by T. C. Edge
I prepare a retort, but find Elian reacting quicker. Whatever his true feelings about a Fringer being beaten, he will not suffer such insolence from lowly soldiers. A man of his stature, his innate superiority, would consider such a thing a grave insult.
"You dare," he begins, voice spitting like hot coals, "take that tone with me." He takes a step forward, eyes direct and intense. A pulse of flame spreads from his body, causing the men to flinch from the heat. They back away, turning their cheeks to the flame, eyes swiftly sobering.
A silence descends on the scene. All three men lower their eyes, staring at the ground. Elian stands before them, glowing, fingers sparking fire. "You beat a defenceless man whose duty is only to serve us. And you stand here with the gall to lie to me about it. I am the Chosen Fire-Blood," he growls. "And she is a Herald of War. Speak the truth, now, or hold yourselves accountable for what we do."
The men glance at one another nervously. They seem to agree that lying isn't going to get them anywhere.
"He...he was speaking heresy," grunts the grim-faced man with the narrow, hateful eyes. "He spoke against the Prime, Master Chosen." He stiffens up, lifting his chin. "He got what he deserved, sir."
Elian's eyes fall beneath a considering frown. He glances at me briefly.
"That doesn't mean you can take the law into your own hands," he says. "Proper channels need to be followed."
"But...sir. It happens...all the time. This one deserved it more...than most."
Elian looks at me again. I can sense the conflict in him, as though he's partly agreeing with them, and partly wishing to please me.
"That excuses nothing, soldier," he says eventually. "And who's to say you're not just lying to me..."
"We're not, sir," says another, their drunken shroud cast off, voices clearing. "It's the truth."
"Well, we'll see about that," Elian says, drawing an authoritative breath. "You'll spend the night in the stockade, pending an investigation. The Overseer will determine exactly what happened here."
"Sir! The stockade...for beating a heretic? He's lucky we didn't kill him." The man spits at the ground off to one side, showing his disgust.
"Soldier!" shouts Elian. "You will not question my ruling. You will accompany me now, or will suffer a far worse fate." His body pulses again, the flames stronger. The soldiers take a further step back, shielding their faces. "Do you understand me?"
The men reluctantly nod, Elian's authority suffering no further questioning. He turns to me, face cast with a profound seriousness, a sense of gravity that I find alarmingly attractive. I feel my heart race as I look at him, filled with a sense of pride.
"Head back to Black Thunder, Amber," he says. "I'll handle all of this."
Where I might usually question his decision, I merely nod and take the order. I stare at him with a silent thank you, an appreciation that I find hard to verbalise right now. It's small, really - frankly, anyone of authority should react like this when encountering such a scene - and yet it means the world to me.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Elian goes on. "We'll begin our training, in the daytime if possible. I'll ask Perses if it's an option. We may well have another slow day like today." I nod, still silent. Elian smiles at me fondly. "Goodnight, then. I'll see these three get what they deserve."
He growls the words, before turning back to the men, who duck away in submission. And with that, he barks a few words for them to get moving, and leads them off through the camp to the stockade carriage, leaving me to wander back to Black Thunder alone, pondering a great deal from the night's events.
71
The following day is, as suspected, another slow affair, our progress growing ever stunted as we venture deeper into largely unknown territory. Little by little, signs of a world gone by appear before my eyes that morning, old ruins visible amid the trees, the occasional sighting of a taller building, or collection of them, hardly more than rubble now, appearing in the distance.
I find myself, with Perses once more absent, checking the maps to determine where we might be. Once, these high rise buildings, known as skyscrapers, proliferated through these vast lands. Cities were filled with them, each giving home to hundreds, even thousands, of people. With populations so high, they were wonderful space-savers, giving humans mastery of the great, empty spaces above them.
Now, following wars and hundreds of years of neglect, little more than stumps remain, buildings that might once have been hundreds of floors high reduced to only a few. I see them, only briefly, often built nearby to wide, multi-lane roads that, too, have become decayed by time, overrun by nature.
The slowing pace of our path gives our leaders cause for concern, of course, especially as we progress towards the south-east. If spotted now by any scouts who might watch over these lands, Haven will be given ample warning of our arrival, giving them the opportunity to muster what forces they have, bolster the defences their own, great city provides, and prepare themselves for the coming attack.
To that end, our own recon units move forward, our finest multi-powered individuals, those in particular with the powers of the Phasers and Farsights, send ahead to watch out for those who might be watching out for us. Should any such scouts be seen, they are to be captured, if possible, and taken to the Overseer for mental extraction. If capture isn't possible, then the only option is to hunt them down and kill them, a task likely taken on by our most skilled assassins and warriors, if not even the Heralds themselves.
It isn't until late morning that a knock sounds at the door, a clear enough signal that it isn't Perses outside, who'd never deign to knock upon the entrance to his own carriage. Well, unless he suspected I was changing, or something.
I step up and look out of the window to find Elian there, the convoy at a short standstill as the pathway forward is cut through and rearranged as is likely to become the norm in the coming days. He turns his eyes up at me in that sort of semi-proud look of his, suggesting immediately to me that he's made further ground with Perses.
"Right then, get yourself together," he says heartily, flicking a few strands of golden hair from his forehead. "Looks like we'll be pretty slow for the next couple of hours or so. Plenty of time for us to put in some practice."
He looks me up and down a moment as I stand fixed to the spot. Inside the carriage. Very much inside the carriage.
"Well, what are you waiting for exactly? Come on, we're on the clock here."
With an unexpected reluctance, I step down from the carriage, already dressed in my combat armour as I've been advised to constantly do by Perses. Apparently, wearing the same one-piece garment day in-day out is important out here, should anything suddenly go awry and we get sprung upon by an enemy. The hygienic issue isn't one I've dwelled on much; it's become clear enough that this armour is 'self cleaning' in some sort of fashion.
At least, that's what I like to think.
I hit the ground feeling strangely grumpy as I turn my eyes around the convoy, stuck in traffic as the Titans, Earth-Shakers, Forgers and the like set about uprooting trees, moving vegetation covered vehicles, and generally clearing anything from our path so we can easily move through. I spot the black-wreathed figure of Perses out there too, directing matters, occasionally adding his own metaphorical and literal weight to proceedings. The sight of him brings a scowl.
Elian's voice draws my attention. "Trouble in paradise?" he asks.
I turn away fully, spinning around to gaze upon the hundred-plus carriages spreading into the distance. "Nothing," I grumble. "It just annoys me that he listens to you, and not to me. I've asked him time and again about..." I stop in my tracks, realising this is ground we've covered before, and not terrain that needs to be revisited. I draw a breath, composing myself. "No, it's OK," I say. "It's fine. I'm fine."
Elian can't help but lift that irritatingly casual smile of his. "Yeah, you sound completely fine, Amber. Totally and utterly fine."
"And that's because I am fine," I say, holding a profoundly false smil
e on my lips. "Everything's perfect."
Elian creeps in. "You wanna talk about it? I don't mind listening, really."
"Talk about what? There's nothing to talk about, because I'm fine."
"Right, yeah of course." Elian nods. "You're fine." A strange moment of silence follows. "So, er, I guess let's go train then?" He cocks an eyebrow. "You know, since you're fine and everything."
I raise my own eyes, knowing I deserve this sarcastic reaction, and draw a silent breath through my nostrils. The flaring is probably obvious. "Yep, let's do it."
I feel a little bit silly as we move off, though will have to forgive my slight petulance. After all, Elian is senior to me. Not in terms of title, perhaps, but certainly with regards to the respect he affords among his - well, our - peers, and with the experience he has of being a high ranked Fire-Blood. It's little wonder that Perses will listen to him, rather than me, particularly when my initial motivation behind asking him about exploring beyond the camp was, well, to do just that - explore, and not necessarily train.
The thought causes my ire to flee, though something in the back of my mind continues to irk me. Perhaps this is nothing but a symptom of a larger problem. Maybe my irrational irritation isn't so irrational at all, more a natural response to being so sidelined as I am. Excluded from war council meetings. Mostly ignored by Perses when he is around. Treated, essentially, like a child.
Which, I guess, I am...
Before, perhaps, I didn't care so much, but now that's starting to change. Maybe, just maybe, this new, self-appointed role of mine is giving me some extra backbone.
We press on through towards the rear of the convoy, the brisk morning air helping to take my mind off in another direction. Looking around, I see a few groggy looking faces, many of the soldiers evidently feeling a little the worse for wear after the previous evening's indulgences.
"So what happened with those thugs?" I ask as Elian leads me on. "I take it they're locked in the stockade right now?"
Elian turns his eyes to me with a questioning look. "You don't trust that I followed through, do you?" he says. "I'll bet you just think I let them go."
"I..."
"I can see it in your face, Amber, so don't try to deny it." He shakes his head. "Don't worry, I don't blame you, but yes, I did follow through, and yes, they are in the stockade. You can go check if you want? It's not far. This way..."
He turns to move off, but I grab his arm.
"Now who's being silly?" I say. "You're about as 'fine' as I am, clearly. Sensitive much?"
"Well, maybe I am. It just annoys me that you don't trust me, after everything I've done."
"And who says I don't trust you. I didn't even say anything!"
"You didn't have to, that's the point. It was clear by your tone and the look on your face."
"Ok, well I'm sorry for that. I guess I have trust issues. Sue me."
A short bout of tension falls as if a covering of snow from the sky, briefly engulfing us. We shake it off quickly enough, the sun breaking through to thaw the frost from the moment, releasing us from its bitter shackles.
"Look, forget it," Elian says eventually. "We've got bigger things to think about right now."
He steps off quickly, though once more, I halt him in his path, calling his name softly.
"Elian..."
He turns, a little stiff and defensive. "What?"
"I really do trust you, you know." I step towards him. "And I appreciate all your help. More than I'm able to show, I guess. It's just...I have this wall. It helps protect me. I...I don't easily look past it, even when someone's being as nice as you are."
Slowly, the warmth returns to Elian's face. "Thanks," he says. "And that wall of yours...I get it. I really do." He turns once more, nodding his head to the rear. "Now come on, the others are waiting..."
A few minutes later, I step past the final carriage in the convoy, reaching the end of the great train, and discover a small group of people awaiting us.
Among the assemblage of soldiers - gathered here to keep watch whilst Elian and I train - are a couple of particularly prominent figures, standing out among the others for very different reasons. Krun, owing to his enormous size, and Hestia, lit up red and glowing with her own inner, and very much outer, menace.
Elian marches up to greet them, displaying his keen natural leadership as he thanks the group for gathering. It's something I'm still working on. Elian, unlike me, has a natural charm that makes people warm to him easily. OK, so I'm not quite in Hestia's league, but I'm certainly towards the more frosty end of the scale at times, particularly with my constant championing of the downtrodden and unfortunate, something that likely makes people more wary of being around me.
"Thank you all for coming," Elian proclaims. "I know a few of you might have sore heads owing to yesterday's antics, but thankfully you won't have anything particularly exerting to do."
A few of the soldiers glance at one another humorously, and knowingly.
"I must also lend my apologies to Captain Krun for missing the tree-hurling contest this afternoon. I know you've been smarting, Krun, over your previous loss to Atlas, and wanted another crack at him, but frankly I think your absence might be a blessing in disguise for you."
A round of laughter follows, leading to a slight blush rising on Krun's cheeks. "I'd never expect to beat Atlas," he announces defensively. "He's Chosen for a reason..."
"Yes, we can all see that," continues Elian, leading to further laughs. A withering glare from Krun, however, staring down his subordinate soldiers, puts an end to it.
"Of course, I am only teasing," Elian says. "In truth, myself and Amber both appreciate your being here. I imagine a few card games will be missed, and a few afternoon naps will have to be put on hold, but then, I suppose that's just war."
The chuckles are a little more muted this time. Elian has never tasted war, after all. The likes of Krun and his selected men, often serving under Perses, aren't likely to be so amused by any war jokes from a kid who's never experienced it.
"Right then," Elian says hastily, perhaps realising he's starting to lose his audience. "Um, shall we get going?" He turns his eyes ahead, towards the path the convoy have been travelling, the huge highway that was previously covered in vehicles and overgrown vegetation now impressively cleared down the central lanes. Either side, the world remains cluttered and closed in, tangled up within the retaken dominion of nature. A little further back, however, a clearer path sits off to the right, mingled with the remains of an old town. I recall seeing it as we passed by not so long ago.
"We just checked back there," Krun says, noting the direction of Elian's gaze. "Place is clear, no one there. We'll set about securing the area. How much space do you need?"
Elian's eyes flash towards me. "Plenty," he says. "We're not going to push things too much, but you know this one, Krun. She's a wildcard."
He grins, Krun not quite managing the same, and the big Titan turns to his men, set to issue orders. Only Hestia, by the looks of things, seems beyond his military influence.
"How are you, Hestia?" I ask her as we set off, moving fairly leisurely down the track, as Krun and his troop dart off at greater speed to secure the area. Elian goes too to help direct them, leaving Hestia and I temporarily alone.
"Fine," she says in her usual terse way. I've realised during our time getting to know one another that she's not trying to be rude, it's just her way. The past couple of weeks on the road have worked to cement our fledgling bond into something a little more reliable. It's not the sturdiest structure, but it'll do.
Though, my attempts to enlist her into my cause didn't really go anywhere. Much as we're starting to get onto the same page, she's struggling to change her own views of the Fringers, despite my best efforts.
"I'm fine too," I say, lifting a wry grin. "Very much fine." It takes a moment for me to realise that she wasn't part of the conversation with Elian a little earlier.
She lifts her eyes, semi confused
, semi disinterested. "Right. Good to hear...Amber."
Like with Marlow, I've managed to stop Hestia using my 'official' title, though mostly when we're alone. She's struggled with it, I know, given her extreme dedication to the military and the social hierarchy it dictates.
I smile fondly at her. Her presence, though never far from stern, helps to warm me. It's a rather pathetic reminder that I don't have too many friends out here.
"How's the crusade?" she asks as we continue on. "I hear Elian's helping out?" She lifts her voice, showing her surprise.
"He is," I say, instinctively turning my eyes to look at him, hurrying off into the distance. It brings a smile. "He sorted out a few thugs last night. Probably saved some poor guy's life."
"Ah yes. I heard about this." Her eyes narrow hawkishly. "Wasn't the Fringer a heretic? He was heard speaking out against the Prime, wasn't he? You, um, you condone that, do you?"
I gather my authority into a stern expression of my own. It's all I have to do to remind her of our relative positions. "It's more complicated than that, Hestia, as you know. Where I grew up, people really don't understand the Prime as I do now. They're kept in the dark. It makes sense that a few are going to start thinking for themselves."
"Like you did?"
"Yes, like I did. I'm fortunate enough now to have seen both sides of the coin. Few can say that. Those that can usually have a good appreciation of both the people of the Fringe, and of Olympus."
She nods at that, as if I'm just starting to get through to her. Frankly, people should listen to my wisdom. I do have a little bit. Sometimes.
"Well I'm glad things are going well for you," Hestia says. "I think you're wasting your time with this policing you're doing, but..."
"It's not a waste of time if I help save people from getting beaten, or worse," I cut in. "If I can help just one person, isn't it enough?"