by T. C. Edge
"I'm not, Jude," I say firmly. "I'm just going to get Lilly back, that's all. Maybe grandma was if she lived among them, but not me. And anyway, I don't know in what capacity she was there. Maybe she was just a Devotee with a secret, who knows. Maybe that's why she hates it so much, because she was there to serve and worship, knowing that she was something more."
An expression of doubt floods Jude's face. "More likely she was just a citizen there," he says. "She was probably cast out or something. She's got all this knowledge, right? She must have found it there, realised the truth, spoken out against them..."
"And got banished for it," I whisper, nodding. "Yeah, that sounds...possible."
I tuck my head back into Jude's chest, feeling overwhelmed by it all, though somehow...excited by the prospect of what's to come. It's a strange feeling that I can hardly describe, the feeling of actually doing something beyond hiding away by the lake or in the woods, whispering words of heresy with grandma and Jude in hushed tones.
Such a life seems meaningless to me. In a way, it's nice to have something to cling to, some purpose to pursue. I'm going to get to Olympus, and get Lilly home. How, I have no damn idea, but I'm going to try regardless.
A growl of thunder cracks through the heavens, so close to our cave it makes me jump. I feel Jude's arm tighten instinctively around me, feel the warmth of his body draw closer. I smile, feeling comfortable despite the surroundings, safe despite our predicament. I've always loved Jude as a friend, and perhaps thought something more might blossom. Sitting with him now, huddled away from the rain, I feel closer to him than ever.
"So, I guess we're staying the night here?" I whisper, the skies outside darkening further, the swamp of clouds being joined by the coming of night.
"We'll get going at first light," Jude replies, voice soft, a tonic for my stress. "Hopefully the storm will have passed by then."
I nod, shivering, my body still soaked through. Jude pulls me in closer, sharing his warmth. There's no place for a fire here. Our embrace will have to do.
A small smile works onto my face.
It will do just fine.
13
The coming of morning reveals a world of mist and fog, the air close and thick beyond the mouth of our cave. A heavy dampness hangs in the air, sweet with the scent of the fading storm. I look out into the pale light of dawn, the sun falling through the mist in a blurry haze of colour, and a shiver of cold runs up my spine.
I find Jude awake, eyes open, though body still fixed in much the same position as he held last night. Given the size of the cave, that isn't particularly surprising. The crick in my neck, which spent the night tight to Jude's chest, tells me that I have barely moved an inch either.
Somehow, however, I feel refreshed, and can't recall waking much during the night. I pull away from Jude and smile up at him, before stretching out my arms and rubbing my neck. The warmth helps ease the discomfort, my limbs thawing as we creep out into the cool morning air.
It takes a few minutes to clamber our way back out of the shallow chasm, doing so tentatively so as to make sure we don't trip and fall back down. Soon, we're back up to ground level, scanning once more to make sure that no Devotees from Black Ridge have decided to come looking for us with the storm having passed.
We see no sign of any human presence, nor any sign of much else. The fog hangs low over the plains, the occasional gust of wind passing through and forming swirls, the mist billowing and clearing temporarily, before being filled back in.
There's something quite unnatural about it, something almost ethereal. I've seen fog and mist hang over the lakes and mountains, and through the pinewoods often, but never quite like this. This is thicker, and unexpected for a landscape like this. As we press on, I begin to wonder whether this truly is the doing of Olympus, a protective fog to hide the city within.
Of course, it doesn't much help visibility, making navigation harder than expected. Jude assures me that it's nothing but the lingering aftereffects of the storm, and that the mist will begin to clear as the morning rolls on and the day heats up.
He's right, but only to a degree. After a couple of hours of hiking, we find that we can see a little further, but not by much.
The going is slow that morning, and not just to make sure we don't accidentally walk right into a chasm and go plummeting into the depths. Without knowing the precise direction, we meander a little in search of higher ground, the soup thinning just a little if ever we find an outcrop to scale, or a small rise in the land to climb. Reaching any summit, we turn our eyes to the sky in the search of the position of the sun, which remains almost entirely hidden from view and only occasionally visible amid the haze.
With midday approaching, however, we come upon a larger outcropping, hugged by swirling mist and with its summit hidden from view amid the shroud above. As we get a little closer, I notice that the formation seems to straddle a canyon that runs beneath it, its external facade seeming far too smooth in places, its structure far from natural.
Then I notice the shape of legs and arms, of torso and chest. I see the rock carved into the shape of a man, gigantic and grand, dressed in a cloak that flows right down into the rocky earth below, merging right into the landscape. He stands, one leg each side of the chasm, like a bastion watching these lands, protecting this stretch of the Sacred Plains from unwanted visitors.
I gasp softly as I make the realisation, staring up at the grand figure that, I imagine, can only be of the Prime himself. With the top hidden amid the low clouds, however, it's hard to tell, the form a little more feminine than I'd have expected.
Jude seems to notice just what it is at the same time as me, pulling back in shock, craning his neck up towards the summit.
"How do they build such things?" he whispers quietly, marvelling at the massive statue.
"Forgers," I respond, the answer springing to mind. "They can manipulate matter, reform it into new shapes. This was probably once just a large outcrop of rock, just reshaped by a Forger into this statue."
Jude turns his eyes to me, unable to hide his awe. "You can see why people would call them gods," he says, raising an eyebrow, and looking back up at the mighty figure above.
We walk around the back, moving towards the cloak that merges right into the stone. Jude begins scanning it carefully before nodding to himself. "I think I see a way up," he says. "We'd get a great view from up there."
He begins moving towards the sloping cloak, the lowest section easily climbable, though looking rather more perilous further up. I hesitate before following. I'm not exactly afraid of heights, but don't particularly like them either.
I begin to climb, however, urged on by the irrepressible Jude as he skilfully works his way up the towering effigy. We start on the cloak, before working around towards the left arm as we get higher. The stone isn't quite so smooth up close, chipped by time and worn down and rugged in certain places, creating handholds large enough to grip. Ignoring the sixty or so foot drop to the ground, and refusing to look down, I follow Jude up until we manage to get onto the statue's left shoulder.
Moving gingerly around to take a look at the face, and still not looking down, I find my original assertion accurate.
"A woman," I say, seeing the feminine features hidden beneath the hood. A gust of wind flows in, causing me to grip harder at the stone. I steady myself before continuing. "It's a woman, Jude."
Jude doesn't seem quite so interested in that, his eyes searching for a way to scale the head and reach the very top. "Does the Prime have a wife?" he says absently, shrugging as he scans the final portion of the statue. "Is there a Mrs Prime?"
As expected, I see his smirk appear at that comment, yet still it gets me thinking. The Prime is such a mysterious character that I don't really have an answer. Instead, a question comes to mind...
Could the Prime actually be a woman?
I've never thought about that before, just taking it as a given that the Prime is a man. I suppose that's come from g
randma and her explanations of the historical precedence for male, rather than female, tyrants. And, well, aside from that, the Prime always seems to be referenced as 'he', even by the likes of Ceres who really ought to know.
"I guess it's just another important Child of the Prime," I say, still inspecting the face. "One of his Chosen, probably." I see Jude continue the climb up onto the head as I speak, lifting above the low mist, using handholds in the crinkled hood to haul his way to the top. "I wonder if there are other statues around here," I ask, talking more to myself than anything. I'm surprised to hear an answer from Jude as he disappears from sight above me.
"You don't have to wonder, Goldie," he calls down. "Get your butt up here and see for yourself. You're not going to believe this..."
The tease is enough to have me scaling the final portion of the statue, clambering up the ruffles in the hood. I reach the highest point on top of the head and step up to Jude's side, emerging through the shroud. My lungs empty at the staggering sight that greets me, the mist seeming to all but end up here at the top of the statue.
All around, a sea of white seems to extend in all directions, the world blanketed in a thick soup of fog that appears to rise about sixty or so feet above the ground, before ending quite abruptly. Above it, the air is clear and crisp, the sky blue and the sunlight intense. It's a frankly bewildering spectacle, unlike anything I've ever witnessed before.
"It's...beautiful," I say, staring out, imagining that this is what it must be like out on the ocean. As if we're on an island lost in the endless expanse, the water a frothing white sea beneath the startlingly blue sky above.
Jude grabs the top of my head and begins to turn it, forcing my gaze off into the distance. And there I see it, another little island, a head poking above the clouds like the tip of an iceberg above the waves.
"They look like a pair," Jude says, looking out at it. It stands what seems like a few hundred feet away, this one clearly the figure of a man. I search beyond it and in all other directions but can't see any others within view.
Nor, in fact, can I see much more. The white sea marches towards the horizon and doesn't stop. Only to the far distant west can I make out the gradual rising of the world as it climbs up into the valleys at the foot of the old Rocky Mountains. The faint sight helps me gather my sense of direction. I turn back and look to what must be the south, but see no sign of Black Ridge. I look north, my pulse rising as I scan for any sign of Olympus.
I'm left disappointed once more, my gaze meeting nothing but the swamp of white beneath the pure azure blue of the glorious, bright sky.
"We're still too far to see it," Jude says, realising what I'm looking for. "We'll be lucky if we reach it by tomorrow night. The city's got to be nearly fifty miles from here."
"Fifty miles," I grumble, taking a weary breath at the thought. "In this?"
Jude nods, staring out over the smog. "This can't be natural," he says. "The world doesn't create weather like this, does it?"
"A shield," I suggest, looking north. "And a cloak to hide the city."
"And people were genetically augmented to be able to change and control the weather?" Jude asks, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure that Alberta's right about that? This seems like something...more."
I have no answer to that. Grandma's always spoken of enhanced individuals, gifted with strength or speed or superior senses, those once created for the purposes of war. But this does seem like more. A result, perhaps, of the interbreeding between the enhanced, of the strange combinations of hybrid forms that result, of mutations caused by the mixing of bloodlines. Mutations that seemingly cause a vast array of spectacular powers.
Powers that, among the ignorant citizens of the Fringe, are seen as godlike, and worshipped as such.
We stand there for a few minutes, marvelling at the sight, as Jude makes sure to gauge our position and determine that we're going in the right direction. All we really know is that we have to head north from here. Within this fog, however, we might just walk right past the city if we're not careful, its walls so close and yet hidden to our eyes.
"It'll clear further," Jude says, remaining optimistic. "At least, I hope it will. We might be overthinking all this. I've never been this deep onto the Sacred Plains, so can't really make a judgement on what to expect out here."
It seems a fair point. Yes, this does seem supernatural, but perhaps this region is just predisposed to strange weather conditions, particularly following the sort of storm we encountered last night.
We begin to make our way down to the rugged flatlands once more, the climb a little more difficult when descending. With a little help and encouragement from Jude, who's annoyingly nimble and light on his feet and has the sure footing of a mountain goat, I eventually reach the floor and we continue on our way.
With the statue fading into the mist, I take a final look behind and marvel one last time at the structure. Whether carved by hand or created by a Forger, I shake my head at its staggering scale and wonder just what else we might encounter out here.
On we go, marching into the murk, visibility a little better than it was earlier in the morning, but still not enough to garner a significant view ahead. We remain careful as a result, moving around the outcrops of rock we find, navigating the deep gouges scratched into the earth.
Before long, we come across further statues, though smaller in scale than the two we've already seen. Some appear to have been crafted from natural outcroppings. Others stand in place, the earth dug into pits around them. That seems the work of Forgers, drawing up the stone and rock from the ground, forming it into the wonderfully crafted statues above.
We inspect those we come across, many of them dressed in similar robes and with clear, distinct features. Unlike any representations of the Prime that I've seen, the features often obscured or hidden, his likeness unknown, these figures are clearly defined.
Stopping at one, I look left and right and see a couple of others in the mist, equally dispersed across the Sacred Plains. I look up into the face of the statue, roughly twenty feet above the ground, and see the face of a fairly young man looking back, a warm smile on his face, his expression affable and inviting.
But on his forehead, I see the symbols, the markings associated with the Prime. The figure of 8, lying on its side, the lightning bolt crafted vertically through its centre. Markings to represent unity and perfection. Markings to represent divinity.
"It's one of the Heralds of Awakening," Jude says, standing beside me, looking up. He turns to the others half visible in the fog. "Those are probably the others. I wonder how many statues are out here?"
"Who knows," I say. "If it wasn't for this fog we'd be able to see."
I grumble the words, frustrated by the strange weather. What a staggering spectacle it would be to see dozens, maybe even hundreds of statues spread across these plains. Statues to represent the Prime, his Heralds, his Chosen. I wonder what criteria you need to reach to be considered for immortalisation here on these flatlands, for a Forger to come out and craft your appearance into the rock?
Will we find a figure of Ceres out here somewhere? Will that worm's likeness appear before us, with those detached eyes and disinterested expression?
I hope so, I think, thinking of the pleasure it would give me to try to knock it down or, at the least, spit right in his ugly face.
Hardly ladylike, and hardly becoming. But still, very, very much earned.
We find more statues as we continue onwards, some grander than others, though none close to matching the sheer scale of the one we climbed. Some appear almost new, recently forged or crafted. Others look more worn down, roughed up by time, their features more difficult to discern.
We wander along in silence, both in a state of quiet awe. It's a surreal and strangely intimidating experience, but one I know I'll never quite forget, the statues becoming more varied as we go, depicting soldiers and warriors displaying their powers and adopting a variety of heroic and action-oriented poses.
I see those locked into an eternal sprint, the sculptures capturing the motion of their movement so well, evidently depicting Children of the Prime with enhanced and superior speed. I see those with great, muscular physiques, representing the super-strong class of warriors in their ranks. I see statues of Elementals, arms aloft as they manipulate the elements, the rock crafted into waves of water or spinning columns of air. And others, like me, who can bend the fire to their will.
I stop at one of those in particular, looking upon the figure of a young man, hands held out before him and the rock carved into the shape of raging, violent flame. I feel an unexpected thrill at the sight, wondering if, one day, I'd be able to do the same.
Am I limited to being unaffected by flame, unburned by it? I wonder. Or can I manipulate it like others can, command its direction and ferocity, force it to submit to my will?
It's an unexpectedly tantalising prospect. I've never once wondered what having any such power might be like, because I never once imagined that such a thing would be possible. But now...now things have changed. It feels as though there's something inside of me that yearns to get out, a dormant power that is now just awakening, struggling to break free.
As I gaze at the statue, I find Jude looking at me in an odd way. It reminds me, only a little, of how Lilly looked at me after the collection ceremony. That slightly awestruck gawp, as though she saw me differently, imagined me as one of them, as something far more than I am.
"What?" I say, catching Jude in the act.
The query shakes him from his reverie. "Oh, nothing," he says, looking back at the statue. "I was just thinking...that could be you."
"That's a bit of a stretch, Jude," I say. "This guy's clearly a powerful warrior. There are probably loads of Fire-Bloods like me in Olympus."
That, I know, is a lie. Grandma told me herself that people like us are quite rare.
"I hope so," Jude says.
I frown. "Um, why?"
"Because then they won't want you so much," he says, lowering his eyes. "I'm worried, Amber."