by T. C. Edge
“Our Guardian stronghold in Lignum has been overrun,” he announces after a brief pause. “Large swathes of woodland are being burned. I’m sorry,” he says, looking again at Link and Ellie, Cyra and Jackson, Ajax and me. “Your homes have been destroyed. There’s…there’s nothing left in the area.”
“No…” whispers Ajax.
“GOD DAMN IT!” shouts Link, smashing his fist on the desk with such force it cracks.
Some of the passive members of the council step back as a blast of anger radiates out of him.
“I should have been there,” he growls, setting his eyes on Jackson. “I could have saved them…”
“You don’t know that,” says Drake. “The place was overrun, led by a Seeker. You might just have burnt with the rest of them.”
Link’s burning eyes turn to Drake, his words callous.
“I’ve had enough of this, of all of you. You’re cowards!” he calls. “You fear these Seekers…these boys. I can tell you right now. I don’t! Enough of this…ENOUGH!”
With those words, he turns and powers through the door, smashing it back with force. Once again, Ellie has no choice but to rush after him, Ajax too. I try to hold him back, but know there will be no use.
As the sound of their footsteps echo down the corridor, Markus’s voice rises again. I barely hear him, devastated as I am to learn about the loss of my home. I look at my mother, her own face riddled with sadness, her mouth closed tight. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to Markus, and mine follow as his voice forms in my head once more.
“It’s not just Lignum,” he says. “Word has just come that our power bases in Fossor, and Agricola, are under siege too…”
“Agricola?” asks Jackson sharply. “Has the stronghold been taken?!”
“The battle’s still going on, Jackson,” says Markus. “I…I’m sure they’re safe.”
My father’s eyes widen and then fall, and Cyra moves to comfort him. Rarely does he allow his emotions to take centre stage. Now, they consume him, momentarily taking over. I can see the fear written across his face, fear that his parents, his brothers and their families, will be dead, defending their homeland as part of the militia.
“What…what are we doing to help?” he asks.
“There’s little we can do,” says General Trent calmly, in a manner befitting his role and rank. “You know how stretched out we are. We are fighting on all fronts, and have no men to spare.”
“Then we make some difficult choices,” commands Drake. “We determine what we can no longer keep, and let it go. With these Seekers at play, the Baron’s men are running riot. There’s little we can do to stop them. We must draw in our forces, we must retreat.”
“Retreat?!” says General Proctor.
“I’m afraid we have no choice, General Proctor,” says Drake firmly. “If we don’t retreat now, we may not have an army left to fight with.”
“Well then maybe Link is right,” says Markus. “These Seekers are killing us! We need to stand toe to toe with them.”
Coolly, Cyra’s voice joins the conversation. It’s not rushing like the others. It’s calm, measured, her eyes turning back to the door, to the corridor beyond.
Looking out, away from us all, she merely says: “Whether right or wrong, Link’s leaving. They’ll be no keeping him here after this…”
Her words are prophetic.
Because as the argument rages on, and the minutes turn to hours, and the military commanders furiously debate their way to some solution, the door opens once more.
At first, no one sees her enter. No one except Cyra. Then, one by one, the voices die down, and we all fall silent and look upon Ellie, her face pained and eyes red.
No one needs to ask what’s wrong.
“He’s gone, hasn’t he?” says Jackson.
She nods.
“I couldn’t keep him back, not this time.”
A strike of fear grips at me. Her tearful eyes turn to mine.
“Ajax…” is all I say.
Her chin dips and fresh tears fall.
And I know, right then, that Ajax has gone too.
17
The Road to War
I find Vesuvia inconsolable that night.
Her tough persona has melted with the departure of Ajax, her sister not present to help her through. She cries and cries as she lies in bed, her leg still wrapped up in a heavy cast, holding a blanket to her eyes to try to shield her pain.
I give her what comfort I can, but she won’t accept it. So I speak words of confidence instead, telling her Ajax will be fine and Velia will be back soon. And all the while, my heart breaks that they’re both missing too.
Downstairs, I know Cyra is doing the same for Ellie. From what I know, Link tried to persuade Ajax to stay, but he wouldn’t have it. Wouldn’t let his father go out there again, leaving him here with nothing to do but wait for word of his safety. In the end, Ellie couldn’t prevent either from leaving, the guards stationed around the mountain too frightened of him to try the same.
I comfort myself with the thought that Ajax is with our most potent warrior. That he himself has grown so strong. Were the two to fight a Seeker, they might well overcome him. After what I’ve seen and done, that’s something I truly believe.
That night, as the world descends into a new chaos, I begin to wonder why Jackson’s men have gone dark. That maybe they, too, were caught up in the spreading violence, never to be heard from again. Already, our forces are retreating, moving back to our strongest bases of power deep into the mainland, consolidating what strength we have remaining and leaving other lands to the clutches of the Baron.
But losing land isn’t the problem. Right now, it’s the people that matter, those that still fight for us, side with us. The Baron isn’t interested in holding territory, in controlling new lands. All he wants is the destruction of our people, of our way of life. And when the world stops burning, and the dust settles, he’ll rebuilt a new one in the image of his master.
Right now, there are few rays of light in the growing dark. Few reasons to be cheerful or hopeful as the Baron’s prophecy, Augustus Knight’s legacy, continues to come true.
The world is burning. The people are dying. Each day that passes brings a fresh new tragedy, another massacre to add to the growing collection. We are becoming divided, our strongest warriors separated and drawn apart to the various corners of the land.
That might have been the entire aim after all.
In the aftermath of the attacks, word reaches me that two of my uncles have been killed. My heart breaks all over again when Cyra delivers the news.
“How’s…how’s dad?” I ask, half in shock.
She struggles to find an answer. When she does, all she can say is: “Focusing on his job.”
Really, the question was stupid. My dad has always been fiercely close to his family. The deaths of two of his three brothers will be killing him inside.
The rest of them, at least, managed to make it out. Now, they’re on their way to one of our final strongholds, Fort Warden, where many of our soldiers and militiamen and women have begun to gather. Well protected and armed, and currently set back from the fighting, it’s just about the safest place across the regions right now.
That night, I see my father late in the evening and barely know what to say. I move in and silently hug him, and feel him grip me tighter than ever, his bionic hand pinching at my flesh.
But I don’t speak any words. They’re not needed right now. I just tell him how devastated I am with my actions, and the expression on my face. Because right now, there’s no knowing who might be next to fall.
It seems that everything we do fails, that the Baron is always a step ahead of us, expecting anything we might try. His years of planning have given him a map of the future, a way of predicting what we’ll do, how we’ll react, to any move he makes.
How can you fight such an enemy? How can you do anything when he knows what path you’ll take before you do so yourself. Any
time we think we might be subverting his expectations, doing something he hasn’t seen coming, we end up getting struck down again. When The Guardians began to rise up, and the statemate began, we thought it was all something he hadn’t seen coming. But who knows now if that’s true. Maybe he had anticipated it all, building up to strike out once more when we least expected it, hitting our strongholds and attacking the people and places we love the most.
He has no Watcher powers, but sometimes they’re not needed. Time and clever planning can be just as effective, years of accumulated knowledge about all of us providing him with his own means of foreseeing the future. And with his Seekers by his side, who knows what else he’s seeing, who knows what information they’re feeding him. Perhaps they already know what we’re going to do next. Perhaps they’re planning their next assault based on actions we’re yet to take.
When I think about it too much, it scrambles my mind. How you can make a plan based on things that are yet to happen, self-fulfilling that prophecy. Like when I went to meet AK1, and he came to me. We’d both seen it happen, knew it would happen, and so drew ourselves there. But what if we hadn’t seen it? Would we have ended up there anyway? Would I have decided to randomly leave the city and make my way to no man’s land, wait in a random, abandoned town in a hope that he’d appear?
Mostly, my visions involve seeing something terrible happen. Things that will happen regardless of my actions, waiting to play out in the production line of time. Whether I see most visions or not, they will happen regardless, because I have no part to play in them.
But some, like when I saw my meeting with AK1, directly involve me. What if I had chosen not to go? What if he had done the same? Did I really have a choice in the matter, or would I have been drawn there anyway?
I could end up losing my mind thinking of such things, my thoughts going round and round like a carousel, always coming back to the same conclusion: that I am just another pawn in this game, the biggest game of all. A blip in the game of life, a tool in time used to fulfil a prophecy, to tie off a loose end.
And with such a conclusion comes another: that in the end, whichever side prevails, time doesn’t care, the world doesn’t care. We’re all just notes in an endless chorus, one that will play forever.
Such a mentality, however, is a dangerous road to travel. In the end, if I truly think that, then why bother at all? Why keep fighting against the odds when we’re all just going to be dust one day anyway? Whether we win or they do, we’re all going to die, and this little war is going to be just another side note in the great game of time.
I let myself stew on such thoughts that evening, as I sit alone and contemplate it all. I allow myself the rare luxury of not caring for just a moment, giving me a cathartic release that, I know, will only be temporary.
Because when the dawn comes again, and the council decide on our next plan, I cannot let such negativity come with me to the war room. I cannot allow it to breed in me, and spread to the others. Right now, all we can do is keep fighting, keep believing, keep hoping that the tide will turn. And for my mother, and father, and friends and family, and everyone else who cowers under the growing darkness, I will do all I can to help hold back the spread of evil.
I may just be a blip in time. My friends and family may just be blips too. But they’re blips that I love, blips that I’d die to save. And in the end, that’s all the motivation I need.
Purged of my pessimism, I wake that morning with a renewed faith and hope. I go to the kitchen, and find the gloomy faces of Cyra and Ellie at breakfast. I go to my headmaster, and set my eyes on her, and simply say: “Everything’s going to be OK. I know it. Link and Ajax will both be fine.”
My words help her to raise a smile too, and I see my mother look on at me with pride. And at that moment, I realise how little moments can make all the difference. Just a word here, a hug there, a quiet moment of support and positivity in an otherwise bleak world. These are the things that matter. When added together, they can bring light to the dark, and set a faltering mind back on track.
“You seem chirpier today,” remarks my mother, her pride turning to curiosity.
“I guess I am,” I say, nodding. “I have a feeling that today we’ll get some good news.”
“We need it,” says Cyra, raising her eyebrows.
And when we get to the war room, my positivity is vindicated. The burden of the war hangs heavy over everyone, and yet there’s something brewing that suggests a decision has been made, an agreement come to among our leaders.
“Link’s departure has lit the way for us,” says Drake, speaking to a full chamber of luminaries. “We have no choice now but to follow suit, and gather across the wall as he always suggested. We have held back for long enough, but now is the time to advance. As many of you will know, our forces are withdrawing from many areas known to be lost. We have tasted the bitterness of defeat, but only in battle. The war is yet to be won.”
He looks to Markus, who continues in his stead.
“The plan is to empty the city of all remaining soldiers. We will bolster our armies across the wall with what we have here, gathering primarily at Fort Warden. Already, many of our forces have begun to accumulate there, waiting for orders. It’s sufficiently far from any combat zones to be considered safe, for now at least, and we have spies all over the country watching for large troop movements. If they come at us, we’ll know it.”
“And what about the city?” asks Cyra. “Who will protect it?”
“We will leave a force of guards here for that purpose. I will hand over the running of the city to Leeta, who has been more or less fulfilling that role for us in recent weeks. She’ll do a fine job with her support team, and will keep it running while we’re gone.”
I look over to see that Leeta is present for the first time, looking around a little sheepishly as all eyes are briefly drawn to her.
“The people will remain safe here, and in the valley camps below,” continues Markus. “Those of us who fought in the last war will know the drill here. History is repeating itself, ladies and gentlemen. The regions beyond the wall are once more the arena of battle. And it’s time we joined in.”
I feel a pulse of energy move around the room. For some, that energy manifests as fear and nervousness. For others, it’s a desire to get out there, finally, and do what we can. I’m certainly in the latter group.
Then, from the back of the room, a voice comes out from one of the Senators. “And what of Athena?” he asks.
I turn quickly back to Drake and see a smile rising on his face.
“Athena…is on the move,” he says. “She’s gathered a force of willing soldiers, and is currently travelling East across the Deadlands…”
“They’re coming back?!” I find myself asking loudly.
“Yes, Theo, they’re coming back. And tomorrow, when we set off East, they’ll be joining us.”
I turn to my mother, and Ellie, and see them both smile.
Cyra looks down to me.
“I guess you were right,” she says. “Good news indeed…”
18
Reunited
The Deadlands are sprawling.
Hundreds of vehicles, big and small, civilian and military, kick up a vast cloud of dust as they chug through the red desert. Petram has been emptied out, coughing up its final force of available soldiers to help with the war effort. The final stage is upon us.
As the colossal convoy grinds down from the mountains into the wasteland, I feel a growing excitement. We’re moving, finally going to war. The main players are entering the game and, one way or another, for good or bad, it’s going to come to an end.
Yet, aside from all that, my body swells with excitement for a very different reason. A much smaller reason. A more personal reason. But a reason that sets my heart pacing.
I’m about to see Velia again.
All this is alien to me; grand armies, giant battles, the fate of the world hanging in the balance. And yet this stra
nge feeling inside is equally novel. Never before have I longed to see someone so much. Never before has a person’s absence had such an impact on me.
Travelling at the head of the convoy, in a car driven by my father, I watch the horizon with unblinking eyes, and harass anyone who’ll listen with questions about Athena’s current location.
In the end, it’s the sight of billowing sand that answers, what appears like a sandstorm hanging over the surface of the earth. As we near it, however, the silhouettes of vehicles appear within the fog, emerging like spectres from a misty night. I look from left to right, and see dozens upon dozens of them, hundreds even, our two armies converging.
My eyes pop at the numbers.
“They’ve been busy,” says Jackson, looking equally impressed.
They most certainly have. And right now, they’re exactly what we need, a fresh force of bodies to help bolster our faltering ranks. And I wonder, as I look upon them, whether the Baron counted on them as well, whether his intricate plot assumed that those from the West would join our cause.
Soon, the two convoys are moving closer, and my eyes are scanning the front vehicles, searching for some sign of Athena…of Velia.
We come to a slow stop, crunching over the barren earth, and step out of the car. Around us, all of the others halt too, the air filled with the sound of hundreds of rumbling engines. It’s typically scorching, despite the earliness of the hour, but the heat doesn’t bother me. I stand and stare, waiting for the others to join us.
When they do, it’s Athena I see first. She emerges from the lead vehicle, and our top ranking leaders quickly gather together in the sand.
Drake, Jackson, Cyra, Markus. All move quickly towards her as she comes to them. I follow behind, watching the car she got out of, my eyes set on the shadow within. Seconds later, the shadow moves and emerges from the jeep, and a bright smile attempts to escape its constraints and rise up on my face.