by T. C. Edge
My eyes scan as the final shreds of light depart, looking upon the dozen or so rats lying dead around the mouth of the hole. It all happened so fast, the rats cooked to death within what seemed like a minute or less. I shake my head, bending my knees, dropping back to the wet stone wall. Drops run down it, trickling past my collar and down my neck, sizzling as they meet my still-hot skin.
And sitting there, I wonder just how quickly a man would die if locked in a cell with me. How soon would their bodies succumb to the raging heat that spreads from within?
I think idly on the question, as other come and replace them. They swarm like the rats themselves as I sit once more alone, accompanied by death, awaiting my own.
And yet, somehow, I feel no fear of what is coming my way. No, no fear for me. Everything I've experienced has led me to this place, this point in time. And though I don't know what will happen from here, I'm beginning to believe that, just like Jude told me, this isn't the end for me yet.
And nor will it be for him.
So I drift, my mind wandering, my emotions shot. I sit against the stone wall and, gradually, feel myself slipping into slumber. Within the pitch darkness that returns to claim me, I stumble off into my dreams.
Those of fire.
Those of death.
18
A heavy clanking wakes me, a dull light pouring into the cell. I blink, shuffling away defensively, my heart racing as I see the metal door opening.
Krun stands in the doorway, his giant frame stooping down. His huge, bucket sized nostrils flare, face forming into a grimace of disgust as they draw in the putrid smell of death.
"What is that smell," he grunts, turning his eyes down to me as if I'm the culprit, lifting thick fingers to block his nose and mouth. He frowns as his eyes scan the small room, noticing the dead rats amassed at the other end of the chamber.
"You have a rat problem here," I say, managing to keep my voice dry. I shift my position and draw in the scent, as if by way of defiance. Having acclimatised to it in my sleep, it doesn't smell too bad.
"What...how'd they die then?"
I fix the beast with a narrow-eyed stare, and look to where the red scorch marks were on his hand, now hidden behind some light bandaging. "Magic," I grunt, enjoying the wave of remembered pain that washes over his dumb face.
He takes a half step back and cradles his injured arm, shaven head all but scraping along the ceiling.
I smile menacingly and, in a sudden movement, jump to my feet and make like I'm going to pounce towards him. He startles like a cat caught napping and takes another step out of the doorway, looking like he's all set to slam the heavy metal door down upon me and lock me back up.
He stops short, remembering himself, and probably thanking his lucky stars that he has no companions here to bear witness to his cowardice.
"Afraid of me are you?" I ask, standing resolute ahead of him. I snigger. "You're no god. Just an oversized boy, frightened of a little girl from the Fringe."
My words, intentionally inflammatory, might not be the best idea given the wild look of rage that envelops his ridiculous, overly large facial features. He stamps forward a pace, growing in bravery, his colossal frame once more filling the doorway.
"You watch your words here, rat," he says, spitting out the words and spraying me with spittle for good measure. "Or you'll..."
"What?" I cut in, refusing to take a backward step. "I'll what? I'm already pretty sure I'm here for execution for the crime of heresy. What's a little more of that when it's already got me sentenced to death?"
"I..."
"You'll do nothing, you great oaf," I grunt, unable to tolerate any more of this treatment. "Now why have you woken me? I was having a nice pleasant nap here in my luxury accommodation before your colossal ass stomped in."
He seems completely and utterly taken aback by my words, an amusingly dumb expression enveloping his face. He hesitates, wondering how to proceed. I imagine that he's never been spoken to like this before, especially not from a Devotee.
But, that's not all I am. Surely, now, he knows that full well?
"Well? I press. "Out with it, Krun."
He puffs like a bull as I say his name.
"Oh, sorry, I'm a little muddy on the etiquette," I go on. "Now, I know I'm not meant to say the name of the likes of Collectors and Heralds, but you're just a soldier, right? Can't I say your name either?"
"No!" he booms, voice all but shaking the walls, dislodging a few pebbles from the cracks in the ceiling above. "A Fringe rat can't speak the name of anyone from Olympus!"
"Krun," I say flatly.
His eyes tighten to squints, seeming to flow with their own inner flame.
"Krun," I say again. "Krun, Krun, Krun." I laugh and shake my head. "Prime be damned that's a silly name when you say it over and over..."
I'm not sure when exactly I cross the line, but I suspect it's somewhere during the third or fourth telling of his name. He surges towards me, stooping down in the low-ceilinged chamber, his gigantic body stamping like a charging elephant, and reaches out to take me into his arms. For a man of such proportions, he moves with surprising haste, covering the short gap before I know it, picking me up by the scruff of the neck and holding me out at arms length.
He hauls me with ease from the ground, his hand hitting the ceiling, my legs dangling beneath me, just as they did before. My heart races at the sudden surge, though I manage to keep the panic from my eyes. Instead, I return his glare, and try to summon something more from within, some of that fire that fills my blood.
I'm unsuccessful, my odd gifts only seeming to manifest during certain scenarios, times of great stress, and evidently not yet under my full control. Clearly, this beast just doesn't frighten me anymore. I sense that he's merely an escort, and has no remit to do me harm, whatever veiled threats he may utter off that huge, whale-sized tongue of his.
"You shut your mouth right now, you hear me?" the beast growls, arm trembling angrily, my body dangling from his grip.
"Or..." I start, preparing another defiant response.
He cuts me off with words that strike deep. "Or I'll take a visit to your boyfriend. And I won't be so kind to him."
I fall silent at that, and see a cruel smirk appear in return.
"Yeah, so that's it," he goes on, grinning maliciously. "You'll do anything for that one, won't you." He nods, as if proud to have worked it out. "Now play along, Fringe rat, and play nice. We'll see just what you're made of later."
Dangling, I tighten my lips for fear of inflicting further pain on Jude. Even from a separate cell, it seems I'm able to screw up his life.
Talk of him, however, has his face appearing in my mind's eye. A dozen questions begin to work up through my head, pushing their way towards my tongue. I hesitate, suddenly losing all my temerity and bravado.
My voice creeps out, soft, innocently asking a simple question. "What will happen to him?" I ask, the cast of defiance leaving my face, replaced by something earnest.
I ask before putting much thought into it, but as the words fall, and I see the hateful expression on Krun's visage, know I won't be getting an answer.
"Never you mind," is all he tells me, enjoying the vagueness of his response. "Now be a good girl and put these on. The city is awaiting you."
He hands me a pair of handcuffs with his spare hand, still holding me off the floor without any effort at all. I take the shackles without question and fix them to my wrists.
Do everything you're told, Amber, I tell myself. Don't rock the boat. Just play along as he says.
Once shackled, I'm dropped again to the floor, slipping as I land, though managing to keep my footing. I take a short step back to steady myself, my foot landing on the corpse of a rat. It feels hard to the touch, its fur singed and crispy.
Krun looks down at the vermin carcass, those mighty brows tightening into a frown at the crunching sound. He scrunches up his bulbous nose but doesn't comment.
"All right," he g
runts, half turning to present passage through the door, his back still semi-bent to fit him into this room. "Go on, down the corridor."
I move past him, stepping through the cell and into the corridor beyond. Though reluctant to obey the oaf's orders, I'm also quite keen on fleeing the cell. I walk on through, the corridor relatively narrow, yet with a more lofty ceiling that allows Krun to walk without stooping - just. Ahead, down the dim corridor, I see light blooming, its hue pale. It seems the light of morning more than any other time of day.
It must be the following morning, I think, realising now how refreshed I actually feel. I'd been so exhausted the previous day that I must have slept through the entire day and night. Is that possible? I wonder. Surely I woke up a number of times, and just don't remember it?
It seems of little consequence, a minor concern given what lies ahead. I approach the light at the end of the tunnel, squinting as I step across the threshold and into the cool morning air. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the change, to take in my surroundings. When they do, I find myself in the same courtyard as before, a number of transports and carriages lined up along one side, barracks intended for housing soldiers surrounding the square.
Stopping, I'm prodded in the back and urged to go on. I walk into the courtyard, directed around the side of a pillar, and am greeted by a primly dressed man in light grey cloak, his head bald, his expression affable, hands clasped before him piously. He smiles at me warmly, though I don't return the expression. Behind him, I see four young women, two on either side, dressed in similar attire, though slightly adjusted to suit their gender.
It's a simple, religious dress, minimalist in its appearance and basic in its function.
"Come forth, child," the bald man says. "Don't be frightened."
I don't move at first, earning myself another violent prod in the back. Just a flick from Krun's huge fingers and I'm stumbling on, covering several paces across the stone. I stop in front of the man, who continues to regard me with those friendly, but oddly detached eyes.
"Good morning, Amber," he says to me, dipping his head. "My name is Marlow, High Worthy of Olympus. I am here to oversee your preparation today."
I stare at him. "You're from the Fringe?" I ask.
"I was, yes, once," he says, his voice soft, soothing, but grating in its affected tone. "I lived in the border town of Eastgate, at the far eastern edge of the Fringe. I have been living in Olympus for many, many years now." He smiles, an insufferable expression. Behind him, his four helpers smile too, as though following along with their master, a half step behind.
I look over at them. All are quite young, and very beautiful. Marlow himself, though older and likely into his forties at least, has a handsome, youthful visage. I never considered it before, but perhaps being attractive is part of the criteria of being found worthy?
I grumble at the thought, and glance back at Krun, who hovers nearby. He continues to sneer at me, though doesn't seem to have the same disrespect for Marlow and the other Worthy alongside him. Anyone permitted to live in Olympus must, I suppose, be at least acceptable to the Children of the Prime.
"Is that oaf going to linger around all day?" I ask, lowering my voice so Krun can't hear and turning back to Marlow.
The expression that lifts on the man's face reminds me of the old man from Black Ridge. His eyes widen in shock, and I even hear gasps from the girls behind him.
"Right, right," I say, dipping my head. "Sorry. I mean, that, ahem...god?" I huff. "What do you call them, exactly?"
"They are...Children of the Prime," remarks Marlow, trying to compose himself. "Captain Krun is a Son of the Prime. He is to be referred to with the proper respect and reverence, as pertaining to his divine status."
"Divine," I huff, glancing again at Krun. "And he's a...Captain. Him?"
Marlow nods, smiling uncomfortably. Krun grunts from behind, watching on, seeming like he wants to keep his distance from the interaction for some reason.
"So, we have to put up with his stink," I mumble to myself, rolling my eyes. "I guess he's here to make sure I play along, right?"
Marlow continues to hold that uncomfortable smile. There's something incredibly grating about it, the falseness of it all, the contrivance.
"Prime be damned," I mumble once more, shaking my head. "Do you have to smile like that?"
"You must not blaspheme!" comes Marlow's voice, imbued with a sudden ferocity. "Never speak in such terms about the Prime!"
"Jeez, fine," I say, lifting my hands in false apology. I take a moment to myself, leaning back at the sudden rebuke, before speaking again. "So...why are you here? To oversee my preparation, you said?"
The man smiles again, returning to his usual self. It seems too quick, an affected switch. Everything this man does seems so thought out and disingenuous. "I am," he says. "The ceremony will take place in two hours time. We will prepare you for your purification."
I frown. "My...purification?"
"Yes," says Marlow lightly, as though it's nothing to him at all. "You have committed the crime of heresy, and need to atone. Only through purification can we purge these lands of non-believers. Your flesh will be eaten, your sin expelled. We shall free your soul of this sinful shell, and you shall be reborn of light."
A shudder of unease pulses inside me. The way this man speaks of execution, tries to dress it up, make it sound like more than it is. It sickens me.
"So, you're going to kill me," I say bluntly. "You're going to execute me for thinking differently, for speaking my mind?"
I refuse to let those words fully register.
No, this isn't the end...
"Of course," says Marlow, so detached, so insensitive. "You knew the rules, Amber. You chose to betray them. You trespassed on the Sacred Plains, and spoke words of heresy in the town of Black Ridge. Yet now you have a chance to make up for it. To die before the Children of the Prime is a great honour."
"Honour," I say, laughing out loud. "An honour to be killed by a old science experiment gone wrong?"
The man's brows knit into a frown. Clearly, the reference is lost on him, as it would be on the vast majority of people. He knows nothing of the real past, and wouldn't believe it if he did. All he does is shake his head a little and turn his eyes up towards Krun.
"Captain Krun, Son of the Prime, time is pressing," he says. He bows his head low in respect. It seems that the Worthy are allowed to utter the names of the residents here. "We must prepare Amber for the ceremony."
"Well what are you waiting for?" grunts Krun's voice from behind me. "I'll be around. Just do what you have to do."
Marlow nods again, bowing low. I see a flicker of worry cross his eyes as he looks at me again, thinking me potentially troublesome. He probably wants to make sure Krun's on hand to keep a watch on me in case I do something...stupid.
Despite very much wishing to right now, I know I won't. I don't yet know Jude's fate, but I'm not going to risk burdening him by my actions anymore.
With Krun hovering behind, Marlow smiles in that affected way of his and begins leading me towards a carriage. We approach it from the rear, the transport simple and understated, one clearly intended for the Worthy, and not a prison transport like the one that brought me here the previous day.
One of the girls steps forward and opens up the wooden door along the flank. The other girls climb aboard, their cloaks long and covering almost all their flesh, their faces so fresh, so pretty, so detached and distant. They remind me of the people of Black Ridge, only taken to the next level. Perfect examples of Devotees, docile and obedient, nothing but trained pets for those who live here.
I step forward, moving around the side of the carriage. My gaze instinctively looks to the front, wondering how this transport moves. Back in Pine Lake, Collector Ceres uses telekinetics for the job, those with the power to draw the carriages along using only the power of their minds. As we crossed the plains, I realised that Herald Perses was doing the same thing, his convoy moving by
the same method.
But this carriage is different.
This carriage, I find, is drawn along by other means.
My insides churn as I look to the front. There, with heads low, wearing poor cloth and empty, stricken expressions, I see four men standing beneath two poles attached to the front of the wagon. They wait, two beside either pole, dutifully preparing to drag the carriage along, their bodies showing signs of abuse, their eyes hollow and lost.
I stop, staring at them, eyes narrowing in shock and anger, appalled by what I see. My breathing begins to hasten as I turn my gaze on Marlow.
"Who are they?" I growl, my jaw fixing. I sense Krun looming close, my body beginning to burn. Locked tight in front of me, my shackled hands tremble.
"They're...another sect of the Worthy," Marlow says, voice slightly awkward. "They are of lower standing. They perform physical duties that...need to be carried out."
I nod, understanding. Understanding it all. What my grandmother told me the night before I found that Lilly had been taken. Before I ran off on this fool's errand, unthinking, destroying the lives of those I love in the process.
She'd said that Olympus was a place of wonders and horrors, beautiful and brutal in equal measure. And here, now, I'm seeing the first signs of the brutality, the horrors, that reside here. That those chosen to be Worthy don't just come to pray and worship, and live lives of peace and tranquillity among these so-called gods. That many are, in fact, merely brought here to be slaves, to exist in discomfort and pain, to spend their days in hard labour, their friends and families abandoned for a lie.
Oh, it all makes sense now. Terrible, harrowing sense...
"How?" I say, my voice tight, looking at the four men. I shake my head, lower my eyes.
"How...what?" asks Marlow by my side.
"How," I whisper, "do they choose?" I nod weakly towards the men. "How do they choose who becomes...this?"
"Oh, I have no answer to that, child," says Marlow, too cheerfully for me, sidestepping the question when I'm certain he knows full well. "I fit the role I was given in this city, just like everyone else. We all have our function to perform. And these men...well, they live honourable lives in service of the people of Olympus. This is the purpose they were born for."
