by T. C. Edge
We move, stepping around the ancient foundations of that long forgotten town as though part of an actual battlefield, testing to see if the shield continues to hold. We even attempt to move at speed, using additional bursts of fire to press ourselves here and there, rehearsing the movement of a real fight, never straying more than a few feet from one another to prevent the shield from breaking down. The bullets continue to chase us, deflecting off us, flashing bright with each connection. They melt and morph and drop to our feet. Not a single one gets through, the additional protection of our combat armour never once put to use.
When it's over, we find the clearing scorched and blackened, littered with flaming trees and shrubs. My lungs heave, but I feel little exhaustion from the exertion, not as I once would. With Elian's power shared with my own, we both benefit from the other's strengths, reduce the other's weaknesses. His ability to fight for much longer without stopping, that endurance he's developed over many years of training, feeds right into me too. I feel, at that moment, more powerful than I ever have.
And I know we're just getting started.
The training ends shortly after, plenty of ground covered, and plenty of progress made. We tease upon the idea of raising our temperature still higher, of seeing just how far we can go, but agree that pushing too hard, too fast, isn't a sensible idea.
The development and testing of other skills will just have to wait.
And tomorrow, as they say, is another day.
73
The walk back to the convoy is an excited affair of backslapping and compliments, the soldiers under Krun's charge, and the oversized brute himself, seeming quite in awe of the level Elian and I were able to achieve.
Oddly, I take the compliments with a grain of salt. While it's fantastic that Elian and I are so compatible, I do wonder just how sustainable all this is? Will we grow too used to enjoying this grander platform to operate from? Will we then find it more difficult to operate alone, having tasted what we can achieve together?
I decide not to voice those concerns out loud, not wishing to bring my natural wariness to bear on proceedings. It may not even turn out to be relevant, so why bother? After all, this battle - of even war, should it turn out to be as such - may prove to be of little significance. We may hardly be called to action, and merely head home, barely tainted by the entire affair, and never have to use our great gifts in anger again.
Do I believe that? Honestly, probably not. But frankly, I know as much about what's going to happen here as Collector Ceres knows about how it feels to enjoy the affections of a good woman.
In other words, nothing at all.
We begin to disperse as a group as we continue onwards, the soldiers, Krun, and Hestia moving back to their assigned carriages. By the looks of things, the convoy is all set to move off once more, the work of the clearers at the front managing to carve a new path forward. Soldiers mill about, returning to their transports, the skies above still lively with the glowing sun, but suggesting that the darkening of the day isn't too far off.
Still, we'll no doubt have many more hours of travel left before we stop to make camp. With a delay like this, Perses will no doubt push everyone a little bit harder to limit the damage.
When we reach the front, I part ways with Elian, who darts off to rejoin his travelling partner, Herald Kovas. I turn to Black Thunder and prepare to move towards it, keen to update Perses on the success of our inaugural training session, and feeling oddly nervous about the idea, like a kid so desperate to please a particularly demanding parent.
My journey, however, is cut short by the sight of a flamboyant man in outlandishly colourful robes that, frankly, have absolutely no place amid the mud, dirt, and dust of a travelling army. Yet, despite all that, the man's robes appear as clean as ever, a wonderful and vibrant merging of gold, green, and a deeply alluring purple on this occasion.
The Overseer, even here, seems incapable of properly fitting in.
"Ah, Herald Amber, how radiant you look this afternoon." He marches towards me with that graceful step of his, flowing so easily upon the uneven, muddy terrain. Where others plod and squelch, he merely glides with an ease that belies his age and, frankly, the workings of normal physics. Reaching me, he takes my hand and draws it to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss. "Such beauty and power combined. A deadly combination for any man foolish enough to court you..."
His words, by no mental direction of my own, have my eyes lunging towards the departing Elian, still glowing with the faint aftereffect brought on by our training. The Overseer's eyes follow the path of mine. And swiftly thereafter comes a softly knowing smile, crinkling his unusually clear facade into a network of handsome wrinkles.
"So, you're compatible, it would seem?" he says through that smile. His eyes raise up, suggesting a double meaning.
"Training...went well," I confirm. "How did you know about it, anyway?"
"I know everything that happens around here, Amber," he says gleefully. "Oh, and what a joy this whole experience is. Olympus can get so stuffy sometimes. How wonderful it's been to breathe all this fresh air, see all these new lands."
"You haven't seen them before?"
"Oh me? No, never so far by a long shot. I've rarely ventured beyond the lands of the Fringe. What an indictment for a man of my age."
"Well, they do say travel broadens the mind," I announce. "Or...they used to, at least."
"And where did you hear that?" asks the Overseer, smiling interestedly.
I shrug. "I...can't actually remember. Think I saw in a grandma's cabin somewhere."
"Ah, that would make sense. It was once a common phrase, many centuries ago, prior to the fall. Of course, back then the world was very much interconnected and globalised. Travel wasn't quite as hard as it is now, and far less dangerous," he chuckles.
"How do you know all this anyway?" I ask. "I know you're old, but you're not that old."
"And you're not beyond a clip around the ear," grins the Overseer playfully. "You may be a Herald now, but I'll still play my age and wisdom card, young lady."
"Rightly so. But you know I'm kidding."
"I do, without even considering trying to look into your mind. It's nice to see that you're comfortable enough to make jokes around me now. You're fitting in rather nicely, aren't you? Seeing you getting along so fondly with Elian is surprising enough, but Hestia? Well, that is a turn up for the books."
"Yeah well, I guess I'm not as socially defunct as I thought."
"No, certainly not. I understand Lady Felina also likes you greatly, and High Worthy Marlow is truly enamoured with you, in the most appropriate way, of course. Yes, Amber, you're becoming quite a hit. There's a magic about you that fascinates us all."
"Don't," I say, waving my hand in mock embarrassment, turning my chin down to conceal a coy smile.
The Overseer laughs brightly. "You see, your confidence thrives! Now, onto your question. How do I know these little snippets of trivia, you ask?"
I nod.
"I think you already know the answer, Amber. Olympus is a bastion of knowledge, a protector of history. We have certain records and accounts that go back many, many centuries, and have been fortunate enough to compile others. Olympus itself is a tribute to the past, to cultures now deceased, to peoples now lost. We honour them, and keep their spirit alive. It is our duty as the new divine beings of this world."
"Right," I say. "Divine-ish."
"If you like," he smiles. "We've had this discussion before, have we not? To be divine is a fluid definition. With our people, our divinity lies in the powers we possess."
"But you also believe that those who die journey to the Eternal Halls, right? Who rules up there, by the way, if the Prime is down here with us?"
The Overseer shivers in an almost excited manner, grinning broadly. "Still so much bite in you," he purrs. "I just love your questioning mind, Amber, it's fascinating. But...yes, mention of the Eternal Halls is more of a cultural part of life in Olympus, rather than
a literally held belief. Life after death remains a mystery as yet unsolved. Though, we have people looking into it."
"You...do?" I frown. "How, exactly?"
"I couldn't explain it even if I wanted to. There's a lot going on in the labs and workshops of Olympus. We may safeguard history, but we also like to look forward as well. Without an eye to the future, then where exactly are we going? That is one of the fundamentals of what we believe, and our culture is largely progressive. It is one of the many reasons why this unfortunate war needs to be undertaken."
"Unfortunate?" I repeat. "I remain...unconvinced," I say, trying to speak carefully, "that this war isn't being sought for profit, rather than to safeguard our people."
"And would you have a quarrel with that if it were the case? There are an endless number of reasons to go to war. No picture is quite as simple as it seems."
"As Perses tells me," I sigh. "And...no, I have no quarrel with it. I've thought about it a lot now, and I can completely...understand." I blink, my words coming out slightly stunted, and find the Overseer's keen eyes boring into me.
He draws back slowly, nodding, smiling. "Good. Then we are all aligned as one. Just as we should, and need to, be."
My head dips up and down, nodding in agreement. The Overseer tilts his chin back, working his old face into a winning smile, and draws in a long gulp of air to freshen out his lungs. He exhales with a pleasurable breath, more alive than I've ever seen him.
"It looks as though we're set to move off any moment now," he says. I follow his eyes ahead, and see Herald Perses stamping back quickly down the road, his black armour shining under the sun, finding a spot between the accumulating clouds above. By his sides, a large group of Titans and telekenetics come, accompanied by a number of other soldiers, such as Phasers and Farsights, who didn't aid in the clearing of the track, but merely watched out for danger, or went ahead to scout, in the meantime. Among them I see both Atlas and Lady Dianna, both lending their considerable aid where possible.
"I hear that the path ahead is thickly overgrown," the Overseer whispers. "The debate is whether to continue to cut through, or try to work a way around. Either way, our scouts estimate at least another week on the road." He leans in with a whimsical smile. "I don't much mind it myself. I'm having a whale of a time."
"So you've said," I mutter absentmindedly, watching Perses stamping back, looking rather weary and disgruntled. I turn back up to the Overseer, his lanky frame looming over me. "Did you manage to interrogate those thugs?" I ask, remembering just why I wanted to run into him in the first place. "We caught them last night, beating a poor Fringer half to death. Elian said..."
"Yes, he told me all about it, and I did pay the aforementioned thugs a visit."
"Well? What happened? Was the guy really spouting heresy? Did he deserve what he got?"
"Deserve? Odd phrasing for you."
"Well, not deserve, obviously," I say, shaking my head. "Slip of the tongue. I mean, in their heads. Were they, I don't know, at least provoked by the man's words? Or was it just the sort of wanton barbarism I'm trying to stamp out around here?"
The Overseer regards me for a moment before nodding. "I'm afraid it was the former, dear child. The victim in question did indeed share a few of his less than savoury opinions. The men were slightly inebriated, and reacted as many would in the circumstances. I know you won't think that much of an excuse, but on this occasion I see no reason to keep them under watch. And Perses doesn't want any extra headaches caused by minor fracas like this."
I bristle at his use of the word 'minor', but don't react with anything more than that. Unfortunately, things as they are, it is a minor affair. The crime of heresy is well known across the Fringe, as I've already discovered first hand. But, it does makes me wonder, just what was a heretic doing among the servants and slaves here?
"What will happen to the Fringer now?" I ask.
"Well, he'll be put right back to work, of course," the Overseer tells me. "At least as soon as he's physically ready. We can't exactly send him home now, can we? It would require far too many of our resources."
"So, he won't be executed?" I say. "I thought..."
"No, not at a time like this. In Olympus, perhaps, though he's a hardy young man by all accounts, and a good worker. It seems a shame to lose someone like that, so long as they cause no further trouble." He shakes his head, lips narrowing. "And, really, it was hardly the most outspoken outburst, as far as I can tell. Little more than a few muttered words. It really is difficult when trying to work with the minds of inebriated men. Their memories aren't particularly clear."
"And the Fringer? Aren't you going to see what he has to say, find out his side of the story?"
"There seems little point, Amber. What's done is done, and we move on. If you wish to visit him as part of your duties, then please go ahead. He's resting in the infirmary carriage. Feel free to drop by any time you wish."
"I...I will," I say, without a great deal of conviction.
The Overseer smiles. "I may not be so well versed on life on the road, but such incidents are likely to happen with such a large travelling force, made up of such a range of people. No harm, no foul, as they say. The Fringer has no major injuries, as far as I'm told. He'll live to dig another ditch."
I frown dangerously at the remark.
"Yes, of course," says the Overseer. "Apologies. It was a tasteless comment. Forgive an old man for being set in his ways."
"And you say Olympus is progressive," I mutter. "Doesn't the freedoms of the people of the Fringe count? A pseudo-feudal system like this isn't progressive, as far as I can tell."
"Ah, touche," smiles the Oversee grandly. "Your grandmother has taught you well. Yes, very well indeed. You understand the dynamics of the feudal system. You are so full of surprises."
"Don't try to divert me with flattery," I say. "It's a serious question."
"Then perhaps we should make time to have a serious discussion about it. But, alas, that isn't now." His eyes dance up as Perses marches towards Black Thunder, grunting as he steps heavily aboard. Around us, voices start calling for the convoy to begin moving, the great machine about to begin turning once more. "Too much to be getting on with now, Herald Amber," the Overseer goes on. "Let's revisit this another time, shall we?" He smiles at me one final time, lightly shaking his head. "Yes, so very fascinating."
And with that, he's gone.
I stand for a moment, surrounding by movement, listening to the carriages creak as they begin to roll. Ahead of us, great stacks of trees and old, crumpled vehicles pile up, pressed to either side by both physical and telekinetic means, brute strength and mental wonders playing equal role in the crafting of the forward route.
It's a strange symbol of our might, all of this. The great convoy, the thousands of soldiers, the many hundreds of slaves following behind. The uncompromising way in which we're cutting right through, making paths where they no longer exist, fashioning our own way forward. Nature may have retaken these lands, but it seems we're coming storming back for more, reemerging from the shadows to stake our claim.
And the strangest thing of all, is that we're not natural. No, we are a man-made breed, now rising to dominate this wild, new world.
I wonder, perhaps, if nature will decide to wipe us all out one day. Finish the job it started before. There's something perversely...appealing about that...
"Amber!" comes a roar, forcing my eyes to the front of the convoy. There, leaning out of the doorway to Black Thunder, Perses stands with heavy eyes glowering beneath equally heavy brows. "Come on, it's time to go."
Reluctantly, though without delay, I hurry off towards him.
Just as the rain begins to fall.
74
Nature might not rightly care much about the petty little games of man right now, but that night she decides to lay down a momentous deluge, as though metaphorically washing our collective mouths out with soap for the fragrant dismissal and overturning of her power.
> It begins as I step into the carriage, trying not to make eye contact with Perses, whose mood appears to have taken a turn for the worse in accordance with the weather. With the convoy beginning to get going, he stands by the window for a while, looking out, shaking his head, and even cursing under his breath. Though he has the appearance of a barbarian, all scarred of face, shaven of head, and brutally muscled of body, his general demeanour is far from it. He's mostly gentle, mild, and while extremely authoritative, exhibits his leadership with a calm assurance that goes wildly against his aesthetic appearance.
So, to see him to shrouded in shadow, so grumpily truculent, is a rare thing indeed. Grumbling at the window, he eventually pulls back, muttering to himself, and plants himself heavily down into the chair, eyes quickly turning to his maps and assorted plans. I spend a few minutes in silent thought before daring to speak.
"Couldn't the Chosen Skymaster just clear the storm for us?" I suggest. "What was his name again..."
"Taranus," grunts Perses, interrupting my lazy attempt to recall the man's name. "And no, he can't. This weather isn't tameable, even for him."
I sink back down, the curtness of Perses's response making the idea of further questioning unpalatable. His attention is retaken by battle planning, something I'm yet to be even remotely involved in, a fact that I'm still ambivalent about. On the one hand, I feel quite happy to be left out of the loop, so to speak, on matters of such importance. On the other, I'd rather like to know what's happening, even if I'm not going to actively have a choice in how to shape our strategy and advance. I am, after all, nothing but a pup around all these wolves. I'm not so arrogant to think I deserve to have an equal voice.
I sit back, trying not to make a sound, enjoying the ambience of the wind and rain as they batter upon the carriage roof. It's comforting, a strangely pleasant sound, though the storm brings with it a bitter chill. It permeates the walls of the carriage, creeping inside, wrapping us up within its frigid embrace. I take the opportunity to speak once more.
