Children of the Prime Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  She continues to shake her head, and I notice that cast of awe, of wonder, begin to seep back into her eyes like ink spreading through water.

  No, don't look at me like that!

  "Er, about what I said earlier," I continue quickly, refusing to let that expression settle on her face. "Over at grandma's. I...I didn't mean to..."

  "It's OK, Amber," she cuts in. "Jude explained things to me." She smiles again, her eyes drifting off longingly. "He said it's all just a theory you have. And you had a stressful day with...everything. I understand."

  She smiles softly, the two of us standing on either side of the window, like a mirror image of the same person, separated only by a few years. Oh how I wish our thoughts and lives could align as well. That I could be as indoctrinated as the rest of them, willing to commit to a simple life of service here by the lake.

  Would that be so bad, really? I could marry Jude, perhaps, and we could get our own little cabin. I could fish and he could hunt, and Lilly could find her own husband and live just down the shore nearby. Could I be happy like that? Knowing what I know, could I put all that aside and continue to bring tribute, to cede to any demands that flow from Olympus across the Fringe?

  "Are you OK, Amber?" Lilly's soft voice draws me from my thoughts. I find her eyes staring at me, sparkling gold as the last light of day fades. "It must have been scary today out there...in front of everyone."

  I nod slowly, remembering the terror as the searing brand drew close. "It was."

  "I was scared too," she says. "You're my sister. There's no one I love more than you."

  Her words hit me unexpectedly. I look back into her eyes and find them glistening. And through the open window, she reaches out and hugs me, wrapping her arms tight around my neck. I hear the faintest sniffs begin to sound, her body trembling a little. Then she pulls back again and looks at me for a long, tender moment.

  "I'll always love you. You know that, don't you?"

  "I..."

  "I know I'm insufferable sometimes. But...I just want to do something good in my life. I hope you understand that."

  "I...I do understand," I say, pulling her forward into a short hug once more. "You're the most special girl I know, Lillypad. And I'm sorry if I don't support you enough. You're a better person than I am, more humble and devoted to what you believe in. I just wish..."

  I cut myself off with a sigh, refusing to utter anything further. She pulls away with a question in her eyes, urging me to finish the sentence, but I don't. I merely smile and lean in, kissing her softly on the cheek.

  "I think I hear mother calling for dinner," I say, turning my eyes to the door. Lilly glances over as well, mother's voice coming quietly from outside. She looks back at me, as if wanting, needing, to say more. I reach my finger to her lips and shake my head. "Don't tell them you saw me, OK? I'd rather not face them tonight."

  She looks at me for an extended moment, a strange, sad expression on her face. It slowly forms into a muted smile, as she nods slowly, then pulls back in silence and quietly shuts the window.

  I watch her through the glass as she carefully packs away the things on her bed, placing her sculpture of the Prime onto its central position on her bedside table, ever watching over her as she sleeps. Each movement she makes with the figure in hand is careful and considered. I see a girl who's committed her life to this mysterious, false god, and can do absolutely nothing to deter her from that path.

  With a final glance towards me, and a final, plaintive smile, she slips from the room, and I creep down the side of the cabin and see her enter into the kitchen. I see father at the table, sheets of paper before him, plans for his latest invention being roughly drawn up. I see mother carrying a steaming pot from the fire, ladling bowls of broth and handing them out. I see her gather some bread, cutting slices, passing them around. I see a table set for four, one place sitting empty, the dinner table of a pious, dutiful family, minus the one black sheep who just doesn't fit in.

  I briefly consider going to join them, stepping inside through the front door and finally playing my part, but I don't. I simply watch from outside under the darkening skies, and see my mother glance to my empty chair and not even raise the question of my whereabouts.

  The sight sets an ache of sadness to my heart, my absence barely felt as they set about their dinnertime ritual, saying their prayers, politely asking one another how their days have gone. I can't hear them too well from outside, but know that my name may not even be uttered, my behaviour enough to expect that I won't always turn up for dinner.

  I watch until I can bear it no more, before turning away and heading a little way back down the shore. I reach my favourite viewing rock on the shoreline, the stone carved by time into a comfortable seat that just about fits my frame. I slip into the curved recess, my arms draped upon the smooth stone on either side, and look out over the sparkling lake as the stars begin to glow through the clouds, and the moon bathes the world below in its beautiful silvery light.

  I sit, and think, losing track of time as I so often do here. How many times have I sat here as my family enjoy their dinner? How many times have I avoided those terse dinnertime conversations, feeling so out of place amid my perfect, devout family? How many times have I gone in to hunt down any leftovers when I know everyone else has gone to sleep, creeping in so quietly so as to avoid waking my parents, avoid suffering their rebuke until morning dawns and I can stomach the debate?

  Too many times, is the only answer that comes. How sad that I feel so alienated even in my own home, burdened by a truth that so few people know, or will ever be willing to admit.

  I shake such thoughts from my head, trying to dull my mind. I sit instead and focus on the beauty of what lies around me; on the sparkling lake, the grand shadows of the mountains, the little lights that twinkle along the bank. I listen to the natural sounds of the insects clicking and water lapping, draw in the sweet smells of the lake and pinewoods beyond. I take it all in, and a smile forms on my face.

  No, this isn't so bad at all.

  I drift away there in that little nook in the rock, falling into uncomfortable dreams as I give way to my subconscious. Memories come flooding in broken snippets. Memories of the ceremony that day, of all those staring faces and bowing bodies. Of that searing brand approaching my cheek. Of Jude calling out as he tries to reach me. Of Lilly's stunned face, eyes streaming, staring at me in awe as she sees the unburned flesh of my cheek.

  My thoughts settle on my sister, on the look on Ceres's face as he saw her in the crowd. Of the memory that seemed to cross it. Of the whisper he spoke into Lilly's ear.

  What did he say to her? I wonder. What is he going to do?

  My pulse seems to quicken as the pieces begin to form into a picture. As I recall Lilly's words to me outside her window, her rare affection towards me. As she spoke of wanting to do something good in her life.

  It seemed almost like...like a goodbye.

  The thought crashes through my mind, waking me from my sleep. My eyes open wide to find sunlight pouring from the heavens, the lake alive with little fishing boats dotting the distant shore. I press myself achingly off the rock, my muscles sore, my eyes the same as I squint and turn towards my cabin in the distance.

  I begin moving towards it, feeling a pulse of foreboding throb through me. My legs thaw and work into a run as I crunch down the coast, searching for any signs of my family outside the house, trying to spot movement within.

  I reach it, panting as I hurry around the front, bursting into the kitchen to find my parents sitting down for breakfast at the table. They lift their eyes to mine. I scan past my father's, ever-stoic, and to my mother's. I see eyes of pride, though not for me. Eyes rimmed with red. I know immediately that she's been crying.

  I look past them to Lilly's room down the corridor. Her door lies open. Through the threshold I can see to her bedside table, bereft now of her carved figure of the Prime.

  My eyes switch to my mother, widening as a terrible reali
sation falls. "Where is she?" I breathe, my voice heavy with anxiety.

  I get no answer, nothing but a weak smile and subsequent dip of those proud, teary eyes.

  I turn to my father.

  "Father, where's Lilly!"

  He regards me impassively, jaw fixed and rarely unshaven, as if he hasn't yet had time this morning. Those eyes, however, hold a similar cast to my mother's, only manifested through his own sense of masculinity.

  "Father!" I repeat. "Where is my sister!"

  He raises his chin a little, lips parting. And then he utters a single word that cuts right through my heart.

  "Gone."

  7

  I stare at my father, aghast. "Gone," I say. "What do you mean, gone!"

  He licks his lips awkwardly, glancing over at my mother. Her own eyes lift again, smile attempting to form. He places a comforting arm over her back, about the closest they come to affection these days.

  "You should be proud of her, Amber," father says, managing to form a smile of his own. "Your sister has been found worthy. She is to live out her days in Olympus."

  A tremor of queasiness erupts from my gut, threatening to have me vomiting all over the table where they sit. My legs shudder, knees weakening, a wave of dizziness assaulting my head. I step forward and plant my hands on the table to steady myself, enough to have my mother drawing back in alarm.

  I shut my eyes to steady the shock, then open them up and glare right at the man and woman who brought me into this world. "You let her go to that place?" I growl.

  The frown that forms on father's face is deeper than the lake outside our door. He stands up suddenly from his seat, enough to have his chair tumbling back onto the floor behind him, and my mother yelping feebly at the suddenness of it all.

  "Let her go!" he bellows, voice straining under the rare effort. "She has attained a great honour, Amber. One that you have never even attempted to achieve. How dare you stand there and pour scorn on her achievement!"

  I have to shut my eyes again, my hands gripping tight at the edge of the table. I steady myself before answering, afraid of just what I might say.

  "Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?" comes my father's voice once again, a little quieter now and evidently unable to keep up the passion.

  I draw a long breath and say a few calming internal words. Then I open my eyes, stare my father right in the eye, and merely shake my head.

  "What does that mean?" he demands.

  I begin walking past him, heading down the corridor.

  "Don't walk away from me, Amber! Just where do you think you're going? We should be celebrating!"

  His voice fades off as I enter into Lilly's room. I find the place neatly arranged as it always is, all available surfaces covered in little wooden figurines. I recognise a couple of Ceres, several others representing other officials from Olympus, the Heralds and the Chosen, a number of uniformed soldiers.

  I see a girl obsessed - utterly obsessed - with the Children of the Prime and those who hail from Olympus. A girl whose great goal in life has been to see them up close, to serve them up close, to bask in their magnificence and divinity and live right there among them.

  I feel a pulse of helplessness begin to seep into my blood as I scan the room and see that other items are now absent. Some of her favourite sculptures have been taken. Her pretty dresses and clothes, weaved by mother, aren't folded away in her drawers, or hanging in her wardrobe. The stamp of my sister has been ripped from the room, leaving a shell behind. Leaving me behind.

  Tears gather in my eyes as I hear footsteps behind me. A voice follows, more softly now as it spreads into the room.

  "I know you'll miss her, Amber. We all will. But please find it in yourself to be pleased for her, proud of her. This is something she's always wanted."

  I turn to face my father, standing in the doorway. His stern expression has adopted a smoother edge, his eyes showing some sympathy now. He takes a step forward, and I take a step back.

  "When did she leave?" I ask, eyes steadfast to his. "When, father!"

  He lifts his chin again, an affectation I've never much liked, one he uses when dealing with difficult questions, considering difficult answers. He delays a moment, and I pose the question once more, my voice boiling with a little more fervour.

  "An hour or two ago," he says eventually, chin still raised, eyes looking down.

  I know he's lying, or reframing the truth. I know she left more recently than that.

  "She went alone?" I demand.

  "No. They came to collect her."

  "Who!"

  "Who do you think, Amber? Ceres's men. What does it matter anyway?"

  I feel my lip begin to quiver, the motion forced by a mixture of anger and grief. My sister. My dear sister. Gone.

  "She didn't even say goodbye," I whisper to myself, eyes falling to the wooden floor.

  I hear my father take several paces forward. He stops one short of me, too awkward to give me a hug. A hand lands tentatively on my shoulder instead. His voice comes with a consoling whisper.

  "She knew you'd try to stop her," he says softly. "She knows how you feel about all this."

  "I..."

  "Be happy for her, Amber," he goes on. "I know it hurts right now, but in time you'll realise that this was the best thing for her."

  The best thing for her. To serve, to worship, to live at the heart of a lie.

  No.

  A renewed energy fills me, and I brush right past my father once more. I pace through the door to my own room, stepping past my mother who watches tearfully from the corridor, arms wrapped around herself as tears gather in her eyes.

  "Amber," comes my father's voice. "Please don't do anything stupid..."

  I'm no longer listening. My eyes fly towards an empty backpack, and my hands are quickly upon it. I reach a dresser and begin pulling open drawers, filling the bag up with clothes in a blur. My father's voice comes once more, indistinct, ignored. My mother's tears and light sobs set the backdrop as I march around, gathering essential items.

  I turn, once done, and head back towards the kitchen, trailing two worried parents in my wake. I pack bread and fresh fruit, dried meats and fish. Within a few moments, my bag is full to bursting and I'm swinging it onto my back, heading for the door.

  I feel a hand grip at my arm and pull me back, turning me around. "Amber," my father bellows, voice growing loud once more, "what on earth are you doing! Think for a moment. Look at your mother!"

  I turn to my mother, bleary eyed, disconsolate as she watches me, but only briefly. I can't look at either of them long or may begin to doubt myself. I drag my arm away with a grunt, but my father's too strong. He manages to keep hold of my wrist, his spare hand trying to reach around and pull the bag from my back, disarm me of my supplies.

  We enter into a brief struggle as I tug and pull, trying to extricate myself from his grip. Mother squeaks in the background, her sobs growing louder, my father urging me to calm down and gather my wits.

  I weaken my attempts to pull away, but only to lure him into a false sense of security. When his grip relaxes, I rip my arm away once again, managing to get fully free this time. I take a quick pace towards the door, but once more am tugged back as he manages to grab hold of my backpack.

  My legs all but give way beneath me as I slip, falling backwards and a little off to the side. I reach out to steady myself, hands instinctively feeling for something to halt my motion, stop me from tumbling to the cold kitchen floor. I stumble away to the right, a pot of hot water steaming over the stove against the wall. Mother shrieks as I crash into it, knocking the pot and sending boiling water splashing to the floor.

  My hands take a grip of the searing metal grate on which the pot sat. Beneath it, the fire crackles quietly, the flames licking up from below, teasing at my flesh. I feel the instinctive urge to pull immediately away, but don't. I hear mother scream as she sees me there, hands all but in the fire, fingers gripping to the metal grate
that's hot enough to sear flesh.

  But not mine.

  I just stop, and stare for a moment at my hands, at the flames tickling my skin. I tighten my grip on the grate, my knuckles going white, feeling no pain from the heat, no discomfort but a mild feeling of warmth from the fire. A flurry of frantic voices sound behind me, and I feel my father's hands grab at my shoulders, pulling me out of the flame.

  My fingers stay gripped to the grate, taking it with me.

  "Drop it, Amber!" father calls. "Your hands! Drop it!"

  I hold on, just staring at the metal grate, glowing orange where its most hot. A strange smile rises on my face at the feeling of power, of invulnerability.

  "Amber, let go!" mother's voice breaks free, shrieking loudly into the room. She hurries towards me suddenly, reaching out to try to pull away the grate from my fingers. She tries to take a grip, but can't, her fingers pulling right back from the scorching metal, a yelp escaping her lips.

  The room falls silent but for the sound of panting breaths. My parents look at me, not knowing what to do, not understanding why I won't let go. I stand before them, face calm and detached, and finally drop the grate to the floor.

  It lands with a dull thud on the wooden boards, my parents staring at my hands in shock. Slowly, I turn them over, revealing my unburned flesh, smooth and soft as ever. A light sigh escapes mother, her mouth agape. Her body seems to give way, and she falls backwards, dropping into a chair, father hurrying to stop her from fainting.

  I stand above them, my hands opened up. Gradually, I draw them to my sides once more, my parents' eyes following like a dog's gaze following food.

  "I'm going after Lilly," I say, my voice suddenly so composed, breaking the momentary silence. "You worship a lie. All of you do. I refuse to let my sister live like that."

  I turn, shuffling my bag back into position, and begin stepping towards the door.

  "You're..." I hear my father whisper. "You're a..."

  I stop, but don't turn. I wait for him to continue.