Children of the Prime Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  53

  I watch the world pass by, the beauty of the city replaced by the rugged endlessness of the dusty brown plains. The mist that enveloped Jude and I as we ventured across them several weeks ago remains in place, a permanent feature suffocating the world for miles and miles to the south.

  There's little to see those first hours, little more than the occasional rock formation to look upon, or the sight of a towering statue marking the land, one of the Prime or the many powerful servants under their charge. I muse on my previous journey here as we go, on the state of my life as it was then. I do so while adopting the advice of Perses; to stay detached, to draw a veil upon my emotions. To think of the changing of my life as if viewing it from afar, not dwelling on the details of what I've lost or left behind, but considering it all from a more dispassionate standpoint.

  I ask him questions as we travel together, and observe him during times of silence, of which there are many. I learn by osmosis, sucking up what I can from the great man, trying to figure out just how he stays so unflustered no matter the circumstances of what's happening around him.

  I pose the question to him, and his answer is simple. "Experience," he tells me. "And a commitment to a cause. "I came to this city as a young man, similar in age to you. I wasn't as I am now. I was more wild, my powers hard to tame. I learned through commitment and repetition to harness them, bend them to my will. With that feeling of control came a greater control of my emotions. They go hand in hand, Amber. To lose control of your emotions is to lose control of your powers. That is something no Herald or Chosen, or any soldier of mine, will tolerate."

  "And what are your powers?" I ask, so fascinated by the man. I can only assume his bloodline possesses a range of genetic enhancements, each adding up to give him a potent cocktail that few, if any, can match.

  "I possess a blend, Amber," he says. "I have been blessed to be granted the strength of the Titans, and the speed of the Phasers. I can see like the Farsights, and have other gifts that are, as far as I've so far discovered, unique to me."

  "Like what?" I breath, wide-eyed as I look at him.

  He manages a smile at the wonder on my face. "Ones that are harder to quantify, I suppose," he says. "Stamina and endurance. I can push myself to my limits and sustain them for a long period of time. Sleep isn't something I require as often as others. And," he finishes, completing his staggering set, "I have the rare gift of durability. I told you earlier how I have, in a manner of speaking, died several times before?"

  "Yes..."

  "Well, that would be true of most other men," he tells me. "I do not suffer as others do when my flesh is torn. Wounds that might be fatal for others aren't so devastating for me. And when I suffer injury, I heal with greater efficiency." He points again to his scars. "These were never stitched or sutured. They closed and knitted of their own accord."

  I find myself speechless when he shuts his mouth, quite unable to imagine how a single man could possibly harness and master such a combination of gifts.

  "It's no wonder," I whisper eventually, finally finding my voice again, "that you're the greatest of the Heralds."

  "I don't think of myself as such," Perses counters modestly, eyes drifting to the window. "I am a man of duty, as we all are. Our gifts are merely tools that enable us to perform the tasks we're given. But if you like to use the word greatness, then consider it for yourself, Amber," he says, turning his eyes back to mine. "If it motivates you, embrace it for now. Let it fuel you. You might just become the greatest of us all."

  I scoff audibly at the thought. Perses merely raises his eyes.

  "Yes, I can see how you might doubt that statement, but I am not lying when I speak it. You don't yet know the depths of your strength. You may not think my words so outlandish if, and when, you dig your way to the bottom."

  As the afternoon stretches on, he teaches me other such pearls of wisdom, instructing me into the nature of mental peace in the face of great adversity, in tapping into the vastness of ones true potential. Few, he tells me, ever excavate the full treasures of what lies within them. Many of the most gifted have more to give if they truly dedicate themselves to a single ideal and purpose. Those that do attain an almost spiritual link between themselves and their power. A bond that no human relationship could ever compete with.

  "I feel the beginnings of that now," I tell him. "I feel the fire in me. I feel it trying to break free."

  "And in that you must be careful. You must continue to train and tame it. Dedicate yourself to that, and embrace what you are, and your bond will grow stronger than you can imagine."

  We don't stop for lunch, only taking a short break to allow the soldiers to use the bathroom. No time for it, not here. No, all energy will be provided, I'm told, by the nutrition bars that help satiate you for hours. Each carriage holds a good supply of them, far more than should be required. Bland, yes, but extremely useful in providing the necessary energy for the powerful individuals here to fully utilise their gifts should they need to.

  I step out during that first break, keen to stretch my legs if nothing else. Across the plains, I see soldiers hurrying off into the mist and disappearing behind little boulders and rocky outcrops. I look down the line of a half dozen transports and see that my early estimations were about right, noting a count of roughly ten to twelve soldiers in each, depending on their size - Krun, obviously, takes the space of several men - giving a total of about fifty or sixty. Seeing as the front carriage is only being used by Perses and me, the convoy really amounts to five.

  It's a good number, and I suspect a formidable force. Though I don't get a great look at many of them, I do recall a few faces from the troop that first found Jude and me out here before. They must be just as bemused as Krun at my speedy, and frankly unheard of, climb up through the ranks of this city.

  The break doesn't last long, the soldiers zipping off and back again without a moment to spare. As I'm about to turn and step back into Black Thunder, I catch sight of a faint red glow down the line, moving through the mist towards one of the rear carriages. Intrigued, I step towards it to get a better look, and the sight of Fire-Blood robes begin to come into view.

  I get a strange feeling of kinship as I look upon them. And then, as the face of the owner reveals itself, that feeling departs, replaced by something else. Not a loathing per se, but a pretty firm dislike.

  Hestia, Chosen candidate and Primary Fire-Blood, catches eyes with me before she steps into the rear carriage. We stand, staring at each other through the mist, for an extended moment, memories of our time together in the dorms and competing for the position of Chosen playing through my head. To be fair, we were beginning to lighten up a little around each other towards the end, but that was probably because we thought we'd never have to see each other again.

  But here we are, together once more. Frankly, it just makes me smile in an ironic sort of way.

  She...well, she doesn't exactly return the expression. To be honest, I'm not sure she can smile. Unless in the presence of the Prime, perhaps.

  Instead, she does something I guess I'll have to get used to. She bends her usually arrow-straight back, and dips her head into a bow. Hestia may be an A-class bitch at times, but she sure does observe military etiquette and rank. Now, I seriously outrank her, and she knows it full well.

  As she steps away into the carriage, and I do the same, a single thought comes to mind.

  I could have some fun with this.

  We camp that night beyond the thick carpet of fog that coats the plains, near enough to the northern border of the Fringe to be in sight of a town in the distance.

  Lit by firelight a couple of miles or so away, it's the first sight of the Fringe I've had in weeks, though a vastly different part to anywhere I've been before. My entire life within these lands has been spent on the western edge, around the lakes and woods nestled in the shadows of the mountains. Here, along the eastern frontier, we must be hundreds upon hundreds of miles away, the lands much f
latter and far less interesting, going by what I've seen so far.

  I imagine, however, that the town flickering in the distance is typical for the northern edge of the Fringe. Like Black Ridge, it's sure to be more pious and religious, absolutely devoted to the worship of Olympus, the Prime and their Children. If only they knew that the great Herald Perses was camped so close by. How excited they'd be...

  The camp itself is a simple affair. Fires are lit for warmth and comfort, allowing the men, and few women, among the troop to chat as they dine on their tasteless nutrition bars. The carriages themselves are perfectly comfortable to sleep in, but certainly don't have the capacity when their occupants are lying prone.

  It seems that they are reserved for the senior figures among the troop, of which Krun, being a captain, is one. Black Thunder, of course, is reserved for Perses, a space he'd usually have to himself. Not with me around. Though I try to protest, the hulking man in black insists I sleep in the comfort of its interior.

  "It is yours, Amber," Perses tells me, making it sound more like an order than a suggestion. "You will sleep here tonight."

  I look around the space, which is plenty to accommodate the both of us quite easily. The thought of sharing it, however, with Perses, isn't overly appealing. It's not him, really, but me. I'm scared I might talk in my sleep or something, as I did down in the dorm-chambers of the Temple of Fire.

  "The interior seating folds out," Perses goes on. He stands from his perch and ushers me to one side, rearranging the interior and unfolding the comfortable bench into what looks like an even more comfortable bed.

  It is just one, though. A large bed, yes, but just the one.

  Surely we're not going to share it?

  "Um..."

  "Don't worry," Perses says lightly. "It'll be only you here tonight. I prefer to wander during the nighttime hours, and have little need to sleep at this time. I will see you at first light, Amber. Sleep well."

  He marches down the steps at that, heading out into the night. I slip right towards the window, watch him gravitate towards the men, who regard him with those same eyes he draws from everyone he passes. Such reverence. Such total loyalty and admiration. A man who embodies what it truly means to lead. A man I must try, at least, to emulate.

  He spends a few minutes among his men, passing on orders, providing inspiring words to keep their spirits high. Then, off he goes, slipping away into the darkness and beyond the light of the gathered troop. He holds his hands behind his back, walking slowly but with purpose, looking out into the night with a thoughtful expression on his face. And then, within a few moments, he's gone, melting into the gloom as though he was born to its comforting embrace.

  I stay at the window, my eyes turning over the troops, wondering if I should go out and join them for a little bit. It's not a particularly appealing prospect. I may share, in some part, the same title as their leader, but I'll never get anywhere near to commanding the same respect.

  I don't mind that. I wouldn't expect anything else. A man like Perses is one to emulate, to look up to, but never to match. To even command half the reverence he gets would be quite the accomplishment.

  As I look out, however, watching the troops in their natural setting, I see a single figure set off to one side. A faint glow surrounds her, not one created by the light of the burning fires, but by the flame burning within her blood. It sets her robes aglow, an alluring crimson hue just about visible within the blackness. Hestia, alone, as one would expect. It's very much her natural setting too.

  I watch her for a moment from the comfort and security of Black Thunder, debating whether to go and join her. It's odd, really, that I look at her with some measure of pity. Is she really this way by choice? Wouldn't she prefer to socialise with her fellow soldiers and not sit out there alone?

  Before I think better of it, I open the door and step out into the cool evening air, drawing the eyes of a number of the men gathered around the fires. They glance at me only, dipping their heads, before turning back as quickly as possible. It's the sort of forced reverence they're required to pay, a meagre recognition of my new standing. I can appreciate, actually, how hard it must be for them, powerful, seasoned soldiers as they are, to have to salute someone like me. Besides the fact that I'm not going to be eighteen for a couple of months, I'm also a Prime-damned girl. The very first female Herald of War, a position exclusively dominated by men to this point, just like the ranks of the military at large.

  Well, I'll be changing that, I think, feeling a swell of bravado as the men return to their conversations.

  And with that, I look at Hestia once again, and feel something resembling a kinship with her. Oh, she may be something of a bitch, but at least she's of the same gender as me. At least, I think she is...

  Drawing a smile at the thought, I press towards her glowing light and find her figure growing clear as I approach. Hunched over, she sits with legs crossed upon the barren earth, hands gently cradling something in her lap. She stares intently at it, eyes hardly blinking, humming softly to herself with an odd smile on her narrow, sharp-featured face. I slow my step and focus my eyes on this strange possession that has her in a trance.

  Then I see it. A figurine, similar to that which Lilly used to carve. The female side of the Prime.

  Our Mother.

  I stop, only a few metres away, Hestia's back slightly turned so she can't see me coming. For a moment I gaze at that figure myself, the likeness excellent, and a familiar jolt of joy ripples through me.

  "Where did you get that?" I whisper, looking on.

  My words seem to snap Hestia right out of it. She rights herself suddenly and turns to look upon me, eyes refocusing, robes flaring with a sudden flash of light. Seeing me, she relaxes, letting out a breath.

  "Oh, it's you," she mutters angrily. "Sneaking upon me are you?" Then she remembers herself. And me. Remembers who, and what, I now am. "I...sorry, Lady Herald," she grunts, voice tight. "I was given this as a gift."

  "A fine gift," I say, continuing my step forwards, not put off by her prickly demeanour. I take a perch near to her, settling down in the dirt. "Do you mind if I take a look?"

  She nods in her usual curt manner, reaching out to hand me the figure. Unlike Lilly's rudimentary hand-carved versions, this one is made of stone, smooth to the touch and a fine likeness of Mother. I smile as I inspect it, before passing it back. I find Hestia's dark eyes eager as they wait for me to hand back the treasured model, as though I might just choose to keep it if I so wished. Which is probably now my right.

  Receiving it, she pulls it tight to her chest again, bundling it up in some spare fabric of her robes, like a child being given back her favourite toy. I understand the passion. I understand the obsession. It's something that now binds the two of us among a select group within the city.

  "Who gave it to you?" I ask, still looking at the shape within her robes.

  She looks up from the figure, uncomfortable. Her weight shifts a little, eyes turning up to the rear carriage she travelled in earlier, not so far away.

  "My sister," she says.

  I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn't.

  "OK," I say. "I...didn't know you had a sister."

  "You never asked."

  "I suppose not. Not the sort of thing you talk about with your enemies." Her eyes dip at the word, as if our past differences might put her on my bad side. "Rivals," I say, correcting myself. "That's a better word. That's all we really were, right?"

  She nods but doesn't speak, an awkwardness pervading her expression and body language.

  "You can relax you know, Hestia," I tell her. "I think I preferred it when you were threatening me and glaring at me all day long. It's almost...upsetting to see you like this."

  I grin, trying to lighten things up, but she continues to stay quiet, her eyes working again towards the carriage nearby. I assume that, with her rank of Chosen candidate and Primary Fire-Blood, she's allowed to sleep inside it tonight.

  I let
out a sigh. "OK, you don't want to talk to me. Fair enough. I'll leave you alone."

  I begin to stand, readying to move off, though doing so purposefully slowly. The movement has her reaching out an arm, her voice croaking out an apology. The expected, and desired, reaction.

  "I'm sorry, Lady Herald," she says. "I just...I don't know what to say to you."

  I turn, settling back down eagerly. "You have trouble calling me Herald, don't you? You resent the fact that I've been given this position?"

  "No, I..." she starts, trying to look aghast but failing.

  "Oh, you can be honest. I don't blame you, Hestia. You never liked me from the start, and I think it's pretty obvious that that feeling was reciprocated. That's fine. It's normal. We come from different walks of life and all that, so there's bound to be tension. But, I do admire you as well, you know, despite what you might think."

  She frowns. "You do?"

  "Sure. You're dedicated and you're committed to what you do, and passionate about your city. Yes, you have some, um, questionable views on the people of the Fringe, but you clearly make a fine soldier. I could probably learn a lot from you."

  Her steely glare falls beneath a tightly furrowed brow. She regards me for a moment, before shaking her head. "Thanks," she says. "I guess I could learn a lot from you too."

  "Oh, really? Do tell."

  She shrugs. "Well, it can't have been easy for you coming here, I suppose. You were brave to go after your sister like that, whatever your reasons. And you held your own during the trials, even when I made life difficult for you. I'm sorry about that. I'm not a nice person, I know that. I just didn't like the idea that someone could just wander into Olympus from the Fringe and be as powerful as you are. It made me feel...inadequate."

  "Inadequate? Hestia, you're a beast. And I mean that in a good way."

  Her lips crack, the finest hint of a smile appearing, an expression that looks so alien on her face. Not bad, really, just rare, like a lone flower growing from the barren wasteland. When she loosens up, she actually looks almost pretty, in her own way.