by T. C. Edge
"Great. And what do we do in the meantime?" I ask, feeling worthless in this particular fight.
"Well, you can head back to the bridge, or return to our cabin. Get warm and dry. I'm going to stay out here and keep an eye on things."
"You're going to stay out here?" I call, having to speak increasingly loudly over the storm. I look up at the skies, the deluge coming down hard and fast now.
"I have to show solidarity with the men. They can't have their leader hiding away inside while they're out here. What sort of message does that send?"
I nod at him, appreciating his form of leadership. I doubt many Emperors would be out in the storm at a time like this, choosing instead to hide away and let their soldiers do all the work. And with Max here, there's no real need for Dom to lead them. It's quite impressive, I feel, that he does so. And I know the men will appreciate it too.
He gives me a quick kiss, before pressing me back up the gangway and towards the front of the ship, staying behind to help motivate the men. I move with a little more ease as I head back for the bridge, finding Merk inside, weaving us gently between the swirling waves that, now, seem to calm as they get near to us.
"They're doing a great job," says Merk, glancing at me. "But it's going to get harder..."
"Dom said," I say, shaking like a dog to rid myself of some of the rain. I engage my Dasher speed for that, vibrating quickly to dry myself off.
"Nice trick," croaks Merk, watching me.
I step over, my hair picking up some volume, radiating with a deep red as it dries, and head to the front window. I stare out at the storm again from the comfort of the interior, the entire world seeming to fly into a rage. The waves ahead look violent, aggressive, the lightning zigzagging down with greater regularity. It's such a strange sight to see, as we continue to sail forward smoothly, the wild waves around us falling under the command of our soldiers as they near.
"What would happen if we didn't have them?" I ask, turning again to look at Merk. "The soldiers, I mean."
"Honestly?" he says. "In a storm like this we might tip over. We're a decent sized vessel but not big enough to be able to ride these sorts of waves comfortably. Just...hold tight, Lady Kira," he says. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."
I trust his judgement, and it soon turns out to be correct, the waves growing larger as we press right through the heart of the storm. I hear voices calling outside, my enhanced hearing picking up some panicked words and orders as Dom and Max continue to oversee things. Beneath us, despite the work of the Elementals, the boat begins to shift with more force now, causing me to stumble left and right, my sea legs tested.
Merk, on the other hand, shows his experience, rolling languidly side to side with the movement of the waves. A part of him even seems to be enjoying it somehow.
"Are you not scared," I call out to him, clinging to the back wall now like a cat on a tree branch, dangling over a river.
"Scared?" he says, rolling left and right as he holds the wheel. "No, too long in the tooth to be scared of all this. I always thought I'd probably die at sea, so..."
"So? So we're going to die now? I am not dying at sea, Merk! What a waste. I'm going down on the battlefield when death calls my number."
"Yeah, well that's where we're different, Kira," he returns, glancing back at me over his shoulder. "You were born for the battlefield, and I was born for the ocean. Do you get scared when you're out there fighting?"
I don't answer. He knows I don't.
"Exactly," he says. "Well, this is my battlefield. This is my fight. I've spent my life on the waves, Kira. If the ocean chooses to take me, then so be it." He turns back again. "But, that's not going to happen today. We'll be fine, you'll see."
I look at him like I never have before, experiencing something of a role reversal with the old man. I'm meant to be the fearless one, the warrior who never takes a backward step. He's meant to be the skittish one clinging on for dear life, totally out of his depth.
It's quite humbling to experience the change for once. Out here, really, we're all just under the mercy of mother nature. If she decides to churn up the ocean, and swallow us down into the depths, then there's nothing we can do to stop her.
I take some comfort, however, from Merk's words, as I continue to cling on, my breathing heavy and heart thrashing, my mind no longer concerned about anything but this. It is, I suppose, a decent distraction, in a terrifying sort of way. When you find yourself faced with such mortal peril, you don't exactly spend time thinking about much else.
It must be about half an hour of increasingly violent waves before Dom marches back inside, soaked and shivering from the rain. He moves over to me.
"You OK, darling?" he asks. "How are things in here?"
"Just fine, sir," says Merk, still at the wheel. "The soldiers are doing an excellent job. We're pushing through the worst of it now."
"Good. That's good to hear," breathes Dom. "The men are getting a little tired. They've been concentrating hard for a while. It's quite taxing keeping that up for long."
"You can tell them to loosen up just a bit if it helps," says Merk. "We can take on a bit more of a roll, sir. The ship won't tip unless it gets really bad."
"Right, thanks Merk. I'll tell them." He looks to me. "Just hold on a little longer," he says softly. "It's going to get a little rougher for a while."
He leaves the room again, as Merk reinforces what he said. "He's right, Kira," he calls from ahead. "Cling on. And if you need to throw up, go right ahead. No shame in getting sick in weather like this."
All his words do is make me focus on my stomach, a heaving bout of queasiness suddenly erupting in my gut. "Thanks, Merk," I say, gulping it down. "Now it's all I can think about."
"Better that than the storm," he says casually, raising his signature, gap-toothed grin.
He isn't actually wrong. For then next thirty minutes, as the boat begins to rock harder once again, all I can do is focus on not throwing up, fighting a war against my stomach as it attempts to override me. It helps draw back some of my fears, at least. The idea of spilling my guts right here on the bridge isn't, frankly, something that I feel a warrior should be doing.
After that half hour passes, I begin to see a few breaks appearing within the skies ahead, the storm seeming to grow weary of its tantrum, calming as it runs out of steam. The clouds, once nothing more than a churning mass, start to separate into more distinct forms. The burning lightning becomes more sporadic, the accompanying thunder a little more gentle.
"Looks like the worst of it is behind us," calls Merk, just as Dom steps back in through the door. "We're breaking through, sir," the old sailor goes on. "How are the men doing?"
"Better," Dom answers, wiping a hand through his dark, wet hair. "They're tired but still have some in the tank."
"Great. Shouldn't be much longer. I could probably pick up some speed again, try to get us to the other side as quickly as possible." He looks to Dom for consent. My future husband nods, giving it.
The ship begins to rumble a little louder, the engines pressing it through the waves with a little more speed. It helps to even us out a little more, the larger waves still flattened and quelled by the soldiers, the smaller ones offering little opposition as the streamlined ship slices right through.
I begin to relax as the skies lighten, a few gaps now appearing in the thick canopy above. The skies and moon appear, a sure sign that we're nearing the end of this rather unpleasant experience.
Still, it goes on a while longer, no one fully relaxing for the next couple of hours as we continue to pick up more speed, the Elementals eventually able to give up their posts altogether, leaving Merk to do his work. And while he must be extremely weary, I know he won't be leaving this post again. No, not until we reach land will he catch some proper rest.
As we pick up once more, adopting full speed, I find myself finally breathing normally, my mind once again turning to what lies ahead. On the horizon, as the clouds dispers
e, the first light of dawn begins to appear.
"How long until we reach land?" I ask, looking to Merk.
"From here, it should be plain sailing," he says. "Not much more than a day, and we'll be there."
One more day. Then another one or two overland.
Hold on, New Haven, I think, gazing forward. We're coming...
21
Brie
I look at the figure on the gurney, his vast, muscular body riddled with wounds. His skin is pale, sickly looking, his flesh cold to the touch. Everywhere, there are small bandages and stitches, a couple, in particular, towards the centre of his chest. He looks, for all intents and purposes, to be dead.
Yet somehow, he isn't.
"Commander Ares brought him in," Marcus tells me, glancing to the mighty Neoroman, standing in the corner. "He was found half buried, thought dead. Completely empty of blood. But somehow, he's still alive."
I look up to Ares, quite shocked by it all. "You went after him?" I ask. "After your fight?" I look back at the body, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly, as though in a state of suspected animation, the finest quantities of oxygen needed to keep him running. "Did you do this?"
Ares shakes his head. "I sensed something during our fight," he says, his deep, commanding voice not suited to a room this small, all but shaking the walls, filling the space to the brim. "He was weakened, somehow. I stayed behind to protect our soldiers, ensure all stragglers got back safely. But," he says, looking at the body, "I thought, perhaps, I'd be able to get him too."
Him, I think. Perses, Herald of War...
"And what happened?" I ask, wanting to know, needing to know.
"I sensed his presence weakening," Ares says. "He was with a girl, a Fire Elemental. He was seriously injured, and she was trying to get him home." He frowns, somehow affected by it all, by what he saw. "She thought she'd lost him. Buried him as best she could. But...she didn't know. She didn't realise. He lived on. Something inside him wasn't giving in."
"And the girl?" I ask. "Why didn't you kill her?"
His eyes narrow as they look at me. "It didn't seem right, Brie," he says. "She was no older than you. It wasn't war then. It wasn't my place to interfere."
I nod, knowing I have absolutely no place to question the man or his motives. Perhaps, when thinking of these people, these Children of the Prime, I can be heartless and cold. Perhaps they aren't all as bad as Herald Nestor made them seem.
"He was the leader of their army, Brie," comes the voice of Secretary Burns, standing to the other side of the bed. "He will have knowledge we can use, if we can get into his head. I have tried, but haven't been able to get through. Even in this weakened state, he has powerful natural defences. It is up to you, Brie, to find a way through."
I take a breath, looking at Perses's body once more, so lifeless, so still.
"I don't know if I'll be able to, Secretary Burns. Not of you can't."
"You have out grown me, Brie," he responds flatly. "You possess powers that I never could. We need you to try. It could help us win this war. It could save thousands of lives."
I nod, stepping forward, still struck by the aura of the man before me, even in this state of semi-living.
"How is he even alive?" I whisper, looking into his grim, scarred face.
"He has a rare durability," says Burns. "And a huge capacity for accelerated healing. He has already made strides, his body starting to come back to life. We are keeping him under, just to be careful."
"He's drugged?" I ask.
"For now, yes," Burns tells me. "It may have affected my ability to get into his head. Perhaps you will have better luck."
I draw a long breath into my lungs once more, and reach out to place my palm across his forehead. It's cool, his skin rough. Though his head is bald, he doesn't seem to have the same scarring that Nestor did, the strange symbols of the Prime not cut into his head. Perhaps, I wonder, that is something reserved for Nestor's kind, the Heralds of Awakening.
I immediately feel Perses's energy as I place my hand to his head. It's powerful, emanating from the depths of his being, though his mind is closed off, hard to see. I shut my eyes, entering into the 'cerebral realm', the brainwaves of those in the room quickly growing clear to me.
They are all so different, so diverse, giving off different signatures. I'm learning, quickly learning, to identify certain powers and traits at a glance. Burns, his mind deep and vast, clearly a Savant, and with the make-up of a Mind-Manipulator. Marcus, energetic, wild, reflecting his character. And Ares, profound, wise, and unfathomably powerful. For a moment, just a moment, I turn my attention to him, so captivated by the vastness of his power. The speed, the strength, the endless well of energy and endurance. He is a man who could fight for hour upon hour without losing his vigour, blessed with a fine intellect for battle and strategy, and skills to master all forms of combat.
No wonder, I think, he is the finest champion Neorome ever saw...
I don't let my brief sojourn into Ares's mind distract me, looking again to my true target. Though Perses's mind remains closed off, hidden behind a vast network of protections and natural immunities, I can, like Ares, sense his powers beyond. And, like Ares, he has a very similar set. A hybrid, an almost exact replica of the great Neoroman commander. Two of the finest fighters in the world, hailing from different sides of it.
I draw back for just a moment, opening my eyes.
Marcus immediately reacts, his voice hopeful. "Did you find anything? Did you get in?"
I shake my head. "Not yet," I say. "I was just getting a sense for him." I look around the room. "I have to warn you, this might take some time. But...I think I might be able to crack him."
"Take all the time you need, Brie," says Secretary Burns. "Just forget about everything else for now. Clear your mind, and find a way into his."
Clear my mind, I think, internally shaking my head. With everything on it, that won't be easy.
Still, I know he's right, and set immediately about my task, shutting my eyes, wiping all distractions from my head, and entering into a deep state of meditation as I try to find a way through Perses's defences. To those around me, watching on, I must appear to be in a sort of trance, sitting still and silent, so peaceful, so calm.
The truth is very different. Behind my eyes, within the constructs of my mind, and his, a war takes place to match that which envelops the city. A war for access to Perses's memories and knowledge. A war that may, in fact, help turn the tide of the real conflict beyond.
I lose sense of time, exploring all routes, all roads. I find myself repelled, again and again, turning down blind alleys and dead ends in his mind, having to turn around and begin my search anew. It's hard to explain how it works. Were someone to ask me, I'd feel hard pushed to think of a way to make them understand. It is, in many ways, a instinctive thing, supernatural and hard to quantify.
This isn't a fight to the death. This isn't two people battling it out, using their physical speed and strength, qualities that are easy to define, easy to understand. No, this is metaphysical, an unearthly world where time runs differently, where the physical bounds of the real world have no true effect. Where I feel my way through, guided by nothing but my instinct and...
And the voice that whispers in the darkness.
Brie...this way, Brie...
I smile. Zander. You're here.
Of course I'm here, Brie, he whispers to me. Follow my voice. I have found the way in.
I turn in the vast spaces of that ethereal plane, working towards the sound of Zander's voice, rising up in my own mind. It's...a strange and bizarre experience, yet one I've grown familiar with. A world apart from the real one we all see, feel, and know so well. A world that only telepaths could possibly understand.
This way, Brie. This way. Come on.
His voice grows a little louder, indicating I'm getting closer. I work through this latest maze in Perses's mind, one of many I've tried to access. Some lead nowhere at al
l. Others seem as if they're going to bring me right to the door, before closing in and shutting down at the last minute, leaving me alone once again, locked outside in the cold.
But this one...this one feels different. I can sense the hum of energy, of Perses's aura, growing stronger, louder. I work left and right through the long corridors, still led by my brother's voice, moving with more speed as I go.
That's it, Brie. You're nearly there...
Guided by his presence, Zander once more proves his worth. There, ahead, the space begins to bloom, the maze fading to white and bright, golden yellow. It blasts like the sun, wiping out everything around it, before, suddenly, turning back to the darkness.
And when the lights come on once more, I find myself where I need to be. There, standing within the vastness of Perses's mind, everything I need opens up before me.
Thank you, Zander, I whisper. What would I do without you...
I can see him smiling in my mind, his presence ever comforting as I continue to venture into the unknown. It's as though I understand things before I even know what they are, gaining the knowledge intrinsically, as if Zander is out there, on the front lines, discovering it all for me, and then feeding it back to me when I most need it.
Oh, Marcus may sing my praises, and others may be wowed by the things I can now do. But the reality is, I can only do them because of him.
I step forward in Perses's mind, so fascinated as I gaze about. All the answers I've ever wanted are here, collected in his consciousness. The Prime. Olympus. This great people who consider themselves gods and goddesses. I have access to all of it now, all the information I could ever want. And, unlike Nestor, who killed himself to make sure I couldn't attain that knowledge, Perses is unable to do anything to stop me.
A smile runs up my lips, and I step forward into the vastness.
When I withdraw, I feel exhausted, my mind so full from what I've found, like your stomach after overeating. I step back, sweating, blinking, panting, as I turn my eyes around the room. I find them all in different places, Secretary Burns and Marcus sitting in chairs, Ares now pacing gently on the other side of the gurney.
