by T. C. Edge
My chest tightens. Rhoth, my friend, West's adopted father. Chief of the Fangs, now living permanently in the woods far from here, starting a new life after everything they suffered.
And now...this.
"Who took him?" I ask. No one else speaks. They know West is my friend. They know not to interfere.
"People," he croaks. "Soldiers. Strange people. An army..."
My eyes flash up at my grandmother. Hers widen a touch, then narrow. Others display expressions of fear.
"What army, West," I say, still clutching at his hand. "How many?"
"I...I don't know. Many. Many," he stutters. "They killed...many Fangs. Took...others." He shakes his head. "I slipped away. Came straight here. They are...heading this way. They are...nearly here."
A tension, profound and powerful, grips tight at the room. I immediately see my grandmother looking to the civilians, the Secretaries who have no voice in such things.
"Mr Smith, Mr Linney, Mrs Marr, all of you please leave immediately." They don't move for a moment. "That means now!" she growls.
They react, shuffling off, looking at West warily as they pass him, Ares towering above them all.
"Please, Commander Ares, come in. Leave your soldiers outside."
He does so, shutting the door, leaving only those with some military experience behind. And Adryan, of course, who rarely leaves the President's side.
"Brie, could you get more information from him?" she asks me.
I nod, and turn to West. "West, do you mind if I...if I read your mind?"
He nods slowly.
"Thank you," I whisper, taking his face in my palms. I don't need eye contact, not anymore, but it certainly helps here. "Look at me," I say softly. His eyes open, so much fear and concern inside them. And staring deep inside him, I discover everything he went through, everything he knows. All within a bare blink of an eye, the knowledge fills my head.
My body stiffens as I withdraw, my face paling as I turn to address the room.
"What is it?" asks my grandmother. "What did you see?"
I stare at her, unspeaking for a moment. And when I do, I take no glory in the words, I feel no real sense of vindication.
"It's them," I say, turning my eyes to each occupant of the room. "It's what I've been talking about all along."
The realisation is profound, a weight of dread settling over everyone there. And in my head, I feel the words come again. Words I didn't truly believe...until now.
They are coming...
They are nearly here...
7
Kira
I stand, looking out over the city from the balconies of our royal suite. From here, at the summit of the Imperial Palace, the view is quite stunning, the city stretching out into the distance, twinkling within the darkness.
Sometimes, I like to stand here, enjoy the fresh air, withdraw my Hawk-Vision and look upon the world with the eyes of a regular woman. To see the great canvas, the thousands of sparkling lights. To imagine what it would be like to be normal, just one of the many regular people down there, enjoying the simple life. No great responsibility. No great purpose.
Just...normal.
Simple.
Easy.
I draw a breath, the air so sweet and delicious here, scented with flowers and perfumes, all collecting and fermenting in the air, imperceptible to all but a few. I wonder, would it be so bad to live this life for good? Enjoy this view forever?
I'm sure Dom has plans for me, for us. Plans to spread his own legacy, start a family, raise children together one day. Perhaps not now, or even soon, but certainly in our future. Would that present me with a new purpose? If I had children, might I be more willing to give up on the previous life I no longer need to lead.
New Haven is safe, Cromwell's terrible regime destroyed and overturned. Neorome is the same, Empress Vesper's presence no longer felt, her latter years of rule, so awful as they were, now paving the way for something so much better.
All around the city, the many statues of her have been taken down, the power she held over the population stripped away. Her bust remains within the throne room only, honouring the woman she was before she lost her mind. It's only correct, I suppose, to remember at least some of her achievements before she fell into darkness.
And now, with this new alliance in place, what is there for us to worry about? I will never find myself as I was before, the assassin and spy of the Nameless there, the Red Warrior here. Those days are now gone, evolving into something new. Why yearn for such a purpose when it doesn't any longer exist? Why not commit to this new path I've been set upon.
To Dom. To my role as Empress Consort. To the family our future will bring.
A wind flows across me, whipping up my red hair. I brush it away, resetting my emerald eyes on the city far below. My eyes fall upon the Colosseum, bringing memories of my bouts there, some so wonderfully invigorating, others...heartbreaking.
I look further, trying to spot Dom's old villa in the distance. I can't see it from here, blocked by buildings as it is. Merk, I know, lives there now, quite the upgrade from his old place in Southside at the edge of the swamps. I visit him sometimes, enjoying the old sailor's company each time I do, watching him as he potters around the gigantic house, still feeling so out of place there, with his servants and staff to tend him.
I hear a light step behind me, and turn to find the old figure of Claudius there. Yes, Dom did give Merk his villa, and much of his staff, but he was certain to bring along Claudius, his most trusted attendant and aid, when moving to the palace.
"Would you like something to eat, my Lady?" Claudius asks, his voice crisp, clean, the perfect articulation of a man who has worked in such service all his life.
"No...I'm fine thanks, Claud," I say, smiling. "I'm not hungry."
"Yes, my Lady. If you require anything, please let me know."
I nod my thanks, and he begins to turn, preparing to slip away. He stops, hesitating, and then turns back to me.
"Is everything...all right, Lady Kira?" he asks. "You don't seem your usual self today."
"I'm fine," I say, trying to bring up a smile. "I guess all this wedding planning. It's...a lot to take on."
"I can imagine. It isn't for everyone, I suspect."
I shake my head. "No. I'm not used to this sort of attention, really."
"You'll get used to it, I'm sure," he says softly. "It takes time for any change to take effect, whatever that change is. In time you'll become more comfortable with this new role. You may even learn to love it, as you do Master Domitian."
"I hope so," I whisper, turning to look out again.
Claudius goes silent behind me. He's so perfectly polite and reverential that I can almost 'feel' him bowing, even though I'm turned away. "I shall leave you, Lady Kira. I will be in my study, should you need me."
He leaves me alone to dwell, to think. I stay there for a time, upon that beautiful balcony, the wall and rail adorned with wonderful carvings and decoration, the stony facade of the palace itself beset with flowers and colours. The entire city is a dream, a magical place. Even when I was here before, in such a different capacity, I couldn't help but be enamoured with it.
Living here, being so loved by the people, how is that so bad? I nod, and begin to smile, as I turn my eyes around.
I will find my calling, I think, trying to be more positive. In time, perhaps, I'll learn to live without war.
I wander back inside, moving to the bedchambers I share with Dom. So grand, so opulent, all golds and reds and comfortable silken drapes. I move to the wardrobe, an entire room to itself, and begin looking upon the dresses, the shoes, the jewellery I'm to wear. For most, this would be a dream come true. All of this beauty and wealth. This perfect, powerful man on my arm.
Why don't I think like that?
I continue browsing, flicking through the garments, so soft and silky and colourful. I do so idly, not really thinking, just trying to imagine myself wearing them all. Trying t
o learn to be comfortable in such attire.
I stop, my eyes falling to a box on the floor, at the back behind the dresses. I reach forward and open the top. I stare, for a while, at what lies within.
Garments, though of a very different sort. Red and firm, durable and yet flexible at the same time.
I take a grip of the outfit, the leather breastplate and skirt, the fighting robes, the belt and wrist bands, and pull them all out, holding them up against the light. The red armour that helped coin the name.
The Red Warrior.
Champion of Neorome.
I smile as I look at the outfit, feeling almost nostalgic. And just as I do, I hear a voice, coming from the doorway.
"I'm so, so sorry, Kira." The voice startles me, causing me to drop the clothes, falling back into the trunk in a bundle.
"Dom..."
He steps forward. "I'm so sorry about what happened earlier. I tried to come after you when I realised you'd gone, but there was too much to discuss." He sweeps towards me, turning his eyes to the fighting robes. "You miss it, I know you do. I'll keep fighting for you, I promise. I'll make sure you..."
I place my hand to his lips. A smile works up onto my face. "Shhhh," I say, quietening him. I lean forward, pull him in, wrap my lips up to his. "It's...OK," I say, drawing back, leaving his eyes on me, dull, delirious. "I know you're in my corner, Dom. I think I love you more than ever today."
"You aren't...angry?" he asks.
"With you? No."
"Lucius?" he says. "I'm disappointed he ambushed us like that. I didn't expect it. I thought..."
"It's...fine," I go on. "He's only doing what he thinks is right. Do I like the idea of strangers deciding what I can and cannot do? No, obviously not. But...I understand it. If I'm to be your wife, I know that I need to change."
He looks quite shocked to hear me speaking like this. Am I such a savage that he expected me to fly into a rage? Is that really how I appear?
"You'd do that?" he asks.
"Do I have a choice?" I say. "It's the new reality that I have to accept. I guess...well, it's not so bad here."
I take his hand, and together we walk back out onto the balcony. He scoops up a jug of wine as we go, pouring two silver goblets. The red liquid hits my lips, warming my insides as it slides gleefully down my throat. I stare out towards the city once again, sparkling, twinkling, seeming to reflect the star-spangled skies above.
A quiet din rises from below, the city in celebration, a week long festival to honour our upcoming nuptials. Seven days of joy and dancing and drinking and fun, all at the expense of the throne. A way, perhaps, to help ease the sting felt by the loss of the Imperial Games.
"Is that why you proposed?" I ask, cynical smile on my face. "To give the crowds this week of festivals? Appease them so they don't riot?"
"Oh, they'll be rioting anyway, I imagine. If Max thinks they will, then it's probably going to be the case. That man is so rarely wrong."
"And you're OK with that?" I wonder.
"Given how things are, it's not something I'm worried about. They'll come around in time. This first year without the games will be the hardest. In a few years no one will care."
"Just teething problems, then," I suggest.
"You get them whenever you change something, especially something so important to the people, written into the fabric of their lives. But...it was time for change. Most people know that really."
I snuggle to his side, sipping on my wine, as we stand there looking out over the beautiful city. When I'm by his side, nothing seems to matter. Not my past, not my future. I just live within the moment, enjoying it while it lasts, before we're pulled away again to perform our duties, back to the service of the city and its people.
And perhaps, I think, that's where my new role will lie. Serving the people somehow. Making their lives better.
It has, after all, been my purpose all along; to help those who need helping, to save those who can't save themselves. Oh, I've always done it by killing, but perhaps, here, there's another way.
I smile at the thought, seeing hope out there upon the horizon.
And that night, when we fall asleep in each other's arms, that same smile remains.
Leading me into pleasant dreams of pleasant days to come.
Enough, I hope, to fill a lifetime.
8
Brie
I march around the council chambers, shaking my head, my fists bunched to my sides.
Around the table, the discussion has grown heated and agitated, driven by the news West delivered, the original occupants of the meeting having been joined by Colonel Hatcher, leader of the Stalkers, and Commander Hendricks, who'd been absent before due to other duties.
I pant, stopping, and turn my attention to Hendricks, now holding the floor. His line of thought is one I understand, but wholeheartedly disagree with. My direct, confrontational expression tells him that.
"We must send out emissaries to speak with them and arrange a parley," he says. "In any conflict, you talk first before taking military action. If we do so now, then we may only incite them to attack us in return, starting a war that might otherwise be avoidable."
"We don't yet know the full extent, strength, and power of their army," adds Colonel Hatcher, himself an extremely gifted hybrid, and ever direct in his approach. "It would be wise to speak first before doing anything else, as Commander Hendricks says."
I'm surprised to hear him speak like this. Hatcher isn't really a Stalker himself, all lifeless and robotic, but he is similarly brutal as they are, inclined to kill and ask questions later. The fact that he's taking another track says a fair amount about how concerned they are about this threat.
If only they'd listened earlier, I think.
I know, deep down, that isn't fair. That almost everything has been done to ensure the city is safeguarded against all threats. But still, not quite enough, as far as I see it. At the very least, having sentries and scouts far from the city was always something I stood firmly behind; an early warning system in place to give us time to prepare for threats like this. I'm still amazed that the policy was changed without my knowing, the workload of the scouts lightened with the city thought to be safe.
Evidently, we jumped the gun on that one. Thank goodness, at least, that West is here.
"What do you say, Secretary Burns," Hendricks goes on, turning to the middle-aged Mind-Manipulator. "Do you agree that we should send out a messenger, at the least, to call for a meeting?"
Burns considers it for a moment, his fingers gently stroking his grey-dusted chin. His eyes turn to mine, still prowling around at the rear.
"I am, I have to say, of a different thought," he says. "I do not think this enemy army has come all this way to talk. We must assume their ambition is conquest. And we have to consider Brie's testimony and experience."
"And how can we trust it?" asks Hatcher. "Not what she saw, but whether these events are related. We don't know for certain these this army are these so-called Children of the Prime from Olympus. Their presence here might only be a coincidence..."
"It isn't a coincidence, Colonel Hatcher," I say, firmly, stating the position I've always held. "I have seen what West knows. The Fangs - unlike us, I might add - have been able to observe this force from afar for the last couple of days. They have been cutting their way right across the lands towards us, uprooting everything in their path. They use Brutes for this, and their own specialised telekinetic soldiers called Forgers, whom I encountered already before. They are coming this way, I assure you, and with a force of thousands." I look around the room, holding their attention, finally finding myself heard. "Our only option as I see it is to attack, and do so now. We can use the element of surprise, and catch them as they work through the woods once lived in by the Bear-Skins. That forest is a tangled mess, and no longer inhabited. We can set an ambush, and try to weaken them before they reach us, show them that we're not to be bullied."
My words ring around the room
, my passion evident. It takes a moment of silence before anyone speaks again.
"And how can we be sure that they'll go that way?" It's Adryan this time, adding his conservative voice. "Could they not divert around? Those woods are incredibly dense and hard to get through. It might be quicker for them to take a longer route, by distance at least."
"I'd say that's unlikely," I say, "given what I've seen in West's head."
I look to Burns for corroboration.
"I agree with Brie," he says. "I too have witnessed what young West has seen. This force is mighty, and heading directly our way. It would seem strange for them to alter their course now. If we are to attack - and that remains an 'if' at this point - those woods will be our best bet. We know them well, and can lay ambushes at various points, taking out as many as possible before retreating. It will," he adds slowly, "show our hand and make war a certainty, but all the evidence suggests that is already the case anyway."
He directs his stern, penetrating gaze upon Hatcher and Hendricks. As Secretary of Defence, Burns is the senior military official in the city, and their commanding officer.
After a pause, they both appear to agree, nodding silently.
"It seems reasonable, I suppose," admits Hendricks. "If they were to desire a meet only, then they'd have sent envoys some time ago, rather than march their entire army here."
"Exactly!" I exclaim.
"I shall gather together my Stalkers," Colonel Hatcher says. "Many have been itching for a fight. This will serve them well..."
"No."
The room falls to silence at the single, authoritative word. We all look to the end of the table, where President Orlando sits, calmly observing matters until now.
"Madam President?" says Hatcher, turning to look at her, his face craggy and war-worn, his eyes severe and dark, though without the blank framing that surrounds the eyes of normal Stalkers.
She looks back at him, her own eyes greying and old, bordered by wrinkles, but as clear in their determination as ever. "Your Stalkers will not take part," she says, quite clearly. "I'm loathe to use them unless utterly necessary."
