by T. C. Edge
He turns his eyes around the assembly, the world falling into a deathly silence. I see eyes tighten, chests slow, Chosen and Heralds alike lean forward in anticipation.
"It will probably surprise you all to learn that both were young women," the Overseer says, to a few raised eyes and surprised murmurs. He reaches out a hand, directing it towards me. "The girl so coveted by Nestor was hardly any older than our new young Herald here. She was, is, a telepath of great power and potential, with the additional gifts of the Farsights and Phasers running strong within her blood. It seems that Nestor wished to convert her, to persuade her, using his own supreme gifts, to join our ranks."
He turns his eyes upon the other Heralds of Awakening in attendance. As with the Heralds of War, all are bald, even the women, and all have the markings of the Prime, of Olympus, cut into their foreheads.
"That this young woman overcame Nestor along with her ally speaks of her power. The precise details of exactly how that happened, of course, we don't yet know. All I can tell you is what Marius himself perceived, but it is plenty to suggest that both young women were formidable, and likely some of the strongest agents that Haven possesses..."
"And what of the second soldier?" comes a restless, gruff voice. It comes from a couple of seats over from me, from Herald Kovas, not known for his patience. "Was she multi-gifted too?"
"Ah yes, Herald Kovas," the Overseer says, thoroughly enjoying his time in the spotlight. "She is a little older than the first, though blessed with a unique combination of gifts that we here have never seen. Speed, hearing, eyesight, and smell. She is one of Haven's chief assassins and spies, a young woman who has seen her fair share of adventure. It is, in fact, she who has become the catalyst for Haven's fledgling alliance with the warrior city of Neorome. If she were among us here, she might have just become the first female Herald of War ahead of you, Herald Amber."
I find my eyes falling as the congregation turn their eyes on me. The Overseer may enjoy the limelight, but I'm not so fond of it.
"Nonsense," barks Herald Kovas again, mercifully drawing the group's attention once more. "Whatever this Marius saw, it's exaggerated. He's nothing but a primitive hunter. What does he know of true power?"
"His testimony is only a piece of the puzzle, Herald Kovas," says the Overseer smoothly. "When put alongside the known defeat of Nestor and his troop, we have all the evidence we need of the vast power these young women possess..."
"What were their names?" comes a question, Lady Dianna cutting in confidently. She peers forward, intrigued by the notion, perhaps, that an elite group of Olympian soldiers could be defeated by two young women.
Truth be told, I am too. When I first heard of two soldiers having taken down a Herald and his men, I naturally imagined a couple of brutish figures like Perses doing the deed. For it to be two girls of a similar age, or slightly older, than me, is greatly surprising. And somehow...inspiring.
"Their names?" says the Overseer, eyes twinkling. "Yes, an important detail I'm sure, looking around the group." He sways his eyes across, and then glances back at the Prime. Both nod in unison, faces placid, smiling gently. "Yes, I see many faces here who desire revenge. You wish to know who you'll be hunting, if and when the time comes."
Eyes steel and jaws tense, teeth barred by the more aggressive, affronted members of the group. Maybe Nestor was a popular member up here, I think. Maybe not all are like Perses, questioning of his methods.
"Thankfully," the Overseer goes on, drawing out the moment like a seasoned pro, "Marius spent time with both young women, aiding in the trap that Nestor set to snare them. During that time he got to know them well enough. Their names, as you can imagine, are nothing special, even if they are. The young telepath is called Brie. The assassin's name is Kira. The former aided greatly in defeating the Cure in Haven. The latter fought in the gladiatorial games of Neorome...and won. So, Herald Kovas, I think it's safe to say we're dealing with legitimate threats here."
Kovas grunts and nods, a slight shadow overcoming his face. A few of the gathering murmur aloud, whispering of this place called Neorome, these gladiatorial games held there. It must be some sort of contest, I think. A contest between powerful warriors. And this Kira...she won?
I look again at the faces of those in attendance, and can see in their eyes the grandeur of that achievement. Some who'd seethed and grumbled, eyes sparkling with revenge, now withdraw a little, complexions paling.
From the side, Perses steps back out, pulsing with his great aura as if to give the assembly strength. The murmuring begins to subside as he stands before us all, his jet-black armour tensing with his bulging muscles beneath.
"What the Overseer saw within Marius's mind cements what we already feared," he says. "However, when combined with the testimony of the surviving soldiers of the Cure, we can view the entire picture in a whole new light." His words bring the audience to silence again. He pauses a moment, before turning back to the Overseer, nodding for him to continue.
"Indeed," the Overseer says. "What I discovered from Marius is, it's hard to deny, troubling. The young women were both incensed, and sickened, by Nestor's methods of awakening, his penchant for sacrifice and cleansing. Of course, they don't understand what they are dealing with. Powerful though they are, they are not enlightened as we are. This creates a dangerous disunity, a precedent for war. They will, without a doubt, have taken what they saw and experienced back to Haven. It may be possible, even likely, that they have sent out agents and spies to ascertain the truth of who we are. And if so, we have no choice but to act."
He turns once more to the Prime, who nod again in unison, giving him the authority to proceed. Turning back, the eyes of the Overseer darken, the vibrancy of his voice fading.
"The men of the Cure came to Haven with an army numbering almost ten thousand strong," he begins. "I witnessed, within the minds of our four captives, the true extent and staggering violence of the battle they were involved in. I saw the city surrounded, the walls breached, the thousands of soldiers storming in. I saw the forces of Haven, depleted by their own internal conflict, come together and fight off the threat, clustering within their inner-city walls, fighting to the last when all seemed to be lost."
He snaps a breath into his lungs, breaking the brief spell of his tale. His words come with such force and energy that I can almost see it all play out, imagine the scope and scale of it, the sheer loss of life.
"We all know that Haven defeated the Cure in the end," the Overseer continues, his voice slowing a little, turning quieter. "With a final push, they overcame their enemy, and sent the final dregs fleeing from the city, and marching, ultimately, towards our own lands. However, the way in which they secured victory, and the full extent of their suffering and loss of life, isn't something we have truly known...until now."
He turns, one final time, to look at the Prime, who smile at him like loving parents, their eyes flowing upon the rest of us. I look at them, and feel that joy swarm in me again, and see the same expressions flood the others' eyes. Such love, such devotion. All here will ever do their will.
The Overseer turns back, and from the side, Perses looms again. The two stand side by side, one the messenger of the gods, the other their mighty hammer.
"War with Haven has become inevitable," the Overseer continues. "There is no getting around that now, no hiding from it, no running from it. We will not wait here behind our walls any longer, closed off like frightened sheep." He looks to Perses, whose own eyes tighten. "It is time for us to be proactive."
A silence falls now as Perses fills his chest, body brimming with an intense, pulsing energy. His dark eyes glint like black obsidian, catching the light of the sun. He is a man built for war, the greatest weapon of the Prime.
And to war he will lead us.
"Haven has grown weak and vulnerable," he says, "and now is the time to strike. If we wait, we lose the initiative. With the will of the Prime, we march."
I find my heart hammering in my c
hest, pressing with an energy of nerves and excitement. I look around the group and see the faces of the Heralds darkening, twisting with a thrill to see their true fate fulfilled. Others among the Chosen, the likes of Atlas and Dianna, nod with resolution and resolve, Elian's face split like mine, half enlivened by the prospect of war, and half anxious as to what we'll face.
"This very day," Perses goes on, "scouts and forward parties will be sent out, clearing our road to war. We will gather our forces here and follow behind them, and make safe the lands that have become so volatile. Not all of you will join us. Only warriors will be permitted to march by my side. The city will remain under the protection of our reserve forces, and will not be left vulnerable to attack. For the first time in our history, we will announce ourselves to the world. It is time, finally, for us to step out of the shadows."
His words ring out, leading to excited movement among the assembly. I find my eyes working from one to the next again, trying to work out just who might come too. Despite the combined power here, not all are built for conflict. Many, I know, will stay to be with the Prime, to continue their vigil over the city upon the safety of this hill.
But not me. Oh, not me.
I will march by Perses's side, and make this city, and the Fringe beyond, safe from any and all threats who might come. I feel no ill-will towards Haven, but if they are to come to our lands, if they are to threaten my people, then what choice do I have?
I find my gaze, amid the growing din, rise up again to the Prime. And their eyes, their startlingly deep and beautiful eyes, stare right back at me. Joy floods. Euphoria seeps. And upon my face, a great smile burgeons.
The fire yearns to be set free.
Now, perhaps, it will have its chance to feast.
THE END
The Children of the Prime will continue in the next book, March of the Chosen
Part IV
MARCH OF THE CHOSEN
63
I stand before the Children of the Prime, the colourful people of Olympus, my robes glowing a sparkling, radiant red, my body warm with fire. To my flanks, the Chosen and the Heralds perch upon the Sacred Steps, my new brethren, my brothers and sisters in arms. Each holds a smile of pride and honour on their face, gazing down upon the people far below. Yet behind those calm facades lie the long dormant threads of men and women considering their own mortality.
War, they know, beckons them forth. And many among them will walk directly towards it.
My eyes scan further, turning around the sprawling city, a jewel here in the crown of these lands, a wondrous oasis amid the barren, stark landscape that stretches to the horizon. It is a city now under threat. One under all our charge to see prosper and protect.
That is now my duty, my purpose. To protect this city, and the Fringe that stands by its side. To save those who live among these lands. My sister, Lilly, doing her service right here. My family and friends many miles away, living in lands now thought to be heavily under threat.
The last couple of days since the meeting here upon the great hill, when the city's most prominent members gathered to discuss its fate, have been busy. The main armies under the leadership of Herald Perses and his subordinate Heralds of War - Kovas, Avon, and the mute but mighty Gailen - have swiftly been assembled and ready to march. Further soldiers will continue to watch over the city, while the Chosen have separated themselves into two distinct parties; those who wish to aid in the conflict, and those who prefer to stay by the side of the Prime, continuing in their duties.
I'm not going to say the latter are cowards, though there's certainly a flutter of a feeling in that regard rustling through my feathers. I see them now, standing proud, and know that some just aren't designed to fight. They have the right to abstain, and I've got no right to question that choice.
The main surprise, for my part, is that no such feeling festers within me. No scrap of a desire to stay here and let the war play out in my absence. No yearning to assure my own survival, to hold my hands behind my back and refuse to fight against the Havenites, whom I have no personal feelings of ill-will towards.
No, something quite the opposite has formed in my bones and blood. A strong need to march at the front of our armies. To let the firelust inside me flow and feed. To perform the role that I, clearly, have been born to act out.
It's a strange feeling, and doesn't come without its conflict. I killed those men of the Cure without letting their deaths affect me. But they were brutish, cruel men. Those who came with no intention but to pillage and rape our lands and people.
Are those from Haven the same?
No, they're not. And no one here is trying to pretend otherwise. The conversation about them has spoken of a mostly civilised city of people, those who have redeveloped and cultivated a multi-faceted society since the fall of mankind so many years ago. They aren't barbaric heathens. They are, essentially, like us.
But they are still a threat, a very great threat. Should they seize the initiative and march upon these lands, acting upon the terrible work that Herald Nestor performed, then it matters not how civilised and enlightened they are. They will attempt to eliminate us as the menace they deem us to be.
We have, in the end, no choice but to take that initiative for ourselves.
"This is war, Amber," Herald Perses told me two days ago, following the culmination of the meeting of great powers. "It forces us to do terrible things in the name of what is good and righteous. We kill to protect. It is a dreadful product of human history that is, horrible as it is, inescapable."
My doubts were assuaged, such as they were, when Perses infused me with his words of wisdom. My training as a Herald, a weapon of war under the charge of the Prime, has continued to develop, though I know for certain that I won't be tasked with leading anyone to battle just yet.
My role, I've been informed, has been just as it was during my first excursion from the city nearly a week ago now, only modified slightly to fit these new, dire, circumstances. I am to watch, learn, and grow further into my role under the wing of Herald Perses. But this time, when it comes to fight, I will not be held back as I was told to do before. I will fight alongside others of my kind, unleashing the full, devastating power that seeks to be set free.
My eyes find Elian now, his own robes flaming faintly, his lips split into a resolute smile and eyes cast like those of an eagle, looking down upon its prey. We will fight side by side I'm told, our powers stronger when utilised together. And at our backs, the likes of Hestia, and others, will form a special unit of Fire-Bloods, a combined weapon of mass destruction.
As so often is the case when you stare at someone, Elian's eyes take little time to switch to mine. They hold their form, though his smile softens into something that helps calm me. He drops his head into a little nod, having so recently been through this same public display himself. Not long ago, he stood here as I am now, perched in the centre of the Heralds and Chosen, to be publicly initiated into their ranks.
Now, it is my day to enjoy the same.
My official unveiling to the city as a Herald of War. A public ceremony that, with war looming and nerves spreading, will give them something to celebrate. And though many of them knew already of my speedy ascension, is remains a shock to so many others.
Me, a girl of not yet eighteen from the Fringe, rising to the mighty rank of Herald. A story to inspire anyone of low rank and stock. A story to give hope to those who have none.
And as with Elian's unveiling as Chosen Fire-Blood, it is the Overseer who addresses the city. Standing to my side, with my ceremonial robes glowing bright, he calls out loud now across the cloudless sky, the ever enduring mists that cover this summit cast aside by the Chosen Skymaster - a term I've learned refers to those who control the weather - dressed in his suitably coloured robes of yellow, white, and blue.
The Overseer's voice booms and echoes, splitting the air so cleanly, so easily, as though he has the power himself to project his words to all who might wish to hear him. I s
tand, nerveless, my mind occupied by larger concerns as I stand there under the critical gaze of thousands. I hear snippets of his brief speech, his words designed to be memorable, to convert the final few who continue to doubt me.
Oh, there are many down there, I suspect, who still question my place here. Many who will, by extension, go against the very wishes and word of the Prime by doing so. Perhaps they'll never come around, those too entrenched in their bigoted ways, but they're of little concern for me. No, my designs here lie in those who deserve to be protected and saved, those who have earned deliverance.
My cue doesn't take long to come. Amid the lofty words of the Overseer, I hear my name spoken, and see him stretch out his arm to present me officially in my new rank. I take a short step forward, motioned to do so, and then instinctively hold up my arms in a posture of victory and glory. The movement is accompanied, after a brief delay owing to their distance far below, by the rumbling and roaring of a thousand voices. Cheers ring out, spreading to my ears as a glorious concerto, my name falling from so many tongues, bringing about so many vibrant, febrile smiles.
I find my eyes watering from the sheer volume of it, the intensity of the experience. I scan the masses but can make out no individual faces. I imagine Lilly there, to Lady Felina's side, weeping with joy to see her sister so lauded and adored. And in the back of my mind, I think again of my grandmother, who once stood here as I am, announced as a Chosen herself. No, I may not be of the same title, but my rank is just the same, if not more significant during these times of incoming war.
My heart fills with something I've never quite experienced. A desperate longing that I doubt anyone truly knows they desire until they feel it, springs forth inside me, a longing for this acceptance and love. I lift my hands higher and the cheers seem to lift alongside the faint movement. And without thinking, I open up my palms and allow the fire to rush up my arms, to whip and coil around my limbs, to explode from my hands and the tips of my fingers. Two columns of flame shoot skyward, coloured in intense hues of deep oranges and warming reds.
