by T. C. Edge
"Herald Perses has fallen! Our mighty leader is dead!"
I drop my chin as I hear the uproar, the shocked silence that precedes the clamouring, the screams. And looking around the camp, I now see that the news is already spreading. Spreading like a disease that drives us all mad.
I try to block it out as I continue down the convoy, still hunting for Jude to make sure he's OK. I'm sure he will be, given Eloise's testimony. Somehow, I was more concerned to find that he'd stayed where I'd put him, perhaps found lying on a bed when the first injured started coming in. How might the soldiers have reacted to that, seeing a Fringer there taking up space? Fuelled by fear and adrenaline and the perils of war, little would stop a disgruntled soldier from lashing out.
My route is familiar, the same I took only hours before that leads me towards Ralph's clinic. I half expect to find more soldiers there too, such is the overflow at the official infirmary, but instead find the rear section of the convoy quiet and still, somewhat detached from all the uproar ahead.
I muse, so briefly, on earlier weeks, when I'd wander through the camp at night, looking for ill-treatment. I thought only of the divide between the privileged and the poor, the soldiers from Olympus and their less illustrious cousins from the Fringe. And while that may be true, at least the Fringers aren't here to fight, at least they won't see their lives at risk. Now, the tables have all but turned. It is the Olympians who face peril. The soldiers who are under great threat.
I'm not surprised to find Ralph outside the carriage, sitting there upon the step smoking a cigarette. While the army falls to a temporary chaos, stirred up into a frenzy by the night's events, Ralph just sits, as calm as ever, regarding it all from afar.
For the third time that night, I suffer a case of mistaken identity. Spotting me, Ralph stands up immediately, adopts a slightly defensive posture, and reaches out his hand, wagging his finger.
"Oh no, not another one," he crackles from his dusty old throat. "I've had enough of you lot looking for a spare bed. If you ain't got an ailment, you ain't comin' in!"
As with the others, I don't blame him for the error, particularly back here where it's shadowed and dark. To put him right, and with a modicum of energy now swelling within me, I manage to send a renewed glow to the exposed parts of my armour and flesh, my skin lighting up a little behind the dirt and mud, my armour doing the same with its customary red hue.
With my face lighting up bright amid the gloom, Ralph is quick to note his mistake and, of course, offer his profuse apologies.
"Mistress Herald, I'm so sorry. Thought you were just another freeloader from the working slaves. Their accommodations are awful tight. Sometimes they come lookin' for a more comfy night's sleep down here. Can't pull the wool over old Ralph's eyes, though!"
When I reach him, the true state of my person becomes clear. He recoils, almost, at the sight of me. Not the sort of reaction I'm used to.
"You...you been through the wars, Mistress. You should be headin' for the infirmary if you need treatment."
"I don't need treatment, Ralph. Just a good night's sleep."
"Oh, right. But there's, er, blood all over you."
I look down at myself. I hadn't realised until now that my armour was so covered in blood, dried and mixed in with the dirt and ash. I shake my head, sighing mournfully. "It isn't mine," I whisper.
"Ah, of course. Bet you liquidated a lot of them out there, hey!"
My head dips. "Something like that."
"Right, right. So what you here for, Mistress? Not that your presence doesn't always light my day. Just, er, wonderin', what with all that's goin' on."
"I'm just...I'm just looking for Jude, Ralph," I say, my words growing laboured as I speak. Perhaps reigniting my armour wasn't such a good idea. I feel, suddenly, as if I'm going to collapse.
"You sure you're OK there, Mistress. You're slurring your words a bit."
"I'm...fine. Just...tired."
My armour begins to flicker again, a candle running out of wax. I reach out to the side of the carriage for support, stumbling a little bit as I do.
"All right," says Ralph, hurrying on his old, arthritic legs towards me, "let's get you sorted."
He gets under my arm, supporting me as he leads me towards the steps outside the cabin. The mud and grime stuck all over me, melting a little now as my body warms up, stains his clothes further, adding to the many that already cover them. I moan out an apology as he sits me down. He waves it off with his signature indifference.
"These old rags have seen much worse, I'll tell you," he says. "Look, just sit here a moment. I've got something that'll help."
I hear the door to the carriage open as he disappears inside. After a bit of noisy rummaging, I hear him exclaim, "Ah, there you are," before returning to me outside.
He drops down next to me on the steps, Herald and old medic side by side, both of us Fringers at our core.
"All right, get this down you," he says, handing me a small tonic. I take it, unsure, looking through bleary eyes at the dirty little bottle, the unappetising brown liquid within.
"Er..."
"Oh, don't worry about the container. Been stored back there for a while now. Contents are good."
"And, what is it?" I croak.
"Nothing too exciting. It's a little bit like those energy bars you lot eat to keep you goin'. Older version. They used to knock this back to give em' a little boost. Should be enough to straighten you out until you get a proper rest."
"OK. You...sure it's still good?" I eye the contents again with a note of trepidation. Sure, if it were anything poisonous my fiery blood would burn it right off. But, well, not in the state I'm currently in. I'm hardly strong enough to repel anything that might be hazardous to my insides.
"It's good, it's good, Mistress. Don't worry about it. I've had it stashed back there a while now, just in case. Was always too scared to use it on a Fringer. Thought it might be too much for 'em. Only someone with, you know, divine blood like yours can handle it I reckon."
The way he says the word 'divine' makes me wonder about his thoughts on all this, whether he actually believes what most of the Fringe does. I decide to trust him, and knock the tonic back, letting the thick liquid ooze down my throat. It burns a little, seeping into my stomach where, to my surprise, it has an immediate effect. Within moments I can feel my energy beginning to return, my empty tank being somewhat refilled. Enough, as he says, to see me through until I get some proper food and rest.
My body reacts in its usual way, burning a little brighter, setting a renewed warmth inside me. As a result, the rest of the filth on my armour quickly melts and drips away. My face, still dirtied, does the same, my hair sparking back to life in its dazzling golden form.
I feel a new girl, all of a sudden. Even the feeling of melancholy and dread within me seems somewhat dulled by the potion.
"Good?" asks Ralph. "You certainly look it, Mistress. Radiant again, as always."
"I do...I do feel good," I say, nodding, enjoying the sensation, the temporary relief from my current mood. "Thank you, Ralph. You're always such a help."
"Well, it's my pleasure, Mistress. I'd do the same for any Olympian, I would, though only because I'd have to." He smiles, teeth old and crooked, yellowing from lack of upkeep. "With you, I want to. It's an honour, Herald Amber."
I smile at him, a quite genuine look. The old man seems to have that power; to lighten even the darkest of nights. "You know, it's not meant to be good manners to say my given name," I say, with a light smile gliding up my lips. "Not for an old Fringer, anyway."
He knows I'm joking, of course. Back home, it was considered disrespectful to ever say the name of a Child of the Prime. Oh no, such an offence. You could only call them by their title, or merely Master, Mistress, Lord or Lady.
I realise now, more than ever, how ridiculous it all is.
"Oh, my deepest apologies, Mistress Herald," he says with a sly grin. "I would never want to cross that line."
/> "I'm sure," I chuckle, enjoying his company. It's strangely nice back here, peaceful. I can almost forget all the chaos up ahead, the convoy still being manically prepared for departure. "You're not the best Devotee, are you Ralph?" I ask. "You seem like a heretic who's sensible enough not to talk about it."
He cocks his head to the side. "Well, maybe you got me there. I know you'll take no offence to it, of course, but I'd never say it to anyone else. I come from a border town on the Fringe that don't believe much, to be honest. Not the top border, of course, near the Sacred Plains. No, the other one. The one facing all the danger out there to the south. We all seen too much to believe in what they tell us. We only do what we're told because we got no choice."
"And it's like that in a lot of places on the southern border?" I ask.
"Oh, yeah, sure is," he tells me brightly. "People even try to leave sometimes, set up a life outside of the Prime's control."
"Do they make it?" I ask, leaning in eagerly. "Jude and I used to talk about doing that. Never really thought it was possible, but still..."
"Well, maybe it's not," Ralph says sombrely. "Hard to know if anyone ever makes it out. If they're caught, well, they'd be sent off to camp wouldn't they, prison or whatever those other camps do to try to make you compliant. Or maybe even executed right there. And if someone got out by some miracle, then they wouldn't be coming back, would they? We'd never hear about it. Only rumours. That's all we live off." He nods to himself a few times, turning quietly introspective. "You, er, you from a place called Pine Lake, I hear? They pretty devoted there?"
"Yeah," I say slowly, "I'd say. Nothing like Black Ridge - that's a place on the northern border. Totally fanatical - but yeah, most people are pretty devout. It's not bad, really. Just...difficult, you know, when you don't believe in the same thing."
"And that was you?"
I nod. "My grandmother taught me the truth from an early age. Jude the same. We were a rare lot there, to be honest."
"And...now?" Ralph says. "Now that you've, er, gone to the dark side." He smiles secretly, eyes twinkling in the darkness.
I can't help but laugh. "Well, I'm straddling the line, really," I say. "And the truth is...the Olympians know they're not proper gods. They just use it to control people and keep them in line." I shrug. "I don't know, it kinda works in a way. Not for everyone, obviously, but most people seem all right with it. You're never going to have a completely fair system, are you?"
Ralph goes a little quiet, his thoughts perhaps a little darker than his disposition would suggest. For a man from the southern borders, I guess he's conditioned to think a little differently. "I guess you're right, Mistress," he says eventually. "World's gotta be balanced, right? Equal pain to match the pleasure and all that. Just pot luck really where you end up. Hard for most to change their stars."
"Well, hopefully that's where I can try to help," I say, smiling. "Bring things a little bit closer together, you know."
"Straddling the line?" he says.
I smile again, and nod. "Exactly."
A growing rush of noise in the distance takes my attention. I turn to see movement, a number of carriages beginning to get into position. Calls begin rushing down the line, ordering everyone to their transports and stations. I stand up immediately.
"Damn it," I grunt. "We're leaving already." I look down to Ralph, who pulls a cigarette from his pocket. One more for the road, perhaps. "So, do you know where Jude is?" I ask. "He's obviously not here, unless you've just chosen not to tell me."
"Bah! Like I'd ever do that to you, Mistress. Nah, the boy ain't here. Last I saw, you were takin' him off my hands to the infirmary, right? Why...why would he come back?"
"Long story," I say. "Do you know where he might be?"
"Well, if he ain't there and he ain't here, I guess he's back with the other workers. I'm supposin' the boy didn't wanna be there when the injured started comin' in? He'd have gone back to join the rest, Mistress. No need to worry."
I sigh, looking out as the great wheel starts to turn once more. "You're probably right. I guess I'll check on him when we next stop."
"Best option, I say," says Ralph. "And you need your rest anyway, Mistress. I ain't no proper doctor, but I know that much at least. That's my recommendation. Get some food in you. Get your head down. Check on the boy tomorrow."
The man, I know, is right. With a final look around the carriages back here at the rear of the camp, I decide to fall in line with Ralph's wisdom.
I thank him again, say goodbye, and make my way back towards the front of the line.
88
It seems to be the day that will never end, one destined to go on forever.
With Black Thunder approaching ahead, and my mind once again filling with Perses's loss, I see a glowing figure appear to one side, part of a small group of people set apart from the convoy as it imminently prepares to leave.
I look over to find that it's Hestia, standing with Herald Gailen and several others. The Overseer is there too, addressing them over something. The energy of the group, the looks on their faces, makes it immediately obvious just what that thing is.
I walk over towards them, part of me interested to hear what Hestia's been up to, another part merely trying to delay climbing back aboard Black Thunder, cold and lonely as it now is with Perses's formidable presence eternally absent. I join the group, though don't interrupt, the Overseer just finishing his update. It leads to a period of silence and introspection among them all.
"Herald Kovas is now in charge," the Overseer says. "As you can see, he has ordered the convoy to move immediately."
Gailen's eyes widen at that, before falling into a frown. He draws the Overseer's gaze. While Gailen cannot communicate with the rest of us verbally, he can quite easily do it telepathically with the Overseer. The two engage in what appears to be a brief telepathic conversation, before the Overseer notices my presence.
"Ah, Herald Amber," he says. "I was just telling them all about, um...well, you know."
Hestia moves to my side as he speaks, nodding to me a sombre greeting. Her eyes are strained and tense. Like me, she looks like she needs to rest. Herald Gailen, on the other hand, remains fresh of face and energetic. Like Perses did, he has the gift of highly enhanced endurance, capable of operating for a long time without long periods of rest.
"We were just talking about this swift departure," the Overseer says, glancing at Gailen, updating the group on what they were saying. "Herald Gailen here has voiced his concern, the same one I put to Herald Kovas before."
"Right. About there being more survivors out there?" I say.
"Indeed. Herald Gailen believes we should wait until morning before setting off. He wishes to return again to the woods and continue the search."
"Yes, as do I," says Hestia, taking a deep breath. "And I agree. We shouldn't leave until everyone is accounted for." She speaks with her usual resolve, at least among friends. I doubt she'd be so bold in front of Herald Kovas.
"Understandable, of course," says the Overseer. "However, Herald Kovas has made his decision. He will leave a carriage and some soldiers in support. It will remain until morning and then follow the convoy through. That will give you some more time to lead the search."
Hestia shakes her head with a grunt. She looks to the ground, eyes turning hollow. "It's not what Herald Perses would have done."
Silence.
I feel another stab at my chest as she looks up at me sympathetically. She must know I was there. She must know he died in my arms.
"Perhaps," whispers the Overseer softly. "But facts are facts. We must unite now against this threat, and support Herald Kovas in all his decisions. He wishes to strike soon, I'm sure. Delaying here will not help that cause."
He looks around the group, which includes a few other soldiers with weary eyes and blackened clothes, some showing signs of minor injury, though nothing to render them incapable of doing their duty. Once again, I'm shocked to find that Asher is there, the le
ader of the three thugs who put Jude in the infirmary in the first place. He followed, among many others, Gailen, Hestia and I into the woods after the firestorm came, keen to help in the fight, drive off the enemy threat.
Is this his new purpose? I wonder. Has he decided to move on from his pain, try to focus on something more positive?
I look at him and nod, and find that he nods back determinedly, his eyes no longer showing the hate they used to portray. It is a sign, clear as any other, that we are now united in this war. That personal feelings and animosities need to be put aside for the greater good.
And that, I know, includes my feelings towards Herald Kovas. We have no choice but to follow his lead.
"The convoy is leaving," the Overseer says, turning towards his own chariot nearby, shared with Lady Dianna. "I assume, then, that you are heading back in?"
Herald Gailen nods resolutely. Hestia does the same. The rest follow their lead, their little band now bonding over this hunt to find the missing. I find myself caught up in it all. I step into the group, cementing my position among them.
"Then I'm going too," I say.
The Overseer looks down at me, a grandfatherly concern on his face. "Is that wise. You must rest, Herald Amber."
I glance back towards Black Thunder. "I...I'd rather not," I say. "I'm fine now, Master Overseer. I want to help. I...I'm going to help."
I speak the words with a finality to them, displaying my authority. No one here, not even Herald Gailen, can deny me. I know, now, that I must put my weight behind this title, live up to it and not just live off it.
"Well, it'd be great to have you with us," Hestia says, slapping my arm. A few soldiers raise their eyes at that. She has, perhaps, grown too familiar. It's exactly what I want, and need, right now.
Distraction.
A friend.
Herald Gailen, too, shows his appreciation by way of a handsome smile. I notice that his shaven head - something all Heralds, both of War and Awakening, share - is starting to sprout some stubble. While Kovas's head has grown naturally bald, the other Heralds are required to conform to the daily ritual of shaving theirs. After such a long day, the dark stubble on Gailen's head is conspicuous.