by T. C. Edge
"They cut the Herald's heads?" I ask, surprised by the revelation. "All of them?"
"Well, no, not all," the old man says. "Only the Heralds of Awakening. Those tasked with seeking out the divinity locked within. They carry the markings of the Prime, as it is they who perform the work of unshackling the divine power hidden within certain men and women who are candidates for ascension."
I get a glance from Jude at that, urging me not to speak my mind on the topic.
There is no divinity within, I think, only unactivated, genetically enhanced genes. Apparently, these Heralds of Awakening are able to activate those dormant genes, thus bringing out people's hidden powers and gifts. Or, as they believe, their 'divinity' and 'godliness'.
I look once more at the ten in prayer, and the statue they surround. I notice, now, upon the chest of the statue, the markings of the Prime, those that decorate our flags and banners, and are, apparently, carved right into the flesh of some of the Prime's senior acolytes.
They're simple markings, really. A figure of '8', turned on its side, with a jagged line - a crude depiction of a lightning bolt - drawn vertically through the 8's centre. Everyone across the Fringe knows the meaning of those markings. The sideways 8 is a representation of both unity and perfectionism, much the same as the ten men and women currently in prayer. The lightning bolt, however, represents supernatural and divine gifts, as well as the nature of destruction and cleansing lands of the impure.
It is, essentially, a symbol for gods and goddesses. And no one across the Fringe, no Devotee, is permitted to wear the markings upon their clothes or flesh. Only on banners and statues and decorations of worship can those special symbols be drawn and carved.
The rain continues to build as we stand there under cover, watching the Devotees genuflect and pray, their humming starting to fade as the din of the deluge grows. I turn back to the old man, eager to learn more.
"How many are there?" I ask. "There are conflicting reports back in Pine Lake."
"Ah, so you're from Pine Lake," the man says. "Yes, that looks right by your garb. How many what, my dear?"
"Heralds of Awakening. I've heard there are up to twelve of them. Other people say there are less."
"Well, it's understandable that you hear differing reports, child. No one is entirely sure of how many there are. There are many mysteries in Olympus that we mortals are not privy to. And nor should we be."
Mortals. Pfft. What nonsense.
"And...the other Heralds?" asks Jude, evidently keen to cut in before I react. "The Heralds of War don't have the markings cut into their foreheads?"
"No, they do not," says the old man. "They bear enough scars as it is with the great feats they accomplish." He looks around the square, searching through the groups huddled in conversation. "Herald Perses passed by only yesterday," he says. "We haven't seen the like for many years. A true honour to see him in the flesh, if only from a distance."
"Herald Perses," Jude says, eyes widening a little. "He's the chief Herald of War isn't he?"
The old man sighs and shakes his head as he looks at Jude. "You Pine Lakers know so little," he says. "Yes, Herald Perses is the Prime's most devastating weapon. He brings death and destruction wherever he goes."
"And where is he going?" I ask.
"East of here," the old man says. "Rumour has reached us of a minor revolt in a town at the western centre of the Fringe. Herald Perses has gone to quell it."
"Seems like low level work for a man like that," I say.
"A man?" says the old man, frown falling, kindliness beginning to evaporate. I sense his aggravation growing at our ignorance and what he probably perceives as a lack of respect and piety. Well, he wouldn't be wrong there. "Herald Perses is no man," he goes on. "He is a great deity, a Son of the Prime. You must never speak of him in such a way."
I can't help but roll my eyes at that, and even let out a little, amused huff. It seems that doing so is a rather significant mistake, given the old man's reaction. His eyes bulge, jaw clenching, wrinkles deepening in fury. His eyes work quickly towards the north, and I see him bow his old back, dipping his head towards the statue around which the ten continue to pray.
"Forgive these two for their ignorance, oh great and wise father," he says, speaking loudly over the growing storm. "They know not what they say, Prime of this world. They are young and will learn to..."
"He can't hear you, you know," I find myself saying. "You're only talking to yourself."
Jude grabs my arm, whispering harshly. "Amber! Keep quiet..."
The old man looks at me, completely shocked and appalled. "How...how dare you..."
"Well, quite easily," I say. "I don't consider it that daring at all, if I'm quite honest." I shake my head, exasperated by all of this. The constant humming of the ten at prayer. The absolute delusions of this kind but, frankly, ridiculous old man. The stiff postures and absurd piety of this entire town. It's just too much, like Pine Lake on steroids, and I can't take it anymore. "I feel like I'm the only sane person in a world gone mad," I grumble, huffing and looking out at the men and women surrounding the statue. "It's just ridicu..."
I feel myself tugged away sharply, Jude grabbing my arm and drawing me into the pouring rain before I can finish the sentence. I catch a final glimpse of the old man as I'm hauled off, staring wide eyed and slack jawed for a moment as he watches us go.
Then, a moment later, his face erupts in indignation and anger. I notice him gesturing towards others, stepping gingerly out into the rain and gesticulating more passionately than is probably appropriate around here. They seem to take note, the old man's almost manic behaviour clearly enough to suggest he's suffered great insult.
In fact, it looks as if...as if he's trying to gather a mob to chase us down!
You and your big mouth, I think, as Jude draws me into a jog, hauling me out of the square and up a street to the north. We splash through quickly accumulating puddles, passing townspeople hiding undercover as the rains continue to fall in increasingly dense and relentless waves.
We reach a small alcove and move into cover, Jude's eyes turning back to see if anyone might be in pursuit. He takes my arm firmly, intense eyes boring into me as he presses me against a wall.
"What the hell did I say about letting me do the talking?" he says. "You can't say things like that around here, Amber! You could get us both killed!"
"Killed? Come on, Jude."
"No, don't 'come on' me," he says, displaying a rare anger towards me. "You haven't travelled like I have. You haven't seen first hand just how quickly things can escalate here if you step out of line."
"Well, I kinda have," I retort. "It was only two days ago that Ceres tried to brand me in front of the whole of Pine Lake! And all because I laughed a little."
Jude opens up his arms, widens his eyes, and nods pointedly. "Exactly!" he says. "You were nearly branded Defiant only two days ago, and still you can't keep your damn mouth shut. Don't you ever learn, Amber?"
"Why the hell should I learn," I say, beginning to crumble under Jude's increasingly harsh rebuke. "I've got fire in my blood, Jude! If these people knew, they'd be on their knees worshipping me."
"And that's what you want? Is that why you're really going to Olympus? To become one of them?"
I flatten out my stare, my chest heaving. A crack of thunder holds back my voice a moment, rumbling off into the skies. When I speak, my voice is low, wounded, disappointed by the question.
"How can you even ask that of me," I say. "You know how I feel. I can't believe you'd even suggest that..."
I shake my head, and see the change spread across his expression. His anger withdraws immediately, pulling away like fingers from the fire. Slowly, he nods and takes a sharp breath, before centring his gaze on me again.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," he says. "I just need you to be more careful with what you say, Amber. You may be different, but I'm not. There's nothing to stop me being branded Defiant, or worse. Just...remember t
hat."
I feel a cold stab in my gut, realising how right he is. And how much damage my words can do, not just to me, but to my best friend, my only real friend. I step forward and quickly wrap him up tight, burying my head into his chest.
"You're right," I say. "I know I have to be more careful. And you..." I draw back and look into his eyes. "You're the last person I'd want to put in harm's way. I'd sooner die than..."
I trail off, realising I'm about to utter a deluge of soppy words to match the rainfall above. Instead I look away, turning my eyes back down the street. Through the rains I can hear the faint noise of voices gathering, approaching in our direction.
"We need to get out of here," Jude says, voice sober, but eyes alert. "The storm will help us..."
"What about your contacts?" I ask, as we begin moving off again.
He shakes his head. "No one will help us now," he says. "Heretics are worse than murderers around here."
"So?" I ask weakly, feeling more stupid than ever for causing this entire mess. "What do we do?"
"We don't have much of a choice," Jude says. "We run. And hope for the best."
11
It's amazing how quickly a mob can gather, I think as we rush through the town of Black Ridge, hearing voices begin to build behind us. They're muted by the rainfall, and occasionally concealed completely by the thunder, but it's fairly clear that a respectable group has now taken it upon themselves to either hunt us down, or chase us out of town.
I think that the latter is wishful thinking.
"What do we do if they catch us?" I ask, panting as we run, navigating down tighter streets in a bid to lose them.
Jude's voice continues to hum with a suppressed annoyance when he speaks, and that's totally understandable. If anyone recognises him, then his ability to trade here, and even gain access beyond the town onto the Sacred Plains, will be stripped away. And, well, that's the best case scenario. The idea of seeing him branded Defiant, or worse, isn't something I want to consider.
Especially considering this is all my fault.
"I guess we try to deny it," he says. "It's our word against the old man's."
"We know who they'll believe," I say quietly.
Jude shoots me a quick glare. "Well then," he says. "Maybe you'd have to display your party trick. That might get them off our case."
I go quiet at that. Frankly, the last thing I want are these crazed Devotees looking at me like I'm something I'm not. So, I'm a Fire-Blood, a sort of Elemental, according to grandma, but that means nothing to me. I'd never even know it if I hadn't had that scorching metal rod pressed to my damn cheek...
We pace onwards, watched along our path by residents hiding in their houses as the rains pass by. I imagine that they'll have no idea what's going on, but will surely connect the dots and help point the mob in the right direction should they venture this way.
Within a few minutes, I'm getting slightly disorientated by the winding streets, some of them narrow, others a fair bit wider. Unlike Pine Lake, which is built in a more basic grid formation, this place is a veritable maze, and much larger to boot. I look at Jude again, and consider asking him if he knows where he's going. The intense expression on his face makes me forget the idea, afraid of being snapped at again.
Amazingly, he doesn't appear fatigued at all either. Already, my lungs feel like they're internally combusting, my chest heaving as it tries to supply me with enough oxygen so that I don't pass out. At this pace, that seems inevitable at some point soon. And the last thing I want to do is let Jude down - again - by passing out and becoming a dead weight for him to carry.
But, he seems...fine. He's barely even breathing heavily, this sort of exertion clearly nothing to him. His work as a hunter has evidently provided him with a fantastic capacity for pace and endurance.
Observant as always, however, he notes my growing discomfort, and begins to slow down just a touch.
"It's OK," I breathe. "I can keep...going..."
He forcibly stops me, dragging me under cover again. "Take a breath," he says. "Long, deep breaths. We'll continue a bit slower. The northern edge of town isn't far from here."
I nod, unable to argue. Several gulps of air are hauled into my burning lungs. "Will there...be...guards there?" I ask.
"A few," he says. "But they're not gifted or anything. They're just Devotees assigned to watch the northern border. We'll get through, don't worry."
His confidence gives me confidence. I smile through my feeble panting and hate that I've put him in this position.
"I'm so sorry," I say. "I'm ruining everything...aren't I?"
Despite it all, that signature, lopsided grin appears on his gorgeous face, a light within the growing gloom. "Don't fish for a nice sentiment, Goldie," he says. "You know I'd do anything for you."
"There it is," I grin. "I just needed to hear it."
He laughs, a little too loudly, before slapping his hand over his mouth to cover the sound. I giggle at that, a much needed release. Then we steel our eyes and expressions, nod at one another, and continue on our way at a slightly more gentle pace.
It doesn't take too long for my lungs to begin complaining again, my thighs burning as we rush onward, working near to the face of the cliff that flanks the western edge of town. I try to focus on the sounds behind us, but find that the voices have begun to calm and die away. Above, eyes watch from the cover of balconies, several tiers of streets cut into the rock. They peruse us with frowns, a clear sign that two people running northward through the tight streets of Black Ridge is a rare sight indeed. And, dressed in outlander gear, we're rather more conspicuous than I'd like.
A thought comes to mind as we hurry along the westernmost street, the cliff looming above us. I grab Jude's arm and reference the lines of shops that seem to litter the streets here, many of them with clothing hanging outside and just undercover of the rain. Several shopkeepers seem to be collecting their wares and drawing them further into their premises as the rains continue to intensify. I spot a chance and creep in when one isn't looking, snatching away a couple of light brown cloaks, with attached hoods, and hurrying quickly onwards.
With Jude following right behind me, we manage to slip away just in time, the shopkeeper clearly too busy to notice the thievery. I toss one of the cloaks to Jude, who quickly pulls it on, drawing the hood over his head. I do the same as we stop beneath an arch over a connecting side-street, catching our breath and listening once more for our pursuers.
"Good thinking," Jude says as I pull the hood over my head, concealing my face. "We'll blend in now."
I smile, happy to have done something right. Even though that something was stealing from a poor shopkeeper.
Out of the rain, we listen for the sounds of pursuit. I hear nothing now, no large gathering rushing our way.
"Did we lose them?" I ask, trying to hear through the downpour.
"Maybe," Jude says. "Or they might have just split up to cover more ground."
"Or given up," I suggest, hopeful if not expectant. "I mean, this is a bit of an overreaction, isn't it?"
"You basically denounced and disrespected their god," Jude says with a wry grin. "I'd say this was the expected reaction."
"Jeez. Imagine living here," I say, shuddering at the thought and feeling quite desperate to leave this place for good. I look up the street again - at least, the direction I think is 'up'. Honestly, I'm struggling to know where north is. If it wasn't for the cliff face along the western edge, I'd be entirely lost by now. "I think we should walk from here," I say. "No good blending in with these cloaks if we're running. That looks suspicious."
Jude purses his lips, then nods. "OK, I'm not hearing anyone coming after us. Remember, perfect posture, nice and upright. We're nothing but a couple of Black Ridge Devotees, heading to the collection point to pray."
I nod my understanding, straighten my back, and together, we head back into the deluge.
By now, the streets have all but cleared, only the occasiona
l straggler still moving for cover. Not running, though. No, even with the rains falling and quickly soaking the people through, they seem unable to hurry, as if doing so might be a mark of disrespect to the Prime.
It makes me wonder just what other customs they have here. I know of a large number of customs that good Devotees follow in Pine Lake and the surrounding settlements, but here everything seems to have been dialled up to eleven.
And how would such customs have even started, anyway? I mean, where did they get this idea that you have to walk so stiff and upright, and constantly be so careful and precise with your movements? How exactly is that supposed to display one's piety and devotion to the Prime?
I ponder that as we gradually emerge into the northern section of the town, Jude skilfully leading me through the maze of winding stone streets and into an open square that, I immediately know, is the collection point for the town's tributes. We slow to a stop and stare out. The place is extremely similar in set up and structure to the collection point in Pine Lake, despite the fact that the town itself is so markedly different.
As with all collection points, the place is marked by banners and flags bearing the markings of the Prime. There are statues here too, surrounding the square. Kneeling at their bases, I see local Devotees in prayer, humming and whispering their recitals as the rains fall and splash upon them.
It doesn't seem to be as structured as the ten men and women praying around the much larger statue of the Prime in the main town square. Here, it looks as though people merely come to perform their daily rituals at times that suit them and their personal schedules, something that also happens in Pine Lake to a more limited degree.
I turn my eyes a little further to the edge of town, and notice the Devotees assigned to watch the border. There seems to be a gated checkpoint in place, passage out onto the Sacred Plains possible only under the right circumstances and through this single exit.
"I thought you said getting through would be easy," I hiss quietly, glancing up at Jude, face hidden beneath his cloak.