Fractured

by T. C. Edge

  Jared nods. "This is one of the most populated parts of the Fringe," he says. "But...even here, towns are well spread and dispersed. Those upon the border to the Sacred Plains are some of the largest. The people there are responsible for making sure Fringers don't cross that border..."

  "And it's necessary to pass through one of these towns to access the Sacred Plains?" Ares asks.

  Jared shakes his head. "No. There are wide spaces in between the towns. Our soldiers pass by without the Fringers knowing most of the time."

  "But you just said the local people are meant to watch the border?" I say. "They're not doing a great job if they don't even know it when soldiers pass by."

  "That's...different," Jared tells me. "A Fringer would never try to cross onto the plains outside of a border town. If they ran into a patrol they would risk being executed immediately."

  "But they do cross the border within these towns?" asks Ares.

  "Only with permission...um, sir. If they have an official reason, they are permitted entry. Usually, it's for trade. There is also some illegal activity going on that...well, it's considered harmless."

  "As in, illegal trade?" I ask, finding it all quite fascinating.

  Jared nods.

  "So you're saying," booms Ares's voice, "that we will be able to cross onto these Sacred Plains in secret, without anyone seeing us?"

  "Should be easy enough," confirms Jared. "At least, in this part of the Fringe. There are wide enough sections that no one is watching."

  "And the plains themselves?" I ask. "I assume they are watched and patrolled?"

  The man nods. "The Skymaster stations aren't only for the Skymasters to control the mists and weather. There are Sensors there too. Farsights and Tracers and Perceivers. And soldiers patrol the lands as well. I...don't know their movements."

  "We'll have to be careful to avoid detection, then," says Ares. "Killian, be sure to keep a close watch at all times. It may be better for us to park and go on foot once we get close. You say you're a Phaser, Jared. I do hope you'll be able to keep up."

  As the young man's eyes shape anxiously once more, Ares sits back, completing his interrogation for the moment. I turn my eyes forward once more, scanning the lands as we go. In a few hours only, Olympus will be within reach.

  And the journey that began many months ago, when we first encountered Herald Nestor and the Children of the Prime, will begin to enter into its final stretch.

  25

  Brie

  The convoy has grown, proliferating as we've journeyed across the Fringe. What was a collection of perhaps a hundred or so carriages has now become double that, wagons and carts and other supply cars hauling provisions at our flanks.

  Further away, I see others still, little dots upon the distant horizon. They have grown sparse now, hidden mostly amid the strange fog that has risen up. It blankets the rugged lands we're now crossing, concealing all that lies ahead, coloured in a strange yellow and golden hue, tinged with rusty browns and oranges. It seems unnatural to me; not the weather of the world, but some trick of the enemy Skymasters, drawing up the sands and grit to forge a shroud in which to obscure the city.

  Little lives here, it would seem, these lands used for the sole purpose of offering a buffer to Olympus at their centre. They are called the Sacred Plains, I know, information I discovered when I first entered Perses's mind. No villages exist here, no Fringers permitted to enter unless with express approval from the Children of the Prime. Yet all over, they are scattered with outposts and sentry stations, watching the lands ahead for incoming threats.

  It must, I imagine, have been the dullest assignment of all for any soldier forced to endure. Olympus, as far as I know, has never been invaded.

  Soon enough, it'll get its first ever taste...

  "More statues," Marcus says from behind me. I turn and find him looking through the bars of his window. I quickly look through the hole in the wall again but can see nothing.

  "What of?" I ask, turning back to him. Over the last couple of hours, we've seen plenty of statues littering these lands. Some have been huge, others much smaller. Some are highly detailed, others simple and basic.

  "Looks like...like Fire-Elementals," Marcus says. "There are flames coming from their hands. Maybe one of them is your new friend, Amber."

  He drops back down, unable to hold on any longer, and turns to me with a smile. It's nice to see. His sullen, negative attitude has been getting us both down. He has cause for it, yes, but has realised by now that he might as well face whatever is coming head on. And do so with his customary grin.

  "I wouldn't exactly call her my friend," I say. "How do they rank?"

  "Compared to the others we've seen? Pretty highly," he says, nodding in appreciation. "Good detailing. Decent size. I imagine we're getting close now."

  I imagine the same thing. It's not an exact science, but we've both noticed the statues becoming more impressive the further we've gone. The ones nearest the city must be the finest of them all, no doubt built by the Forgers to add extra bells and whistles to the lands surrounding the city. Given our limited view, and the number we've spotted, I can only imagine that there must be hundreds, even thousands, of them scattered across these rugged, dusty plains.

  We continue our vigils, my eyes glued to the hole, Marcus occasionally hauling himself up to the high window ledge and looking out to see what's there. Mostly, we've seen it all by now - the carriages, the statues, the distant wagons and carts, silhouetted within the mist and fog - to spot little we'd consider new. Only the sighting of statues, really, leads to much excitement as we try to guess what they are, concluding that some are more 'official' renditions of actual figures within the city, such as the Heralds and Chosen, while others are more basic forms, merely depicting nameless Fire-Bloods, Titans, Phasers, and other soldiers belonging to different orders of Enhanced.

  Sometimes, I notice that groups have been forged together, and even see an entire battle scene depicted at one point, a variety of different types of enhanced fighting within the same image. It's striking work, and probably a depiction of an event that actually happened. There appears, even before we reach the city itself, to be a grandness, a scale to it all, that feels more magnificent than even Neorome.

  That wondrous city across the sea feels historic to me, ancient in its architecture and style. Here, I get a different feel. A feel of myth, almost. Of fantasy.

  It builds an impression of something more dramatic and imposing than what I'd anticipated. This long path through the mist, across the flat and earthy plains, feels like a journey to another world, disconnected from what I know, and am used to.

  And as the anticipation builds, and I stare through the fog, I find myself growing ever more eager, more excited, to look upon the city itself. The city of so-called gods and goddesses, hidden amid the endless haze, home to the mystical and mysterious Prime.

  Gradually, the mists begin to weaken, and in the distance, as I strain my eyes through the many carriages ahead, I get the impression of a great shadow. Of walls, stretching to the left and right, tall and broad, protecting what lies beyond.

  Ahead, the mists roil and swirl, as carriages begin to press through, seeming to pass through a final, thickened film. I press my face even closer to the wall, staring out as the end approaches. And then, suddenly, as we pass through the veil, I find my eyes accosted by a sudden, vibrant blue. The skies above are clearer, purer, than I've ever seen, the colours so stunningly bright and rich as to remind me of a painting.

  I stare, in a state of awe, as the floor of the plains brightens too, warm and earthy in tone and colour, contrasting so beautifully with the azure skies above. Scattered around, I see other colours of every imaginable hue, flowers and patches of lush, verdurous plant-life collected into gardens. Amid them, staring out across the plains, I see the finest statues we've yet seen, valiant heroes in fearless poses, looming high above us.

  And there, in the distance, the shadowed wall reveals itsel
f fully, stripped of the coating of mist that obscured my eyes. Even from this far, still many hundreds of metres away, they rise up tall and grand, built of stone and rock and protected by a wide moat. They dwarf the walls we have around New Haven, taller, thicker, more magnificent. And in the distance, at the heart of the city, I see a great hill rising up from behind the walls, its top hidden amid the clouds.

  The Hill of Olympus, they call it. The place where the Heralds, and the Chosen...and the Prime, reside.

  Behind me, I hear exclamations of wonder slipping from Marcus's lips, as I turn to find him clinging to the ledge, staring out with open eyes. His fingers are white, his head pressed as close to the bars as possible to get a proper look. I haven't yet seem him hold himself up there for this long.

  I look again, as we quickly hurry forwards, the outside of Olympus growing in clarity with each passing second. Through the train of vehicles half blocking my view, I see a great gate in the walls, a bridge lowered ahead of it across the great moat. Outside, many more carts and carriages sit, hundreds of them arriving from all over the Fringe. Some roll slowly across the bridge and towards the gate, others are unpacked outside of the city, workers and soldiers carrying supplies into the city. There must be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people out there, all working to stock up the city.

  Gradually, our convoy move in to join all the others, many of the workers and soldiers stopping as they see us come. I feel the carriage slowing to a stop, the gate congested and blocked by all the activity. Immediately, soldiers begin pouring out of the carriages ahead of us, moving into the city on foot, or else aiding in the transfer of provisions. Other workers, dressed in grey robes and work-wear, rush forwards to gather up whatever weapons and supplies we have brought back with us. I imagine these must also be Fringers, those found 'Worthy' to live, and serve, within the city of Olympus itself.

  And all the while, a great trumpeting sounds around us, ringing out from tall watchtowers set around the city walls. They mark the return of the Olympian army, an heroic chorus for a failed force.

  Within the rush of feet and the grinding of carriages, I don't hear Bull's usual stamp as he arrives at the door, and opens it up. The light pours in, staggeringly bright. I shield my eyes a moment as my eyes adjust, Dozer following Bull inside as they come towards mine and Marcus's cells, opening them up, and stepping within.

  "Take these. Now," Bull says, stepping into my cage.

  I look at the drugs in his hand. "It hasn't been four hours yet," I say.

  "No arguments!" he grunts, grabbing my hair and tipping my head back. My mouth opens from the violent force, as he drops the two pills inside. "Swallow!"

  I gulp down the drugs as best as I can, hoping he'll release me. He does, but only after his usual inspection.

  "You don't have to be so rough with her!" Marcus calls from the other cell. "What the hell's your problem!"

  Bull snorts and grabs my arm, pulling me towards the cell door. He throws me out into the corridor, before brushing past Dozer towards Marcus, and backhanding him across the face. Marcus goes flying into he wall, hitting with a crunch. He takes a moment to himself before looking back up with fierce eyes, blood dribbling from his lips.

  "Hard man," he growls. "Forget my next dose and we'll see how hard you are then..."

  Bull puffs out of his nose again and turns away, stamping towards me. He grabs me by the back of the neck and presses me quickly towards the exit, shoving me out into the open air. I stumble, tripping as I go, falling into the dirt. Bull looms over me, furious. I have no idea what's gotten into him today.

  "Now, now, is that any way to treat a guest?"

  I look up to see the Overseer stepping over, his colourful robes appearing even more bright and vibrant under the stunningly blue sky. He kneels down before me and helps me to my feet. Behind, Dozer leads Marcus out of the carriage, blood staining his lips and chin. The Overseer sees, and shakes his head.

  "Now what happened here?" he asks. As Dozer prepares to answer, the Overseer flicks his hands, cutting him off. "Oh, no matter. Boys will be boys, I suppose. Both of you," he says, looking to Bull and Dozer, "head into the city with young Marcus here. Deliver him straight to the dungeons."

  I share a look with Marcus, my eyes dilating anxiously. Dozer steps in behind him again and begins pulling him away, Bull stamping alongside.

  "Brie..." he calls out. "Don't worry, Brie...it'll be fine. Don't worry..." His voice trails off as he's swiftly drawn into the crowd.

  "You said we'd be kept in comfort," I say fiercely, turning to the Overseer. "You lied to us!"

  "I didn't lie, child," the Overseer says. "Young Marcus has his own path to tread now. His stay in the dungeons will only be temporary, don't worry."

  I turn again as Marcus is drawn away. I want to call out to him but find my words strangled in my throat. Already, he's being drawn through the throng, disappearing from sight. Ahead, the great walls loom above, soldiers mere dots upon the walkways at the top. And around, the bustle grows into a din, hundreds of carriages, and thousands upon thousands of soldiers and workers, milling about in a great hive of activity.

  And despite being in the thick of it all, I feel as alone as I ever have at that very moment. Lost, as I watch Marcus, my only friend here, taken away.

  "You did this on purpose," I growl, turning back to the Overseer. "You let us travel together only so you could tear us apart."

  "Oh, Brie," he says, shaking his head. "You think so little of me, don't you. I allowed you to travel together to make the long trip more bearable. I told you that already. But, now that we've arrived, the two of you have different paths to tread." He smiles and turns to look upon the city. "You'll see one another again soon enough, don't worry."

  My eyes follow his, looking towards the walls. The wonder of the sight has me forgetting everything else for a brief, stolen moment.

  "It's quite something, isn't it, child," whispers the Overseer, just beginning to pour that poison honey into my ears. "A little grander than the walls of New Haven, wouldn't you say? Tell me, how does it compare to Neorome?"

  "Neorome," I whisper, looking on, watching the multitude of people and carriages going to and from the city. "Neorome doesn't have walls like this."

  "Oh? Really?"

  "They don't need them," I say. "No army would dare invade the city."

  "Ah yes, the legendary prowess of the great, warring people of Neorome. I fear they may need walls one day soon," his voice slithers. "This world of ours is growing increasingly violent. The old powers are beginning to rise once more."

  I turn to him, inspecting his eyes. "You know of others?" I ask.

  "Others? Yes," he says, nodding. "We hear rumours here, whispers from far off lands. Neorome, New Haven, Olympus. We are three great cities and peoples among many. Others stir in the shadows, unseen."

  I turn again to gaze upon the city, passing my eyes to the plains around it, masked in mist and fog. "Unseen," I repeat. "Just as you've been here."

  "Indeed. Such privacy has enabled us to build what you see before you now. We have not been hindered by interference."

  "And now you're ready to reveal yourselves to the world," I say, shaping my tone into one of sarcasm. "Well, that didn't pay off so well for you. By hiding here, all you've done is grow weak."

  "A narrow view of things," the Overseer returns. "I will enjoy continuing your education in the days to come."

  From the side, I see a figure stepping over, dressed in white robes and trailed by a small cohort of grey-robed helpers. He possesses a placid expression, clear blue eyes, and neat, dark hair. Back home, I'd immediately assume that he's a Savant, given his detached demeanour.

  "Master Overseer," the man says, stepping in, and performing a bow. Behind him, his aids do the same, dipping their heads in unison, and keeping them tilted to the floor. "It is a welcome relief to have you back."

  The Overseer briefly inspects the man, before nodding. "Thank you, Collector Ceres," he says
flatly. "We return under difficult circumstances. I hear you have been suffering some of your own in our absence?"

  The Overseer delivers a judgemental stare. The man called Ceres dips his eyes. "Minor rumblings across the Fringe, yes," he says. "I understand it's being taken care of."

  "And it all originated in your sector?" asks the Overseer, raising his eyes.

  "Well, I suppose you could say that," Ceres says. "Though, I don't see that I'm to blame."

  "I am not blaming you, Ceres," the Overseer says. "If anything, this is my fault. I might have seen it coming. As soon as she is caught, I will set things right."

  "Yes, Master."

  "Now, I understand you've been leading the gathering of provisions?"

  Ceres nods.

  "Update," the Overseer says.

  "All major supplies have been gathered from the western and eastern reaches," Ceres begins, speaking in that simple, direct tone that I'm familiar with from spending time with Savants. "Central warehouses are still being unloaded and packed for transfer to the city. Other towns and villages are being visited by our soldiers as we speak. We are destroying what we cannot bring with us to limit the possible provisions available to the enemy."

  His eyes look down at me at that point, as if noting my presence for the first time. He frowns, perhaps wondering who I am.

  "Yes, she is one of them," the Overseer says, confirming the Collector's suspicion. His role, I believe, is to collect tribute from the villages of the Fringe. It makes sense that he'd manage the collection of supplies as well at a time like this.

  "She's from Haven?" Ceres asks, turning his nose up at me.

  "New Haven," I say, correcting him. I don't like many of the Children of the Prime, but for some reason I find this man particularly abhorrent.

  He looks at me disdainfully. "She have some worth to you, Master Overseer?" he asks, still tracing me up and down.