Children of the Prime Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  "Go on."

  "Well, it seems that the word is out, and spreading fast. Go to Olympus, they say, and you may join the Children of the Prime. You can see how that might be attractive to people."

  "I can," nods grandma, stroking her cheek in thought. "I don't see that we can do anything about it, though. As soon as we blockade the city, movement in and out won't be possible. General Decimus is adamant that we stem the flow as soon as possible."

  "How many people would that actually appeal to, though?" I ask, musing on it briefly. "The people see the Children of the Prime as divine. Would they really feel worthy of joining them?"

  My grandmother gestures for us to follow, as she begins stepping out of the room, and working into the afternoon sunshine. We begin wandering through the militia camp as she speaks, the air thick with movement and activity as Keith and Jude set about arranging the troops.

  "Many," grandma says eventually, answering my question, "would be greatly tantalised by the prospect, I imagine. There have always been legends of normal people being found to have divine blood. You are the most recent, Amber, and have opened the doors to that possibility. Now, many will wish to know what may lie within them. And many others would love to wander the Sacred Plains on a pilgrimage to Olympus, if only to look upon its walls and wonders, feel the presence of their gods. Even if they have no such power in their blood, simply seeing the city may have its appeals to some."

  She looks to Burton, who listens quietly. "Take you, Burt," she says. "Wouldn't you like to know if you're more than meets the eye?"

  He seems begrudging in his honesty. "I'd be curious," he grunts. "I can relate to the interest, at least."

  "But would you go to Olympus to find out?" I ask him. "Given everything that's been happening?"

  "From my perspective, of course not. But others might. One of my men told me that just last night, there was a man preaching in one of the squares. He seemed to be trying to convince others to leave, go to Olympus with him."

  My brows swoop into a hawkish frown. "We can't allow that," I say. "Where was this?"

  "In the south of town, not far from the overflow camp. There's a market square there."

  I look to my grandmother. "He has to be silenced," I say. "We can't have this sort of thing spreading."

  "Silenced?" she says, issuing a frown. "Amber, that is a dangerous precedent to set. What would you have me do? Kill the man for speaking his mind."

  "No, of course not. Just...arrest him."

  "It is a hard line," Burton says, "but she does have a point. We can't let this sort of thing fester. Not here."

  "And has it had any impact?" grandma asks. "Have there been any reports of people leaving? As far as I know, people are still arriving from far and wide. It doesn't seem a concern to me."

  "It may not be now," Burton says. "But it is something to keep an eye on, especially once half of the militia is gone. The people are coming here because their lands have been raided. Now the narrative is changing, Alberta. They are hearing there is another choice, that Olympus will welcome them with open arms. We can't ignore it."

  "We won't," grandma says. "But once the city is blockaded, it won't mean anything. We'll stop people getting to the city, whether they want to or not."

  "Will you, though?" I ask her directly. "If people can speak their minds, then why can't they have freedom to act as well? So you're basically saying you won't stop some guy preaching in town, but you will stop people trying to get to Olympus if they want to?"

  "It won't be my decision," grandma says. "But yes, that is what I'm saying."

  "OK, well I'd prefer to try to stop it at its source," I tell her, quite firm in my standing. "I'm going to investigate this. See what else I can find out. It's important we know what we're dealing with, grandma."

  She lets out a resigned sigh. "Fine, if you must," she says, waving a permission-granting hand. "But take no action, Amber. We cannot stop people speaking their minds. Talk to the people, learn what's going on. But listen only. This is something for the militia to deal with if it becomes an issue, not you."

  I leave them at that, finding myself at a loose end anyway, and begin heading off toward the south of the sprawling town, its population now overflowing like excess water from a cup. I don't know the town's precise original population, but it's gone far beyond its natural capacity now, probably by many times. Every street seems full, every spare apartment and building seized for the use of the incoming refugees. To the south, an additional camp has been erected to cater to the overflow. Even with Judith and Penelope's people gone, and many of Edgar's never having arrived, it is growing hard to manage such numbers.

  Naturally, the situation has caused a bit of trouble, an opportunity for the more immoral sorts to seek to better their own ends. Though most people have few possessions, reports of thievery have gone up, with a number of assaults also being reported, usually related to the previous crime.

  A couple of watering holes have sprung up too, I soon discover from some of the local; places for the people to gather for a drink. Ale and wine aren't especially common in my old home of Pine Lake, but other areas of the Fringe produce them in abundance, providing them as tribute for the monthly collection.

  Over toward the southeastern reaches, where Bryan's people hail from, the production of alcohol is fairly common, and much has clearly been brought along by the people who hail from those parts. The result has seen a couple of taverns popping up, one of them just happening to be on a side street just off the market square Burton mentioned. It makes sense that any preacher might venture to such parts. Men under the influence of alcohol, embittered and afraid, may be more susceptible to the lure of power and position.

  I set my targets on that particular location, working through the bustling streets towards the south. I find the market square lively, busy, filled with people and produce. It seems to be being used as a repository for incoming supplies, gathered at the square's centre before being sent for safekeeping elsewhere. There are a number of militiamen around, overseeing the work, with regular Fringers seeing to the labour. I sense a bit of back alley dealing going on as well, some merchants perhaps seeking to continue their private trade.

  It surprises me a little, when perhaps it shouldn't. People will often look to profit in the absence of authority and law, and there's only so much the militia can do to curtail it.

  I pay it little mind, though, seeing no real problem so long as it's all kept to a minimum. Instead, I wander the square, draped in regular dress to remain incognito, my golden hair wrapped up in a shawl, my glow intentionally doused. It seems to work, my presence undetected. I blend in nicely, casually enjoying the sights and sounds, moving down the little side streets in search of the tavern.

  I find it - or, what used to be it, at least - down a narrow lane to the east of the square, in what appears to be an old bakery. Outside, there's an accumulation of trash, among which I see a host of beer and wine barrels, and the pungent smell of stale vomit. The bakery itself appears uninhabited, its door hanging open, no one inside. I step through the creaking wooden door, vaguely looking for clues, and find mugs and cups lying overturned and broken. A few tables and chairs that don't belong appear to have been brought in.

  "You looking for a drink, girl?" comes a throaty old voice behind me. I turn around and find an old lady looking in through the doorway, her short, stocky build framed by the dying light beyond, her voice oddly deep, broken by age and, if I'm not mistaken, a heavy smoking habit. "Well, you won't find it here," she goes on. "They cleared off early this morning, or late last night, depending on how you look at it. They'll probably pop up elsewhere tonight."

  "Any idea where?" I ask her, stepping toward the door. Once, I might have felt intimidated by such a setting, and the sudden arrival of a stranger with vague intentions. Now, I harbour no such concerns.

  "Beats me," she says, frowning at me. "I live a few doors down is all. I'm guessing they want to keep clear of the authorities,
or something."

  "Right. Well, thanks anyway."

  I step past her, and back into the fading afternoon light, preparing to venture back into the square to continue my largely unprofitable enquiries. I take a further step and the woman's voice stops me.

  "It's Amber, right?" she says. I halt in my tracks and turn, only marginally surprised. I find her old lips twisting into a smile. "I've got an eye for faces," she tells me. "Saw you when you first came here, all light and fire. Never forget a face like that. What you after? Not a drink, I'm guessing."

  "No," I say, smiling and shaking my head. "Just information, really. I heard about a preacher in these parts. Thought he might have come here last night."

  "A preacher, you say?"

  "Someone trying to convince people to head for Olympus. Promises of joining the Children of the Prime." I peer at her with my golden eyes, glowing in the half light of the narrow alley. "Heard of anything like that?"

  "I hear lots of things, girl," she says. "And that?" she nods. "I've heard about it. Seen it, in fact."

  I step towards her. "Tell me."

  My movement is abrupt enough to have her recoiling for just a moment. I stop before her and let a calm infuse me.

  Her head nods, eyes searching the alley beyond me. "Bald man," she croaks. "Quite young. Was spouting nonsense last night down this way. The local drunks shooed him off soon enough. Not many eager ears for that sort of thing here."

  "Really? No one seemed interested?"

  "Well, not that I saw. Can't say he hasn't picked up some interest elsewhere, though. Been prowling around a night or two. Means no harm, I don't reckon. Heard talk of another one or two of them about as well." She shrugs, nonchalant over the issue. "I wouldn't worry about it, missy. Don't you have bigger fish to fry. Heard a rumour the militia's moving off. Blockading the city or some such madness."

  I nod. "That's the plan," I tell her. "We're working with the coalition army."

  "Then what's the fuss with some nut preaching about joining the Children of the Prime? No one's gonna wanna go there if the city is being sieged. Be madness to join the losing side now."

  "The losing side?" I raise my eyes. "So, you're confident, then?"

  "Confident as anything," she says. She lifts a grin and her eyes work off towards the rear of the bakery. "You know, I think they left a little something behind when we ran them off last night. You, er, you fancy a tipple?"

  She says it in such a disarming way that my initial instinct is to say 'why not'. My words don't manifest as such though.

  "I...I probably shouldn't," I say. "I need to get looking for this preacher. And anyway, not sure it's legal."

  "Legal? Bah! The world's at war and you're at the heart of it, and you're here worried about having a spot of wine? I heard about what you did over at that fort. Even heard you can fly now. Most people think it's just hearsay, but I'm not so sure. The things people can do." She shakes her head. "I say it's possible. So, how about it?"

  She lets the words hang in the air, inspecting my reaction. I don't quite know what to say, really, caught between my duty and desire.

  "Come on, missy, no harm in it?" she says. "You look like you could do with relaxing. Can't be easy, all this on your shoulders. Let's talk it all out. I'm a good listener, you know."

  "I...I'm sure you are," I say. "But I don't even know your name yet."

  "Then let's keep it that way. Nice and anonymous. Just like in confession."

  She raises her eyes suggestively. I still hold my ground, feeling compelled to continue my investigation, though realising now that there may be no point.

  "All right. While you make up your mind, I'm gonna rifle around and see what's left. I hear the wine they bring from the eastern reaches is pretty good. This isn't an opportunity I'm going to miss."

  She shuffles away towards the back of the old bakery, and disappears through a door. I hover, curious, and finding myself unable to leave. A moment later, she returns with a small barrel, a wide grin on her face. She sets it down on the bakery counter, turns over a table, pulls up a couple of chairs, and hauls the barrel over. Two cups are quickly poured as she sits down, waiting expectantly.

  "You're not seriously going to make me drink this all alone, are you?" she says. "There's plenty to go around."

  I quickly run through my options: continue my search, which may turn out to be futile, head back and help in preparing the militia for departure, take the opportunity to visit with my mother, before I set off once more to Olympus, and war.

  Or...sit here with this random stranger, drink some wine, and forget all my troubles and responsibilities, for a little while at least.

  My decision doesn't take long to come.

  I step into the room, take a seat, and grab my cup.

  "That's the spirit," says the old lady. "Now, go ahead, Miss Amber. The floor is yours."

  177

  KIRA

  I look ahead toward the great cloud of smog, seeing only hints of the walls and gate and deep moat concealed within. The fume hangs unnaturally in the air, thick and impossible for our eyes to penetrate. Only through some of the swirling mists do small gaps appear, giving a suggestion of the city hidden inside.

  "It changes nothing," General Decimus barks, standing alongside some of our senior leaders, and with a cohort of guards surrounding us. "We have the greater range on our artillery. We will pummel them into submission as we always do. This fog may slow us, but it will not stop us. It is a trick and nothing more."

  It seems a slightly belligerent stance. I can already think of at least one problem, which Perses is quick to bring to the small group.

  "And how will you know if you create a breach, General," he asks, "if we cannot see what damage the artillery does?"

  Decimus guides those narrow silver eyes of his up to Perses. He stares at him for a moment before answering. "We will know, Perses," he says, "because this is what we do. The fume does not conceal the city entirely, and there will be breaks through which to see. Where possible, we will use scouts to move up and determine the damage. It will be dangerous, yes, but necessary. Does that satisfy you?"

  Perses dips his great, bristled chin. "I would add one thing, General," he says, remaining respectful.

  "Yes?"

  "The moat is wide and impossible to cross without aid. I take it you're hoping the collapsing wall will fill it in, enough for you to pass across?"

  "That is one option," says Decimus. "Our artillery is brutal, and relentless, but we have other siege weapons that will be of use if needed. We may also be able to bombard the inner city and target the possible locations of these Skymasters. Do that, and the fume will reduce. Am I right?"

  "You are," rumbles Perses. "If you keep some of your best Farsights on watch for long enough, they may be able to determine the Skymasters' rough locations. I will be able to teach your men what to look for."

  "That would be most helpful," says Decimus, only sounding faintly grateful.

  "But I would caution against one thing, General Decimus."

  Decimus eyes him carefully. A slight raise of his brows tells Perses he's ready for him to continue.

  "I would warn against the wanton bombing of the city," Perses says. "The local people are innocent, and there may be thousands, even tens of thousands, of common Fringers in there as well. I would like your assurance that they will not be targeted."

  "Of course they will not," Decimus says sharply. "Innocents are never targeted directly, Perses. That is not how Neorome operates. I hear you cannot say the same. From what I've been told, the citizens of New Haven were set to be annihilated, should your plans have succeeded."

  "They were not my plans," Perses responds. I see a rare ripple of anger wave across his face. "I was under another's coercions. The insinuation affronts me, General." His voice grows deeper, as though falling down a bottomless chasm. "Especially from a man who served under Empress Vesper." He looks to Ares, standing at Decimus's flank, two gigantic, armoured Bru
tes behind them. "Even Ares has spoken of the former Empress's controls, which I assume you understand well. I would have you extend me the same courtesy."

  The air stills, Perses's great, black-armoured body turning rigid as he stares down at Decimus. I stand to the side, next to Dom, wondering if he might be forced to step in to calm things. It isn't sensible, I know, to taunt a man like Perses. Were he to grow enraged, only Ares could possibly stop him.

  The tension is eventually brushed aside, as Decimus dips his head into a regretful bow. He may take a hard line, and be overbearing at times, but he also seems to now how to be diplomatic when it counts.

  "I spoke out of turn, Perses," comes his profoundly commanding voice. Not as deep, certainly, as the likes of Perses and Ares, but carrying a weight of experience and authority that outstrips even their own. "I do not wish to offend you. I merely rose to the suggestion that I might actively target the civilian population." He looks to Dom. "That is not how we operate. But you must accept, innocent people will die. There can be no other way during a siege. So you must ask yourself, can you accept that? It is a necessary evil if you want to see your lands set free."

  Perses lowers his head into a nod. "I accept it, General," he says. His eyes remain narrow, his face stiff. Whatever he says, he isn't entirely trustful of the man. Why should Decimus, after all, care about the citizens of Olympus, or the Fringe? His remit is to defeat a tyrant. If innocents have to die to achieve it, so be it.

  "Well now, it's nice to get that settled," Dom says, trying to ease the tension. He looks to the smog-covered city again, far in the distance and, to his eyes, not easy to make out. "So, when shall you begin the assault, General?"

  "Immediately," Decimus says. "We shall begin bombarding the walls either side of the main gate. When the Fringe militia arrive, the City Guards can move off and make camp with them in the locations we have selected. I will assign several cohorts to go too, and siege from other angles. I have always preferred to attack from multiple points where possible. Thankfully, Olympus is easy to access on all sides. That isn't always the case."