by T. C. Edge
"He is a man of great strength and anger, Herald Avon. We know Nestor only awakened those of great power. Marius proved that to me when we sparred against one another. His strength grows with his rage, and he is driven forward by impressive speed as well."
"He should be assimilated, then," suggests the white-haired Phaser, Chosen among her kind. My eyes turn to hers, and find a woman of calm demeanour looking on. "If we have captured this man, then why not use him. I'm sure the Overseer can see to it."
"Perhaps," says Perses, "but he has suffered greatly, Lady Dianna. Such men are notoriously difficult to convert."
"He is a Son of the Prime now, though," comes Elian's haughty voice. "If he wishes to live among us, is that not his right?"
"He won't want to live among us," I say. "Nestor killed his wife, sister, and entire village. He wants to kill us, not join us."
"But that may be a moot point anyway," says Kovas. He turns to Perses directly. "Did he kill any of your men during the battle?"
Perses shakes his head. "I don't believe he did. Not so far as my men's testimony has gone. It was...frenetic, however. Very hard to know for sure."
"Then it isn't even worthy of debate," says Kovas. "If he killed one of our men, awakened or not, he is to be executed for his crimes, not asked to join our ranks."
"Is that fair?" I find myself asking. "You can't just execute him because he might have killed our men."
"And what of the Devotees who were slaughtered, young Herald?" Kovas asks. "They were your people once, if you'll remember. Do you not want to see him pay for their despicable murder?"
"He didn't murder anyone," I say, shaking my head. "He came to get revenge on us, not kill innocent people. He doesn't seem like a bad man."
Kovas and Avon, Heralds of War, laugh derisively at that. The final, as yet silent Herald, merely looks on quietly, his eyes soft, though aura strong, his frame athletic and cleanly shaven jaw locked tight.
I feel a bubbling of annoyance coming on at the way I'm being looked at by the others, however. Oh, they probably see me as an outsider still, a guest up here at the top of the world. Well they can stick that perception where the sun doesn't shine. I have no plans to go anywhere.
"I was there," I say forcefully, though still maintaining my calm. "You were not. So don't laugh at what I'm telling you."
The mens' laughter stops immediately with that, trailing off like a river drying out into nothing but a muddy ditch. I note a smile burgeoning on Perses's face. Elian, too, seems to be finding it hard to suppress his own.
"I told you all she was a fighter," Perses says, looking at me proudly. "Master Elian knows that full well already, and you'll all see it for yourselves in time. Herald Amber, though very young, displayed staggering acuity and fortitude during the fight. If either of you had seen her, Kovas and Avon, you'd be taking her more seriously right now." He sets them with a withering stare, hammering his point home with those endless eyes of his.
"Now, let us move on from this," he goes on, voice lightening up. "Marius's ascension to Son of the Prime is not of concern right now. What is, however, is what the Overseer will discover for us. We already know that only two warriors from Haven managed to destroy Nestor and his entire troop. That is no mean feat, even for us assembled here. We must discover more about our enemy. And yes, they are our enemy. I'm afraid recent circumstances have contrived to make that so, whether we like it or not."
The group fall silent, the wind falling. Beside me, the great Titan dips his head into a nod, moving out of the path of the sun, which falls down upon me in a warming glow. And then, from the very same giant, a wind seems to blow. Really, it's only his voice, breathing out some booming words.
"If it's war, then we all need to fight," he says, his voice as heavy as a mountain, and yet unexpectedly soft at the same time. It's as if he's learned to suppress his full voice for fear of bursting eardrums, leading to this constant whisper, rumbling like the sound of a distant, incoming storm. He sways his head, left to right. "All of us," he says.
"That's why we're here, Atlas," says Dianna, her own voice smooth and deeply husky. "We are first to answer the call for war. The others will follow if they must."
"I never doubted either of your presence here," Perses says. Then he looks over at Elian. "I'm more surprised by yours, Master Elian. Surprised, but impressed."
"I want to emulate my father, Herald Perses," Elian says, clearing his throat. "He was always first to ride out to fight, to use his gifts for the good of this city. We Fire-Bloods are particularly potent, and I would never sit back and do nothing when I might lend a fiery hand."
I can't help but smile as he speaks, bringing out that natural charm of his. I see others doing the same, Elian clearly a popular edition to the plateau, well liked by his fellow favoured Children. Yet Perses doesn't react the same. He keeps his eyes narrow, nodding, gaze drifting off in pensive thought.
"Your father was always brave," Herald Kovas says, laying a hand to Elian's shoulder and gripping tight. "It seems you've inherited more than his wondrous power, Elian."
"Thank you, Master Herald," Elian says softly. "That means a great deal to me, coming from you."
His eyes flick, ever so briefly, to Perses as he speaks. I sense that, really, it's the greatest of the Heralds of War whose approval and recognition he desires.
"Well, we are very happy to have you here, Elian," Perses says stiffly. "You are quite correct in saying that gifted Fire-Bloods are especially potent in battle and war. Your father proved it often, and Amber proved it two nights back. We came against a Wind-Elemental of great power, and she overcame him all on her own. I'm sure you will operate well together, when the time comes. Herald and Chosen side by side."
I look to Elian, and he looks right back. For a moment the rest of the gathering seem to fade away, as I try to figure him out, read that expression of his. He never seemed a particularly complicated young man. In fact, he was one of the few who actually took me for who I was, and didn't look down at me like the other contestants during the trials. Only when he was forced to lend a hand, to help me understand and develop my powers, did our fledgling bond begin to break down.
I can understand why, of course. He was a young man pursuing a dream, a position he saw as his birthright. We didn't know back then, of course, that it was my birthright too. That my grandmother was Chosen Fire-Blood before his father assumed the mantle. The blood of the Chosen is in both of our bloods, and it seems like fate that we have both ascended to this great summit. I may be a Herald, and not a Chosen, but in the end, that distinction doesn't matter. We are both of the highest rank, and both now may be drawn out to fight.
Side by side. Together. We should embrace it and not spare any energy on mindless bickering.
The thought brings a resolute look to my face as I stare across at Elian. And as he looks back, I see his expression become the same. He nods a single time at me, putting old enmities aside, turning forward to the future. Truly, there is no looking back now.
Perses looks about the group, and then his eyes work up towards the Temple of the Prime, glistening under the dying sun, radiant and wonderful. Others follow his gaze, and there, in the entrance, I note the presence of the Prime, standing side by side, white robes shining beautifully within the shadows of the great arched doorway and mighty pillars beyond.
"They await you, Perses," Kovas says. "They desire a personal account of what happened."
"As expected," says Perses. "And I desire their council and wisdom." He turns to the group again, the sun working across the skies now, preparing to descend and turn the world to twilight. "I will call upon you all again soon," he says. "Our great Mother and Father will provide the guidance we all need." He turns to the Heralds. "I wish for each of you to prepare your men for any eventuality. Liaise with our armourers and make sure we're well stocked with both weapons and combat armour."
"You truly are expecting a war, Perses?" asks Kovas. "Is this instinct or something mor
e?"
"My instincts tend to serve me well enough, Herald Kovas," Perses says. "I trust them to not lead me astray. But I don't yet know what path we shall take. I only wish to make sure all possibilities are considered, all plans drawn up." He looks again to the great, shining temple of sparkling white. "They will show us the way."
With that, the meeting ends, the Heralds and Chosen moving off. I stand for a moment, not quite knowing what to do, before I hear a voice behind me.
"You staying or going?" I turn to look upon the face of Elian, easy smile on his lips. "Well? You're a Herald now, right? You've got a place of your own right here."
I turn my eyes to the many grand buildings around the top of the hill, each with staggering, startling views. Many will be public, used for bathing, leisure, training, and other such things. Others, however, are accommodations, grand homes lived in by the residents up here. Palaces and temples to rival all others in luxury and opulence, fitted with gardens and grounds, private courtyards and pools.
I look around them, wondering which might be mine, still finding myself overwhelmed by the circumstances of my new life.
"I live over there now," Elian goes on, filling the silence of my spellbound state. He points towards a grand mansion towards the far western edge of the plateau, fittingly painted red in places like the Temple of Fire down below. "It was my father's home, and your grandmother's before him. I'd invite you to live with me if you didn't have your own place already."
He smiles, showing that softer, warmer side of his. The side that I saw when we sat drinking together one night, when I found out about his desperate need to win the trials, the sister he loved so dear, the father who he ever wishes to emulate, even after his death.
"Come on, I'll show you," he goes on, leading the way forward with his wondrous, crimson robes fluttering in the dying breeze.
I follow behind him, moving across the open plateau, the little gardens and courtyards, the wide open spaces that make it feel so grand and imposing, surrounded by magnificent structures coloured to match their resplendent occupants.
They become easier to make out now, the homes where the Chosen and Heralds reside. I see one grander in its proportions than the others, though only, I suspect, to make living more comfortable. "Atlas lives there," Elian tells me, as if I couldn't have guessed. The great mansion is coloured in rustic tones of brown, too, to match its owner, its doors wide and tall, the corridors and rooms and furnishings within designed to accommodate the man's titanic size.
"Oh, and that's where Dianna lives," Elian goes on, pointing to a place nearby to his own house. It matches the sultry woman too, painted subtly white and green, its gardens beautifully tended and kept, bursting with flowers of various colours. "She likes to look after her garden herself," Elian says. "You should see her watering the flowers. Takes her seconds only, zipping about so fast I can barely see. It's quite the sight. Dizzying, but fascinating."
I smile at the thought as we wander on.
Other houses are pointed out to me, each slightly different in its appointments, though all as beautiful as the last. Then, I see one of slightly grimmer facade, dark and gloomy in a gothic sort of way.
"Perses?" I question aloud, looking over at it from afar.
"Yes," Elian confirms. "It suits him I think."
He raises a smile and my lips follow, even though I don't necessarily agree. Yes, it suits him physically, perhaps, but Perses isn't a dark character. He's kind and paternal, not gloomy and grim. It makes me wonder, though, whether all homes belonging to the Heralds of War are similarly decorated and adorned.
My concern is, however, dismissed as we near Elian's place, and he instead veers off to the side. I frown, confused, before he points his gaze ahead. There, right next door to his own mansion, stands another of similar size and proportion, surrounded by beds with red flowers of various colour, fountains and gardens stretching away to the back, leading to the cliff at the edge of the mountain where the world steeply, and dramatically, falls away.
The mansion itself looks slightly different from the others. Less lived in, perhaps, more new. And then it dawns on me that, yes, it probably is. Built by a Forger, the Chosen Forger perhaps, to be my home here upon the hill.
"It's...mine?" I ask, looking on. Gazing at the polished facade, the pillars and arches, the grand wooden doors, windows, balconies, statues built around it. They seem to depict Fire-Bloods and Heralds, perhaps even the other Chosen. At the front of the house, grander than the others, is one that has my own, incredibly detailed, likeness.
"For whenever you're up here," Elian says. "That will depend on you. And...the future."
I nod, entranced by the house ahead of me, as I am this entire place. But how much will I really stay here? Will I not be out there, beyond the city walls, performing the duty I've been assigned?
"Of course, you can go into the city whenever you wish as well," Elian goes on. "To visit your sister. Or to stay at your other apartment, if you wish. I imagine that High Worthy of yours will miss you greatly if you only live here."
"Marlow," I say, smiling fondly as I think of the man. "He's very loyal. I'll make sure to visit him when I can."
"You can take the girl out of the Fringe, but you can't take the Fringe out of the girl," Elian muses, grinning.
I frown, working out whether he's trying to insult me or not. "What do you mean by that?" I ask firmly.
"Oh, nothing bad," he says, grin slipping. "It was meant to be a compliment, actually."
"How so?"
"Well, I guess...I guess it's kinda sweet that you'd still want to visit your High Worthy even after becoming a Herald. You'd actually make the effort, wouldn't you? That's kinda nice. I mean, I would never do it, but I'm a, well, I'm not like you, let's put it like that. I guess that's part of the reason why you were given the position."
"What? Because I'm nice? That doesn't make much sense, Elian."
"No, no, it does. The Heralds are always very compassionate. Well, the Heralds of War anyway. Their job is to protect Devotees, above all, seeing as it's them who suffer most from raids and attacks. You have to have compassion for the people of the Fringe for that job. You have to care about them and want to keep them safe."
I begin to nod, having seen Perses at work. How he made sure that his personal attention was on saving the hostages, even when he might have aided significantly in the battle were he more focused on the main fighting. He might, in fact, have saved many of his own men. But he chose the prisoners instead, lowly as they are.
"Kovas and Avon don't seem too compassionate to me," I say.
"They are," Elian says, "I promise you that. And Herald Gailen the most of all."
"Gailen? He's the strong, silent one?"
"Both apt descriptors for Herald Gailen," Elian says, pursing his lips. "He's kinda like us, actually, a very powerful Elemental..."
"Fire?"
"No, not fire. He's highly proficient at moving matter, like the Forgers and Earth-Shakers, but he’s best with wind and water."
"Wow. Quite the repertoire," I breathe.
"I know. And there’s more to him than that besides. He's pretty devastating in battle, or so I hear. Doesn't like to speak much, though. Or, well, at all really."
"He's mute?"
"More or less, yeah. He was born without a large part of his tongue, or so the legend goes. The people say he does his talking on the battlefield."
"Best way to do it," I say. "Must make leading soldiers difficult, though. Perses is trying to teach me to become a strong leader."
"He doesn't do so much of that,” Elian says. “Herald Gailen is less a leader, and more a weapon. He leads by example on the field.”
Weapon, I think, remembering once again what Marius said. Maybe that's all I really am too...
A fresh sweep of cool air presses across us, and I turn my eyes to the now darkening skies, see faint clouds beginning to gather. A wave of exhaustion begins to claw at me as I drop my eyes once agai
n and look far across the plateau towards the Temple of the Prime. Inside, lights shine, Perses enjoying a personal audience.
I wonder what they're thinking, I ponder, looking on, thinking of our great Mother and Father. I wonder just what they know.
Above all, I wonder what they will choose to do...
"You look tired, Amber," comes a warm, strangely comforting voice. I look to Elian's bright, golden eyes, white teeth shining within his tanned visage. "You should get some sleep while you can." He looks to the temple as I did. "I have a feeling that we're both going to need it."
He smiles at me once more, and then turns to leave, moving a little way off to his own grand home next door. The home once lived in by my own grandmother. The home saved for the Chosen Fire-Blood, passed from one to the next.
But mine is new. Forged only as I journeyed on my mission beyond the city. A brand new home for a brand new line. The home of the first female Herald of War.
I turn towards it and walk inside, seeking one of the many, many beds within.
61
I wake the following morning, my first upon the summit of Olympus, my first among the favoured Children of the Prime, to glorious sunshine and the wonderful, intoxicating smell of...coffee.
It takes me a moment to come to in my new surroundings, to take in the shape of the huge bedroom in which I collapsed the previous night. I'm not entirely sure whether it's the 'master' bedroom or not. Given the size of this cavernous place, it might be nothing but a minor bedchamber, suited for guests or favoured staff.
Then again, who exactly would I invite here, when the only people permitted to regularly attend the summit are those who have their own permanent abodes? And, well, I haven't really seen any evidence of staff either. No Worthies or High Worthies appear to be allowed up here, making me wonder whether the residents are expected to actually take care of themselves.
