by T. C. Edge
"Washington, darling!" exclaims grandma, hurrying on her old legs towards the goat, who greets her with the sort of excitement you'd only expect from a pet dog.
In actual fact, Washington isn't so much a pet, as a friend, according to grandma. They 'co-habit' here, as she's more than happy to tell people, though I suspect that she takes care of most of the daily chores.
Hmmm. Perhaps she is a little mad.
She bends down and gives him a hug, wrapping spindly arms around the goat's neck. For all my grandmother's eccentricities, I've often found her love of Washington the most amusing.
"Come, come and say hi," she says animatedly, gesturing us over.
We all move in and pet Washington, who taps his hooves in a little excited dance. Lilly giggles as the goat moves in to lick her face, dragging a sodden tongue across her cheek. It's a sound I so rarely hear from her mouth, one I cherish when it comes. When Washington attempts the same greeting on me, however, I'm fully prepared to step back and avoid it.
We continue towards the hut, the outside adorned with all manner of little embellishments and decorations, Washington trotting happily alongside us as grandma leads the way. Mostly, it's flowers and verdant vegetation that sparkle as they catch the light, but there are pots of vegetables here too, and fruit trees in a little orchard to one side.
Grandma has purposely made herself self-sufficient here, relying on nothing but her own wit and instincts to survive. I've worried about that often. If Collector Ceres ever discovered that she wasn't properly contributing to the wider community, or bringing tributes to the collection - which she hasn't for a while - then she might find herself in trouble.
If ever I urge her to provide some fruits or vegetables at least, and even offer to come collect it for her to bring to the monthly collection ceremony, she denies me.
"If they come for me, they come for me," she always says with a nonchalant smile. "I refuse to bend to their rule."
Alberta, my grandmother, is very much my idol.
The cabin isn't large inside, but it's homely and comfortable. Crafted by her own hand many years before, she's done a tremendous job forming a welcoming little sitting area to one side, a rudimentary kitchen to another, and a little annex that includes her bed and bathroom. She's even managed to install a plumbing system that keeps the place sanitary, and has devised a impressive air-conditioning system too to keep it cool in summer.
She's tried explaining the dynamics of how it all works to me a dozen times, but I just don't have the mind for it. It seems my father, her son, inherited all of her inventiveness and left none to pass on down to me or Lilly. Over at our little home by the main lake in the region, he's always creating new ways of catching fish more efficiently.
We step in on creaking floorboards, the light streaming in through the windows and setting a pleasant glow to the warm wooden interior. Grandma sets a pot to the boil for tea as Lilly and Washington continue to get reacquainted. I take a seat beside Jude on a little couch meant for two, easing into the comfortable chair, watching the dynamics of my dysfunctional family with an odd little smile on my face.
I've always liked coming here, though my visits have been less frequent of late. Grandma's relationship with my father, and mother, has all but broken down over the years, largely owing to her influence on me. They now fear that she'll 'corrupt' Lilly to her way of thinking as well, turning her from the path of a good Devotee, and someone who might even rise to the status of the Worthy one day.
As far as I'm concerned, it's an aspiration that means only further servitude, and less freedom. To be invited behind the walls of Olympus and worship the Children of the Prime at closer proximity. To spend a life in that grand, mysterious place away from your family and friends, existing only to massage the egos of men and women who, as grandma always tells me, aren't the gods and goddesses, the divine beings, they believe themselves to be.
No, I know different. I choose to believe what my grandmother has always told me: that these so-called gods and goddesses are nothing more than man-made products of an ancient science. That there was nothing natural about how they evolved the special powers and gifts they possess. That this world we live in was once so very different, and we exist only as the final embers of something once so vibrant and widespread, living in the ruins of the old world.
Yet, across the Fringe, most choose to believe otherwise, or simply don't know any better. They buy into the propaganda of Olympus. They live their lives in service, as good Devotees, happy to be blinkered and ignorant of the truth of our past. And for that, I can't really blame them. Questioning the Prime and his followers means being branded Defiant. It means being taken from your home and suffering the consequences of your insubordination, your temerity to question the word of the all-powerful ruler of these lands.
It means, above all, that very few - though they may harbour their own doubts - speak out against the mistruths that seep from Olympus's mighty walls. And grandma, though she has convinced me of the truth, has rarely spoken to others about what she knows and believes.
To do so might seal not only her own fate, but mine as well. And thus here, and only here in this cabin, do such quiet discussions take place. Away from prying eyes and ears. Away from those who might consider such talk an act of incitement against our northern rulers.
A rattling across the cabin draws my gaze, and I look up to find grandma stepping in with a tray laded with teapot and rudimentary wooden cups. She sets it down on a table between the chairs in the little sitting room, and Lilly abandons Washington in eager pursuit of the plate of cakes and cookies that comes too.
I watch my little sister grab a cookie and devour it hungrily, a grin on her face, a childlike enthusiasm taking hold of her. Part of me wishes that grandma would spend more time trying to enlighten her, as she did me. For Lilly to step away from her ardent devotion to the Prime and become a little more openminded and questioning of the true nature of our world.
But, another part doesn't wish that. Another part is happy for her to stay to this path, to keep out of trouble, to do what makes her happy. Thinking as I do, and as grandma and Jude do as well, is dangerous.
My love for Lilly ever battles with my desire to wake her to the truth.
A brief quiet takes hold as we each take a cake and cup of tea, sitting in silent reflection. I can sense that my companions' thoughts remain on me, though no one seems quite willing to draw attention to what happened quite yet. Our trek here through the woods was an exercise in avoiding the topic, grandma skilfully distracting us the whole way with a range of wild stories and anecdotes, and educative remarks about the local flora and fauna.
Now, however, there's nothing to stop the topic from being brought into the open. Honestly, I'd rather just forget the entire thing and move on.
"Why didn't Amber's face burn?" asks Lilly, speaking as she chews on her final bite of cookie. The question comes suddenly, directed specifically at our grandmother.
Grandma casually regards Lilly with a calm smile as my sister's eyebrows draw back together into a querying frown. It's an expression she so often portrays, especially when lecturing me on my lack of enthusiasm and devotion to the Prime, his children, and the residents of Olympus. She looks over at me again, eyes falling to my cheek, before working back to grandma.
Our grandmother slowly draws her cup to her lips, takes a sip, and then places it back down onto the table.
"It's hard to say for sure, Lillypad," she says, glancing over at me as she speaks. It's a quick flick of the eyes, but enough to show me that she's not quite willing to speak her mind in front of Lilly. It's been like that for years. Though she's always been happy to speak plainly with me, she seems quite reticent to do the same with my sister.
"That's it?" Lilly says, leaning forward and shrugging. "That wasn't normal, grandma." She looks at me again, gazing at my face in a way she never has before. A way that makes me quite uncomfortable, as if I'm somehow changed in her eyes now. "She's...not li
ke us, is she?"
"Not like us?" I say, sitting up. "Lil, don't do that. I can see it already. You're putting me on a pedestal that I don't deserve."
"But, Amber, there's obviously something different about you. It's as they say, as they preach to us. Some of us have divinity in our blood, locked away inside. Maybe you do too. Maybe what happened today just awakened it?"
Grandma nods slowly, the movement enough to draw our eyes as she hums gently. "She isn't wrong, Amber," she says calmly, the usually croaky edges of her voice smoothing out. "Many of us have hidden gifts, shackled within us. For most they will never be set free. Even across the Fringe, there are more people than we may ever know who have the potential to ascend."
"Ascend," says Lilly. "You mean, join the ranks of Olympus?"
"Yes, darling," says grandma. She draws a breath, keen to choose her words carefully under Lilly's questioning gaze. "Our society is symbiotic. The residents of Olympus need us in order to survive. They make themselves out to be gods and goddesses and claim that they are divine so that we comply, provide for them, worship them. But..."
She stops, holding her tongue, as I see Lilly's frown deepen. Grandma is ever careful to not destroy Lilly's belief system. Already, I can see my sister's expression shaping in distress at our grandmother's heretical words.
"But...what?" Lilly asks softly.
I share a glance with grandma, Jude sitting quietly next to me as though keen to avoid becoming embroiled in our rather complicated family dynamics. Usually, Jude isn't short of a word or two on this topic, though as with grandma, Lilly's presence tends to hold such discussions at bay.
"Nothing, Lillypad," says grandma with a smile. "I'm just saying that things aren't quite so black and white as they seem. There are many among us who are no different to the Children of the Prime, but who will only ever be seen as Devotees. Society here is made to function that way. It is more artificial than it appears."
Lilly's frown continues to deepen, though there's something in her eyes that, at least, suggests she understands. She begins to nod slowly, then looks back to me.
"So Amber is one," she says. "She could ascend, be awakened? And that's why Ceres left so quickly when she didn't burn?"
"I'm not ascending anywhere," I say sharply, sitting back and folding my arms. "OK, so my face didn't burn. Big deal. What does that actually mean? I have the ability to withstand fire or something? What use is that? And anyway, maybe Lilly has it too?" I look to our grandmother. "It's all from the past, you always say. Old genetic engineering, creating people with strange biological abilities and gifts. If I have this in my genes, then don't we all, seeing as we're from the same bloodline?"
Grandma nods slowly. "Perhaps," she says. "Though it's rare for anything to awaken in us, Amber. It doesn't mean it will happen to your father, or Lilly, or any children you might have..."
"What's genetic engineering?" asks Lilly suddenly, cutting our grandmother off. We turn to her again and find a face of bewilderment staring at us. "Are you saying that all this is man-made somehow?" She recoils at the idea, leaning back and scrunching up her nose.
"That's...one option," says grandma.
"And that's what you believe?" asks Lilly, pressing us, staring at each of us in turn. She looks truly offended by the idea, one that we've kept from her for this very reason. Though she's fully aware that we're not good Devotees, to actively denounce what the Children of the Prime preach to us is heresy worthy of execution.
A short silence falls as grandma prepares to draw things back, to pander to Lilly's perspective as we're always forced to do. But frankly, I've had enough of that. After the day we've had, I'm having some trouble holding my tongue.
So, perhaps inadvisedly, I break, uttering things that I've ever tried to hold at bay.
"Yes," I say firmly, looking my sister straight in the eye. "That is exactly what we believe, Lilly. The Children of the Prime are just byproducts of old scientific experiments. They are not divine. They are not special. They are not worth any more than all the people of Pine Lake, or across the entire Fringe and beyond. And no, we shouldn't have to live our lives in service of them. That is what we believe."
Lilly stares at me for a long, drawn out moment as my words fill the room. I see grandma shaking her head in light rebuke out of the corner of my eye. Jude shuffles uncomfortably, easing a little away from me on the sofa. Lilly's eyes refuse to blink, threaten to water, and then craft themselves into a cast of intense anger and disappointment.
After a long moment, she suddenly thaws, shakes her head violently, and storms right out of the cabin.
"Lil..."
I get set to stand and follow, but Jude springs up first.
"Don't," he says. "Let me. I'll take her back home and smooth things out." He offers grandma a kind smile. "It was a pleasure to see you, Alberta. And you, of course, Washington," he adds, turning to pet the goat, sitting like a dog beside her.
He leaves the room at that, rushing swiftly out into the afternoon sunshine in pursuit of my sister.
I hear my grandma draw a sigh, and turn to look at her.
"And that," she says, "is why I've never shared the truth with your sister."
5
"Here you are, darling, have another cookie. It makes things better. It always does."
Despite the fact that my appetite has well and truly fled me, I take the cookie from the plate and begin to munch absentmindedly, staring at the door both Lilly and Jude have just vacated.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my grandmother rising from her chair and heading off to the kitchen.
A moment later, she returns with a stained glass bottle filled with a murky brown liquid. Our cups of tea are quickly emptied into Washington's drinking bowl - apparently he enjoys the stuff - and refilled with grandma's home-brew liquor. I haven't partaken in it regularly, and honestly don't much like it, but this particular day is certainly calling for it.
"Now, Amber," grandma says, turning on her 'serious' voice, "it's time to get real here."
She hands me a cup and gestures for me to drink. I do so at her behest, the acrid liquid burning down my throat. But in a good way.
"I have something to tell you, honey," grandma goes on, leaning into her armchair like a sage old lady preparing to lay down some home truths. "I don't know why I never mentioned this before, but I suppose I never found the right time. And, well, to be perfectly honest, I didn't really want you to find out..."
"Find out what?" I ask, my interest piqued. I take another swig of the brown stuff and set my gaze on my grandmother intently.
"That," grandma says, "I always knew you had fire in your blood."
I frown, cocking my head to one side skeptically. "Fire in my blood?" I say. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I knew fire couldn't hurt you, that it runs deep in your veins. Just as it does mine."
I lean back, a ripple of shock spreading through me at the sudden revelation, so casually laid down. My grandmother merely regards me with a nonchalant expression upon her face, as though we're discussing nothing more important than the weather.
"You...you..." I begin, my eyes hiding behind a deeply furrowed brow, my mind struggling to gather words into a coherent sentence.
Grandma just smiles and nods. "Yes, me," she says. "I've known almost all my life what I am, Amber. And I've known almost all of yours what you are, too. There's a reason I feel such a closeness to you, above all, darling. There's a reason I've always been honest with you, and no other. We are no different to those living behind the walls of Olympus, you and I. And I'm damned if I'm going to pay fealty to them after what they did to me..."
She trails off, eyes darkening and fading off into the middle distance for a moment. When they return, her smile has warmed the room again, giving me no time to chase up on her cryptic remark.
"But father..." I say, my mind rushing ahead once more. "Is he..."
She shakes her head.
"And Lil?"
&n
bsp; She continues to sway her head from side to side. "Only the two of us among our bloodline have seen these powers manifest, Amber. Lilly has found her purpose in life as a faithful Devotee. I saw no need to try to turn her from that path."
"But she worships a lie!" I say, my voice rising in volume. "It's no way to live..."
"It's the only way to live for most of us," grandma retorts quickly. "There's no way for us to affect how the world is run in these lands, darling. They belong to the Prime and his children. We are little more than grains of sand on a beach, and can do nothing but blend in with the rest. I didn't tell you what you were because I knew it didn't matter, and I hoped you'd never find out. And Lilly," she says, dipping her eyes. "She's happy as she is. Destroying what she believes in isn't going to help. This is a burden we have to live with."
I stare at my grandmother, this woman who's always been my idol, and see her in a new light. This woman thought mad by the local community, who's mocked and ridiculed behind her back for the things she does, the way she lives. This woman who, I've always thought, builds upon her layers of eccentricity as a cover, so that the things she truly believes are never taken seriously if they're ever discovered. To protect those she loves from the things she knows.
I stare at her and see someone far deeper than even I ever thought. A woman with a past I don't yet know. A woman who could, who should, be counted among the men and women of Olympus. A woman who the residents of Pine Lake might, in other circumstances, worship alongside the other Children of the Prime.
And, staring at her, I feel closer to her than ever.
"How did you know?" I ask her softly. "About me?"
She smiles reminiscently, and stands from her little armchair. She takes a step towards me and sits down next to me on the sofa, taking my left hand tenderly. She lifts it up, turning it over, fondly inspecting my fingers.