by T. C. Edge
"You'll find yourself well protected in that," Krun says, nodding his great dome. "And I hear it's pretty comfortable too, despite appearances."
"You been sharing sartorial tips with Perses, have you Krun?" I ask. "Didn't imagine such topics would interest you."
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Herald Amber," Krun says, managing a smile. "And Herald Perses too."
His final words are strangely ominous, though I can't tell if he's merely doing that for humour. The big man doesn't seem to have the capability, but looks to be trying at least.
"Anyway," he goes on, covering the minor awkwardness with that foghorn of a voice. "Put that on, and we'll be on our way. I'll be waiting outside."
He leaves the apartment, leaving me to dress in private - Marlow, of course, quickly removes himself too. I pull off my current robes and replace them with this new shiny coat. It fits almost too well, so much so that I feel almost bare within it. I pace to the nearest mirror and inspect my reflection, happy to see that, though feeling skintight, the armour isn't overly revealing. It displays the curves of my frame but not much more.
And inside it, I feel powerful.
Eyes glowing gold, body glowing red, I step out of the door and follow Krun down below, trailed by a faint afterglow of firelight.
I meet Herald Perses on the street outside my building, the wide road currently occupied by a smallish convoy of a half dozen military-style carriages. They appear as those I was taken to the city in, larger than the ones that commonly rattle around the streets, capable of holding a good dozen or so soldiers each if required.
At the head, the grandest of them all resides. It is the chariot of the great Herald of War, the mightiest man in Olympus. The steed that takes him to battle, the bringer of destruction and death. Painted black, and more grim in appearance, it suits the brutish man nicely.
See that carriage coming, and you'd better get as far away as possible, they say. The world quakes when Perses walks upon it, and rumbles when his chariot draws near. And so it is named Black Thunder, the chariot that brings the darkness and the storm.
When I climb aboard, it is perhaps the greatest moment of realisation that I'm somewhat in over my head. Ushered in by Krun, I find Perses alone in the large interior space, his hulking frame drenched in black and rippling with thick muscle. Those dark eyes stare forward a moment before finding me. The interior, only partially lit by the incoming sunlight, casts his bald head and scarred face in a series of intimidating shadows.
I get the immediate impression that my promotion hasn't been well taken by him. That his orders from above to guide and train me have fallen on unwelcome ears. My heart rattles as loud as wagon wheels on cobbles for a brief moment, and an instinct takes me to step back, turn around, and call all this one big mistake.
I don't, the thought cut short by the sudden arrival of Perses's words.
"Step aboard, Amber," he says, each word a rumble of thunder. "Don't be shy."
I climb up a couple of steps and hear the door shut behind me, Krun moving off to his own carriage. A few calls sound, and as I sit, taking position ahead of Perses, the convoy begins to move, heading south down the street at a gentle pace.
My eyes shape off left and right, pretty much anywhere to avoid making direct eye contact with Perses. A man whom has seemed intimidating and welcoming in equal measure during our past interactions. A man whom, at times, I've felt unexpectedly comfortable with.
Not now. Right now, I feel like a pathetic plant, nothing but a weed, wilting under the deadly stare of the midday sun. I tighten up, a stupid, awkward smile on my face, everything about my expression and body language telling him that I feel absolutely ridiculous to be sharing this carriage with someone so storied and esteemed.
And, even more absurdly, to be sharing his title now too.
The seconds drag, seeming to stretch out to minutes, my only respite the gentle rattle of the wheels as they roll over the cobblestones. But even that isn't much. No, somehow this mighty carriage seems to glide more smoothly, flowing over the road as if lighter than all the others, despite its grander proportions.
"It suits you," Herald Perses says eventually, his words cutting into the silence like a sudden strike of lightning in the night.
I arch my eyes to his, and find a more pleasant demeanour than the one I'd thought up in my head looking back. There's the hint of a smile, even, as his own eyes, keen and deep, look upon my new armour.
"Oh, this old thing," I find myself saying, an expression my grandmother used to enjoy whenever she was complimented on one of her more outlandish choices of garment. It was usually sarcastic, as is my own default setting during times of stress.
Perses, however, doesn't seem to get it. He frowns, pursing his lips, bordered by thick black stubble and partially scarred. "It's brand new, Amber," he says dryly. "It was made only yesterday."
"Right, yeah," I say, nodding past the awkwardness. "My thanks to the chef." Another expression, another bemused reaction. Damn my grandma for using them so liberally. Where she got them I'll never know...
"Chef?"
"Erm, tailor," I say, correcting myself so he understands. "It's just something my grandma used to say."
"Ah, of course. Yes, I understand," says Perses. "I have heard about Alberta's famous tongue."
"You have?"
"Yes, of course. She was before my time, but all previous Heralds and Chosen are well remembered upon the Hill of Olympus. No matter the circumstances of their departure."
I nod, thinking again of my grandma's fall from grace. Outside, the convoy flows south with a little more haste, heading towards the central road through this particular district, leading towards the outer gates through which I first entered. So far, I've seen so little of the city. Further exploration will have to wait.
"Is it common?" I ask, looking at Perses. His steely eyes continue to peruse me, though in that more welcoming manner that he's previously portrayed. I find myself relaxing a little more in his presence. "To be cast out from the Hill, from the city, in disgrace?"
He observes the look on my face a second, before gently shaking his head. "No, it isn't, Amber. It is rare, but does happen. It is the death of Heralds and Chosen that is the more common circumstance."
"Like Master Prost, Elian's father?" I ask.
The scars on Perses's face seem to deepen, eyes sharpening like steel. "Yes. Even the strongest among us can fall foul of such things. What lies beyond our territories here is a threat to us all."
"So he was killed out there," I say, eyes turning out of the window. "Who could kill a man like that?"
I find myself under the Herald's stare for an extended moment. He gradually leans forward, shoulders hunching like boulders, muscular arms set upon his trunk-like thighs.
"I'm going to give you your first lesson, Herald Amber," he says, his voice taking on an ominous quality. He glances to the window. "What lies out there is far more dangerous than what the people know. We are a gifted people, a city of gods, but that doesn't mean we're alone in the things we can do. Others beyond our borders also possess vast powers. Never think yourself above death. Always be on your guard. No one here is invulnerable."
"Even you?" I whisper.
His stare tightens. "Even me," he growls. "All Heralds of War are conscious of their mortality. If you forget that, then you're as good as dead already."
I feel my pulse starting to quicken, and glance again to the window and door beside it.
"The way is shut now," Perses goes on, voice a dark whisper. My eyes come back to his, strained, concealed beneath a furrowed brow. "I'm telling you this only to prepare you for what you may face. You are a formidable young woman, but are raw and unpolished. The sooner you steel yourself to the perils we all face, the sooner you'll adapt. The role of the Heralds of War isn't destruction, as the people seem to think. It is instead to keep them safe. It is about protection, and prevention. We react to threats before they grow beyond our control. We
scour the lands around our borders to ensure they remain within our possession. And when we get the call, we put our lives on the line for the sake of our city, and our people. It is a solemn duty, and takes its toll. You must be mentally ready."
I blink a few times, eyes falling to my feet under the weight of it all. Though I can't deny his words frighten me, they also serve to excite me too, perverse as that may be. The fire that has awakened within me yearns for this, desires this conflict, the opportunity to be unleashed. And out there, it will get its chance.
"I will be," I say eventually, guiding my eyes back up. "And yes, I know that we are not unique here. I know there are powerful people beyond our borders too. My grandma taught me that much. I just...well, I guess I thought that they weren't much of a threat to us. I can't imagine that there's anyone who could match you, Herald Perses."
His eyes stay dark and staring, his lips set to a line. Leaning back, his wide frame opens back out, and he lifts a powerful arm up to his face, weathered finger stretching out to trace the more prominent scars cutting across it.
"How do you think I got these?" he asks. "If you could see the rest of me, you'd know I've got others far too grim for the public eye. I have died a dozen times over, Amber. I have had my body torn apart and put back together. I have seen dozens, maybe hundreds, of my own warriors perish at the hands of our enemies. Powerful men and women cut down by gunfire, run through by blades, killed in horrific ways. Oh, there are others out there who can match any one of us. It is when they group together that we need to be most concerned."
"But...I've never heard anything about this," I whisper. "Over on the Fringe, we never felt like we were under threat."
"Of course you didn't," Perses says. "We protect the people of the Fringe, and don't frighten them unduly. We try to pass by unnoticed when we go on operations. We come and go often without ever being seen. The borders of our lands are growing more exposed each year. Each year brings fresh threats, hungry to take what we have. So far, we have been able to deal with them without drastic loss of life to our citizens. But that won't last forever, Amber. One day, we will clash with an enemy that will truly test us."
He takes a breath, barrel chest filling, and turns his eyes back to the window. "That isn't something the people of the Fringe need to know. Nor the residents of this city. It is our burden. That of the Heralds, and the Chosen, when they are called upon to help. Now, it is your burden too, young one. Are you ready to accept it?"
My beating heart slows, a pulse of fire spreading through my body. Within that dimly lit carriage, I glow softly red, and a flicker of fire dances in my eyes.
"I'm ready," I say. "I'm yours to command, Herald Perses."
The man smiles faintly, and nods. "From what I've seen of you so far, Amber, I'd expect nothing less."
A warmth, not of my inner fire, spreads through me at his words. I turn my eyes again to the window and pull back the curtain. It allows me a panoramic view of the city as it slopes away around us. A magnificent place of great beauty and culture. A hub of enlightenment in a dark and dangerous world. I know, here, that much knowledge of the past is stored and celebrated. The many districts, so varied and distinct, are a testament to that, embracing various cultures now long forgotten elsewhere, unknown to the more primitive populations that exist beyond our borders.
But not here in Olympus. No, here we harbour and protect that knowledge, aim to bring it to the new world, bring light where shadow looms and festers. I look out, and feel my mind so changed to when I first arrived here. Find my old circumstances just a blip in my past, a memory fading now into the recesses of my mind.
No, the past I've laboured through doesn't matter anymore. What matters is my future, a future of significance. And perhaps, I wonder, staring out, that's just what the Prime have prophesied and foretold. That I am to be important in the battles to come, in helping to protect and save this city, and all the wonders it contains.
Ahead, stretching away, I see the tops of the external walls starting to rise. Mighty bastions that few enemies could surely penetrate. A wide moat lies outside, I know, and miles upon miles of mist and fog beyond. A veil to hide this place from intruders and invaders. A blanket laid down by those who possess the power to manipulate the weather, stationed in hideouts on the plains all around us, tasked with the single duty to hide the treasure within.
Yet despite it all, I see the worry in Perses's eyes. I see the tension upon his face and deep in his rippling limbs. There's something out there with the power to threaten us, something, perhaps, that's been lingering in the shadows for some time.
"What is our mission?" I ask, looking ahead to the great square that marks the main entrance to the city, paved in a multitude of vibrant, beautiful colours. At its edge, the portcullis lifts, providing passage through the walls towards the huge, silver gate, and bridge to the plains beyond.
Perses's answer draws my eyes back to his. I observe his expression carefully, his leathery features twisting as he speaks. "Your mission, Amber, is to study and learn. To witness the truth of what these lands hold. To assume the tools you'll need to protect them."
"I understand that, Herald Perses," I say. "I understand that this is all new to me but...well, that wasn't my question." His eyes lift, faint smile coming too. "What is our mission?" I repeat. "Why have you been called out?"
"For the very reasons I've spoken of," he says. "To protect our borders and our people." He shakes his head. "No, you hear little on the Fringe. We make sure of that. But the truth is, young Herald, that massacres do happen. That we have a lot of land to watch over, and sometimes those on the outer reaches, in particular, fall into one of our blindspots."
"Massacres?" I ask. "What do you mean? You're talking about our people. The people of the Fringe?"
"What else would I be talking about?" he says. "This is the reality, whether you know it or not."
"So...what happened?" I ask, impatient, my armour glowing a little brighter as we move towards the square. My mind fills momentarily with my old home, my loved ones there. Surely not Pine Lake? Yes, it's towards the western edge of the Fringe, but it's too far inland from our borders to be considered unsafe?
Perses notes the concern in my eyes, and puts my fears to rest.
"A border settlement on the south eastern edge of the Fringe was assaulted a couple of days ago," he explains. "The assailants pillaged the village, and made off with their loot, much of it being gathered for tribute. They murdered the men and the elderly, and have taken the women and children into bondage. We lost several of our own border soldiers trying to protect them. We have several others who have tracked the assailants to the south, where they are currently in camp..."
My heart tightens as he speaks, hearing of such a horror. Yet Perses delivers it without emotion, reciting the events as though they're commonplace.
And they are, Amber. You just don't know it, but they are...
"You want to know our mission, Herald Amber?" the man goes on. "I think you can figure it out."
I nod, my fists bunching, teeth clenching tight.
"Retrieve the hostages. Kill the assailants," I grunt. "Torture them for information if we can."
Perses lifts a half smile. "A perfect answer," he says, leaning in. "Now, answer me this question...are you ready to kill?"
My head fills with images, though not of the same blackened bodies as before. No, I think of these faceless, nameless assailants, these scum who'd lay waste to an innocent village. I imagine them sitting around a fire, enjoying their bounty, women and children gagged and tied up nearby. I imagine them laughing about what they've done, sharing stories of murder, of rape, of unimaginable cruelty.
I imagine that fire then rising by my own hand, engulfing them, melting their flesh, killing them slowly. I imagine it, and feel joy. A profound sense of justice in cleansing this world of such evil.
Oh, I'm ready to kill, I think.
In fact, I yearn for it.
I nod, my eye
s telling their own story. There is no lie within them.
"Good," Perses says. "That is a good start. But know this, child; to take life should never be joyful. We do it because we have to, not because we want to. To take pleasure in the act is a dangerous road to travel."
"Even with the things they've done?"
"Even so," nods Perses. "I understand how you must feel, hearing of this. You seek revenge, and think, quite fairly, that you'll be only too happy to kill for what these men have done. That is a natural reaction. But you must detach yourself from the emotion of your duty. To open yourself to such things will only lead to pain. There is a fine line between taking pleasure in killing, and letting the act consume you. Detachment is the only course."
"That doesn't sound easy," I sigh.
"Easy? Nothing about killing is easy. But it is necessary. It will take time for you to learn, but heed my words now. To start on the wrong track may lead you astray."
The sound of the convoy of wagons begins to echo as we enter into the great square. I look outside to find the citizens gathering to see us off, bowing and waving as we pass, saluting the brave men and women who let them sleep soundly at night. They know this chariot. They know Black Thunder. They know just who rides within.
And I can see it on their faces, and in their postures; they respect Herald Perses greatly. They worship this man who watches over them all.
"We travel for two days at speed," the man says as I look out at the square, the people gathered around. "With luck, our prey will hold camp where they are. You will travel here for the duration with me, Amber. One day, you will be able to christen a carriage of your own." He smiles, showing, for once, a little bit of tooth. "I think red might be a good option for yours."
I nod, smiling back.
"Now relax, and enjoy the ride. Your first mission as Herald of War begins now."
Through the gate, and across the drawbridge we go. Back out onto the vast, open plains.
