Children of the Prime Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  "Yeah, and let's not forget," says Jude, "that these soldiers have been raiding their lands." His eyes sway over the remaining dead, legions of them still to be collected. "I can understand why they'd have a problem with this."

  "Like you do?" I ask. "You don't have to do this if you don't want, Jude. Remember, these soldiers were under orders. We can't blame them for everything that's been happening."

  He's logical enough to know that I'm right, and yet there remains a slight scowl on his face, a personal grievance, bred by his time as a slave when he was beaten, and abused, by the very soldiers he's now committed to collect.

  I can understand it. This isn't easy for anyone.

  "Best we just get it done," he says, turning towards the nearest corpse. "The sooner we do, the sooner we can get back to Hunter's Station."

  "And what about Burton and the others?" I ask, looking to my grandmother, turning to a new subject. "Have any of their people arrived yet?"

  "Not as yet," grandma says. "We can expect them to begin arriving later today and tomorrow. Once all of the leaders of the League have gathered, we'll need to decide our course."

  "I thought you already had?" I say. "You all agreed back at your cabin to fight alongside the coalition forces."

  "We did, and that decision will need to be reinforced given what has transpired here. It's important that we discuss just where we can lend our aid."

  "I'd like to be part of that discussion," I tell her. "If I can."

  "Of course you can, darling," she says. "I understand you have responsibilities here among the coalition forces now, but that shouldn't stop you contributing to our cause as well." Her gaze works across the plains. "We'll complete our work here, and return to Hunter's Station once we're done. I feel it is best to leave the Havenites and Neoromans to grieve for their dead, alone."

  We continue our work, as grandma moves off to check on the other Fringer groups. Another few bodies have been piled into the nearest cart before either Jude or I speak again.

  "You going to come too?" he asks me. The question comes from nowhere, so offhand I'm not immediately sure what he's referring to. "To Hunter's Station," he clarifies, seeing my confusion.

  "I...yeah, I guess so," I say. "I'd like to see my parents, make sure they're doing OK. And I'd like to be involved in any discussion about what the League does, like I said."

  Jude nods slowly, as though my answer hasn't convinced him.

  "What?" I say. "What's the problem?"

  "Nothing," he says. His eyes lift up, moving towards the figure of Elian, still working with Perses and a small group of Fringers. "Just...him," he says. "You're going to leave him here on his own?"

  I watch Elian for just a moment, his golden hair darkened with sweat, posture a little weary as he works tirelessly to load bodies. The continued suppression of his powers has stripped him of his glow, a glow once enhanced by the fiery crimson combat robes he used to sport. Now, he looks like any other man, ruggedly dressed, handsome but common. He is a far cry from the man I once trained with, fought with, stripped of his powers and titles both.

  It's a sad image, such as it is, even though I'm proud to see him trying his best, always working to help where he can. I wonder how many of these fallen men he recognises, how many he might know by name, or even have called friend. The same is true of Perses, this job particularly poignant for him having led so many of these soldiers before. It is a tragic thing to see, just as it is to see Ares, or Maximus, gathering their own departed.

  It is an image of the futility of war. That our forces should have been pitted against one another, so many lives lost, is tragic. That the survivors are now forced to gather their fallen brothers and sisters only adds to the doleful character of this moment.

  "He'll be fine," I say eventually, not quite knowing how else to answer. I sense this is a probe, only, an attempt by Jude to gain some insight into how I'm feeling. The truth is, I haven't yet given it thought. All I can say with any certainty is that I care deeply about them both.

  The sun grows warmer, rising fast, as we work to clear the patch we've been assigned. Mention of Elian has him occupying the shadows of my thoughts. I glance to him occasionally, and commonly find him looking our way, though he never holds my gaze more than a second before turning away and resuming his grisly labour. It isn't something that's lost on Jude either, who turns silent as we haul the dead. It seems absurd to me that any of us are engaging in these loaded exchanges, given the task we're undertaking, the tragedy that surrounds us.

  Thankfully, distraction comes soon; the sight of a jeep appearing from the fort in the distance. It goes first towards Ares and Maximus, as a soldier steps out and briefs them on something. Their eyes work towards us, to myself and Perses in particular. A moment later, we are all gathering and converging together, my grandmother also joining from nearby.

  "We're being summoned to the fort," Ares tells us. "Our soldiers shall continue their work. Alberta, will your militiamen do the same?"

  "Yes, of course," she says. "What is this about?"

  "I'm not sure yet," Ares says. "All I know is that it's urgent. Something Secretary Burns found in the head of one of the prisoners."

  "Information from inside the city?" Perses asks.

  "It sounds like it, yes."

  "Well, I don't think we all need to go," my grandmother says. "Pertinent information can be relayed where necessary, and we have plenty more to be doing out here." She looks to Jude. "Would you stay here, Jude?" she asks him.

  I don't think he ever expected to come. "Whatever you need," he says.

  She smiles at him, and then turns her eyes to Elian, who lingers to one side as he's become prone to do. "Elian, would you help him?" she asks. "I'm sure Amber will inform you both of what is happening in due course."

  He seems somewhat taken aback by the suggestion, glancing awkwardly to Jude. "I..."

  "It would be a great help," she says. "We'll be right back out here soon, don't worry."

  Elian's golden brows hover in position, refusing to relent. He doesn't seem to have much will for the fight right now, though, and respects my grandmother's wishes.

  "I'll stay," he says. He looks to Jude. "We're, um, nearly done in our section. I'll...help here."

  Jude nods to him. The air grows thick with awkwardness.

  "Right, well, that's decided," says grandma, swiftly moving things along. "Amber, come on in. Perses, are you coming?"

  The great Olympian nods, as we climb into the jeep, accompanied by Ares and Maximus. Sitting in the backseat with my grandmother, I feel a little sorry for Ares and Perses having to sit next to one another ahead of us, the two so large as to struggle for space.

  The jeep moves off, chugging under the weight of its sizeable occupants. I turn to my grandmother with a frown.

  "What was that about?" I ask. "All that with Elian and Jude?"

  "An attempt at progress," she says. "Don't think I haven't seen the three of you exchanging looks. There's tension, and it needs to be dispelled. Hopefully they'll be able to clear the air a bit."

  "The air's plenty clear, grandma," I say.

  "It isn't, and you know it. Don't deny you want them to spend time together. Both boys are vying for your attention, Amber. Do you know what helps fuel such a rivalry?"

  I shrug my response.

  "Ignorance," she explains. "Ignorance of one another, to be precise. The boys don't know each other yet. If they speak, they'll find that they have more in common than they realise. They may never be friends, but everything will be a whole lot easier if they can understand, and tolerate each other, at least."

  I turn back, looking through the rear windshield as we move across the plains. I can see them gingerly lifting another body. I can't see if they're in conversation or not. I'm not entirely sure what they'd talk about if they were.

  But, I can see my grandmother's point, and I had tried to get them speaking during the long journey here. It seems I'm not quite as canny as she is.
It only took her five minutes...

  I turn back to find that my grandmother is smiling knowingly. "You see," she says. "It's a start, at least."

  We continue towards the fort, as I ponder the notion of two young men I care deeply about, bonding over hauling corpses.

  165

  KIRA

  The jeep pulls quickly up outside the fort, and its occupants waste no time piling out. With my hastily made crutch fixed to my left armpit, I stand upright alongside Secretary Burns, with Commander Hendricks to his other side. As with Burns, he has, of course, asked about my ankle. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to that.

  "Secretary Burns," says Ares, marching at the front of the incoming group. "We hear you have some troubling news?"

  He has Perses, Max, Alberta, and Amber for company. All look at my ankle with varying expressions of sympathy on their faces. It seems wildly unnecessary with so many dead being gathered nearby, the fort positively overflowing with fallen Havenites and Neoromans now.

  "Troubling news, yes," Burns says, as we gather under the morning sun. At the breach, the work continues, setting a grisly backdrop to the meeting.

  "Concerning?" asks Alberta. "I'm going to take an educated guess and say it's about Brie?"

  Burns nods. "You have a fine intuition, Alberta," he says. "Yes, this is about Brie."

  My heart rate continues to run at some pace, not yet calming down since I heard what Burns saw in the prisoner's mind. So far, I've been given only the abridged version. He wanted to wait until the others arrived before recounting it in full.

  A silence gradually consumes the group, drawing behind it a blanket of tension. Some may already have guessed what this is about, though speculating over something, and having it confirmed, are entirely different beasts.

  "I have looked into the memories of one of the prisoners," Burns begins, addressing us all in his usual, insouciant manner. "It seems he went through an experience recently, one that many others like him are also experiencing, or likely to experience, in the days to come."

  "An experience?" asks Max. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean an awakening, of sorts," Burns says. "We have already speculated on just why Brie was so desired by the Prime. We spoke of her being the key to the Awakening, this large scale freeing of divine power that Perses has told us about. Or, as we'd call it, activating of dormant Enhanced genes. This is the reason why so many Fringers are being gathered and taken to Olympus - to awaken them, turn them into Enhanced, perhaps even force them to fight as soldiers..."

  "So, this prisoner was recently a Fringer?" Amber asks. She seems shocked by the revelation. Has she not been paying attention? It can hardly come as a surprise.

  "No," Burns says. "He has been a soldier for quite some time. In fact, Perses," he says, eyes tilting up to the man's broad, stubbled face, "he was one who fought under you for a time. His name is Miller. You may know him."

  "I know him," Perses immediately confirms. "He is a good soldier, a talented Phaser in particular." His eyes narrow. "Are you saying that Brie increased his power?"

  "That is precisely what I'm saying," nods Burns, his words ominous. "I looked into his mind and saw a memory. A memory from only days ago, of Brie working to strengthen a group of fifty experienced soldiers. They were all men who had 'more' to give, those who hadn't yet extracted their full potential." He draws a breath, his composure slipping a little. "She worked on all of them at once. Fifty experienced soldiers, supercharged within a single sitting."

  "Supercharged?" asks Alberta, her eyebrows lifting as though in quarrel with the word. "Isn't that a little dramatic, Leyton. These men didn't seem any stronger than regular soldiers, did they?"

  "That is largely because of your granddaughter," Burns says, looking towards Amber. I don't think she's entirely comfortable with the attention, rather preferring to not draw any focus to her mass killing, as I'd like the subject of my ankle to be similarly ignored. "Amber's heroics made it hard for us to fully discern how powerful the soldiers were."

  "But we fought a great many of them," Hendricks says. "Right outside this fort. They weren't anything out of the ordinary. We had a much smaller force and yet made them pay dearly..."

  "They are not the soldiers we're referring to, I don't think," Burns says. He searches the faces of the group. "We believe that Captain Crastus and his troop were overcome by Kovas and his men, yes? Well, I imagine that these soldiers Brie strengthened were among that number, hence their performance against Crastus and his unit along the eastern flank. Amber dealt with them, certainly, but in relatively small numbers. If Brie is forced to strengthen thousands of Olympian soldiers, we may find them a far more potent force than we anticipated."

  The news comes with the expected dramatic silence, everyone taking a moment to ponder Burns's revelation. Though, to those who have had time to think about it already, it really isn't much of a revelation at all. We knew Brie was the Prime's prize, ever since Nestor so desired her. And given her recent ability to control multiple people at once, is this so surprising?

  Not, not surprising. Just deeply troubling, that's all...

  "So, Brie might well supercharge - though I don't particularly like the term - their entire army," says Alberta, summing things up nicely. "And, what about the thousands of Fringers we've seen being taken? These are obviously to fulfil the prophesy of the Awakening. The question is, how many of them will make effective soldiers?"

  "First of all," Burns says, "I don't think we can assume that their entire army is capable of being strengthened, or improved in the usage of their enhancements and augmentations. Many soldiers train themselves to the point where they extract all of their possible potential. Right here, I would imagine that all of you have done this very thing already. Though," he says, looking towards Amber again, "perhaps that isn't true of you, Amber. Your powers are still quite new to you, and are obviously improving quickly, given what we saw from you last night. There might be even more for you to give. But," he goes on, voice leaping, "that isn't likely the case for the rest of you. And certainly won't be the case for the entire Olympian army."

  "OK, so a large part of the army, then," Alberta says, raising an eye over Burns's lengthy explanation. "My point about the Fringers still stands."

  "Of course," says Burns. "But it isn't one we can answer conclusively. Only the Heralds of Awakening know how many of their subjects become effective soldiers."

  "We don't have a Herald of Awakening here," cuts in Hendricks, "but we have one of war. Perses, what do you think?"

  "I think," Perses says, drawing a great breath into his barrel of a chest, "that anything I say will be speculative, and not much more. The Heralds of Awakening all have different processes. Some, like Nestor, perform more dangerous rituals. The risks, and casualty rates, are much higher, but the rewards are equally so. Nestor was always able to awaken powerful individuals, many of whom made gifted soldiers, but his process was barbaric. Other Heralds, however, use more humane methods and, consequently, aren't able to awaken particularly powerful individuals. However, their success rates are higher. It is with some irony that I tell you that Nestor's older sister, Minerva, is the greatest proponent of this latter philosophy."

  The names stick hard in my mind. "Minerva," I say. "You told us she's the strongest of them, didn't you? Of the Heralds of Awakening."

  "She was," Perses says. "I believe that mantle will now have passed to Brie."

  The thought makes me wince outwardly. Inside, I suffer a more dramatic turn, my heart feeling suddenly tight, straining against the confines of my chest.

  "She would never do this willingly, that much is obvious," Burns comes in. "But her impact may be telling regardless. From what I discovered in the mind of Miller, Brie has been having remarkable success in her early tests. He knows only rumour, but we can take it with some level of certainly that it's true, given what we know of her."

  "And the rumour is?" asks Hendricks, his grim facade tensing.

  "Th
at Brie has been able to marry the unique attributes of the siblings, Nestor and Minerva. That she can awaken powerful subjects, without causing harm, and in great numbers."

  "And in doing so, raise an army," whispers Alberta. "An army born of the Fringe."

  Burns nods, and the group falls silent once more.

  "It is, however, speculation at this point," Perses finally says, breaking the deadlock. "Not Brie's involvement, perhaps, but the manner of her results. We have to remember that the gifts we possess do not immediately mark us down as capable soldiers. That takes training, and time, and a smaller, well trained force, will almost always defeat a much larger, though powerful rabble." He looks to Ares and Max. "I've been told many times of the power of your Neoroman army. Whatever Brie is being forced to conjure, it should not unduly concern us."

  I see Max drawing a determined snarl at his words, nodding along as he speaks them. He has a particular enthusiasm for Neoroman warring power, I've noticed, aligned to his keen sense of honour. I might find that unusual, given how he isn't originally Neoroman, but hails from this island far to the north of Neorome, a place once known as Britain. He was an adult by the time he managed to escape through the island's great coastal walls. How dreadful must it be there, for him to have turned so fully to another nation?

  The thought comes idle, and doesn't linger. Ever since Max told me something of his past, I've been wishing to find out more of this strange land, ruled by the Unenhanced and their advanced technology. Right now doesn't seem like the time for that.

  "And why not, Perses?" asks Hendricks. "There are how many people across the Fringe? A hundred thousand? More? If even a fraction of that number is converted, they will not need to be well trained soldiers. A force of tens of thousands of men and women commanded to kill us is certainly something we should be concerned about.”

  “Of course it is,“ rumbles Perses's heavy voice. "But the chances of that happening are remote at best. Even if they gathered tens of thousands of Fringers to Olympus, only a small proportion of that number would likely be viable for awakening. And, of those, how many would be powerful enough to be of concern?"