by T. C. Edge
Lilly, for example, likes to go out of her way to stand out where she can. Lately, she's taken to carving wooden figurines of the local Collector for this part of the Fringe, and positioning them around our tribute of food, hoping he'll notice them.
He hasn't as yet.
But you never know, today might be the day, I think sarcastically, rolling my eyes at the thought.
Lilly sniffs disapprovingly as she looks on through the humming crowd, watching Jude arrange his offerings in what she clearly considers a too-haphazard manner.
"Why does he take such pleasure in being contrary?" she says, tutting. "He'll get caught one day, Amber. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not," I say.
"Because you don't want to displease them, you know. They have a right to be highly offended by acts of disrespect."
"Disrespect?" My brows pinch into a well-worn frown, an expression that mother tells me will age me prematurely. As if I care. "You think it's disrespectful to be a little late in setting out the offerings? What about gathering them in the first place, Lil. Isn't that enough?"
"Not this again, Amber," says Lilly, chin tilted upwards, just like our mother. If my little sister looks just like me, then she acts just like mother. "We all know what to expect, and we know our duty as good Devotees. If Jude's late then he's doing it on purpose. That's disrespectful. He knows the time and date and schedule of everything. There's no excuse for it."
I sigh and look back at Jude as my sister drones on, watching him laughing with a few stragglers as they put the finishing touches to their displays. The sight brings a smile to my face, easing away some of the tension building inside me. What would I do without him around here? One day soon we'll strike out together and journey south. Leave this place behind.
Or...not. I've thought that for years, but never taken the leap. I guess that has something to do with adoring my pious little sister, much as she aggravates me, and being unable to leave the preachy little so-and-so behind.
"Anyway, I just don't want anyone getting punished," she goes on, demanding my attention once more. "I don't see the need to rock the boat. It's so unnecessary. You should talk to him. He only listens to you."
I draw a breath and begin to nod, thinking it better to just agree with her than continue this overdone debate. Frankly, my stress levels could do without the extra hassle right now.
"You're probably right, Lillypad," I say, "but you know Jude well enough by now. He's...incorrigible. Yes, he pushes the boundaries, but he never crosses the line. He just likes winding people up. I bet he's getting a kick out of seeing you react like this."
We both look up at that moment to find him grinning at us from the collection area. Lilly huffs, rolls her eyes, and then smiles. It seems she's unable to fight off the expression when met by Jude's gaze. He's one of the few who can thaw her out and reveal the girl of just fourteen behind the strict facade. I forget sometimes how young she actually is.
"It's no wonder mother and father don't like him," Lilly mutters, attempting to dismiss the smile but finding it rather too difficult. "He's leading you astray, Amber."
"He is not," I counter firmly. "I assure you, I can lead myself astray quite easily on my own, thank you very much. And anyway, what mother and father think of Jude is quite irrelevant to me. I'll be friends with whoever I want."
Lilly opens her mouth, ready to rebuke me for such a disrespectful comment, but words fail to fall. Instead, she's interrupted as a sudden hush begins to filter through the crowd, neatly gathered now along the edges of the courtyard. The few stragglers still arranging their tributes at the centre scamper off to the sides, merging into the throng like drops of water into a bucket.
I notice Jude calmly lifting his eyes to the north, where a convoy of carriages are beginning to appear upon the sloping plains. He merely wanders casually back towards where Lilly and I stand, pushing his way through the thickening soup of bodies that surround us.
He reaches my side, the light murmuring fading off into silence as the beautiful carriages approach, their polished silver facades sparkling under the midday sun. We're several layers back from the front edge of the crowd, which is perfectly fine by me. Evidently not so for Lilly, who uses her slight frame to quickly slip forward to the front where she'll get a better look. I try to grab her and hold her back but she's slippery as a damn eel.
The murmuring takes no time to be swallowed by a suffocating, reverential quiet. Some people are already beginning to bow, arching their backs and lowering their heads as all good Devotees should. Most others wait a little longer, eager to get a look at the Collector - a man named Ceres - and his cohort as they approach.
They're not quite visible yet, hidden away in their grand transports that roll along the open plains on silver-plated wheels. It's a sight that always fascinates me, the carriages moving as if by magic. No horses pull them, no engines drive them. They move, the people say, only by the divine power of those who ride within them.
I huff at the thought, imagining what my grandmother would say to that...
Soon, the convoy is growing nearer, the one in its centre more ornately designed and embellished than the rest. It rolls silently along the shimmering grass, approaching the edge of the ceremonial courtyard, moving between the series of banners and flags that fashion a path inside.
It comes to a slow stop as the others do the same behind. A sense of anticipation permeates the gathering as soldiers dressed in dark green uniforms slip from their berths, two dozen of them appearing from within the slightly more militaristic transports that flank the convoy. They march in tidy formation, eyeing the crowd with their keen, watchful gazes as they take protective position around the front carriage.
Only now does the central figure in this little charade appear, the entire performance a carbon copy of the one the month before, and the month before that, stretching all the way back to my first sight of this spectacle many years ago.
How the people continue to grow excited by it is beyond me.
Perhaps it's the tantalising prospect of, perhaps, one day joining the Worthy themselves. A rare honour, yes, but one that so many Devotees spend their lives attempting to achieve.
I watch furtively as Ceres, the Collector, steps into the sunshine in his gleaming white robes. His followers step out after him, some appearing from the same carriage, others from those that flank it. I quickly run my eyes over them and look for anyone familiar. Occasionally someone from this part of the Fringe might ascend to their ranks and disappear to the great northern city of Olympus where they reside. Those that do, unless spotted at events like this, are never seen again.
And that, apparently, is appealing to so many. It's said that the Worthy attain a higher level of service, and get to live within the city walls of Olympus, performing functions considered of great value and worth, living lives of great esteem.
Honestly, that means nothing to me. I'd sooner be here among the woods and lakes than behind those grand, mysterious walls. No, life here isn't perfect, but I've always thought that it's better the devil you know, than the one you don't.
Flanked by his white-robed followers, Ceres steps delicately towards the collection area, eyes swaying disinterestedly upon our tributes and offerings. I notice the wave of bowing heads and arching backs, the people careful not to make extended eye-contact with the man. A deepening silence is broken only by the light rustle of the wind as banners and flags billow, the gentle crunch of Ceres's footsteps so clear amid the hush.
I've never liked the shape of his blue eyes, the detachment and arrogance they harbour. The way he looks over our hard-earned tributes with disinterest, hardly seeming satisfied despite our best efforts.
Can we be blamed when the game grows scarce in the woods? When the rivers and lakes fail to fruit with the supply of fish we're used to? When the winter season stretches on longer than usual, affecting the spring and summer harvest?
Sometimes we get reprimanded for our lack of effort. Some
times we get completely ignored, the offerings merely packed up and loaded before the cohort moves off again without so much as a word. Rarely does Ceres offer any praise at all for everything we do. And yet still, the people bow and fawn and pay homage to this man.
And those he represents.
Those he serves.
I grow angry as I watch him, see those thin lips flatten out, those cold eyes impassively survey the tables laden with food. I wonder what they'd do if we refused to obey, if we rose up against them and didn't do as told. Nothing, probably, least not unless we could get the entire Fringe in on the act.
But if we could...
The thought drives a smile onto my face, and a loud, unexpected chuckle hums up from my throat. It clatters across the courtyard, drawing all eyes to my position. I raise my own eyes anxiously and find Ceres looking at me from across the square, his expression blank if slightly bemused. A single eyebrow lifts as he gazes upon me, studying me for a long, drawn out, and entirely intimidating moment.
My heart begins to rattle loudly in my chest, my eyes falling away. I feel Jude's hand slip to mine and grip tight to calm me. Ahead, Lilly glances back, her brows more furrowed than ever, expression written with a mixture of concern and rebuke.
Slowly, surely, I summon the courage to lift my eyes again.
And from the middle of the square, find Collector Ceres walking towards me.
2
Ceres the Collector, local magistrate for the town of Pine Lake and this western area of the Fringe, fixes me with a long, cold stare that has me wishing the earth would swallow me right up and never spit me back out.
It's quite rare for him to engage with anyone here, and though he may, on occasion, address the people in general, communicating directly with anyone in particular - whether verbally or simply through a withering stare, as he's doing now - is something you don't often see.
Trust it to be me, I think to myself, wondering just where to look. Should I meet his gaze, or would that be too disrespectful? Should I turn away and show deference? Should I...apologise for my outburst? Or would speaking right now just make things worse?
In the end, I fall somewhere in-between all that, my eyes dropping away and then lifting almost immediately, my mouth opening up as words of apology threaten to form, but fail to materialise.
I feel Jude squeezing my hand again, and glance furtively over at him. His warm, comforting chestnut eyes tell me to keep quiet. That grin on his face isn't there anymore, which is saying quite a lot.
I mean, seriously. All this because I chuckled to myself?
"Something funny, young lady?" The voice lifts into the warm summer air, crisp, clean, perfectly annunciated. It carries easily across the now silent stone courtyard as Ceres steps towards my position, his eyes never leaving mine, completely ignoring the hundreds of others gathered around the square.
The crowd are sheep, cowering to a cruel shepherd. All of them near me bow a little lower as if to make up for my indiscretion, shuffling to the sides to open up a clearer path for Ceres to see me. Before I know it, I'm on my own, a lonely island in an ocean of bodies.
Except Jude. Of course, Jude is there right beside me.
I lift my eyes again, and notice Lilly still at the front, my view of her clear now as the crowd begins to part around me. She bows low like the others in deference, posture perfect and her form graceful as a swan.
The pretty blue dress she's wearing - stitched together and beautifully embroidered by mother and specifically designed for this monthly event - hangs nicely against her slim frame and compliments her golden colouring. Others have dressed up in colourful summer attire as well, though Lilly still sticks out as a rose amid the thorns.
I wish I'd made an effort now; I'm just wearing my usual lakeside garb of brown cargo pants, white t-shirt that, really, isn't so white anymore, and rugged black ankle-length boots. Of those thorns around Lilly, I'm one of the prickliest.
"Well?" comes Ceres's voice once more, hovering closer. "Please do share with your townsfolk just what the big joke is. Come girl, speak."
Never have I endured such a debilitating, all encompassing silence. The sort of silence that envelops the world and seems like it will never let up.
A growing sense of humiliation, of hundreds of eyes judging me, begins to gnaw in my mind. I lift my eyes and let them meet those of Ceres, a man who, as far as I see it, hasn't ever earned my respect.
And yet, living behind the walls of Olympus as he does, I'm forced to quiver at his words, bow at his feet.
The thought irks me to an unhealthy degree.
No. Why the hell should I?
"Just a private joke," I say, suddenly lifting my chin and finding my voice, my courage. I speak clearly, intently, and don't break eye-contact. "One that wouldn't interest you, Collector Ceres."
I manage a slightly sarcastic nod of deference - probably not a good idea - as a flutter of gasps spreads softly through the crowd. I notice Ceres's thin eyebrows lift again in surprise, likely caused by a mixture of my tone of voice - not particularly respectful - and the fact that I actually said his name.
Apparently, that's not the done thing around here. He is one of the Children of the Prime, after all. I haven't yet earned the right to speak his given name, and almost certainly never will.
"A...private joke," he says, lifting a hand to his clean-shaven chin, slender fingers stroking gently. "I shall be the judge of what interests me, Devotee. Do share the joke with us. Don't be shy."
Jude squeezes my hand even harder. His touch is almost intelligible to me, that particular squeeze telling me to apologise immediately, and then go quiet. To not say anything more, or to cause any further...
"I was just thinking how I've never seen you smile," I say suddenly, the words hurrying from my mouth, unbidden. "And whether you actually have the capacity for joy."
I regret the words immediately.
The soft gasps in the crowd solidify into a more audible murmur, and I dart my gaze at Lilly, who looks at me, utterly aghast. Jude's fingers tense on my hand, his posture stiffening as if he's readying to heave me away from this mess and escape away into the pinewoods. As if some terrible punishment, even execution, might be the only recourse for my behaviour.
Then I look at Ceres.
And to my utter surprise, a smile begins to form on his pallid face.
"Is this what you were referring to, young lady," he asks, managing to hold the rather unnatural expression for a few extended moments.
I stare at him, bemused, as others notice his reaction. A general hum of surprise works its way out from my section of the crowd like a wave, dozens of whispers joining into a deluge of hidden exchanges.
The clamour ends abruptly as Ceres lifts a hand, closing his fist tight, the square falling quiet once again as if all assembled tongues were suddenly caught in his grasp. He slowly sways his eyes upon the nearest section of the crowd, eyebrows dropping menacingly. Their eyes duck away once more, staring straight at the ground, heads bowed in respect. Meek. Submissive.
The sight is intimidating and enraging to me in equal measure. How this unimposing little man can garner such fear and subservience through so simple a gesture grates at my core.
I know the truth of the likes of you, Ceres, I think, staring at him and refusing to look away. You can pull the wool over all their eyes, but not mine. I'm not afraid of you, or those you serve.
"Well, you are a rebellious one, aren't you," comes his voice again, calmly meeting my gaze. "I sense you are not a good Devotee."
No shit...
"Well, I don't see..." I start, my mind working up several retorts that I know will only get me into more trouble. I catch Lilly's gaze, and feel Jude's fingers squeeze on my hand once more. Be smart, they say. Don't do anything stupid. I slow down, draw a breath, steady my anger, and determine to choose my words more carefully. I've dug myself a hole. Further digging isn't going to help me get out. "I can...do better," I say eventually, slowly beginnin
g to bow my head, to follow the expected protocol. "I had no intention of offending you, Master Collector."
"Offending me?" Ceres says, eyebrows drawing together. "No, child, you offend the Prime. I am in service to him, as you are me. Any offence to me is an offence to him." His voice rings out coldly, rising in volume. "Such offences, I'm afraid, cannot go unpunished."
My pulse quickens as I look back up and find impassive blue eyes staring back. I hold his gaze a moment then drop my eyes once again, falling in with the obsequious masses. My mind hurries, searching for a way to show contrition.
Actions, Amber...actions speak louder than words.
Thinking quickly, I drop to my knees, arch my back, and place my hands to the warm earth in front of me. A posture I see others adopt, one of worship and praise. A posture I hate. But one that's necessary.
I glance up at Lilly, and see her eyes clotting with concern, and feel Jude's presence still beside me. Yes, necessary. For them.
Pathetic as I feel right now, this is my only choice.
"I apologise, Master Collector, Son of the Prime," I say, hugging the dirt, imbuing my words with a desperate, pleading tone. "To the Prime, to you, to all the residents of Olympus. I am in service to you. I will never speak out of turn to you again..."
I choose my words carefully and imbue them with the proper tone, abstaining from the sarcasm that got me into this mess. I think - hope - that they'll be enough to move on from this little episode and forget it ever happened.
Evidently, I'm wrong.
I hear a shuffle of boots ahead of me, cutting off my pitiful appeal for mercy. I look up from my crouched position in the dirt and see Ceres's eyes looking away to his green-uniformed soldiers. He lifts a hand and waves several of them into action. Two hurry right for me, marching effortlessly - and frighteningly quickly - across the ceremonial courtyard.
