by T. C. Edge
"I see," grunts Kovas. "In future, maybe wait until we stop to teach the young Herald your famed wisdom, Perses. We can't halt the entire army every time you want to train the girl."
He shakes his head and moves off with a gruff word or two under his breath, the mists beginning to clear outside. I watch as he gets into his own carriage to our right flank, a transport similar to Black Thunder. As with Perses, he has company, his personal carriage occupied by Elian, whom he invited to ride along with him.
It's the same with the others, Herald Avon and Herald Gailen both being joined within their carriages by others among the Chosen. Avon, as far as I know, is riding with the Chosen Skymaster, a man called Taranus, while Gailen is travelling with the simply enormous figure of Atlas, Chosen Titan. Meanwhile, the Overseer, insisting on coming along for the journey to lend his own considerable power, is being accompanied by the Chosen Phaser, Lady Dianna.
A powerful cohort of individuals, all in all, to lead us upon the font line.
Still, I can't help but feel a touch sorry for Elian as I watch Herald Kovas return to their carriage. The idea of spending day upon day in the company of that rather miserable man would probably make me think twice about this endeavour. Thankfully, everyone seems to like Elian. I'm sure he'll be just fine.
Setting back into my seat, I notice Perses knock on the front wall of the carriage once more, issuing the order for his driver to get moving. Within moments only, the entire force is grinding back into gear, setting quickly out across the plains as the afternoon sunshine blazes from above.
I sit back, relax - or try to - and let my mind empty of all concerns. Instead, I raise a smile as the world passes by. Days ago, I ventured further than ever before, and got my first taste of battle.
Soon enough, I'll be seeing a whole lot more of the world.
And seeing a whole lot more conflict too.
66
The first days fall into a pattern, our progress surprising swift.
Long days are spent on the move, passing lands well known to our scouts and those commonly patrolling these lands. Much of this part of the world has been well traversed and documented, the going easy enough down paths known to be clear and mostly safe. As Perses tells me, the state of the country far beyond our borders is rough and wild, old roads often overtaken by nature and littered with the debris of a long distant past.
Yet those first days are easy enough, hundreds of miles easily conquered as we rattle and roll along plains and hills, working occasionally through narrower routes that require that we move in single file. Any time that happens, we are put on high alert, those with heightened senses, the group known as Sensors, set upon our flanks and forward positions, Phaser scouts sent ahead to watch out for any possible ambush from bandits and raiding parties.
The likelihood of such a thing is, of course, extremely low. Bandits and raiders are, essentially, cowards, picking off those they know they can overcome. For anyone to assault such a staggering force would be tantamount to suicide, though Perses remains on alert regardless, giving orders to knit tight and travel in close unison, stay quiet and watch for any threats.
You don't become such a prominent leader, I suspect, without being cautious. Perses has taught me already several times not to grow overconfident or cocky. Underestimating any situation is dangerous, he tells me. Best to be prepared for any eventuality, and act accordingly at all times.
It's surprisingly exhausting, but also exciting, venturing deeper into the world I've ever wanted to explore. I don't get much chance of that, of course, locked away in Black Thunder as I am, but can nevertheless indulge myself to my heart's content by gazing out of the window and looking upon the world.
Mostly, during that early phase, I'm looking at nothing more exotic than open plains and woodland, topography I'm well used to during my years outside Pine Lake. It is fragments of the old world that so interest me, signs of a past long since forgotten by most. That is what I seek, my eyes ever eager as they search the distant horizon.
I don't have much luck early on, and find my ambitions to explore stymied each night when we stop and make camp. Given Perses's desire to move at speed, the entire process is performed with great efficiency, the soldiers spreading from their transports upon the large spaces we occupy for the evening, erecting tents and preparing fires for cooking, setting watch upon our flanks.
The thousands of men and women with us - I'm happy and quite impressed to see that, while not an even split, there's certainly a decent number of the latter among our forces - are put on a rotating schedule, some sleeping in tents, others in the transports themselves. They are all given a certain time allowance each evening to sleep, never numbering more than six hours once dinner has been had. Then, we set off in the early morning as quickly as possible, speeding our way to the south east.
I spend my nights trying to occupy myself, finding company where I can and when I want it, and often enjoying my own space when I feel the need for solitude. Thankfully, Perses allows me solo use of Black Thunder at night, just as he did before. His own sleep requirements are well known by now, and if he does need to get a few winks, he tends to do it in patches during the day, snoozing as we travel.
Otherwise, his nights are engaged by war-planning and strategy meeting with the other Heralds and, on occasion, senior Chosen. And, of course, the Overseer himself, who seems to be somewhat outside of the bounds of military service, wandering about the camp as he pleases, dipping into important matters when he wants. I see him most nights, that natural smile on his face, drawing in the fresh air as he passes smoothly through the camp. Sometimes we speak for a little while. Sometimes he merely washes by, seemingly in a world of his own.
There's something refreshing about his presence that I like, though. Something comforting that helps to set me at ease whenever I see him. Just a simple lock of the eyes, a passing of gazes, and I feel all of a sudden happier, as if a fragment of the power of the Prime has been passed onto him. It is, perhaps, his primary purpose here; to inspire those around him, be a motivating, relaxing presence during a time of nerves and anxiety.
Yet, if he's presented such freedom to roam, it appears I am not.
"You haven't earned that right yet, Amber," Perses tells me when I ask him, for the umpteenth time, to let me wander off at night and explore the nearby area. "Your nights are for resting and bonding with your fellow soldiers, the Fire-Bloods particularly. It may not be safe to venture off alone."
"I rest enough during the day as it is," I grumble in response.
"Good. You'll need it. Now my answer is final. And that is 'no'."
It goes the same way every time, yet I'm foolish enough to think that it'll change if I ask or pester him enough. It doesn't, and it's a rule that goes for everyone. Unless specifically part of their duty as scout or sentry, no soldier is permitted to leave the boundary of the campsite at night, and even the senior figures themselves obey Perses in that regard.
Yes, the Heralds and Chosen may be of equal rank in Olympus, but here Perses's word is law. Even the likes of Kovas, his second in command, is required to acquiesce to his rulings whenever they are made. He has been ordained with the authority of the Prime out here, and no one has the temerity to question him.
Well, except me, that is. And, perhaps, the Overseer as well, who seems to be the person whom Perses respects the most. He may not be an official part of the military, but he has wisdom beyond all the others, and knows the true will of the Prime more than anyone else.
It takes a few days for me to settle into the rhythm of the journey, which runs with an expected military precision. I suppose I can't say that the concept is entirely alien to me. While life on the Fringe wasn't quite so structured, it still had a certain flow about it, most days feeling rather too similar to those that came before. Only when Jude and I would abscond and head off on one of our adventures would I slip away from the norm of daily life around Pine Lake.
I...miss those days, I find myself thi
nking. Or at least, a part of me does. When life was simple, and empty of great responsibility. When I would ramble through the woods with Jude, and spend so many afternoons in grandma's cabin, contemplating the world and our lowly place within it.
I never wanted much more than that, really. I suppose you don't quite know what desires your heart truly holds until certain doors are opened, certain opportunities presented. I guess, deep down in my bones, I always yearned for something more. The idea of seeing more of the world was, at least, a basic ambition I used to hold, even if is only ever remained a pipe dream.
Now, the world has been laid out before me, and my own has changed and evolved so rapidly that, at times, it feels hard to keep up. I'm taking things day by day, trying not to crumble under the weight of it all. Yet during those early days, I find my mind taken by thoughts of home. Of my grandmother, who still owes me answers. Of Jude, who I so wish to see again, even if I won't let myself admit it out loud. And even my parents, who I drifted away from, and yet continue to love unconditionally.
Are they worried about me and Lil? I wonder. Have they gotten any word of this new path I'm treading?
It seems unlikely, though the movement of the army will surely have reached their ears. I wonder, when it comes time to collect our tributes, whether Ceres will inform the people of Pine Lake of just what is happening. Will he tell of my rise to this lofty position? Will my story spread among the people; the simple girl who became a goddess, who ascended to the highest ranks of the Children of the Prime? Who fought in a great war, and won the freedom of her people?
The thought lifts a smile to my face. It is, perhaps, naive to think it, but I see a far brighter future upon the horizon.
And it is to the horizon that I find myself looking, Black Thunder ever at the head of the army, driving us forward in this relentless march. I spend my days and nights there, rarely venturing towards the rear of the camp when night time comes, still unsure of how my presence will be felt if seen wandering among the regular soldiers of the army, so varied in their powers and specialised functions.
Back there, among the masses, they group into their flocks, mostly socialising with those of their same class. Phasers and Titans, Forgers and Farsights, Earth-Shakers and Skymasters; they all seem to stick together. It's understandable, really, seeing as they will have trained together, perhaps even lived together, within their own temples. Now, within the army, their functions are also aligned. Phasers make the best scouts. Farsights are the best lookouts. Titans deal with the heavy lifting. Forgers make the fires and temporary, overnight battlements. Earth-Shakers see to the daily movement of the convoy, while Skymasters help to change the weather as we go, cloaking the nightly camps in mist to help conceal our presence.
It's so well run, in fact, that it's a wonder the army has never set out before. It gives off the appearance of a highly efficient, well-oiled machine, one that's been doing this for some time. However, it is only the appearance, I have to tell myself. Who knows just how they will react when facing off against a more gnarled, battle-hardened, and experienced foe?
And more than that, we don't exactly know just what our enemy's capabilities are. Not until we get closer, and our scouts provide detailed reconnaissance, will we have a full, concrete idea of precisely what we're up against.
The final element of the force accompanying us, I discover, is a grouping of Devotees and Worthies, Fringers brought along to perform the simple tasks that no soldier should be concerning him, or herself, with. They cook, clean, wash, polish, and generally make sure that the camp, carriages, and entire convoy itself is kept in good working order.
I see them milling about, heads low, covered in their grew cloaks. It seems that they, too, are separated into their groups, performing specific functions and duties. Those grey cloaked Worthies, taken with us from Olympus, seem to manage the cooking and preparation of food, as well as the cleaning of clothes and management of resources and armaments. Others, dressed in darker, more ragged garb, see to the less savoury elements of running the army, such as cleaning the carriages, digging ditches for certain toiletry needs, and, if my eyes don't deceive me, acting as targets for abuse for the more unpleasant elements among our forces.
In that regard, I really don't like what I see. I imagine that these must be some of the more lowly Worthies, the likes required to pull carriages through the streets of Olympus, their hair scraggy and eyes hollow, pale faces peppered with dirt. It sets a dull throb in my heart to see them, and forces me into another confrontation with Perses that I wish I didn't have to endure.
I pose the question to him, asking him just why these poor men are here with us. "I thought you were respectful of the Worthies and people of the Fringe," I ask him, unable to keep the accusatory tone from my voice. "It's heartless the way they're treated by some of the men."
Perses's eyes show a mixture of sympathy and shame, his expression honest and words the same when he speaks. "It's a part of life here of which I have no control, Amber," he says, sighing. "I have asked the men to respect the cleaners and water carries, all those performing mundane roles. But, the reality of the situation makes it hard for me to monitor them. And we have far more pressing matters to worry about."
"But they're hurling abuse at them," I say. "They're tripping them up, laughing, mocking them. I think I even saw one being hit. It's not right, Perses."
"I know, child," Perses says, laying a hand on my shoulder. "And your compassion for them is admirable. But you know, you are a Herald of War now, Amber. You have all the authority to reprimand any wrongdoing you see. Feel free to wander the camp at night and put a stop to it, if you can. Just...don't go beyond the boundary of the camp, as I've warned enough already."
I nod, though feel a ripple of trepidation run through me at the thought. Talk is cheap, as they say. I'm not sure I've earned the right yet to order anyone around, no matter the title that comes before my name.
I sink back a little at that, though feel Perses's fingers grip a little tighter at my shoulder, drawing my eyes back up. "Don't fear the authority and power you now hold, Amber," he says softly. "I know you still doubt yourself at times, and feel as if it isn't your place to command these men. But let me tell you, it is. You have a good heart, and a strong sense of right and wrong. Take it to those less enlightened than you are. Your life experience has made you more rounded than most of us here."
His words give me heart, and help to swell some resolve within me. And taking a long breath, I decide to be brave, and try, if I can, to help ease the suffering of those most lowly among us.
Yes, it will probably cause some of the men to dislike me, but that's what being a leader is.
Making hard choices. Risking the wrath of those beneath you.
But following the right path all along.
67
I set into my new role, giving me something to do when the sun sets and the convoy stops, and the dull hours of night set into full flow.
I begin by testing myself on that first evening as self-appointed 'Protector of the Innocent', moving tentatively around the nearest fires and carriages, watching eagle-eyed for any wrongdoing being perpetrated against the people of the Fringe. With my fiery armour lit bright, my presence is easily spotted by the soldiers in attendance, who do the dutiful thing by bowing as I pass by, turning silent before reengaging in their whispered conversations as soon as I've left earshot.
The result is a false display of their usual behaviour, my presence in itself doing enough to provide some protection for the servants nearby. It's a nice enough start, but isn't going to change anything. After all, I can't exactly be in all places at all times, at least not if I'm doing this alone.
A thought comes to mind at that, though one that I don't act upon immediately. If, I think, I have a few helpers looking out for the Worthies and Fringers, then perhaps all this bullying and abuse might stop?
A fanciful thought, perhaps, but surely an unrealistic one. I can count my friends and allies
here on about half a finger, so finding those willing to join my fledgling crusade isn't likely to be easily.
Still, I ponder the thought as I continue my wanderings, watching closely for signs of maltreatment. I manage to catch one, eventually, a young Phaser running rings around a poor water-carrier girl as she attempts to get on with her duties. Clearly, the man doesn't see me, given the speed he's travelling. I rub my hands and lick my lips, and set about marching forward to dish out some justice.
When I reach them, I find nothing but a young man caught in the throes of youth, his circling of the girl nothing but a misguided act of flirtation, hidden, perhaps, within the guise of bullying to conceal his true intentions from his allies. After all, for a man like him to go after such a lowly woman would surely be considered sinful and scandalous among his more partisan brothers in arms.
The girl, for her part, is certainly beautiful, and more flattered, it would seem, than shaken by catching the attentions of a handsome young Son of the Prime. Whatever it is, it appears to be a doomed romance, star-crossed lovers on either side of the divide.
Or, you know, just a hormone fuelled youth driven by impulse, rather than propriety.
Still, my arrival puts a stop to it right then and there, the young Phaser showing his embarrassment with a flush of red to his cheeks to match my armour, before spinning off into the darkness. I'm left with the girl, who bows low and apologises for, well, doing nothing wrong at all.
"You have nothing to apologise for," I tell her grandly. "But...just be aware of your beauty. It can be a curse, and draw the wrong sort of attentions. Be careful here, OK?"
She nods, though can't seem to dismiss the half smile on her face. Clearly, she rather likes the attentions. At least, those of a handsome young Phaser. A gnarled, burly old Titan might not be quite so pleasant to her girlish sensibilities.
