by T. C. Edge
I raise my eyes to him. He stares at me, then Jude, stopping on my friend, probably thinking him the leader between the two of us. Jude nods fearfully, shivering from panic and the sudden cold that seems to have come with these men. I've never seen him quite so stricken and in awe.
"Y...yes," he says, voice shaking, dipping his head. "Master Herald."
Herald...I think.
This is one of the Heralds?
"Ah, so you know who I am?" the Herald says. Once more, Jude's eyes rise up briefly. He nods, then lowers his chin, gaze falling once again in deference. I merely stare at the exchange, quite unable to pull my eyes away, understanding now why the man exudes such power and strength.
A Herald...
"I have...seen your likeness before, Master," Jude says, still holding his gaze down in submission. "You are Perses, Herald of War. We were told of your presence on the Fringe in the town of Black Ridge."
Perses, I think. The old man spoke of him in Black Ridge. One of the Prime's most fearsome warriors and followers, a man of staggering destructive power. His fist, his might. His most deadly weapon.
I quiver at the thought. We couldn't have run into anyone worse out here...
"Yes, a minor uprising needed to be dealt with," Perses says. He looks over at me, and I notice that same quizzical expression that Ceres had spread across his face. A suggestion that he almost expected to come across us here, wandering in the misty wilderness of the Sacred Plains. "Tell me, where are you from?" he asks.
Jude, eyes low, begins to answer. Perses holds out his hand, cutting my companion off immediately, his eyes staring right at me instead. Shivering in the cool night air, the fire now beginning to fade, I draw a nervous breath, and my voice creeps into the wintry gloom.
"Near...Pine Lake," I say. "My family catch fish. Jude is...a hunter."
Perses nods, perusing Jude once more. "A strapping young man," he muses. "I'm sure you're a fine hunter, son."
Jude's eyes lift just a little. A bit of colour returns to his cheeks at the compliment, the Herald's kind words. He nods a few times in quick succession, and even manages to lift a portion of his customary, lopsided grin.
"And you, girl?" continues Perses, looking back at me. "Are you a good Devotee?"
I hesitate in my answer, the delay indicting. When words come, they taste like lies on my tongue. "I am," I say. "I pray nightly, and know all of the recitals, and make sure that I..."
"There's no need to lie to me, child," the Herald of War says, his words slashing through mine, ending them abruptly.
I can hardly look at him, fearful of what he'll see. I turn my eyes down and commit to silence.
"There's no need to be afraid," Perses goes on. "At least, not for being a poor Devotee. I understand that not everyone will be as committed as those found worthy, or those who have an ambition of one day joining us in Olympus. However, trespassing here on the Sacred Plains, so close to the walls of our great home, is another matter entirely."
"We...weren't trespassing," says Jude, his voice carrying a slight tone of pleading that is starting to grate on me.
I feel my expression turning sour as I watch my friend plead. I don't like seeing him like this, and I don't like having to act like this myself. There's only so far I'll fall into submissiveness before I hit rock bottom and begin climbing the other way. Usually, that's when I do something stupid that gets me, and often Jude, in trouble.
"We...got lost, Master Herald," Jude goes on, thinking it best not to say the man's given name. As Ceres proved in Pine Lake, speaking the name of one of the Children of the Prime, unless permitted or invited to do so, is considered a sacrilegious offence. Yes, Jude said Perses's name before, but only when mentioning that he knew who he was. To me, it's complicated and quite ridiculous, but I guess that counted as permission, seeing as he was only answering a query. "We...we never intended to trespass. We only wished to reach Horton Outpost to trade."
Jude, unlike me, has a way of showing contrition that usually gets him out of trouble. Despite being seen as a local rogue, he's often very good at sidestepping the sort of messes I find myself in. Well, not find myself in. Get myself in would be more accurate.
"And you say you passed through Black Ridge to get out here?" asks Perses.
Jude nods quickly. "Yes, Master Herald. Roughly two days ago now."
"The day of the storm," muses Perses, lifting a thick-fingered and calloused hand to his chin. He scratches the mighty anvil, dusted with dark stubble, running his fingers through a scar that cuts diagonally across it. "Strange," he continues, eyes narrow, darkly pensive. "I ordered Black Ridge to shut the gates to any merchants and travellers heading onto the Sacred Plains while I dealt with the revolt nearby."
Jude's eyes flick wide before he manages to regain his composure. Mine do something similar, though it's the throbbing of my heart, forcing a vein to bulge in my neck, that's the more prominent reaction.
"Moreover," Perses goes on, hardly losing his self-assured stride, "we passed right by Black Ridge only a day ago, and were told of two people, a young man and a young woman, who crossed the border without permission, and escaped into the storm. Two people, it seems, who, far from being good Devotees, are in fact ardent heretics..."
"No, that's not true!" says Jude, almost coughing the words up. He looks over at me, eyes tense. "I...it was me, Master Herald. This is my fault. I spoke words out of turn in Black Ridge and Amber shouldn't be punished for it."
Once more, Perses raises a hand, and the hint of a knowing smile comes with it. Jude's words die away instantly as I look over at him, witnessing his utter selflessness again. But he can't take the blame for me. I'd never, ever let that happen.
Before Perses can speak, I make sure to have my turn.
"It was me, Master Herald," I say, luring his dark grey eyes to mine. "Jude is just trying to protect me. I was the one who spoke words of heresy in Black Ridge. If you're going to punish anyone, it should be me, not him."
Craggy lips break into a smile on Perses's face as I speak. He cocks his head a little, nodding. "Oh, I know full well who spoke out in Black Ridge," he says. "And I understand that it was, in fact, me who was the subject of the discussion."
"I..."
My mind flicks backwards, connecting the dots. We'd been speaking of Perses passing nearby to the town, heading off to quell the revolt. I'd called him a man and, well, that had gotten the old timer all worked up, lecturing me on how Perses is, in fact, a deity and not just a man.
I look into the eyes of the figure in question now, and consider that very topic. No, he isn't a god, but he is a man of formidable strength and fortitude, a man of great authority and power. As close as a man can get to being a god, perhaps, but still a man nonetheless.
And I'll always stick to that statement.
"So, you believe us nothing but men in Olympus?" Perses presses, regarding me with an almost amused interest. "You believe that the Children of the Prime are no more than the Devotees who live across the Fringe? You think, perhaps, that the Prime is a mere mortal too?"
It's a series of questions that I just can't answer, at least not with any shred of honesty. I manage only to shake my head, my tongue locked behind my lips to avoid spouting my usual words of defiance.
Jude interrupts again to try to rescue the situation.
"Great Master Herald," he says, managing to pull himself away from the soldiers behind him and drop to his knees. He dips his head low, arms shackled behind his back. "No one would ever question your divinity. Amber made a mistake in Black Ridge, but is committed to her service and devotion to the Prime and his Children. We beg that you let us return to Pine Lake where we will live our lives in honour of you, oh great Herald of War."
I watch the spectacle, knowing - hoping - that it's just a performance, and a rather convincing one at that. I stay quiet as Jude completes the charade, kneeling at Perses's feet, keeping his head and eyes low.
A moment passes, the mist and fog seemin
g to stop its gentle billowing and lock tight in place. And then, as Jude finally looks up, I see Perses's expression flatten out as he shakes his head a single time.
"A fine effort, young man," rumbles his voice, his mighty figure looming tall. "But I'm afraid that I can see right through you. This girl here," he says, looking at me, "believes every word she said in Black Ridge. Oh, she is no Devotee. And neither of you," he finishes, "will be returning to Pine Lake."
He steps back a pace, the mist swirling around him, and nods to his soldiers. A moment later, I feel myself swept up onto a gigantic shoulder and carried away from the dying campfire, the soldiers mustering and marching away into the mist, everything happening in a sudden blur.
I see a set of carriages awaiting as we press into the foggy darkness, parked out on the barren plains beyond our temporary camp. I writhe and wriggle, trying to escape, but am powerless against the mighty beast who clings so easily to my feeble frame. My eyes switch back to find Jude in the grip of another of the giants, his head hanging loose. I see that his eyes are shut, and know that he's been knocked out to stop from causing a fuss.
I hear the sound of metal screeching, and find a barred gate being opened at the back of one of the rear carriages. A musty scent of human sweat sweeps out as I'm hauled forward and tossed violently inside. I roll onto the dirty wooden planks and crash into several other prisoners, cowering in the back, their eyes lit with fear, their bodies bruised and beaten.
A second later, Jude is thrown in after me. He hits the side hard, body going limp, as I rush up toward him and cradle him in my arms. I look up with eyes of flame to see one of the giant soldiers slamming the gate shut, a menacing grin splitting his ample face. The gate locks tight and he steps away.
Only moments later, the carriages start moving.
15
"Jude...Jude, are you all right?"
My voice croaks with a deep desperation as I hold Jude's head in my arms, cradling him, trying to wake him up. I feel for a pulse, my fingers pressing against his carotid, the skin feeling cold in the misty night air. His heart, to my great relief, is still beating firmly.
I pull him a little closer to me, hauling his heavy frame up against my chest. Still shaken by everything, I begin slapping at his face a bit too hard, shaking his head to try to get him to wake.
A voice breaks from the back of the carriage as it creaks and rattles along the barren wasteland. "I'd be careful there, girl," comes the voice of an old man. "Don't shift his neck too hard."
"I...what?"
I look up to find a shadow coming from the rear, one of the beaten prisoners approaching at a crouch. His pale blue eyes look down at Jude, hands coming forward to check for injury. He quickly performs several tests and comes to a swift diagnosis, raising those blue eyes to mine, his face otherwise hardly visible within the poor light.
"He should be OK," he says. "Just got knocked unconscious I'd say. Lie him down here and he'll wake in good time."
He helps me move Jude into a more comfortable position, laying him out along the side of the carriage. I sit beside him, stroking his head, just trying not to panic. A few deep breaths enter and exit my lungs, helping to calm me as the helpful stranger crouches down nearby.
I look up at him, his expression kindly in the low light, his face showing signs of a recent fight.
"Who are you?" I ask him, looking past him to the back. There look to be about three or four prisoners back there, a jumble of limbs and cowering torsos huddled away in the shadows at the rear.
"We're from Westhollow," the stranger says, turning his eyes to his companions. He looks back at me and reaches out with a spindly hand. "Name's Raymond, pleased to meet you."
I take his hand, noting that there's no damage to his knuckles, no cuts and grazes on his fingers. My immediate read is that his bruising wasn't the result of a fair fight or altercation. He was beaten, perhaps tortured. And I think I know why.
"I'm...Amber," I say, glancing again at the figures in the back. "Westhollow. That's where the revolt was?"
Raymond huffs loudly, shaking his head. "There was no revolt," he grunts. "Just a few foolish people speaking out against the Prime. Don't think anyone expected Herald Perses to pay us a visit. I guess we didn't think it through at all..."
He looks up along the line of carriages, fading off into the mist ahead. I imagine Perses's transport will be out at the front, the Herald sitting comfortably within, an assortment of food and drink on tap, perhaps even a few slaves there to tend him. Slaves who signed up willingly for the role. Those found worthy to get so close to a god...
The thought makes me huff too. A cringe crawls onto my face as I think of my sister. Of the things she might be made to do.
"What happened?" I ask, turning to Raymond. "Why would the Prime send Perses out if it was only a few vocal heretics?"
"To make an example of us," Raymond grumbles. "I never once thought it would come to this."
"You," I say. "You were one of the heretics?"
He nods solemnly. "I know it's not a popular opinion," he says. "But I'm a man of science, Amber. I've never believed the lies we're fed. I've lived too long in submission, far too long." He shakes his head. "I should have kept my mouth shut. I only got people hurt by speaking out..."
He turns his eyes down, falling into thought, as I do just the same. I see in him a reflection of my grandma, a woman who's always made sure to keep her opinions mostly to herself, to craft herself an image of a madwoman to discredit anything she might say.
She never spoke out because she feared what would come of it, I think. And this poor man is proof she was right.
"What about the others?" I ask, looking to the huddled group at the rear, shivering in the darkness as the night continues to close in. "Were they your companions?"
Raymond nods slowly. His voice falls into a whisper, as though he doesn't want them to hear. "The two men are, yes," he says softly. "The other two are their wives. They're innocent. They shouldn't be here."
"We're all innocent," I say firmly, setting my jaw. I lift a hand and place it onto his shoulder. He winces lightly at my touch, and I quickly withdraw with an apology in my eyes. "None of us should be punished for speaking our minds, Raymond," I say softly.
"And...is that what you did?" he asks, taking a slow, mournful breath. He looks at Jude, lying beside us, face oddly peaceful in the dim light. "What were you doing out this far on the Sacred Plains?"
I glance to the side in surreptitious fashion, as though fearing someone might be listening. I see no soldiers out there in the mist, all of them travelling within the carriages that continue to roll quietly along the dry, rocky tundra.
"We were headed for Olympus," I whisper, leaning in, sensing no need to lie to this man. In fact, I feel a rare affinity to him, a bond swiftly being forged by our mutual disillusionment, our hatred for the lies we're told, the control exerted upon us. "My sister was taken, found worthy. I know it sounds stupid, but I was going to get her back."
Raymond's eyes lift, followed by an impressed smile. "Bold," he says, nodding at me.
"Foolish," I grunt, turning down to Jude, feeling a stab of grief cut through me. "I should never have come."
"Nor should I have spoken out. I guess we're all fools here," says Raymond.
We share eye contact for a moment, our faces dimmed by the night and fog, though our smiles of kinship clear enough. How nice to meet someone so likeminded. How good it feels to know that there are others out there who raise questions, who refuse to live behind the curtain of control, who reach their limits and then do something about it, whatever the cost may be.
Cost, I think, looking again at Jude, running my hand through his soft, wavy hair. That cost might be the greatest of all...
"What will happen to us?" I ask, half speaking to myself as I look down at my friend. I turn my eyes back up at Raymond. "What do you think they'll do?"
Raymond turns once again to his companions from Westhollow. I hear light
sobbing as a wife is comforted by her husband. My eyes adjusting, their features come into better view, crafted in fear and desolation, knowing the end is nigh.
"I'd like to say we'll be branded as Defiants," Raymond says quietly, drawing a breath. "But in reality, I think that would be worse than death." His eyes return to mine. "I'm sorry, Amber. As far as I know, Devotees are brought to Olympus for two reasons. To serve, or to die. And none of us here have been found worthy." He looks down at Jude, and then places a hand to my arm. "I'm so sorry you had to join us."
He smiles consolingly at that, and I sense a man who's accepted his fate, who's lived long enough in the shadow of Olympus to be done with this world, their world. A man who's reached the edge of the cliff and decided not to turn back. Who thinks it better to take the plunge than betray his morals; to stay true to himself, and die, rather than continue living a lie.
There's a certain bravery to that, I think. A stoicism that so few men seem to possess these days. We have become a meek people, too afraid to do anything but submit. But here I see a man who will pay the ultimate sacrifice for his beliefs. I see a man to emulate, even if it means my own end.
But...Jude?
I turn to my friend again, and feel a dreadful stab of pain. How could I have ever expected things to go any different? How could I have truly expected to free Lilly from Olympus, even get there in the first place? We stepped into the unknown and now we're paying the price. A price so precious it cannot be weighed.
"I may be wrong," I hear Raymond say, his voice soft and tender as he looks at me, looking at Jude. "I sense my own path is coming to an end, but that may not be true of you both."
I nod but don't speak. My mind falls away into the darkness of my guilt, too overwhelmed to seek a way out.
"I'll leave you alone with him," Raymond whispers, sensing I need the solitude. "But fear not, Amber. You did a noble thing coming out here, trying to save your sister. You are a rare thing; someone who chooses not to submit and surrender. You are the sort of spark that the people need, someone to ignite the flames of change."