? The simple truth is I will never see my mother again along with so many of my town’s firstborn children, who are destined to share my fate.

This is the day we have both dreaded for so long. Being a gentle harmless soul, I expected my mother to break down. But she doesn’t, instead she holds onto my neck pulling me towards her and kisses my forehead and says something no son could ever forget. ‘I’m the proudest mother in the world today. I have raised a son people can only hope for. I am happy to see you become the man that you are. I’m sending you away with my last blessing, make me proud. Make your father proud… today I hand you over to my God’s protection. My prayers will remain with you until I draw my last breath.’ She kisses me again and tears roll down her face as she closes her eyes. I feel my heart clench. I almost break down, but fight to contain my emotions within me, for if my mother and little sister can possess this much courage, than surely I must do the same. I must leave them with a good memory, it’s the least I can do.

‘I will always try to do the right thing, Mom. I will keep you and Sophie in my heart, and as long as I have my memories they can never separate us. As long as I’m alive you will always be with me.’

I kiss my mother’s head, and then bend down to kiss Sophie’s hair as she holds onto my waist and hides her face in my stomach. Then I have one more person left to say goodbye to—my childhood love and for the past hour my wife… Grace.

Sophie and Mom realise it’s getting late and that I would like to spend my last few hours with Grace so they reluctantly let me go. My mother has also loved Grace since she was only five years old, while Sophie has always taken her for her adopted big sister. Sometimes, when Sophie was a baby, she would cry all night and not fall asleep until I held her in my arms. I would hold her when mother would get tired and even if she was burning up with a fever, she would stop crying as soon as I held her. Grace would sit next to me and sing a lullaby that would send her to sleep, being only eight years old herself. But her voice always had a calming effect on my sister and was the best we could do for a feverish baby, as medicine was a precious luxury we could never afford. Never having seen our dad as he died before Sophie was born, I suppose I was the only father figure my sister ever had. It would give my soul comfort if I could leave Sophie and my mom with Grace to look after them, but it’s an ironic cruel twist of fate that, like myself, she is also a firstborn, Which only adds to Sophie and my mother’s anguish knowing that as well as myself, they will have to lose her also.

My eyes turn to Grace and, even though it seems like a futile gesture, our friends and family have secretly dressed her as a bride. Her hair gleaming like sunshine, her dawn blue coloured eyes, beautiful enough to even make passing angels stop and wonder, her unblemished radiant complexion, her childlike perfectly thin nose and lips and, even though she would never admit it, Grace was blessed with such a pure innocent beauty since her childhood that even if she was coughing in sickness and covered in dirt, and devoid of any sweet perfumes, or even if she hadn’t had any precious water to wash her face with, Grace remained stubbornly beautiful. Even though her mother often tried her best to disguise her with dirt marks and veil her face and hair with old rags to protect her from the prying eyes of the State, it was pointless. ‘Your beauty is a curse my daughter,’ she would say. But today, and possibly for the first time I can ever recall, Grace has actually made an effort and allowed her friends to make her look unreservedly beautiful.

No husband could be more thankful than I am at this moment. If only we were allowed to even spend a few days together. Alas, we only have a few hours left until dawn. Tonight my childhood love belongs to me; tomorrow she could belong to a wealthy Statesman as the most beautiful daughters taken by the State from believing parents are often made into State brides, and have to live a life as servants and mistresses of high ranking State officials. People had reminded us constantly so many times over the years, of the painful truth that Grace once vowed to disfigure herself on the day she was chosen to become a State bride.

I once caught her contemplating to scar her face with a knife, hoping that it would repel any wealthy Statesman from obtaining her. I promised her on my mother’s life that I will replicate whatever wound she places upon herself twice-fold.

Grace broke down in tears. ‘I only ever want to belong to you,’ she said.

I tried my best to calm her. ‘Have faith in our Lord, Grace. He will never let that happen to us, we will never be apart.

‘Joseph, please hold me. I don’t ever want this night to end, help me fight the break of dawn,’ Grace says bringing me back from my thoughts.

I try to put on a brave act, even when all courage is collapsing within me. As I put my arms around Grace she is trembling, her sweet scent and warmth fills my heart with a comfort that’s hard to describe in words, as if I was asked to imagine what heaven would feel like. At this moment, I would have to say holding on to my Grace is close enough for me. My mother stands with Sophie next to her and gestures for me to climb the steps up to the steeple where we can spend our last few precious moments together. The State guards and their trucks will rumble into our impoverished town and demand the handing over of firstborn State servants in the morning, and we will lose each other forever.

Once we reach the steeple a million stars greet us, the midnight air caresses our bodies with its refreshing cool scent. The whole town lies in front of our eyes like tiny lamps glowing, peaceful silence everywhere, all of which is soon to be snatched away from us. There is a wooden bench with some old blankets at the top of the steeple, where we sit together alone and wrap the blankets around ourselves to keep us as comfortable and warm as we can. I just want to stay in this safe serene haven with Grace at my side forever. We remain silent and watch all the distant lamps of light slowly go out as the night passes.

‘I love you, Joseph. For as long as I can remember I always have, from my earliest memories and, no matter what fate has in store for us tomorrow, I will always love you until my very last day of life.’ Grace speaks to me but her gaze is fixed on the distant town lamps.

‘There’s always hope, Grace, we must cling to hope. You know there has to be a bigger plan as to why we came into each other’s lives. Why we were born as believing firstborn children. Why have we been in love with each other since before either of us can even remember. There has to be a reason, some higher power at work for all this to happen. I mean, if we get torn apart tomorrow and never see each other again, it would be a complete waste of our lives. Please believe in me, Grace, it can’t end like this for us…’

Grace sighs and places her head on my shoulder. ‘I know, but I’m so tired of hurting…’ Her words trail off, and I kiss her forehead.

‘Sleep now, my love. Savour the last precious moments we have remaining with each other, don’t be afraid anymore.’

After a few moments, Grace has fallen asleep using my shoulder for her pillow. Although newlywed purist children sleep inside the State in complete bliss and security of their safeguarded future, we remain ever thankful for whatever little time we can spend together. I kiss Grace’s hair and am surrounded by her comforting sweet jasmine scent as she sleeps crouched on my chest. I also float away into sleep. Temporarily allowing myself some comfort in being next to my wife for possibly the last time.

Air raid sirens boom into the cold early morning air and we are both jolted awake. Grace is trembling as I hold on to her hand. ‘Have courage, Grace; don’t give them the pleasure of seeing fear in your eyes.’

Grace swallows her anxiety and gives me a reassuring nod.

‘THIS IS A STATE RAID, ALL FIRST BORN BELIEVING CHILDREN PRESENT YOURSELVES BEFORE THE STATE COURT HOUSE IMMEDIATELL!’ The all too familiar and dreaded call is announced on amplified speakers, a call that has separated every firstborn child from his family for longer than we can remember. A call that is about to separate us from our loved ones and probably each other for the rest of our remaining life. My heart trembles with an aching fear and I know Grace must be feeling the same. I know I must not allow my marriage with Grace to become known otherwise they will seize the opportunity to prolong our pain for as long as possible. And we all know the penalty for secret marriage. I just pray nobody from our town gives our secret away. I turn to Grace trying to prep her courage one last time before we leave.

‘Remember, Grace, we are children of faith… let us put our trust in God and in each other. If we are to go down then let us go down with our dignity,’ I say to her and I can see a calm enter her eyes. If there’s one thing I know for certain, Grace may not be as physically strong as I am, but she has always been just as brave; if not more. In fact, I can still remember her telling me not to cry like a girl after being stung by a bee when we were five years old. She even brought some ointment hidden from her parents and soothed it over my sting. The memory brings a muted smile to my lips.

As we head towards town centre waiting to see what our destiny has it store for us, we climb back down the steeple and see the place is empty inside, everyone has gone to attend the town square by now. Sophie and Mom will also be there, anxiously waiting for us. We step out into the small alleys leading towards the town and start running together. Latecomers are not favoured by the troop commander, who is a different soldier every year, mostly decorated veterans from the civil war. Our hands are still locked together as we desperately try to hold onto each other until our very last precious moment. Time, for some people, is a plentiful luxury they can enjoy. For us, every second is as precious and invaluable as life itself. We may only be seventeen years old, but our hardships make us feel like we’ve already lived and endured a lifetime. As we near the main street we can see crowds of people moving towards the centre of town. I bring my wife’s hand to my lips for one last kiss, and then let go of her. She looks at me longingly with pain drenched in her eyes.

‘You go on ahead. We can’t go in together, if they see us we’ll be the first ones to be separated for certain. Go!’ I urge. ‘I’ll be with you wherever they may take you.’

Grace reluctantly runs further ahead. I put distance between us but keep my eyes trained in her direction. I know it will be asking a miracle to hope that we both end up in the same State house. I can