by T. C. Edge
And, maybe, I could be a part of that.
We continue on up, the Chosen and Heralds growing clearer as we ascend. I notice the clouds beginning to part, the mists pressing aside to give us a clear path ahead. Glancing back down, they start closing in again behind us, blocking off this private event from the view of the public below. The crowd disappears, the city fading into the mist. And ahead, those given access to this great perch loom.
I look upon them, men and women of staggering power and esteem. Those Chosen above all their kind to represent the Sons and Daughters who share their gifts, their blood. And among them, the Heralds.
I see some, the Heralds of Awakening, half a dozen of them here. They stand with those strange scars cut into their foreheads, men and women with the unique gift to discover the divinity within, awaken the inactivated genes lying dormant in those far from these lands.
Finally, I see the Heralds of War, fewer in number, the Prime's great generals. They are men only, as far as I can see, those with supreme gifts so useful in combat, talents that lie in destruction and chaos. And yet, as I learned with Herald Perses, the greatest of their kind, they can be kind too, and warm. They are the men who protect the city from hostile threats, the men who march out and make these lands safe from those who might come to invade.
And there, I see Perses now, wearing his thin, black armour, the same as the others. He stands tall and grand, ever an intimidating presence, eyes upon me as I advance up towards them. I fix my gaze on him a moment, and see him nod just slightly. It is, almost, a nod of assurance, his way of telling me, 'good luck'.
The Heralds and the Chosen stay silent as we go, moving aside to create a path for us to walk through. I can feel their great power, the aura that surrounds them. Their eyes judge us, deciding whom they'd like to join. All will have known Master Prost, Elian's father. It seems a natural choice for his son to succeed him.
And yes, I see them nod at the young man now, some even smiling fondly as they look upon his face, perhaps seeing a more youthful version of the Chosen Fire-Blood they called brother. I wonder if he's met any of them, how much freedom the Chosen are given to fraternise with friends, family members they leave behind. When he spoke briefly of his father, I got the impression that Elian hadn't seem him for some time, his father's elevation severing their relationship as father and son.
I hope that won't be the same for me. I hope I'll be able to see Lilly often, as the Overseer suggested I would...
The eyes that meet me aren't quite the same as those that fall on Elian. They peruse me with an interest, a curiosity, knowing of the prophesy that told of my coming here. Do they know any more than that? Do they know just what the outcome of this contest will be?
The mist continues to give way, and we soon press forward towards the summit of the staircase. There, upon the top of the hill, the low clouds disperse and, ahead, the great Temple of the Prime comes into view. The snippets I've seen, the caught glances from far below, painted an image of a grand building to outdo all others. Now, seeing it looming ahead of me, I marvel at its size and scope, its startling beauty as it sits there, radiant and proud, atop the hill.
Forged of white marble, with huge pillars and a massive stone entrance, it reminds me of the temple in which I've been residing, only larger and more grand, its carvings and sculptures more detailed. Without turning, the Overseer leads us across the plateau that stretches around it, perfectly flat and layered with beautiful tiles and little gardens and lawns, the grass a deep, verdant green.
The Chosen and Heralds begin following, wandering behind us in their fine attire. I sense my heart begin to hammer as I stare towards the entrance to the temple, knowing who, what, lies within.
The gods of this world, worshipped above all others. The mother and father of all.
The Prime.
Beyond the entrance, the light fades into a low gloom, my eyes unable to adjust from the bright sunlight that dazzles above. Yet in there, I see the shape of a raised platform to the rear, of two thrones on top. And two figures within.
We press on towards the great pillars and mighty entrance just beyond, the roof above shaped in a sloping triangle. I look up at the carvings, the depictions of the gods. The Prime, in male and female form, sit in the centre, their sigil between them; the sideways figure of eight, with the lightning strike cutting it vertically through. The representation of unity and divine power.
Either side, other characters mark the great building. The Chosen and Heralds from the past and present, just like those I saw during my journey here with Jude. I run my eyes across them, and think I see Perses there in a position of prominence. I wonder - is there a bust of my grandmother here somewhere? Has she been honoured for her time as Chosen, or scratched away and replaced, nothing but a bad memory?
The thought temporarily scatters my nerves, my mind distracted. Then I look down once more, and find the Overseer ahead of us, turning silently, smiling softly.
"It is time," he says. "Elian, Hestia, Amber. You have proven yourselves great Fire-Bloods, but only one can take the final step. Beyond me, in this sacred temple, you will come face to face with the Prime. Speak only if asked to do so, and bow when you approach. Stay to the bottom of the steps before the platform. Do not go any further." He turns his eyes proudly upon each of us, just as he did my grandmother so long ago. "In the past, I have often announced the choice of Chosen. Today, I've been told, the Prime wishes to announce it personally. This is a further honour, one not always granted. Now enter, and discover your fate." He dips his chin. "Good luck."
I draw a quick breath, and sense the others doing the same. All animosity I've felt towards Hestia is gone, no space for it. All the ups and downs with Elian no longer matter. We walk in, the three greatest Fire-Bloods of our generation. We walk in, together.
The sound of the wind, of the shuffling feet of the Chosen and Heralds at our back, of the distant murmuring of the city, flees as we step inside. A deep silence falls, the bright sunlight replaced by a soothing luminance that shines upon the marble floor, lights up the grand, white stone interior.
My eyes quickly adjust to the change, no sound meeting my ears but our gentle footsteps as we make our way forward. I look ahead and, across the vast space, see the thrones upon the stage, the divine figures within.
My head begins to blur, a sense of overwhelm building around me. I control my breathing, steady my trembling knees, find some strength, even, in the two other candidates beside me. I glance at them, see Hestia's own eyes, always so fierce, so narrow, marvelling at it all. And Elian, expression almost stricken by nerves, trying so hard to fight off the emotion, maintain his usual poise and calm as he approaches his fate.
His fate, I think again, seeing that look on his face. This has been his goal for years, the climax to a life spent in service of a single ambition. I wonder just what is more powerful, that urge to achieve a goal, or the desperate need to protect ones family, mend the errors of the past.
Yes, I think. I know. This is my fate too.
The figures ahead begin to clear as we step quietly through that vast hall. As I did when I saw them last, they wear white so pure it seems to be made of light itself. Around the hall, fires flicker, and high windows let the natural sunlight in. It falls from several angles onto the platform, onto their grand thrones of white stone.
And gradually, their faces come into view, causing me to gasp softly at their startling youth, their profound beauty. I marvel at them as much as I do their surroundings, their faces so perfect, features soft, skin creamy, hair plentiful and thick. They smile gently, their lips full and plump, curling at precisely the same moment. I can't quite determine their height or shape, but get the impression of perfect figures, too, beneath their robes. The woman, athletic though feminine, the ideal representation of her gender. The man the same for his, strong and robust, flexible and tall.
Like the Overseer, their age is impossible to determine. They could very well be older than him, perh
aps far older, yet have the appearance of those in their early thirties. Do they have the gift of long life, I wonder? Were there those who were genetically enhanced, all those centuries ago, to live for longer, perhaps even to hundreds of years of age?
Soon, we're approaching the bottom of the steps beneath the stage. We slow to a stop, and I glance to the side, hoping to follow whatever Elian does. He dips his head and bends at the waist, performing a perfect bow. I adopt my best imitation, standing back to my full height, trying to stiffen my legs and remain as still as I can.
A deep silence descends upon the hall as we line up, ready to meet our fate.
From the stage ahead, that aura I've felt with the likes of Perses and his brethren flows down, more powerful, more profound. Who are these two? I wonder. Where did they come from? What can they do?
I catch eyes with the female Prime, her strange, deeply wise eyes locking to my own. Does she know what I'm thinking? Is she a telepath like the Overseer? Or something...more?
Her head turns, suddenly, to the right, looking at her companion, her counterpart. As it does, the male Prime turns left, their motion mimicked, mirrored, perfectly coordinated. They look at one another, as though communicating through sight alone, then, as one, look back upon us.
"Welcome," they say, suddenly, speaking at precisely the same moment. It takes me off guard, their voices merging perfectly and, almost, sounding as if spoken by a single tongue. "To our home." They nod their heads in respect together. "It is an honour to have you with us."
I see them smile, teeth appearing, white, perfect, beautiful. I feel a strange glow light inside me at the expression, a sense of happiness spreading through me. My own lips turn up, peel back into a grin. Across from me, Elian does the same. Even Hestia does too.
Their smiles then recede, though their expressions remain warm. Ours seem to mirror theirs, grins fading as they prepare to speak again. Inside, that feeling of happiness remains, something strangely buoyant, an odd euphoria. Can they control how we feel? Or is this just a natural reaction to this unique but...wonderful experience?
"We want to congratulate you all," they continue, voices merging together, "for your participation and performance during the trials. We have been watching, from afar, and have been impressed with you all." I see them flash their eyes on me. "We have been watching for some time," they go on, words coiling around in my head, "and waiting to meet you..."
I find a part of that euphoria slipping away. The briefest throb of anxiety pulses inside, swept away so quickly like a castle of sand by the incoming tide.
"Today, one will join us up here on the hill. One will stand above all others. Our family is always growing, and sometimes...we suffer losses." They flick their eyes on Elian, his own dipping away. "Those losses bring us pain, but also opportunity. A change that one of you," they whisper, combined voice quietening, "will be chosen to seize."
Their eyes fall on me at that, my heart pumping with a wild beat. They smile again, lips lifting, teeth shining. The glow around them seems to radiate brighter, bringing a warmth to my limbs, my core.
Slowly, surely, they stand as one, every movement identical. I stare, in awe, as they move towards the front of the stage, down a step, and then another. My chest works up and down to fill my lungs as they continue to near, the proximity doing little to alter the perfection of their faces, display any imperfections that might have been hidden by distance.
Their eyes move, side to side, inspecting each of us in turn. I watch them, transfixed, and find that they're suddenly so close, just a couple of steps above us, still smiling warmly. I can barely bear the tension as I stare up into their eyes, as they stand, silent, and regard us with such endearment and affection.
We are their children, I think, staring up like a child. They are mother and father to us all.
More joy pours into me at that thought, the sight of them looking down upon us. I feel so small and insignificant before them, but that hardly seems to matter. I want, now, to be with them always. To know them, join them, serve them however I can.
I want it. I need it.
This is where I was born to be.
"We have made our selection," they say, smiling, voices echoing gently through the great hall. They nod, as one, and I feel their eyes on me. My heart pumps with anticipation, so nervous and yet so sure.
Ready. I'm ready.
"Our Chosen Fire-Blood will be..."
I look right at them, and sense them looking right back. A smile warms my face as I prepare to hear my name.
And then, like the light of a candle suddenly snuffed out, the joy inside me is swept away, and my knees buckle beneath me.
"Elian," they say as one, faces switching to the young man beside me. "You will take your father's place at our side. Welcome to the Chosen."
THE END
The Children of the Prime will continue in the next book, Blood of the Chosen
Part III
BLOOD OF THE CHOSEN
44
I stand, defeated, looking down upon the world.
My heart beats dully, a great weight across my shoulders.
Below, colours blur, a chorus of noise, of excitement, spreading from the great square. Thousands of people, murmuring as they await the reveal. Today is a great day in the city of Olympus, the city of gods. Today, the new Chosen Fire-Blood is set to be announced.
I turn my eyes to him now. To Elian, son of Master Prost, his recently deceased predecessor. The boy will step up into the breach left by his departed father. He will join the Chosen and fulfil his destiny, continue upon the path he's been walking since his youth.
I look at him, and see his eyes shine gold. See them glint as they catch the sunlight, see his hair glow more radiantly than ever. A bright smile warms his face, the result of so many years of training and practice, of a goal set and earned, a long journey completed. A small part of me looks at that smile and nods, happy for him, knowing he deserves it more than I do.
But another part - a bigger part - looks on with a profound sense of envy. It could have been mine, that part thinks. It should have been mine.
I...I have failed.
A throb of desolation courses through my veins, my mind filling with thoughts of Lilly, of Jude, even of my grandmother. My grandmother who concealed the truth from me, whose own history is so marred in deceit and shame.
What will happen to them all now, I wonder, staring down the great staircase towards the city, visible through the broken wisps of cloud. Have I broken the contract with the Overseer? Has my failure now destined Lilly to a more difficult life of service and suffering? Will Jude now be caught and imprisoned once more, punished for my failure to succeed?
No, comes the answer. No, you did everything you could. You came so close. You cannot be punished for that...
My eyes drift, left and right, building a picture of those around me. I see the Overseer now, standing to one side, dressed in his typically colourful robes. Nearby, upon the Sacred Stairs, the residents of this summit stand; the Chosen and the Heralds, the favoured Children of the Prime. And behind, across the plateau, the magnificent Temple of the Prime sits, housing the mother and father to us all.
It is them we await. It is them we serve.
It is them...I have failed.
The thought echoes inside my mind. It feels odd, yet natural. My life has been in denial of these people, these false deities. And yet, seeing them, meeting them, I felt a profound yearning to serve them, bow to their commands, do anything and everything they would wish of me.
I stand, so unexpectedly broken by my failure to join their side, to do their bidding. What will become of me now? Am I to live my days here, wallowing in my disappointment. Might I follow the path of my grandmother, and lose myself to this strange desolation?
I stand, and begin to understand how she must have felt. How devastated she must have been to be demoted from this high perch after years as the Chosen Fire-Blood. I have only been given a hint, the t
iniest taste of such a life. She lived it for a decade, and then lost it all.
My head begins to hang, chin dropping low. What is this loneliness inside me? How has this defeat cast me down so low?
My head rings with such dark thoughts, and from the edges of my vision I sense movement. I look up, and find the Chosen and the Heralds turning around. Below, the murmuring of the thousands gathered in the square begins to hush. I straighten my posture and turn. And from the great temple behind me, they come.
The Prime, man and woman, flow as if on air, white robes fluttering gently behind them. The sun seems to shine brighter, a spotlight upon their step. The gentle blanket of clouds and mist that covers the steps starts to dissipate. A channel appears, providing the throng below with a view right up to the summit of the city.
I find my attention turning to one of the Chosen, dressed in robes of white, blue, and yellow. His hands move subtly to his sides, his face cast in mild concentration. I notice the smooth movement of his digits occur in time with the changing of the weather. The clouds and mist part, and his hands begin to still.
He must, I realise at that moment, be the one controlling the weather. The clouds part and gather on his command. The white, blue, and yellow of his robes represents the cloud, sky, and sun.
Godlike gifts, I think. A rare - and wondrous - form of power.
I shuffle on my feet, standing to attention like the rest. My posture reacts to the moment on instinct, respectful and reverent of the two white-robed figures coming our way. An expected silence imbues the audience below as they sense the approach of their eminent rulers. My body stills, and I see the smile drop off of Elian's face. His moment is approaching. He must come off as honourable and proud, smiling only with grace when the announcement is made.
