by T. C. Edge
"Tell me, have you seen any wrongdoing against your people?" I ask her before returning to my duties. I do it loud enough so that others nearby can hear, a few fires twinkling to my flanks, sat around by several dozen soldiers.
"Um...none, Mistress Herald," she says, eyes darting nervously to the left and right.
"Are you sure?" I ask, leaning in a little.
"Of course," she says, her eyes suggesting otherwise. "Nothing, I swear."
I let a silence dawn for a moment, hoping she'll thaw. She doesn't, perhaps frightened of what might happen if she gave me a name. Or, maybe she really hasn't seen anything too bad. It's hard to tell. I am rather new at this.
"OK," I say eventually. "But you know who I am and where I come from. I have your back, as I do all the people from the Fringe. If you see anything, come to me. I will not suffer the poor treatment of my people."
She looks up at me with an awestruck smile. "Y...your people," she whispers quickly.
I smile and nod. "Always," I say. "Now go, and continue your good work. And keep an eye out for me, OK?"
She nods, before picking up her water container and moving off. And right then, I feel a swell of pride lift inside me. No, nothing untoward was happening, but it still feels great to hold my hand up for these people.
My people.
I move off, buoyed, and find my new plan and purpose being embellished. Perhaps I don't need so many of the Children of the Prime to aid me, I think. Perhaps I can forge a network of a different kind to keep me informed of the treatment of the Fringers...
I set about that very task, finding more champions for my cause, even if they're not entirely keen on it themselves. Yes, some are far too afraid of the repercussions of becoming one of my little spies, and certainly wouldn't speak out against any Child of the Prime even if they wanted to. Yet, others are a little braver, lifted by the prospect that a Herald, one of their own, has their back.
"You have my protection," I tell each of them. "No one will harm you, even if you tell on them. And anyway, we'll keep it between us, OK? I will wander the camp each night. Please tell me if you have anything to report."
By the end of two evenings of recruiting, I have at least a dozen Worthies, most of them young women of decent servant rank, in my roster.
Returning to Black Thunder, however, I find that my activities haven't gone unnoticed. There, lounging outside with his own combat robes handsomely lit, Elian stands with arched eyebrow and impending question on his full lips. He stands up straight as I approach, brushing a few errant strands of golden hair from his eyes, and takes a few steps towards me, cutting off my retreat to my adopted carriage.
"Seems you've been busy," he says, eyes drifting behind me to the sprawling camp, lit with hundreds of fires. "Caught anyone in the act yet?"
"I don't know what you mean, Elian," I say, refusing to engage.
He grins, letting out a huffy little laugh. "Come on, Amber. All the top brass know what you're doing. It's admirable, I think. I'd probably even help you if you asked."
That breaks my seal of feigned disinterest, stopping me in my tracks.
"Ah, so it is true," he says, noting the change. "I guess it's something to keep you busy on the road. Just keep your mind on the bigger picture. A few Fringers getting mocked or even beaten isn't really of the highest priority now, is it?"
"Erm, it is to me," I say proudly. "And didn't you just tell me you'd help if I asked?"
"I did, and I'm being honest. But, there is a bigger picture to consider. You know, the impending war that we're marching towards."
"Yes, Elian, you don't have to tell me about that. I'm fully aware of where we're going. But to me there's an even bigger picture here than what you all, myopic as you are, see."
"And that is?"
"Equality. Or, at least a version of it. The merging of the Fringe and people of Olympus. That's a fairly big picture as far as I can see."
Elian draws a breath through his nose, pursing his lips. "Doesn't get much bigger, at least back home. But it's a little....well, fanciful, isn't it?"
"Not the way I see it."
"Understandable, I guess."
"Nice to see you agree."
"Hmmm. Agreement and understanding are two different things. Let's just say I can see where you're coming from. Most others probably won't, though."
"Yeah, well most others are shortsighted. I'm here to change their views."
Elian laughs. "You're taking on a lot here, aren't you? A bit too much, don't you think? OK, I can understand you wanting to help out your old people, but don't lose sight of the more pressing business of protecting them. And by that I mean, all of them, the Fringe and Olympus. That's what we're doing, after all. That's the biggest picture there is."
"OK, enough of comparing the size of pictures. I know you men are obsessed with size, but for me it's not as simple as that."
A burst of laugher escapes Elian's throat, spreading across the nearest edges of the camp. "You've got us there. Took down an entire gender in one go. Good work."
"I try."
"Well, try as you might, policing the camp of wrongdoing against the Fringers probably isn't going to change much. Don't you think you'd be better served directing your energy elsewhere?"
"Like what? Nothing happens in camp during the night."
"Well, there's always training, learning new techniques, mastering your skills. Let's be honest, they're still very new to you, Amber. And you heard what Herald Perses said before we left. We're going to be fighting together, you and me. We might as well learn to, you know, cooperate."
"We cooperate just fine, Elian," I counter. "Now that we're not competing against each other, and on the same side, at least."
"Getting along as friends isn't the same as fighting alongside one another. We should practice together, combine our powers, see what we can achieve."
"And how would we do that? Perses has told me time and again that I'm not allowed to leave the camp at night. We need space if we don't want to burn the damn thing down and roast half our army."
Elian nods grandly. "I'll speak with him."
"Oh, you will, will you?"
"Don't be sarcastic. I said it already, Perses was the one who told us we'd be best off fighting together. He'll be fine with it if I'm there with you."
"Right. Like I need a bodyguard."
"More a chaperone," says Elian with a lopsided smile, one that half reminds me of Jude. His eyes turn towards Black Thunder. "Where is he, anyway?"
"Beats me," I shrug. "Probably in a war meeting with the other Heralds."
"And not you? Does that make you feel...left out?" he says softly, reaching forward to place a consoling hand on my shoulder.
I shrug it immediately off, and in the same motion, send my fist towards Elian's arm, flames dancing between my fingers as it goes. It connects, hard.
"Ouch! What was that for?!"
"For being an ass," I puff. "You know I don't care about being involved in their little strategy sessions. I'm hardly a great military mind now am I?"
"Fine," says Elian, still rubbing his arm. "But still, you don't have to be so violent. You've got some serious spark behind that fist."
"I think being violent will serve me well soon enough. Both of us, in fact."
"Yeah, well just remember who the enemy is, and direct it at them." Elian takes a safe step back from me, turning his gaze towards the other carriages of the Heralds nearby. They tend to take their strategy sessions in one or another of the those carriages, poring through maps and battle plans. So far, they haven't used Black Thunder. I'm guessing that's because I'm there half the time, and so far I'm not being included.
Herald by name only, Amber, I tell myself. Hardly in practice...
"Guess I'll speak with Perses when he's done," Elian says, his golden eyes, so like mine, glinting within the evening gloom. "I'm sure we can arrange something." As is customary, he speaks with the haughty manner of someone used to getting what
they want, and operating within the highest echelons of the city.
"I'm sure you can," I say, huffing, though in a comical way, rather than a disparaging one. I've realised, by now, that I can't exactly blame Elian for his upbringing and position; mostly, I'm starting to enjoy our little moral debates, the different ways in which we look upon the world. "He still treats me like a child half the time," I go on, "as though I need protecting or something."
"No, it's not that," says Elian, looking at me without his usual conceited smirk. "He's just training you, making sure you don't develop bad habits. He probably sees a proper protege in you, that's all. I don't think it's anything more than that."
I roll my eyes. "It's boring when you talk sense, Elian," I say. "It cuts off my chance to vent."
"Well, vent in other ways, then," says Elian, handsome smile reappearing, eyes shaping in suggestive fashion.
I find it hard not to smile back, though do so with a shake of the head and a diversion of the eyes, turning off towards the fire-lit camp, bathed under the light of the moon and stars above. "Ever the charmer," I say under my breath, my mind quickly distracted by the sight, across the camp, of Worthies at work, carrying water, cooking and serving food, going about their nightly duties. "I'm not going to give up on this," I continue softly, speaking slowly, quietly, and primarily to myself. I turn back to Elian. "You're not going to distract me from it, you know," I say, a little louder. "I'll train with you, but I'm going to keep policing the camp too."
Elian looks at me for a moment, before nodding slowly and smiling supportively. "Of course you will," he says. "And you know what, I'm going to help."
"Sure..." I begin.
"No, it's true," comes his swift interruption and rebuttal, expression earnest. "You train with me, and I'll help you in your crusade. Like I say, it's admirable what you're doing, Amber. And I'm more than happy to lend a hand where I can. Does that...sound like a deal?"
He steps in, reaching out with a hand, eyes considerate of my cause. I drop my eyes, doubtful, but with no real reason to be. With another shrug, and imagining that no harm can come of such an alliance, I reach out and grip his fingers and palm. It's warm, strong, more rough and rugged than I'd have anticipated given the nature of his upbringing.
For a second he holds my grip, and holds my gaze, and a slight shudder runs through my body. Then, with that velvety, easy smile of his reappearing upon his golden visage, he nods to me a single time, and slips away into the night.
68
The following day, with almost a week having passed since we left Olympus, I find our progress beginning to slow. It has become a theme over the last couple of days, the convoy just starting to falter a touch as we encounter roads less travelled, regions more dangerous and potentially hazardous to navigate.
That day, we stop regularly, the logistics of travelling with such a large convoy beginning to tell. Moving past the well manicured paths across the Fringe, and the open lands further to the south, we find ourselves entering into wild and untamed terrain, knotted with woods and deep thickets, nature flourishing during the many years unfettered from the bounds and controls of man.
Where once there were wide roads and superhighways, allowing swift travel for ancient vehicles across the vast landmass, there are now only pockets of open paths amid larger sections of thick, verdant growth. Bushes litter the path, vines and mosses and various shrubs collecting and growing upon the husks of old cars, trucks, and other types of vehicle that once proliferated across these lands.
Such things I learned from grandma, the old motorised and electric vehicles that could travel at speed and without the need for human, or divine, influence, be it by poor Worthies dragging carriages with nothing but the force of their bodies, or Earth-Shakers and telekinetics doing so with nothing but the force of their minds. Such vehicles were once used all over the globe, and perhaps still are in certain places. Here, they merely litter the lands, dead, their metal skeletons hidden among graves of green.
They cause us to slow considerably, forcing a host of our Earth-Shakers and Forgers, all those capable of telekinesis, to travel at the head of the army, clearing the lands as we go. I watch from Black Thunder in awe as a host of men and women work together, shifting all hindrances upon our route to the left and right, ripping ancient husks of cars from their graves and tossing them into the overgrown woods flanking our path.
Sometimes, the task is easily accomplished, the old vehicles light enough to be moved from our way without great effort. At other times, when the hurdles ahead gather in number, a combined effort is often required to clear the path for the convoy to travel. And when the woods close in completely, entire trees are uprooted, torn from the earth in which they stand, fresh new tracks carved through places that seem otherwise impassable.
It's stunning to behold, though doesn't take too long to become a frustration. Where at first I stood in awe at the window of Black Thunder, marvelling as these gifted souls swept all barriers from our path, I soon find myself slipping back and dropping into my seat, only taking interest again when a more challenging obstruction appears.
Perses, as expected, directs matters from the front, often aiding in the shift with his own staggering strength when necessary. And, of course, the Titans also lend a hand, relishing in the physical challenge, competing against one another in uprooting trees with their bare hands, or hurling old cars and larger vehicles as far from the path as they can manage.
I find myself growing interested in their macho contests, stepping out to spectate when the convoy grinds to a complete halt, watching with a big smile on my face as they roar and grunt and toss great objects so staggeringly far through the air. It's becoming less surprising that I end up rooting for Krun, our initial animosity evolving now into something a little more fond. Though the great brute continues to show his slight tendency to look down upon those from the Fringe, he does hide it when around me, and is becoming increasingly respectful of my presence among the army, and by Perses's, side, as the days go by.
He does admirably well, and shows himself to be about as strong a man as the entire army could field. Unfortunately, he still comes off second best - and by a distance - when measured up against Atlas, the Chosen Titan, whose strength is plenty to have earned him the name. I'm told later by Perses that it belongs to the old Titan from Greek mythology, cursed by Zeus to hold up the sky forever.
Very apt. I'm sure our own Titan could give that curse a damn good shot.
The stops last for varying periods of time before the convoy gets moving again, this territory almost entirely uncharted. Though we have old maps of the landmass to go by, there's just no knowing what nature will have done in the intervening period. Some old highways remain impressively open, almost suspiciously so, as if they've been kept that way by some local population, or group of nomadic travellers. Others are almost entirely overrun, nature fielding a brutal comeback, eroding and concealing almost all traces of what once existed there.
And, by the looks of the maps, which I find myself scouring during Perses's long absences, there were once a staggering number of communities, towns, and cities all across the region, all linked together by a great network of roads, some many lanes wide, others much more narrow. Sticking mostly to the roads as we're doing, I see little sign of them as we go, though continue to try as I jump to the window every few minutes, hoping to see some signs of ancient buildings and homes, perhaps even communities that still cling to life here in the wilds.
That, according to Perses, is unlikely, at least in my romantic way of looking at the world. I imagine small communities living as they once did, before the fall of man, when there were no powered individuals dominating and subjugating those beneath them. It is a fanciful though, and a naive one too. Out here, I'm told, we're in bandit country, a stretch of land that seems to cover the majority of the continent now.
A place where groups of 'dark divinities' like the Cure, only smaller, move from place to place, taking what they
want, wiping out anyone who resists. Where any simple community of regular people isn't likely to survive long, unless entering into a symbiotic relationship with those capable of protecting them, much like how Olympus and the Fringe cooperate far from here.
Again, it's a lesson on the realities of the world, one that is dark, savage, and brutally unforgiving. Where a city like Olympus is the light, and the lives of those from the Fringe, protected in exchange for their fealty and service, is one of great virtue and freedom when compared to the alternative. No, it's not a perfect system by any means, but it could certainly be a whole lot worse.
It isn't until darkness is starting to descend that I finally find myself alone with Perses, the great Herald's attention not on carving our route ahead, battle planning, or anything else that might demand his immediate focus. Returning to Black Thunder after a long period of topographical rearrangement and road-clearing, he steps inside and, before he even takes a moment to sit down, finally grants the wish that I've just about given up on.
"I spoke when Elian earlier," he says, "and he requested that you be able to train together outside of the camp."
I look up sharply, eyes keen.
"Don't look so excited," he continues. "I have granted the request, but only with certain provisos and conditions. Most pertinently, you must stay together at all times, and will be accompanied by a small cohort of soldiers. You will not go far, nor will you go off script. This isn't about exploration, Amber, but training alongside Elian. You'll be best suited fighting together, as I told you before. He's...well, he's quite right in suggesting to me that some training, and further bonding, will aid you in that cause."
When he finishes, I stay quiet for a few moments. It brings a frown to Perses's face. "Nothing to say?" he asks. "No arguments at all?"
I shake my head. "None," I tell him. "Only that...well, you might want to advise whatever - and I'll probably just add, unnecessary - group of soldiers you send to babysit us, to stay suitably far back. It won't serve the army to have them burned to a crisp when we get to Haven."
