by T. C. Edge
"Yes, Herald Perses," Krun says, bowing his head. He straightens out, standing to attention. "What are your orders, sir?"
"We leave immediately," Perses says, without needing a second to think. "If they are massing to strike elsewhere across the Fringe, we have no time to waste." He nods to the Phasers, and Krun, who quickly salute and speed off back towards the carriages. I notice the rest of the soldiers doing the same, disappearing inside as Perses spins and marches back towards me.
I slip backwards, dropping into my seat, trying to keep up with what I've heard. I watch as Perses takes a seat opposite me, busying himself in thought as he opens the little window to the telekinetic driver's seats ahead, and passes on his orders. The convoy begins moving again, doing so at a greater pace.
From a small cabinet on the side of the carriage, Perses draws out a series of maps. He pulls on a lever in the floor and a table unfolds before him. Laying down the maps, he begins poring over them, seeming completely oblivious to my presence.
"Um, I have a question," I say softly.
Perses ignores me, eyes on the maps, still shuffling through them. Most of them I don't recognise. The only one that looks familiar is the larger one showing what I think is North America, or what used to be, anyway. I haven't exactly seen the same map before, but I recognise the shape from a rudimentary version grandma once drew for me.
I continue to watch Perses a second as he draws out others, showing even larger areas of the world. Distant lands across vast oceans and seas. Landmasses thousands upon thousands of miles away where, as far as I know, life might be thriving or completely non-existent.
I watch, fascinated, before eventually Perses looks up at me.
"Yes, Amber," he says, several minutes after I spoke. "What is your question?"
I blink, trying to remember. Oh yes, that's it.
"The Cure," I say, voice small, eyes still on the maps. "Who are they?"
Perses turns his eyes back down to the maps, refocusing on the old landmass of North America. "Dark divinities," he says. "Unenlightened men. They have been a blight on the lands down the western coast for many years, raiding villages, killing without mercy. They are devils, Amber, who have no interest in organised society, and no respect for the gifts that many of them possess."
"And they're called the Cure?"
"It's ironic, isn't it. They have their own set of pagan beliefs, and think that they are the answer. Well, they have clearly been asking the wrong question, as far as we've heard."
"Because they were destroyed..."
"As far as we know, yes," Perses says, voice darkening around the edges, scars deepening upon his brow. "The Cure are no true threat to us, as Captain Krun said." He looks out of the window, towards the distant south. "No, it is the people who overcame them whom we must be concerned about."
"Who?" I whisper, a pulse of fire filling my veins. My mind conjures images of places I've imagined over the years, places my grandmother has only ever suggested and hinted at. She spoke of powerful cities thousands of miles away, places grand and organised like Olympus, filled with genetically enhanced individuals, commanding powerful armies.
One I saw in the flame, when I faced the first trial ahead of the Overseer. I saw myself atop the hill, looking into the distance. I saw the hint of a place with high walls and grand buildings, so unlike Olympus, yet vast and intimidating.
I turn my eyes to Perses, whose own appear distant.
"There are places out there, as I spoke of, Amber, with power enough to challenge us. Until this point, we haven't been concerned with such a thing. Yet recent months have seen a great change in the tide. There have been power struggles, and changes in regime, both far to the south and across the distant seas. And, not too long ago, there was an incident that we cannot ignore."
I wait with bated breath for him to continue. He hauls a breath into his lungs, and proceeds.
"You know the job of our Heralds of Awakening," he begins. "They travel to distant lands in search of those who might join us, men and women with dormant divinity yet to be set free. It is a sacred duty they perform, one that is so essential. Without them, many of us would never have known the truth of what we are. Without them, I would never have come here myself..."
He stops briefly, noting the look in my eye. A silence descends upon us like a blanket, smothering out all other external sound as we roll along the plains. "Yes," he goes on, "I was discovered and awoken, Amber. I ascended to Olympus as you did, though in different circumstances. Our Heralds of Awakening have performed this duty for decades. They have been essential in making the city what it is today, and are thus given the highest of standings among us, as you know. But," he continues, voice darkening, "as you are now too aware, none of us who reside upon the summit are invulnerable. Death does occur to both our Chosen and our Heralds."
He turns his eyes down to a map in front of him, twisting it around so that it's visible to me. It's the one showing the landmass that was once North America, one I faintly recognise. His finger traces its way around, moving northwards to an area to the northwest. I look at the topography, the shape of the mountains, the little lakes and plains that spread away to the north, south, and east. His fingers stop, and taps a single time.
"Do you know where this is?"
I nod, recognising the area from grandma's teachings. "Pine Lake," I say. I reach forward, pointing. "And all this is the Fringe."
"Correct. Across a huge area in what was once known as Canada. Perhaps your grandmother taught you that?"
I nod, recalling the name. "And here's the old border with the United States," I say, fascinated by the detail on the map, the many names of major settlements that once flourished and proliferated. "Grandma told me that the Fringe was in a state called Alberta. That's where she got her name."
"Indeed," smiles Perses, evidently aware, nodding down at the map again. His thick finger continues to trace its path, this time moving away towards the south in a sweeping pattern, left and right, ocean to ocean. "Our Heralds of Awakening travel far and wide doing their duty. They are well protected by some of our finest soldiers, but is it a dangerous job, often taking them into unknown and perilous territory."
His finger keeps moving, drifting away thousands of miles towards the east, moving down past the old border and into the United States. It slows, his fingernail scratching the surface of the map before eventually stopping. His eyes move back up to mine, dark and brooding.
"Several months ago," he says, voice low like the humming growl of a lion, "we lost one of our most gifted Heralds of Awakening here, many hundreds of miles from our borders. "He was killed, along with his entire troop of soldiers, in terrible circumstances." He shakes his head, pensively rebuking. "Herald Nestor had his own way of doing things that I, personally, didn't always agree with. Yet he was highly effective, and utterly loyal to the Prime, and the city. To lose him was a great tragedy."
"And what happened?" I ask quietly. "Who killed him?"
"That, Amber, is where we get to the real threat we face. He was killed by powerful agents from the south who hail from a city called Haven. We sent out investigators to ascertain the truth, and managed to learn a few details of what happened there." His eyes close tighter, his words sharpening. "Is seems there were only two, Amber. Two soldiers overcame Herald Nestor and his entire protective cohort."
Only two? I think, shocked. Could two soldiers kill the entire protective guard of a Herald?
"And where are they now?" I ask, tracing the maps once again, my eyes drifting south, heart beating fast. Haven. The name rings a bell, somewhere grandma spoke of. A place ruled by the genetically enhanced...
"That is something we cannot be sure of," Perses says. "We don't know exactly why they came so far north. We don't know exactly what their intentions are now. But we do know this, Amber. Haven has seen great change over the last year. What was once a stable government has now been overthrown by a dangerous and unpredictable group. We cannot know for sure
what their intentions are, but this incident with Herald Nestor has put us all on alert."
"But why? Why would they murder him and his men?"
Perses raises his eyes, sighing. "Nestor was particularly...committed in his methods," he says. "He came from a school of thought that saw those beyond our borders as lesser lifeforms, and used often violent methods to discover men and women worthy of awakening. I didn't always agree with how he operated, but his results spoke for themselves. It was never within my power to question him."
He turns his eyes out once more, looking over the grasslands. Bathed in sunlight for most of the day, the lands now lie in a muted shadow, clouds gathering above, setting a gloom across the plains. He hauls a breath into his lungs, his voice almost distant when he next speaks.
"I fear for what news has been taken south," he says. "I fear for how these foreigners will view our world after what they saw of Nestor's methods. We may seem invulnerable here, but we are not. The city of Haven is mighty. They have become a very real threat."
My mind works ahead, thinking of a solution, a possible course of action.
"Then send out emissaries," I blurt out. "Make an alliance with them..."
"Oh, we had an alliance of sorts once," Perses says, thoughtful. "Precipitated by a mutual desire to leave one another alone. Haven has ever been ruled by those not dissimilar to us. Now, that regime has been toppled, and a new group has taken control. A group, we hear, who may have formed an alliance of their own."
"An alliance? With who?" I breathe, eyes searching the maps, as if expecting all the dots to connect.
Perses follows my gaze, his finger reaching out once more. It spreads south, down the eastern coast, and then right out across the ocean.
"The world is starting to grow smaller, Amber," he says. "As it once was. Great cities and peoples are becoming less secluded, stretching their borders, spreading their wings. Haven, we fear, might have befriended an even more powerful ally. A city of warriors and blood. A city with a frightening history of dominance and might."
I see his fists clench upon the small table, those thick fingers tightening, knuckles beginning to grow white. "Neorome," he growls, "is a city built for war. We have stayed hidden from her sight for a long time. Now, I fear, we have been exposed to her light."
He descends into darkness, sitting back once more, his eyes turning to the maps. I pose no further questions as I see him fall into thought, my own running wild with all I've heard.
All my life I've thought of Olympus as the centre of the world, a place unquestioned in its predominance. Yet here I am, looking at a god of a man, his eyes crafted in concern with what his city might face.
A city that harbours my sister. A land that harbours my family and dearest friends.
I narrow my eyes and stare out of the window, knowing that, should this threat manifest, I'll be facing it too.
12
The setting sun drenches colour upon the plains. Deep crimson, blood red like my armour, floods the sky, pressing back the hues of orange that burn like fire in the heavens. I watch from the window of the carriage as the lands descend into darkness, as the plains give way to larger clusters of woodland and hills, formations of rock to offer haven during the night for those passing through.
Somewhere in there, just across the loosely defined borders of the Fringe, our enemy are beginning to gather. A further dispatch of Phasers has revealed that, as yet, the party we hunt haven't moved. They are preparing to do so, to slip off under cover of darkness and raid the next village under their radar. And in the hours that have passed since we last heard of their proliferation, reports have spoken of a further enlargement of their numbers.
Two hundred have become three at least. The remains of an army that marched from west to east in pursuit of some great victory. A foolish errand that failed, in the end, from what I have now heard. A great war in the south, a huge army of raiders and bandits called the Cure amassing to seek conquest of a great city. A city called Haven, the centre of much drama, apparently, over the past year. A place that has undergone great change. A city that Perses now sees as a threat.
I look to the darkening skies, to the silhouettes and shapes now hiding upon the horizon, and think of war and battle. It is to be my calling here, now, among my people. Old animosities now flee in the face of it all. The resentment I've harboured all my life, already receding as I've slipped deeper into my new life and role, has now taken a further step back.
If we are to overcome our enemies, then there is no space for discord among us. The Fringe and Olympus are symbionts, each relying on the other to survive and thrive. Yes, I still have reservations about how my old brethren are treated. How could I ever forget seeing Raymond and his heretic allies be burned to death like that in front of the baying crowd?
Yet, on the other side of that coin, I am not so naive to think that such a large society as Olympus won't have inequality, even downright wickedness, within it. I know full well that the strong ever rise to the summit on the back of the weak. That cruelty and malice will always be a part of the world in which we live. I will, I hope, try to change that in time. Support the likes of Lady Felina and those who campaign for the rights of the Worthy. Make sure that the line that still divides the Children of the Prime, and the Devotees of the Fringe, begins to grow less pronounced, more fluid.
Those are the tasks I will take upon myself. But right now, there is one that has been assigned to me. I must help safeguard our borders. I must defend those who cannot defend themselves. I must protect all those souls who live within our lands, from those who might come to conquer us.
My mind turns to those dark gods, those devils, lurking in the woods. The remains of an army now seeking an easy meal. A group of bandits who will return to their ways having suffered a tremendous defeat. They are out there now, preparing to strike once more.
Before dawn, all will be dead or captured.
They have come to the wrong neck of the woods.
Fifty soldiers gather outside of the convoy of carriages. Wreathed in dark armour of green and black, they steel their eyes for the fight, preparing their weaponry that they unpack from the transports' rears. Firearms of sleek black are gathered and checked. Other blades are fixed to backs and flanks, evidently the preferred weapons among a number of the soldiers here, whose eyes glint and smiles lift as they tenderly and affectionately run fingers along the perfectly polished metal.
I watch in a state of suppressed fear and simmering excitement as the soldiers go about their preparations. Among them, I see Krun marching about, the Titan difficult to miss, performing his role as Captain of the guard, one of Perses's chief operators. He has a great blade on his back, shaped into an axe. It suits him nicely, though perhaps it only used in certain, close-range circumstances.
I see Hestia there too, her combat robes doused so that they're as dark as the soldiers around her. Being a beacon of red light in the dark isn't an effective way of infiltrating an enemy camp. I turn my eyes down to my own gear, noting the red hue it continues to carry. I shut my eyes and lock the fire deep within. When I open them, my armour has turned almost jet-black, so similar in look and design to the great Herald of War under whose wing I've fallen.
I see him now, gathering his own gear. To his flanks I see handheld firearms, custom made for his unique touch. He has knives on his belt as well, though I suspect no weapon, other than his brute strength and staggering speed, are truly required for most fights he enters.
Yet, this is no normal fight. A rare bout, if the whispers of the soldiers are to be believed. Odds of one against six are not in our favour. And the presence of a great number of genetically enhanced 'dark gods' among the ranks of the enemy is also cause for concern.
Still, we have no choice. Further reports have told of other villages being attacked within the vicinity. At least another across the Fringe has seen fatalities and pillaging. To wait would mean more loss of life of our own people. It isn't something that Perses will
accept.
And nor, it seems, will any soldier among us.
The Herald walks over to me now, his mighty frame looming like a mountain before me. His eyes turn up and down, perusing me a moment. Then a frown falls over his eyes, accompanied by a question.
"You have no experience with our weaponry, do you Amber?" he asks.
I shake my head, looking over the assorted blades and firearms carried by the soldiers. I haven't seen them often before, let alone use them.
"No, of course you haven't," Perses goes on. "We use them only in rare circumstances when dealing with external threats. They aren't always required. Today, they are." He turns his eyes to Black Thunder. "Follow me," he says, moving towards the carriage nearby.
We stop at the rear, and he opens up a compartment using a special code. Inside I see a number of weapons, both blade and gun and even a number of what look to be explosives. He reaches in and pulls out a handgun similar to those on his flanks. He holds it in his hands a moment, as if presenting it to me.
"This is a basic firearm," he says. "It is highly accurate and effective against unarmoured foes, but won't penetrate all armour." His eyes quickly take in my form. "Yours, for example, is capable of withstanding gunshots from a weapon like this. It should, however, be just fine against the patchwork armour our enemy are wearing."
He hands me the weapon, and I take it respectfully. I prepare for a heavier weight, but find it much lighter than expected, much like the armour that covers me.
"You can fix it to your flank," Perses goes on. "There is an inbuilt holster on your armour that will carry all forms of handgun we manufacture in Olympus. Just click here," he says, reaching out and showing me how. He presses the gun to my hip, clicking it easily into a series of small catches and fasteners that I'd hardly noticed until now. "See, you'd hardly recognise the extra weight, would you."