Blood of the Chosen: Children of the Prime, Book 3

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Blood of the Chosen: Children of the Prime, Book 3 Page 7

by T. C. Edge


  It's a city I so recently wished to see burned to the ground.

  Now, it's one I'll protect with my life if I have to.

  Before I leave, Lilly abandons protocol one final time, moving away from Lady Felina and towards me at the end of the hall. She rushes up and tugs at my robes, turning me around.

  "Will you pass by Pine Lake?" she asks, hope in her eyes. "Maybe see mother and father? Imagine the look on their faces when they find out what you are now!" She beams at the thought, then her smile fades away, like the incoming rush of a wave suddenly receding with the tide. "I...I wonder how they're doing," she says, growing sombre. "Do you miss them sometimes? I know I shouldn't, but I do."

  "Shouldn't?" I frown. "You have every right to miss them, Lilly. It's only natural."

  "The Worthy aren't meant to miss those they leave behind. They're supposed to cut all ties, and not dwell on the past."

  "Old doctrines that are designed to stop people growing homesick, that's all," I say. "I'm sure many Worthies feel a longing for their families and friends at first. It doesn't mean they don't want to serve here. It's just a human trait, Lillypad."

  She nods, brightening a little. "You're right," she says, quick to agree. That's not normal. Back home she'd find herself arguing with almost anything I said the last couple of years. "But," she adds, looking up, "if you do see them, tell them I think about them, but am happy. Yes, that's the best way of putting it." She smiles, a genuine smile. Not to convince me, or herself. No, she truly is happy here.

  And honestly, why shouldn't she be?

  "Of course I will, Lil. If we go that way and I get the chance, I'll visit them. I guess I miss them too sometimes."

  "Really?" Lilly asks, doubtful. "I thought you always wanted to get away."

  "Well, I guess I did, at times. But that doesn't mean I don't love them. Of course I do. They're our parents."

  "They were," Lilly whispers, eyes seeming to grow distant for a moment. "I see it in your eyes. I see the change, Amber. I told you, didn't I. I always knew it was true."

  "What?" I ask, brows knitting tight. "I don't understand."

  "The Prime," Lilly says, voice maintaining that faraway quality. "The great Mother and Father to us all. Now that you've met them, you see the truth, don't you?" She begins to nod, smile rising on her lips in an almost eerie manner. "Yes, you want to serve, as we all do. I'm so happy for you, Amber. So happy that you've seen the light and stepped right towards it. And now," she says, eyes growing damp, "look at you. You're becoming someone great. You will do great things, I know it."

  She steps towards me and wraps me up tight, arms reaching around my back, fingers clinging at my Fire-Blood robes. She indulges the moment before stepping back again and remembering herself.

  "Sorry," she says, dipping her head. "I just..."

  "Oh, shut up, silly Lilly," I say, grabbing her again, engulfing her in my embrace. "I'm not going to tell you again. You're my..."

  "Sister," Lilly breathes, looking up at me, eyes watering. "I...I know. My sister, Herald of War."

  "In training," I say, correcting her. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

  She nods, bristling with excitement at the concept, then takes a step back and prepares to turn.

  "Oh," she says, remembering something. "Grandma too. I mean, tell her I miss her if you see her. And Jude, if you...see him." Her voice fades off, seeing my expression change, the sensitivity of the subject.

  I take a breath. "Of course I will," I whisper.

  She smiles awkwardly, and turns, shuffling back off towards Lady Felina, who salutes me from the far end of the corridor with a typically playful grin. I nod back, mind growing busy, and turn to step into the elevator.

  As I drop through the building, and make my way back towards my own apartment, I begin to realise that I won't visit Pine Lake, even if I'm given the chance. No, too much hurt there, wounds that need to close and heal before being tampered with again.

  I can't see our parents after everything that's happened.

  I can't see Jude, for his sake as well as my own.

  And grandma. No, I can't see her either. For all the questions I have for her, for all the desire in me to listen to her side of the story and hear the full truth, I know that such a thing will have to wait.

  Personal concerns aren't important right now. A higher calling has awoken me to the true fate my life has been leading towards. My eyes have been opened to my purpose, one that breeds such pride in my sister, that causes a swell of excitement within me that I cannot look past or deny.

  Oh, challenges lie ahead, but so does a wide world of possibility.

  It is time for me to accept this fate with open arms, embrace it with all I have.

  I will step beyond the walls of this city once more.

  And march among the gods.

  9

  I wait for several hours in my own apartment before a knock finally arrives. Marlow, ever-attentive, speeds to open it, and the familiar face and mountainous body of Krun appears from beyond.

  He ducks in through the doorway, gigantic frame wreathed in black military armour, and performs a reverent bow towards me.

  "Herald Amber," comes his foghorn voice, "I apologise if you have been kept awaiting. Herald Perses has been in final preparations for our mission. He awaits you downstairs."

  I look to Marlow, trying not to seem at all nervous when, in reality, my body is rippling all over from the tension - which, I might add, hasn't been helped by this several-hour wait. He quickly moves over to grab the small bag he'd prepared for me during my morning excursion, though Krun lifts a mighty paw to stop him.

  "Everything she needs will be provided," the Titan booms. "We have all necessary provisions for the troop for the duration of the trip."

  "And what is that duration?" I ask, finding my voice. "I haven't exactly heard much about what's happening."

  "Apologies for that," Krun grunts. "These operations are rarely scheduled precisely, Lady Herald. I...have no answer."

  I sense a slight bitterness somewhere in there, hidden, in particular, in his use of the term 'Lady Herald'. I know for certain that there are female Heralds of Awakening, but never Heralds of War. Oh, he's trying ever so hard to remain respectful, but I can see that my ascension to this rank is going to take some getting used to for the likes of Krun.

  "OK, fair enough. Shall we get this train moving then?"

  "Of course," bows Krun. "But first, this is for you."

  He reaches out a second paw, held until now behind his back. Within it, I see a beautifully carved wooden box of rectangular shape, its hinges shining gold, its lock a wonderful sculpture of...me?

  I snatch it from him, inspecting the mini-sculpture a little more closely, depicting a young woman with flowing gold hair, dazzling robes, fire flowing from her hands. It's small, but even so, manages to carry my features. I smile at it as Marlow peeks from his perch, eyes keen enough to notice the same thing I have.

  "Oh my, it's you, Herald Amber," he says gleefully. "What a tremendous likeness. The work of Master Kristof I'll wager, so intricate and detailed." I look up with a querying look. "The finest metalworker in the city, Lady Herald," Marlow explains. "Oh, the things he can sculpt, they're enough to make a man cry."

  "He does it by hand?" I ask.

  "Sometimes," says Marlow, "when he prefers the more personal touch. Other times, his mind is all he needs. I imagine this has been hand-sculpted."

  I look to Krun, who raises his eyes impatiently. "It's what's inside the box that's important," he tells me. "Please, Lady Herald, open it up."

  I do so at his behest, smiling foolishly as I discover the contents within: an almost skintight suit of armour, glowing red like my robes, fashioned specifically to my exact measurements. It looks the spitting image of Herald Perses's armour, only coloured crimson and not black, a befitting hue for my specific set of gifts.

  "It's beautiful," I say. "Does it..."

  "Yes, Lady Herald," sa
ys Krun. "It does all that your current Fire-Blood robes do, and more. It is the finest work of our military tailor, reserved only for the Heralds of War."

  I examine the garment more closely, holding it up to the light spilling in from the nearest window. It shimmers as my robes do, though isn't nearly as heavy. It feels almost weightless in my hands, despite being robust and rugged in appearance, its surface pimpled and seamless.

  "You'll find yourself well protected in that," Krun says, nodding his great dome. "And I hear it's pretty comfortable too, despite appearances."

  "You been sharing sartorial tips with Perses, have you Krun?" I ask. "Didn't imagine such topics would interest you."

  "There's a lot you don't know about me, Herald Amber," Krun says, managing a smile. "And Herald Perses too."

  His final words are strangely ominous, though I can't tell if he's merely doing that for humour. The big man doesn't seem to have the capability, but looks to be trying at least.

  "Anyway," he goes on, covering the minor awkwardness with that foghorn of a voice. "Put that on, and we'll be on our way. I'll be waiting outside."

  He leaves the apartment, leaving me to dress in private - Marlow, of course, quickly removes himself too. I pull off my current robes and replace them with this new shiny coat. It fits almost too well, so much so that I feel almost bare within it. I pace to the nearest mirror and inspect my reflection, happy to see that, though feeling skintight, the armour isn't overly revealing. It displays the curves of my frame but not much more.

  And inside it, I feel powerful.

  Eyes glowing gold, body glowing red, I step out of the door and follow Krun down below, trailed by a faint afterglow of firelight.

  I meet Herald Perses on the street outside my building, the wide road currently occupied by a smallish convoy of a half dozen military-style carriages. They appear as those I was taken to the city in, larger than the ones that commonly rattle around the streets, capable of holding a good dozen or so soldiers each if required.

  At the head, the grandest of them all resides. It is the chariot of the great Herald of War, the mightiest man in Olympus. The steed that takes him to battle, the bringer of destruction and death. Painted black, and more grim in appearance, it suits the brutish man nicely.

  See that carriage coming, and you'd better get as far away as possible, they say. The world quakes when Perses walks upon it, and rumbles when his chariot draws near. And so it is named Black Thunder, the chariot that brings the darkness and the storm.

  When I climb aboard, it is perhaps the greatest moment of realisation that I'm somewhat in over my head. Ushered in by Krun, I find Perses alone in the large interior space, his hulking frame drenched in black and rippling with thick muscle. Those dark eyes stare forward a moment before finding me. The interior, only partially lit by the incoming sunlight, casts his bald head and scarred face in a series of intimidating shadows.

  I get the immediate impression that my promotion hasn't been well taken by him. That his orders from above to guide and train me have fallen on unwelcome ears. My heart rattles as loud as wagon wheels on cobbles for a brief moment, and an instinct takes me to step back, turn around, and call all this one big mistake.

  I don't, the thought cut short by the sudden arrival of Perses's words.

  "Step aboard, Amber," he says, each word a rumble of thunder. "Don't be shy."

  I climb up a couple of steps and hear the door shut behind me, Krun moving off to his own carriage. A few calls sound, and as I sit, taking position ahead of Perses, the convoy begins to move, heading south down the street at a gentle pace.

  My eyes shape off left and right, pretty much anywhere to avoid making direct eye contact with Perses. A man whom has seemed intimidating and welcoming in equal measure during our past interactions. A man whom, at times, I've felt unexpectedly comfortable with.

  Not now. Right now, I feel like a pathetic plant, nothing but a weed, wilting under the deadly stare of the midday sun. I tighten up, a stupid, awkward smile on my face, everything about my expression and body language telling him that I feel absolutely ridiculous to be sharing this carriage with someone so storied and esteemed.

  And, even more absurdly, to be sharing his title now too.

  The seconds drag, seeming to stretch out to minutes, my only respite the gentle rattle of the wheels as they roll over the cobblestones. But even that isn't much. No, somehow this mighty carriage seems to glide more smoothly, flowing over the road as if lighter than all the others, despite its grander proportions.

  "It suits you," Herald Perses says eventually, his words cutting into the silence like a sudden strike of lightning in the night.

  I arch my eyes to his, and find a more pleasant demeanour than the one I'd thought up in my head looking back. There's the hint of a smile, even, as his own eyes, keen and deep, look upon my new armour.

  "Oh, this old thing," I find myself saying, an expression my grandmother used to enjoy whenever she was complimented on one of her more outlandish choices of garment. It was usually sarcastic, as is my own default setting during times of stress.

  Perses, however, doesn't seem to get it. He frowns, pursing his lips, bordered by thick black stubble and partially scarred. "It's brand new, Amber," he says dryly. "It was made only yesterday."

  "Right, yeah," I say, nodding past the awkwardness. "My thanks to the chef." Another expression, another bemused reaction. Damn my grandma for using them so liberally. Where she got them I'll never know...

  "Chef?"

  "Erm, tailor," I say, correcting myself so he understands. "It's just something my grandma used to say."

  "Ah, of course. Yes, I understand," says Perses. "I have heard about Alberta's famous tongue."

  "You have?"

  "Yes, of course. She was before my time, but all previous Heralds and Chosen are well remembered upon the Hill of Olympus. No matter the circumstances of their departure."

  I nod, thinking again of my grandma's fall from grace. Outside, the convoy flows south with a little more haste, heading towards the central road through this particular district, leading towards the outer gates through which I first entered. So far, I've seen so little of the city. Further exploration will have to wait.

  "Is it common?" I ask, looking at Perses. His steely eyes continue to peruse me, though in that more welcoming manner that he's previously portrayed. I find myself relaxing a little more in his presence. "To be cast out from the Hill, from the city, in disgrace?"

  He observes the look on my face a second, before gently shaking his head. "No, is isn't, Amber. It is rare, but does happen. It is the death of Heralds and Chosen that is the more common circumstance."

  "Like Master Prost, Elian's father?" I ask.

  The scars on Perses's face seem to deepen, eyes sharpening like steel. "Yes. Even the strongest among us can fall foul of such things. What lies beyond our territories here is a threat to us all."

  "So he was killed out there," I say, eyes turning out of the window. "Who could kill a man like that?"

  I find myself under the Herald's stare for an extended moment. He gradually leans forward, shoulders hunching like boulders, muscular arms set upon his trunk-like thighs.

  "I'm going to give you your first lesson, Herald Amber," he says, his voice taking on an ominous quality. He glances to the window. "What lies out there is far more dangerous than what the people know. We are a gifted people, a city of gods, but that doesn't mean we're alone in the things we can do. Others beyond our borders also possess vast powers. Never think yourself above death. Always be on your guard. No one here is invulnerable."

  "Even you?" I whisper.

  His stare tightens. "Even me," he growls. "All Heralds of War are conscious of their mortality. If you forget that, then you're as good as dead already."

  I feel my pulse starting to quicken, and glance again to the window and door beside it.

  "The way is shut now," Perses goes on, voice a dark whisper. My eyes come back to his, strained, con
cealed beneath a furrowed brow. "I'm telling you this only to prepare you for what you may face. You are a formidable young woman, but are raw and unpolished. The sooner you steel yourself to the perils we all face, the sooner you'll adapt. The role of the Heralds of War isn't destruction, as the people seem to think. It is instead to keep them safe. It is about protection, and prevention. We react to threats before they grow beyond our control. We scour the lands around our borders to ensure they remain within our possession. And when we get the call, we put our lives on the line for the sake of our city, and our people. It is a solemn duty, and takes its toll. You must be mentally ready."

  I blink a few times, eyes falling to my feet under the weight of it all. Though I can't deny his words frighten me, they also serve to excite me too, perverse as that may be. The fire that has awakened within me yearns for this, desires this conflict, the opportunity to be unleashed. And out there, it will get its chance.

  "I will be," I say eventually, guiding my eyes back up. "And yes, I know that we are not unique here. I know there are powerful people beyond our borders too. My grandma taught me that much. I just...well, I guess I thought that they weren't much of a threat to us. I can't imagine that there's anyone who could match you, Herald Perses."

  His eyes stay dark and staring, his lips set to a line. Leaning back, his wide frame opens back out, and he lifts a powerful arm up to his face, weathered finger stretching out to trace the more prominent scars cutting across it.

  "How do you think I got these?" he asks. "If you could see the rest of me, you'd know I've got others far too grim for the public eye. I have died a dozen times over, Amber. I have had my body torn apart and put back together. I have seen dozens, maybe hundreds, of my own warriors perish at the hands of our enemies. Powerful men and women cut down by gunfire, run through by blades, killed in horrific ways. Oh, there are others out there who can match any one of us. It is when they group together that we need to be most concerned."

 

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