by T. C. Edge
Colour. Well, that isn't something the Savants much care for.
"It's...very nice," Cromwell says, his voice flat. It's as disingenuous a delivery as you could hope to hear. The variety of architecture on show isn't something he's going to find appealing, no more than the fantastical fashion choices adorning those around us.
From the main square, the city branches off into a variety of routes. I sense, as I look on, different styles of architecture and design, various ancient cultures represented. I have seen it before, of course, at least in part. My brief time in the mind of Perses has prepared me for what I'm seeing right now. Though in truth, nothing could quite prepare my real eyes for the majesty, the sheer magnificence and grandeur, of what I'm witnessing.
"And you, Brie?" asks the Overseer, turning to me. "What do you think of our humble little home."
I look at Cromwell again, and let out a sigh. "I don't have much more to say than him," I tell the Overseer. "Why...why did you do this?"
"Why?" asks the Overseer, drawing my eyes back to him. "Because you asked me to, child," he says. "You asked me to help him."
"I...didn't mean this," I say. "You know I didn't mean this."
Cromwell watches on, a slight frown on his face. I wonder how much he can actually remember. Does he recall the last year, since he was defeated and banished? Has his mind merely been stripped of the event that changed him, his near-drowning in the lake by the waterfall, when Zander saved his life.
It seems likely to me that the Overseer has merely altered certain memories, and left others intact. Fashioned him, once more, into the calculating man he once was.
"You wanted me to make him better, and I did," the Overseer says. He looks to Cromwell. "How do you feel, Artemis? Healthy? Strong?"
"I feel just fine," Cromwell says. "Thanks to you."
The Overseer smiles. "More than happy to help," he says. "And I apologise again for the early treatment you suffered. Those days are passed now, Artemis."
"Yes, I should think so," says Cromwell, his voice carrying that superior, arrogant tone it always used to. He looks again to the window. Outside, as we progress down the main road to the centre of the city, the people gather at the sides, cheering us on as we return. "A fine people you have here, Master Overseer," he goes on. "I don't much care for their choice of dress, but it's a wonder what you've achieved in this city. The structure of your society is admirable."
"Why thank you, Artemis," the Overseer says. "I take little credit. It has been a natural evolution, led by the Prime."
"Ah yes, the Prime," says Cromwell. "I shall be very interested to meet them."
"And they you, I'm sure. You will have your chance very soon."
I turn away from the both of them, feeling sick to my stomach. The carriage begins to bobble just a bit, moving onto cobblestone streets not unlike those of Neorome. Above, the buildings loom high, grand and beautifully built. I see flowers and vines, drapes and banners, colours of all kind everywhere. It seems a city in celebration. But, just what do they have to celebrate?
"You wouldn't think they're about to come under siege," I say, staring out. "Do they even know what's happening?"
I look again at the Overseer, who smiles softly. "They cheer the return of their Chosen and Heralds. It is a thing to celebrate, child."
"But only half of you have returned," I say, a note of joy in my voice. "I seem to recall that you lost your Chosen Titan and Chosen Skymaster? And...well, there's the leader of your army, and the Fire-Bloods..."
"Yes, it has been a costly trip," the man says, sighing. "But, perhaps we've earned more than we've spent, in the end." His eyes glint. "Now that we have you."
I shudder under the look in his green-cold eyes.
"What do you want with her anyway?" asks Cromwell. "I suppose you're seeking to use her as I once planned to."
"Oh, you did?" asks the Overseer, interested. I suppose, in his journeys into Cromwell's mind, he hasn't exactly learned about everything that's happened to him.
"Yes. She tried to assassinate me once. We saw it coming and..."
"You didn't see it coming," I growl, looking at him. "It was Agent Woolf."
"Semantics, Brie," says Cromwell. "What happened to Romelia, anyway?" he asks. "I never knew."
"She's still locked up in the City Guard cells," I say. "In isolation where she belongs."
"A gifted bird should never be caged," Cromwell retorts. "She was acting only under my orders."
We stare at each other across the carriage, my heart stirring with an old hate. And yet, as I look at him, I can still see the man he became, the old man, so contrite, so stricken by guilt as he lived, alone, within the wreck of the REEF. It's hard to reconcile all that as I look at him.
"So, Artemis," the Overseer cuts in. "You were saying about using Brie?"
Cromwell, a curious, slightly confused frown on his face, slowly turns back to the Overseer. "Yes..." he says, his voice a little more distant. "We...we had plans to initiate her into the Stalkers. Of course, she wasn't nearly as powerful as she is now, back then." He looks up to the Overseer again. "You, perhaps, are the fortunate ones. She will make a great agent for you."
"You're sick," I say, spitting the words out. "Both of you. Speaking about me as if I'm just a weapon, a tool for you to use. You're as bad as each other. You deserve one another..."
The Overseer smiles. "What do you say, Artemis? You want to make this official?"
Cromwell stares, confused.
"Ah, of course," the Overseer says. "You Savants have trouble with humour."
"Humour is irrelevant to our cause," Cromwell says. "It is a symptom of a more primitive people."
"An interesting viewpoint, Director," says the Overseer.
I stiffen at the title. "He isn't Director anymore," I growl. "My grandmother is President now."
"I'm fully aware of that, Brie," the Overseer smiles. "But, there's no harm in attributing the title to someone who once held it. The ancient presidents of this continent would always be referred to as 'President', long after their days in office. Do not be so offended by trivial things."
"I'll be offended by whatever I want," I retort. "Trivial or otherwise. You mere presence, for example, offends me."
"And his?" the colourful man asks, so contrasted to Cromwell in style, mood, and character. They could hardly be more opposite, in fact. For all the awful things the Overseer alludes to, I have to actively work to dislike him, charming and ebullient as he is. Cromwell...well, such a thing requires no effort at all with him. "Does your grandfather's presence offend you too?"
I turn silent a second as my eyes fall, once more, upon Artemis Cromwell, sitting across from me. Again, an image of the man he's grown to be flashes before my eyes. It weakens my renewed hatred for him. A part of me, if such a thing is even possible, still wants to help him. Turn him back into the man he had become.
"I'm sure it does," the Overseer goes on, when I offer no answer. "And I've told you already, Brie, you are not merely a tool or a weapon. That is an unpleasant way to frame things. You are so much more than that, as I know Herald Nestor told you. A goddess, child," he whispers. "So much more than all of them..."
I follow his eyes to the window once more, to the crowds of people outside. I feel no great hatred for them, seeing them now as we pass. They look...normal to me. Men and women, old and young, children littered among them. I can't blame then for the evils their leaders commit. How can I hate such people for merely being born into this system, with no real power to change it, even if they wanted to?
"I'm no more than them," I say, looking out. My eyes find a grey-robed Fringer, head bowed amid the throng as he stands by his master's side. "I'm not more than anyone."
"Oh, I know you don't really think that," the Overseer whispers. "Deep down inside."
The carriage rattles onwards, rising up a gentle slope. The branching streets continue to spread in various directions, the buildings growing more grand and dramatic. I sit
back, and look out of the window, unwilling any longer to engage with my two travelling companions.
They enter into conversation again, however, without my inclusion, the Overseer explaining the structure and layout of the city to Cromwell, who appears only vaguely interested. I listen idly to snippets that interest me, though choose not to turn back. Instead, I merely allow the sight, smells, and sounds of the city to wash over me, more of it coming into view as we rise steadily upwards.
"The Hill of Olympus," the Overseer says, "is situated at the city's heart. It is, I suppose, much like the High Tower was in Inner Haven, Artemis, with the very summit lived upon, and visited, only by the most illustrious members of society. I suppose you could say that the Heralds and the Chosen are akin to the members of the Consortium, who lived atop the High Tower."
"And that would make him like the Prime?" I find myself asking, flashing my eyes back to them, nodding towards Cromwell.
The Overseer's eyes take on a slightly different frame. "I...suppose you could say that," he says. "At least, from a hierarchical standpoint."
"But the Prime is divine, right?" I say. "Cromwell's just a man. The Prime. Oh, they're so much...more." I whisper the words, doing my best impression of the Overseer himself. He offers a smile in response, though I can see I'm sneaking under his skin, if only just a little.
"You truly believe that, do you Master Overseer?" asks Cromwell, looking at him with those detached eyes of his. "That the Prime are divine?"
"Wait until you meet them, Artemis," comes his response. "And then judge for yourself."
"I...don't think that's necessary," Cromwell states. "You are entitled to believe what you want, of course, but I have a more practical view of things." He looks outside, the city now starting to spread out before us, magnificent under the fading sun, little lights beginning to glow all over as day evolves into night. "I respect what you have done with your society here, but this talk of gods and goddesses isn't something I buy into. In Haven, we were seeking to drive forward human evolution, force the hand of natural selection through a program of eugenics. We create our own destiny, Master Overseer. There is no such...divine influence there."
I watch on, finding myself, oddly, siding with my newly-emotionless grandfather. His work, horrible as it was, I could at least understand. What they are doing here is something I could never get on board with.
"Words can be funny things, Artemis," the Overseer responds. "The words 'gods', and 'divine', for example, can be interpreted in multiple ways. We do not, certainly, consider us akin to the mythical gods of ancient culture. No, we are new gods. Divine beings of this modern world. Created by human hands, yes, but now evolving beyond their original intentions." He raises a smile. "I think, we can find some common ground there. That is why we never saw your city as a threat when you, and the Consortium, were in charge. You were doing, in effect, the very same thing as us. What you call eugenics, we call releasing the divinity within all souls worthy to bear it. There are many, many out there, Artemis, who are just waiting to be awakened. It is our sacred duty to see them freed."
"You sound just like Nestor," I say, my voice a tight grunt. "I saw firsthand how you 'awaken' people. It was nothing but another way to torture and kill innocent people. I know how many survive..."
"You know nothing, Brie," the Overseer says sharply, "but soon enough, that will change. Oh, you'll have ample opportunity to learn. She will help guide you, don't worry."
"She?" I growl. "And just who is 'she'? One of the Prime?"
The Overseer shakes his head. "You'll find out soon, don't worry."
He turns away at that, smiling softly to himself as he looks out of the window. I find my eyes falling upon Cromwell once more, his own expression hard to read. Yet, I sense some aversion to what he's heard. He, odd as it sounds, is more a man of science, than faith, and not interested in this talk of divinity, of the strange, mystical process of awakening. His goal was always for the population of Savants in Haven to flourish through more natural means. Other types of Enhanced, including the many, many hybrids here, were always considered lesser to him.
I wonder, noting the expression on his face, whether he still holds those views quite so strongly. Would the Overseer want to alter them, make him more compliant and agreeable?
Somehow, I doubt that's the case. My time with the Overseer has taught me one thing about him, above all others...
He enjoys the game. He enjoys the challenge.
The hum of the crowd begins to grow louder, drawing my eyes back to the window. I stare down the wide street ahead, my eyes taking in a grand square, right at the foot of the towering hill. People have gathered, colours abounding. They watch, eagerly, awaiting the return of their leaders, wondering, perhaps, whether the rumours are true.
The army has been defeated. Perses is dead. Two further Chosen have lost their lives. Two others have been taken captive.
And now...now a foreign army is marching upon their lands.
If such fears are beginning to spread, it doesn't show. The cheers ring out louder as we approach, our small convoy of carriages entering the square, rolling across towards the foot of the staircase at its northern edge. I look out and try to spot the fear, the dread, but can see nothing but smiles of joy and wonder on their faces. Is it ignorance, or stupidity? Having lived their lives here, surrounded by lies, hidden so far to the north, do they not know what comes their way?
The carriages begin to slow, parking side by side. We roll up alongside Worldshaker, the carriage of Herald Kovas. I hear, now, the crowd calling out their names.
"Worldshaker!" they call out loudly and excitedly. "Black Thunder!"
They speak the names of the carriages owned by Heralds Gailen and Avon too. Stormbringer, named after the former's vast Elemental power. Unbreakable, referring to the latter's apparent invulnerability.
They call them out wildly, excited to see their most powerful warriors step out. And, as they do, the calls of the fabled carriages morph into those of their occupants instead. Kovas. Gailen. Avon. Dianna. All are greeted with rapturous shrieks and applause.
The Overseer steps to the door, and drops a smile to me as he, too, steps out. I see hundreds of people staring eagerly at Black Thunder, hoping, perhaps, that the terrible rumours aren't true. That their greatest ever warrior, Perses, hasn't fallen as the people are saying.
When they see the Overseer, they force themselves to cheer his name and title, though I notice their eyes looking beyond. They can sense figures inside, Cromwell and myself. Oh, how disappointed they'll be when they see us step out.
Cromwell does so first, ushered out by the Overseer, as he steps into the fading light. I follow, my ears accosted by the raucous din, wondering just how deluded so many people can be.
They have lost a great battle. Their army has been defeated. Several of their greatest warriors have fallen to death or capture.
And yet here they are, acting as though they've just won the war. It makes so little sense to me.
"Come this way, Brie," the Overseer says, waving me towards him. He begins guiding myself and my grandfather around the side of the carriage, towards the foot of the steps where the others are now gathering.
The crowd watch on, interested, no doubt wondering just who the hell we are. The rumours will, perhaps, have spoken to us already. They may know, now, that the old ruler of Haven is here. Do they know of me and Kira, of our defeat of Herald Nestor?
If not, they soon will.
I find my interest in the crowd waning as we move towards the others, waiting at the entrance to the Sacred Stairs. There, I see two enormous Titans on duty, guarding the passage ahead with mighty spears in their grasp. They draw them back as we approach, permitting entry through.
"Well, everyone," the Overseer says, "here we are again." He looks up the stairs, the mists up there concealing the top. "Are you all ready?"
I turn my eyes upon Gailen, Avon, and Dianna. I've met them before, but only by sight, and
haven't yet shared words with any of them. All of them look a little weary, their eyes a little strained. Oh, the crowd may be cheering them on, but they know they have returned as failures.
And none more so than Kovas, looking anxiously now up the stairs. I can sense his trepidation, the nerves running through his veins. He takes a breath and then, stepping forwards, begins his ascent of the stairs.
And one by one, we follow, marching up into the clouds.
28
Kira
I look down through the hole in the ground, the manhole cover pulled aside. The stink from below is powerful, pouring up my nose. I can hear trickling water, the sewers still stretching further off into the plains. They link into a series of sewage tunnels, Jared tells us, that divert all waste into a facility a number of miles away.
"This the closest way in?" I ask, staring down into the murk. Above, the sky has darkened further now, the walls of the city a fair way off. "I'd rather not travel a mile underground down there, if I'm honest."
"We have no choice, Kira," Ares says. "At least, not if we want to avoid being spotted. If you'd prefer to try your luck above ground, then be my guest. But I suspect you'd be seen long before you get close to the walls."
"Stop being right all the time," I grunt. I look over to him with a muted smile. "If I'm going down there, though, you're coming with me."
He raises an eye. "I'm...not sure I'll fit," he says.
"Oh, you'll fit," I retort. "Didn't you tell Dom you'd watch over me at all times? Well, you can't exactly let me go in there alone, can you? What if there's a trap?"
Ares looks to Jared. "The tunnels aren't boobytrapped, are they?" he asks.