Children of the Prime Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  "So, that's why Ares is here last," I say. "He knows them all better than anyone."

  Max nods solemnly. "He will be here, I imagine, for some time to come," he says. "Let us give him the privacy he deserves."

  He guides me away, back to the south of the fort. I muse on the poignancy of their custom, realising how little I truly know of Neoroman life, despite my many months there now. It is a deeply layered society, centred around their capacity for war. Yet amidst the barbarism of customs like the Warrior Race, are others of an opposite nature. Respect. Honour. Brother and sisterhood. These are all features of their culture that are of the utmost importance, just as they are to me.

  In the quiet of the night, I sit with Max as he speaks to me of such things. I find myself intrigued, and he seems only too happy to share. "You are to be our Empress, my Lady," he says. "If I can help educate you on our customs, then it will be one of the great contributions of my life."

  My curiosity at first outweighs my guilt, as I keep Max from his bed. His injured arm, now, has been better tended and bandaged, not so conspicuous as my own ailment. Only when he shifts and winces do I remember.

  "Oh, Max, I'm so sorry," I say. "We have plenty of time for this. Go, get some sleep. I shouldn't be keeping you up."

  "It's been my pleasure to keep you company, Kira," he says. "My arm is of little concern. I don't require sleep as much as the next man."

  "I know, but you need some," I say. "Go, we'll pick this up another time."

  He leaves with a reluctance that speaks of his commitment to duty. I watch him go, feeling quite the opposite, as if I've abused the power I hold, even if unintentionally. It's a turn I don't always remember; that I am more than a soldier, but a political figure to the men as well. I may not be Empress yet, but my position as fiancé to Dom makes me someone very hard to say 'no' to.

  A weariness pulls at me again, and my rational side tells me to get more sleep. Before I settle back into my bed, I hobble quietly back around the north. All is silent still, only the sentries on duty upon the walls. Yet there, in the yard, I see a lone figure still standing.

  Ares, thinking of his many men, and all the things they've done.

  169

  AMBER

  "OK," says Burton, the second-in-command of the Liberation League. "What are we looking at here?"

  His eyes scan the stockpiles of weapons we've managed to gather, some coming from the League's own stocks, others from recent scavenging missions by Penelope, and a good load more from the Olympian dead, gathered from the battlefield the previous day. It's a good haul of several thousand weapons, plenty to outfit the numbers we have.

  Keith, weapons and munitions expert as he is, quickly runs through the precise numbers, having completed an inventory last night. Jude and I had helped him with that, completing a final job before heading off to bed. It got so late, in the end, that we didn't have time to head back to the apartment where my parents, and his auntie, are now staying. If I'm being honest, I was quite relieved. I have no energy right now to deal with my mother's anxiety.

  Instead, we put our heads down in a nearby building in the old industrial area, one of many being used for the militia. They've quickly forged a base of operations there, using some of the intact warehouses as barracks and storage areas, with adjoining buildings acting as offices for leading members. Their industriousness is impressive. I'm continually surprised by the speed and execution of this large scale operation.

  "OK, well, it's all looking rather good," says Burton, as Keith completes his briefing. The last time I saw Burton, he was heading westwards with the people we saved from the faith re-alignment camp where we found my parents. He'd promised to join us in Hunter's Station within a few days with his people. He hasn't let us down, bringing hundreds more willing participants for the militia, as well as several thousand more refugees.

  And, apparently, many more are still coming in.

  We move through to the other storerooms to begin going through the armour supplies, scavenged in a similar manner as the weapons. It was another job of the Fringers at the chasm - to strip the Olympian soldiers from their armour, before tossing them into the gorge.

  Yes, I think, ending the debate I had with myself yesterday, they definitely had it worse...

  Keith runs through the provisions again, doing so briefly.

  Burton seems impressed. "You've been very productive," he says, his voice like churning gravel, gruff and short. It's quite different from Keith's, whose tone is soft, despite his broad shoulders and looming height. "And what about food stocks?"

  He turns to Penelope, who stands in our group, completed by myself, Jude, and my grandmother. Bryan is currently outside, continuing to see to the housing of the incoming Fringers - I'd say that's probably the most difficult thing of all, managing such a vast influx. It's so vast, in fact, that a camp is being fashioned to the south, the town already at overflowing point and quite unable to cater to the tens of thousands of incoming refugees.

  Penelope, quick-tongued though kindly in her manner, quickly updates Burton on our stocks of food. It paints a reasonably favourable picture, the stocks good enough to last for some time. "Though," she concludes, "it goes without saying that the more people who come, the more quickly the stores will deplete. We'll continue to send out search parties for more, but so far much of the nearby area has been combed."

  "We'll have to hope that Judith and Edgar will bring more with them when they get here," grandma says.

  "If they get here," says Burton. "How are we to know they haven't been captured en route?"

  "We can't know that yet," grandma says. "Given what we've seen, it remains a distinct possibility. That many people travelling together may well have been picked up by the Olympians, especially with some of the Heralds of Awakening out there. Did you encounter any trouble coming here, Burton?"

  "Not personally, no," he says. "But we heard from a few groups that some among them were captured." He frowns to himself. "Curiously, only a portion of them were taken, leaving the rest alone."

  "Not so curious, Burt," says grandma. "The Fringers are being gathered to Olympus for awakening. In some cases, as with at the camp, they're being gathered en masse. In others, when there's a Herald present, or someone capable of sensing who might make a viable candidate, only that select few are brought. Kira told me that she and Ares saw Herald Albanus doing that very thing in one of the towns on the northern border. Only hundreds were taken from the thousands in town. We can assume that all of them will have been awakened."

  "Sorry, Alberta," Burton says. "I'm not entirely aware of who Kira and Ares are."

  "Right, yes. My head is in many places right now," grandma says, whooshing her hand by her temple. Ares is Senior Commander of the Neoroman Imperial Guard. Kira is the future Empress of Neorome. And very much Amber's new idol."

  She looks down to me with a grin. I respond only with a shake of the head and a bored sigh.

  "I see," says Burton. "So, they're making soldiers? Is that what you're saying. Why else would they be awakening so many Fringers." He shakes his head and sighs as well. "I had no idea so many of us were even capable of being awakened. Who knows, perhaps you are Keith, or me." He looks to Penelope, then Jude. "Any of us could be."

  It's an exciting thought, I suppose, for those who have no distinct powers. I look to Jude, and wonder specifically about him. I always had a suspicion, when we were younger, that he was something a little more than the rest of us. He was such a fine hunter and tracker that I imagined his eyesight must be better, his senses more attuned.

  Maybe there's something in that?

  "Well, it's possible," says my grandmother, as a couple of the group look decidedly intrigued by the prospect. "But, we'll never know unless we capture a Herald of Awakening, or someone who knows what to look for..."

  "Secretary Burns?" I say. "What about him? He's a powerful telepath, isn't he?"

  "He is. But I think it's about more about that, Amber. And
I'm fairly sure that Leyton has more important things to do right now."

  "Just a thought, grandma," I say.

  "Yes, well a thought that isn't worth dwelling on. Only the Heralds know the secret of awakening people. It would be dangerous, even for a man like Leyton, to try to figure it out on his own."

  "And futile, anyway," says Jude, drawing the eyes of the group. He shrugs, "Only one person can be awakened at a time, right? And most people either die or...I don't know, get brain damage or something. It would take forever to make any impact."

  "Unless you're Brie," I say. "If we could get her back somehow, then..."

  "Then everything would change," grandma says. "And I'm sure the coalition forces are figuring out how to achieve that very thing. However, it's a little above our pay grade here, I think. Let's stick to our lane."

  Her words are a little sobering, but fair. I think everyone realises that.

  We decide to get some air - well, grandma decides it - so step back out into the morning light. With Burton fully caught up on our progress since we came here, we move back towards the western side of town. There, we find Bryan's people continuing their good work. It seems as though there's been a heavy influx as we were inside.

  We hurry to track Bryan down to discover more details, moving to his makeshift office - really, it's no more than a large tent - on the western flank, nestled behind a couple of sentry posts. There, we find him in conversation with a fairly austere, middle aged woman whom I immediately recognise as Judith. Short, broadly chested, and with a mop of greying blonde hair, she looks weary after her time on the road.

  "Judith, we were just talking about you," says grandma, stepping in to greet her fellow League leader fondly. The expression on Judith's face doesn't align immediately with that of my grandmother. "What's wrong?" grandma asks.

  "It's Edgar," she tells us, eyes downcast. "He's...he's dead."

  The news come abrupt, and hits the group hard.

  "Dead?" grunts Burton. "How? What the hell happened!"

  "I don't have all the details," Judith sighs, her voice splintering around the edges. "Apparently, he and his main caravan were taken by Olympian soldiers. They resisted, and many were killed. Only a few managed to get away. We found them on the road."

  My grandmother steps in to give her a hug. Judith lets out a few light sobs before straightening herself up and withdrawing from grandma's embrace. She looks up at her, her tears quickly drying. "Over half of our force have left and headed south, Alberta," she says. "As soon as they heard what happened with Edgar's people, they panicked and left..."

  "South?" grandma cuts in, frowning heavily. "They've left the Fringe?"

  "Yes, they've left the Fringe," Judith says, her words coming out with some force. "What do you expect, Alberta? Our lands are being raided, and the borders are no longer protected. People are seeing an opportunity to flee - as was the original mandate of our group, I might add - and are taking it. I don't blame them. I only came here as a courtesy to you. I fully expect to leave with the rest of my people, and join them south of here." She looks around the group. "We can make our way alone, as we always said we would. We cannot protect ourselves properly here."

  "We can," says grandma loudly. I can hear her voice straining, see the wrinkles deepening around her eyes. "We have strength in numbers. We have thousands of guns, thousands of men and women willing to fight. We can protect ourselves, Judith!"

  Judith shakes her head vehemently, her eyes blinking heavily as they turn off to one side. "No," she says. "No, I don't believe you. Bryan has just told me what happened two nights ago. The coalition soldiers have been almost entirely destroyed, and the main army is still days away. If the Olympians send out a force of any size right now, they will take us, kill us, or make us into slaves. We cannot take that risk."

  Her eyes are bloodshot, desperate as they turn around the group. They land on Penelope and stop. "Pen, you always wanted to leave," she says. "You wanted to find lands far from here and settle them, just as I did. We agreed to this course of action, but only while it made sense. It doesn't anymore. Edgar is dead, and thousands, tens of thousands, of our people are being taken." She turns to my grandmother again. "We cannot stay here. It doesn't make sense anymore, Alberta."

  The interaction has my chest hammering. My eyes flick to the others to gauge their feelings. They seem conflicted, not sure what to think. My grandmother sees this. She gives it a few long moments of quiet before continuing, giving Judith a chance to collect her breath, and herself a chance to collect her thoughts.

  "You are weary from the road, Judith," she says eventually. "I understand your concerns, but we cannot just give up on everything we have planned. We cannot be ruled by fear."

  "We never planned for this." It is the voice, not of Judith, but Penelope. Calm, cleanly spoken. "This wasn't the plan, Alberta. The plan was always escape. Maybe...maybe we should keep to it."

  "And go back on what we decided at Alberta's cabin?" asks Burton. His words come more rough, barked out, though not to intimidate. I feel it's just his way. "We altered our plans based on what we were seeing, and what we heard about the lands south of here. Alberta is right. We can't give up because we're scared."

  "With all respect, Burton," says Penelope, "you have always backed Alberta up, no matter what. And if we could change our plans then, why not again now? This was the plan for years. We changed it days ago. There is no reason we can't go back."

  "There is a reason," grandma says. "The reason is that nothing has really changed." Judith's eyes widen in disdain for the remark. Penelope's swing left and right in a tutting rebuke. "I'm not trying to belittle Edgar's death," grandma explains. "Nor any others who fell or were taken. I'm just saying that they represent a fraction of us only. Everything else, beside that, has gone to plan. We are strong, and still getting stronger. We cannot expect the coalition to fight this war for us."

  "It's their war, not ours," Judith says. "We never started it, and never intended to fight it. You say we're strong. If that's true, we take that strength south, where we can start fresh." She turns to the others, as though feeling she has Penelope on board, and needs to convince the rest. "We can still go to New Haven. If we're not willing to risk finding a new home, we can join theirs."

  Penelope's eyes flicker, just a little, at that. I know it's not what she wants. Judith notices.

  "It's an option," she goes on. "One we can consider on the road." She stops and takes a breath, looking to the others, one by one. "I'm taking the rest of my people south," she says, her voice more measured out, less frantic. "I urge you all to come with me. If you value the lives of your own people, let alone your own, you will escape while we still have the chance."

  The room seems split, tilting on the edge of a knife. Penelope appears willing to leave, Burton adamant we stay. I cannot tell where Bryan's mind is; he seems the sort who'd just follow the majority The final leader is Keith, a man who has seen firsthand the brutality of the battle beyond the fort. I fear it may sway him. Who would look at that, and not want to run a thousand miles from here?

  My grandmother is clearly thinking the same as me, looking at Keith as his eyes turn down, falling into deep thought. As the man leading the militia, he may have a lot of their loyalty. For him to abandon us now, would eviscerate the League's power as any sort of fighting force. And the idea of us helping out, protecting the Fringers who haven't yet been taken to Olympus? I imagine that idea, whatever happens now, can be taken right off the table.

  For a long, excruciating span of time, no one speaks. I wonder what I might say to help smooth things over, whether my word will count for anything here. I suppose Jude will be thinking the same, suddenly becoming a silent party as these influential men and women discuss the fate of tens of thousands of people.

  And it is with some surprise that I have to think deeply as I search for an answer, seek out my own position. I know that the lands south of here are dangerous, I know how perilous the world out th
ere is. Yet, I never expected the League's militia to be this large, this well ordered, this well armed and armoured. I had an image of a small, frightened rabble. What they have quickly configured is something quite different.

  Maybe they could forge a life far from here? I wonder. If the coalition win the war, perhaps they could return. If they don't, then Olympus will likely have little strength left to try to hunt them down. If they go far enough south, or find somewhere difficult to access, perhaps they'd have a good chance of finding something...pure.

  I can't tell right now if it is a naive thought or not. I have journeyed thousands of miles to the south, yes, and back again, but is that enough to fully judge what's out there? Perhaps there are pockets where life goes on, safe and unspoiled. The entire continent can't be so hazardous, can it, that it's impossible to set down roots somewhere, especially with a militia of such potency protecting them?

  I find my thoughts turning increasingly in that direction, before another part of me begins its rebuttal. It tells me that the chances of the Olympians attacking us here are now remote, given the losses they have suffered. It says that, whatever Judith says, this is our war, at least in part, and we cannot just run away and let two foreign powers do everything alone.

  We may not be able to siege the city, but we can offer support to the Fringe once the main army arrives. Because, if we abandon them, how many more will continue to live under the subjugation of Olympus if the coalition are defeated? Can we wipe our hands of our brothers and sisters, turn our back on these lands we've lived on, toiled, tended for so long?

  We have to trust in the coalition, that part of me says, speaking with a conviction that quells the other side of me. We have to maintain that hope...

  When I draw back from my thoughts, I find my grandmother looking at me. She has a curious expression on her face, as though unsure of where I stand. I suppose I must have expressed it well enough on my face, in my eyes. But, I have made my decision now.