by T. C. Edge
I stare out at them, feeling numb.
"I don't imagine it's normal to know exactly who you killed in a battle," I say, looking out with blank eyes, my nose filling with the putrid stench of death and scorched flesh. "Or...how many."
Hundreds, I think to myself. Here, and over at the Olympian camp. I must have killed hundreds of people last night...
"You did what you had to, Amber," Elian says to me softly, trying to reassure me. "If you hadn't, we'd all be dead. You're a hero..."
I flinch at the word. "I don't feel very heroic," I say. "I just feel..." I let out a sigh, and fall into a long moment of silence. "I killed Hestia, you know."
He turns quiet for a second. I feel his hand tentatively reach out to try to comfort me, to wrap around my back and hold me tight. It doesn't feel natural, his hand stopping halfway, before pulling slowly away.
He doesn't know what to say, I think. He doesn't know what to do...
"You didn't have a choice," he whispers eventually. "There was nothing else you could have done."
I nod slowly, my eyes falling to the ground. They begin to trace gently up again, moving to the part of the battlefield where I fought Hestia and the other five Fire-Bloods.
They were meant to be my brothers, my sisters. Curse the world for forcing me into this...
"I hear you were the one who killed Kovas?" Elian says. I turn to look at him, needing to see his expression. He never saw Kovas as I did. He never saw him for the cruel man he was, but a friend to his father, a mentor to himself.
"Perses wasn't going to do it," I say, my voice catching. "I took that burden from him." I narrow my eyes as the recent memory comes. "I took it willingly, Elian."
His eyes, mournful, turn away. "I know," he whispers. "I don't blame you, Amber. This is a...a rough deal. But you did the right thing. Be sure of that, OK?"
I find myself nodding once more, the great joy I experienced only hours before fading like a distant memory. To take flight like I did was exhilarating, the greatest thrill of my young life. Yet, perhaps I lost some control as well? Perhaps the fire-lust began to break out again, just as it used to.
I shake the thought from my mind. I know I have gained control of the beast within now, tamed its wilder urges. It was a one-off, I tell myself. I won't have to kill so many again...
Ahead, I see three figures coming towards us from the north. Ares and Maximus, the two senior men within the Neoroman Imperial Guard, along with Commander Hendricks, leader of the City Guard of New Haven. They hurry at some pace, coming back towards us from the Olympian convoy, burning in the distance.
It has been decimated, just as much of the fort has too. It's northern walls, those we spent much time reinforcing, are badly damaged now, the central tower within crumbling to its foundations during the bombardment.
Elian, I know, was ushered to safety only just before it was hit, along with Secretary Burns and my grandmother. It was Perses, he told me after the battle, who managed to see the energy ball coming, spotting it from the distance and leading them to safety just before the tower was before struck. A moment earlier, and they may have been trapped at the top, nowhere to go as it crumbled to the floor.
Fine margins, I think. So many fine margins between life and death.
I hear footsteps on crumbling stone behind me, and turn to find the very man himself, Perses, stepping forward alongside Secretary Burns. They join Elian and I, staring outwards as the others continue to rush from the distance.
"No survivors?" Perses says solemnly, looking out at the three, lonely figures. "Not one?”
"Doesn't look like it," I say, counting only the three commanders as they return on their mission to search for, among others, Captain Crastus and his troop.
They'd been tasked with attacking from the eastern flank, but had gone mysteriously quiet fairly early in the battle. I'd thought that they had joined with Ares's main force to the north, but apparently that wasn't the case.
It seems inevitable, now, that all of them have fallen as well.
We get confirmation of that very thing only moments later as the commanders rush to join us, as we stand just outside the walls of the fort. To watch them work through the sea of corpses, Olympian, Havenite, and Neoroman alike, is an image I'll not soon forget.
"You found no one living?" asks Secretary Burns, his eyes crafted into an unrelenting frown, a rare thing to see for a man who always maintains such a calm, placid demeanour. "None at all?"
Ares shakes his head, as he looms forward, titanic and tall, his mighty frame splashed with blood and filth from the battle not long passed. "None," he says, his deep, exotic voice like a thunderstorm in the tropics. "We found Captain Crastus's body in a deep ravine. It looks as though many of his men were cornered there. None survived."
Maximus flinches, puffing a breath of air from his nose. Of the two hundred or so Neoromans under his and Ares's charge, less than fifty now remain, along with a scattering of Stalkers, City Guards, and Nameless freedom fighters. In total, only eighty are left from the five hundred troops who came with the advanced force.
That the bulk of them are Neoroman isn't a huge surprise; the Imperial Guard, I know, are selected from some of the greatest fighters in the world, many of them former Champions of the Imperial Games. Each loss is felt hard, I can tell, by Maximus and Ares. They have a code of honour, duty, and loyalty that binds them close as a warring people.
"We think they were probably ambushed by Kovas and his battalion," Hendricks says. "He seemed to come from that direction when he attacked us here."
I feel all eyes, whether intentionally or not, move to me again. They bring the weight of pressure and expectation now, having seen what I can do.
"All others are dead out there," Ares continues, the attention taken off me once more. "We have lost over four hundred good men, but the enemy have lost a great deal more." He turns his eyes to Secretary Burns. "Has Alberta returned yet?"
Burns shakes his head. "She should be on her way by now," he says. "So long as we are certain that the fort is safe?"
The question is, of course, one we cannot answer with a hundred per cent conviction. The truth is, many hundreds of Olympian soldiers fled and retreated. If they were to regather and return now, perhaps with an additional force to bolster them, we'd find it very difficult to beat them back. I can't speak, of course, for everyone, but I myself am spent, and need time to recover from my exertions. Maximus, too, looks weary, his injured right arm weighing him down. And while Hendricks, Ares, and Perses may still be fit to fight - though, I'm still not certain whether the latter wishes to do so - I know that Kira is too badly injured to lend her aid.
Right now, she's in the fort, being seen to by what medic we can muster. I don't yet know the diagnosis, but whether torn ligaments, or broken bones, she won't be much good for a while without proper, advanced medical care, the sort that someone like Lady Eloise could provide.
Somehow, seeing her sitting in the rubble outside of the fort, as the battle came to an end, was quite upsetting to me. It sounds strange, given how many horrible things occurred last night, but she just looked so lost and forlorn.
I look up to her, I think. No one likes to see their heroes like that...
I'm drawn back to the conversation again, realising now how much I need to rest with my mind wandering as it is. I find Perses speaking, asserting his position, and telling us with some assurance that the fort will not be attacked again any time soon.
"They lost their leader," he says, his voice particularly deep in the silence and still of the morning air, "and almost two thousand of their troops. That is the majority that they brought with them. And Ares says he injured Herald Avon too, who would naturally assume Kovas's mantle as commander of their forces." He looks around the group. "It is safe to say they are severely weakened. No attack will come, I assure you."
What I find, perhaps, of most interest as he speaks, is the fact that he calls the Olympian army, and their soldiers 'they'. So
far, I don't recall him doing that. It is a sure sign, as much as any other, that Perses is gradually becoming the force here, both as advisor and warrior, that the coalition forces wish him to be.
And, I find, so do I.
If he can share this burden with me, I think, it will make it so much easier...
"I agree with Perses," Ares adds, ever aligned with him in thought, as well as physical prowess. "We will need to decide whether to stay here, or move elsewhere soon, but for now we must await Alberta and her people. We must lay to rest those who have earned that right."
His words end in a solemn silence as we think of all those who have been killed. It is the reason my grandmother was dispatched soon after the battle concluded, her task to head for Hunter's Station and gather people to come help. Help in the fetching of the dead. Help in their burial and burning here on the open, barren plains.
It will, I know, be quite the task.
"And what of the Olympian soldiers?" I find Perses asking. "They will have no such honour from Olympus, not all this way out here. If you would permit me, I will see them cremated as well. Many," he says mournfully, "have fought by my side before. They do not deserve to lie as carrion for the birds."
His words are taken well, even by Commander Hendricks, who usually takes a more blunt view on such things. "They shall be gathered too, if it pleases you, Perses," Secretary Burns says. "I don't imagine that we have wood for building pyres here, nor is the earth good for digging. Perhaps we could use the ravines, if that is agreeable?"
I know what he's saying; pile the dead into the ravines, and burn them down there, out of sight. It may not be the best option, but there don't seem to be many others.
"It is agreeable, Leyton," says Perses. "What will you do with your dead?"
The leaders of the coalition exchange looks. "We gather them in the fort," comes Maximus's voice, his eyes still troubled and tightly knit. "We send them off as heroes, all, in the presence of those they helped save."
Again, a period of respectful silence follows his words as heads begin to nod.
"Very well," says Burns eventually. "For those who are able, I would suggest that a path is cleared through the rubble at the breach. We will need to be able to ferry wagons and carts in and out, in order to gather our dead."
His orders are agreed to, as we begin to clear away chunks of rock and stone, gathering the tumbled wall to the left and right and forging a flattened pathway through the gaping breach. Ares and Perses, using their considerable strength, immediately go after the largest blocks of all, hauling them out of the way as some others come to help. Maximus, though clearly weary from his injury and the rigours of the fight, is most effective of all, his vast telekinetic powers allowing him to remove large quantities of loose stone at once.
I find myself mostly useless, though lend a hand anyway. With Elian doing the same, we pitch in where we can, moving away the smaller bits of rubble, though making sure, all the while, to stay out of the way of the others as we do.
We're making good progress when I hear voices coming from inside the fort. It seems that my grandmother has returned, with a host of Fringers at her back. They enter through the southern gate, rattling on wagons and carts that wend through the devastated fort and towards its northern yard. There, the bodies have been removed already to make way, piled like rock and stone to the sides, just waiting to be burned.
And as they come, I find Jude stepping out of the jeep that leads them, jumping quickly from behind the wheel. I stare at him, as his eyes hurry about, searching frantically for me among the survivors. He knows I'm alive, of course, he knows I'm fine; my grandmother would most certainly have assured him of that.
Yet still, when he spots me, his face erupts in relief, as he hurries towards me, rushing through the yard, and hauling me up into his strong arms. It is as fond a greeting as I could get, not dissimilar to what Elian did, several hours ago.
Now, it is Jude's turn. And as he grips me into a desperate embrace, I find Elian slipping away, leaving us to share this moment, alone.
163
KIRA
I sit within a simple stone room at the southeastern side of the fort. It's an old storeroom, as far as I can tell, once utilised for the storing of food, given its location affixed to the main canteen. Now, it's been hastily retrofitted into an infirmary, furnished with a few beds and chairs for the injured to be seen to.
I feel a little silly being in here, given the extent of my personal injury. There are a handful of others, their wounds far more serious. A couple, I don't think, will see through the day. I know death when I see it. They're not long for this world.
"All right, that's you all strapped up. Stay off it as much as you can. I'll try to see about fixing you up with some crutches."
The young medic - though, I'm not sure of his credentials - nods to me and rushes off. There are two of them here, doing the best they can. The man who just saw to me is one I don't know, a young Havenite who operates within the City Guard. The other I faintly recognise, one of the Neoroman Imperial Guards under the command of Ares. I don't know whether either of them have advanced medical training. I get the impression that, right now, this is the best we can muster.
I look down at the City Guard's work. I may not be an expert in strapping injured ankles, but he seems to have done a good enough job. With a little prodding and poking, he was able to ascertain, in his limited opinion at least, that I haven't suffered a break. Apparently, it's just a 'very bad sprain', adding to the more minor sprain I suffered several nights ago.
Torn ligaments, then, I think, but not any broken bones. It's some silver lining, though not much. Ligament damage can still take weeks to properly knit up and heal. If there's a battle tomorrow, next week, or even several weeks from now, I may not find myself capable of taking part.
The thought brings a mixed feeling, one of ending, loss, and yet acceptance. It's not the time, right now, to wallow in any form of self pity, not with several hundred of our men having lost their lives. For me to even think of my own, minor troubles right now would be excessively self-involved. In the end, I could, and perhaps should, be dead already. And so might everyone else here.
It is, in the end, because of one young woman that I am still standing - metaphorically, if not physically right now - along with this fort.
My mind swirls again with recent memories, only hours now passed. Of the fire coming towards me as my ankle gave way, set to wrap me up in its fatal embrace. Of Amber, rushing ahead of it, pushing it back and, in doing so, killing her own friend, Hestia, to save my life.
I will never, ever forget it. I will be in the girl's debt, always.
Outside, now, the dawn is fast rising, the blood-red hues pouring in through the stone windows. I haul myself gingerly to my feet from the chair in which I sit, putting my weight on my right leg only. Hobbling, I make my way towards the nearest window and look out into the fort, so badly destroyed now on its northern side. There, I see many dozens of wagons and carts rolling through on rattling wheels, moving in and out of the fort and onto the plains beyond.
The breach, I see, has been cleared to allow easy access. They are collecting the dead, I know, an operation that will take time, even with the hundred or so Fringers Alberta seems to have gathered from Hunter's Station. I see, among them, the man called Keith who runs the militia of the Fringe Liberation League, helping organise the chaos. It's quite uplifting, if I can use such a word, to see simple Fringers working alongside Neoromans, Havenites, Stalkers, and even the few Olympians - Amber herself, Perses, Alberta and Elian - who have joined us.
I watch for a few moments, feeling more useless than ever. It is a feeling that has been brewing in me for several long days now, a bout of insecurity and self-doubt that I have struggled to escape. It isn't something that's entirely alien to me, of course - I felt such a thing when I fought in the Warrior Race, and found myself up against fighters who, I thought, had me severely outmatched - but recent events have co
nspired to bring about a more profound feeling, one which has a note of finality about it.
And my ankle, now, appears to have sealed that fate. My time as an assassin and warrior is done, I know. If this war was to become my last, it has ended prematurely. Unless it stretches out of many weeks, I surely won't find myself actively involved.
I dwell on that thought for a while longer, trying to find my way towards a bright side. The one I stumble towards is, of course, the same as always - Dom. He is only three days away now, and will be desperate to know that I'm all right. To find me injured, but for that injury to be a minor ankle issue, will, I know, fill him with great joy. He won't show it, nor will he say it, but I know it will be true.
Because, when all is said and done, he is my fiancé, and wishes for me to end my warring career for good. As would I, if the roles were reversed, and he was the one always going out into such peril. To wish those you love to be safe from harm is only natural and human. And yet, to have my fighting career end on such a sour note isn't what I'd have hoped for. Things as they are, however, I have no right to complain.
It's been a good run, I think to myself, managing to lift a smile. But now it's time for a new challenge.
I decide not to linger any longer in that makeshift infirmary, thinking myself only an imposter. I have mulled things over alone for long enough; it's time that I faced the music.
I hobble out, moving for the door. It opens with a groan, its hinges needing some attention. The light comes pouring in as soon as I push, flooding the interior of the room with a bright morning glow. And, as soon as it fades, and my eyes adjust, I find Secretary Burns there, marching right towards me.
"Ah," he says, "just who I wanted to see."
I blink, hopping out on my right leg, and let the door moan itself shut. My eyes quickly adjust to the blinding light as Burns advances my way. I let out an internal sigh as I notice his attention drawing immediately to my ankle.