by T. C. Edge
Of course it is, a voice inside me says. You've always known that really. Isn't it the same for all the Heralds? Isn't that something you wanted?
"I never saw you around," I whisper. "I've been trying to support the Fringers, Jude, trying to do my bit for them. I...I never saw you." I lift my eyes. "Did you see me?"
His own eyes, a warm brown, melt into me for a passing moment. A soft smile lifts one side of his mouth. "Why would you see me?" he says. "I'm just another interchangeable Fringer, just a slave now..."
"Jude, you're not..."
"It's OK, Amber." He holds a hand up to stop me. To think of it, a slave speaking as such to a Herald of War. But we're not those things, those are not our titles. We are just the kids from the Fringe, that's all. And when we're together, that's all we'll ever be. "I am what I am," he whispers. "And I don't mind, not right now. I...I've seen you around," he nods, slowly. "How could I miss you, that hair, that armour? Those moments are what's kept me going, Goldie. They're the reason I'm able to get through this."
"But why didn't you talk to me? Why didn't you call out or..."
"I couldn't. I wasn't sure of, I don't know, of what might happen. I feared they had you under a spell here. Calling out to a Herald? They could kill you for that."
"But I'm not a Herald," I say, firmly. "Not to you."
He smiles and takes my hand. "I can see that now. See that you're still...you. But either way, we're both in their system, Amber. And we have to play by their rules."
I frown, sighing, my eyes falling to one side. He still harbours that old animosity, I think. Of course he does, and why wouldn't he? But, this us and them attitude. It isn't going to get us anywhere. It's not what I am, and will be, fighting for...
I turn my eyes once more around the grimy little carriage, hardly fit for cattle, let alone the treating of the injured. I shake my head at the state of the place, the lack of proper care given to injured Fringers. And not just those taken from prison camps or institutions like the one Jude was in, but the Worthy as well, the faithful young girls who have gained ascension to Olympus. If one were to to become seriously injured, would they really be treated here?
I find Ralph still there, only his back visible as he sits on the step looking out into the camp. The faint sight of smoke tells me he's moved quickly onto to another cigarette. The other two injured Fringers, meanwhile, appear to remain sleep, one snoring lightly at the front of the carriage.
"I'm going to get you out of here," I say. "This place is a disgrace. I might not be a Herald to you, but I am to everyone else around here. I'll see that you're released, Jude. You won't be digging ditches anymore..."
I feel his hand come down on mine, his strong fingers wrapping me up. His eyes, so often filled with life and joy and a mischievous sense of fun, narrow and turn serious. "I'm going to keep doing my work, Amber," he tells me. "There's nothing else here for someone like me."
"That's...not true. And even if it is, it doesn't matter. I'll have you sent home. I'll make it happen, Jude, you'll see."
His hand slips from mine. His eyes turn away. He turns silent, solemn. I see a framing of hurt around his eyes. "You won't," he says. "They'd never waste the effort. We're thousands of miles away now. They'd never do such a thing for someone as low as me."
"Well..."
"I'm not leaving," he says. "You're on your path, and I'm on mine. I earned it, just as you did. Let me walk it, Amber. It's my...penance."
"Penance? For what, Jude? You're a good person, the best I know. What could you have done that deserves this."
"I let you go," he whispers. "I should never have helped you get to Olympus. We should never have even tried."
"But we had to. For Lilly. Jude, it was all out of our hands. The Prime, they'd foreseen it all. It was part of some prophesy."
"And you believe all that?"
"The things I've seen. The things I can do? Of course I believe it."
He nods again, glancing at me, and then away. "And you really are one of them now. You really are committed to this new life."
"I...well, I don't know..."
"That wasn't a question, Amber. It's just a fact. You have new powers, a new home, a new title." He takes a slow breath, delaying, as though struggling to say the words. "And...a new man."
The pace of my heart starts to quicken nervously. I grab his face and turn his eyes to mine. "What do you mean, a new man?"
"You know what I mean, Amber. And I understand, I get it. You had to forget me, what with everything that was happening with you." He laughs, shaking his head. "It wasn't so easy for me. I went back home to...nothing. Everything felt empty without you. But I can see that your life has been exciting. Exciting new experiences. Exciting new...people."
"Jude," I whisper. "I...I still...I still..."
"Don't say it," he tells me softly, his head dropping. "If you can't do anything about it, don't say it at all." His gaze lifts once more, linking directly with mine. "I saw you a few days ago, Amber. I saw you with the Chosen Fire-Blood. I know you've moved on, and I get it, I do. You two have more in common. You're close by nature, so it makes sense. Right?"
I shut my eyes for a few moments, a dreadful feeling of guilt rising up inside me. "Jude...I'm sorry..."
"Don't be sorry," he says quickly. "You know me, nothing gets me down. I understand, Amber. I just wish things were...different."
"They will be," I say, intently, resolutely. "I'm going to make things different."
He smiles, a small smile of a man almost broken. The residue of a grin that would once light up his face so often, now reduced to nothing but a slight curve of the lips, the final embers of a fire struggling to stay lit. "So, do you...like him?"
My heart hammers. I want to run from the question, fire up my blood to burn it off, stop it from ever getting to me, from ever being said. This was never meant to happen. I never expected to see Jude again, and for both our sakes, almost intended not to. I wanted to hear that he'd found someone back home, that he'd settled down and was happy. Painful as that might have been, I wanted it for him, knowing that nothing could ever happen between us.
And now, he's here, asking me about another man. A man who I'm still just getting to know. A man who, yes, I do like. I can't deny that, as much as I want to right now.
My face clearly shows it, and my silence does the same.
Jude begins to nod. "You do," he says. "I'm...happy for you, Amber. You've moved on quickly." His tone stays light, but his manner turns numb. Whatever he says, I know he's hurting. He's disappointed that I've left my past behind with such alacrity.
And...maybe I have.
"Don't be like that, Jude," I say. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're disappointed in me. I can't take you being angry with me right now. Not now."
He nods, always so aware. He may be a slave here now, and me a Herald, but it'll be me risking my life, me fighting in this war. It's so odd to even think that here, ahead of him. He'll still see me as the girl I was, the one who'd never even thrown a punch until we escaped out onto the Sacred Plains from the borders of Black Ridge. I've thrown many now.
Now I've...killed people.
"I'm not angry," he says softly. "We had our chance back home, but something was always holding you back. Maybe we were only ever meant to be friends. Maybe that's all it was."
His words make some sense, though it's not as simple as that. No, we never became official, but I always had that intention eventually. But he's right, something did hold me back. Much as I felt I loved him, perhaps we weren't ever truly meant to be.
"I don't know, Jude," is all I can say. "And I don't know how I feel about Elian either. We train together, and will fight together. I've got no real friends here and he's been so good to me. I don't have any answers right now, but I will make sure you get out of here. I promise you that."
"It's not what I want."
"You're just saying that! You're just being s
tubborn."
"I'm not." His voice is small. He sounds broken. "There's nothing for me back home anymore. At least, out here, I can see some of the world. We always wanted that, didn't we? To explore, to run away together? I know it would never have happened, but here we are anyway. It's...not how I imagined it, but maybe it's the best we'll do."
"Jude. I don't like this."
"What?"
"How you're sounding. Like you've given up."
His head, hanging slightly low, begins to rise up. His posture, sunken and deflated, lifts and stiffens. "I'm not giving up, Amber," he says defiantly. "I'm just being realistic."
"Yes, and so am I. I am a Herald of War, Jude. Whatever you think of me right now, and whatever's happened, that really does mean something here. At the very least, I'm going to make sure you get better care. We'll see that arm fixed up, and make sure the scar doesn't turn out too bad. Just leave it with me. I know a guy...or girl."
I stand up from the bed, my combat armour so dazzlingly wondrous within the confines of that dank carriage, and against the rags and torn work clothes covering Jude's body. Oh, how I yearn to see him in his hunting clothes again, bow and arrow on his back, bait and traps in his satchel. That's the image of the Jude I remember. That's the image I want to restore.
"I'll be back soon," I tell him. "Sit tight here, and don't go anywhere. I'm going to help make this right."
Jude looks up at me, trying to show some gratitude. I know he must feel weaker here than ever, unable to do anything, relying on me to help him from this bind. And I wonder, looking at him, if he really does want to stick to this path, if he really is giving in. Is it seeing me with Elian that did it? Is it merely the truth that he knows he cannot get around, a truth he's accepted?
Well, not if I've got anything to do with it. Perhaps I can't get him sent home, but I can damn well make sure he's in good health. And those men who did this to him, those cowards out there by the fire. Oh, I'll get to them soon. I'll see that Jude gets his vengeance for all of this.
And I'll see that I get my own...
Without another word of protest from Jude, I turn and begin to step away, ready to try to make things right in any way I can. I make it only to the door when I stop, stand still, and listen. Sitting on the step, old Ralph is doing the same, looking off towards the front of the camp.
A short silence falls as my ears draw in the sound.
And then it becomes clear.
Gunshots.
78
I spring immediately from the carriage, leapfrogging a ducking Ralph as I go and clipping the back of his head with my boot. I hardly hear him grumble his displeasure as I hit the ground and pace off towards the source of the sound.
My combat armour begins to light up as I go, my body priming for action. Around me, other soldiers are doing the same, rushing to grab weapons, storming off towards the front edge of the camp. Others are less quick to react, or simply less keen to join in without official orders. I get a sense that those on their feet are the men and women used to war. The rest sit tight, afraid that it's come early.
No such fear rises up within me as I go. It's more of a primal impulse that has me speeding towards the likely danger, not knowing what I might find, yet desperate to help in any way possible. I don't delay or consider my approach. I merely sprint with all the speed I can muster, fuelling my pace with pulses of fire as I go, sparking in the darkness like a flickering candle.
The spread of the camp and its configuration makes running tricky, especially at speed. I rush around carriages, campfires, Worthies and lowly Fringers at work, soldiers emerging from within their coaches to find out what the fuss is all about. The sound of gunfire continues, though the firefight, if that's what it is, appears to be limited to just a few. It isn't a great symphony of battle that sounds, more a light skirmish between a few dozen men.
As far as I know, that might be it. Or perhaps it's the precursor to something more. Either way, I intend to lend a hand where I can. Many others around me appear to have the same thought.
I round a carriage, and to my right, see the great lumbering figure of Krun storm into view. Decked in dark armour and holding a gigantic gun, he powers along at a tremendous pace that shouldn't be humanly possible for a brute of his size. I've always suspected it, and here's my confirmation; Krun isn't merely a Titan of the highest order. He has a little bit of Phaser power in him too. Like many, or even most, of Perses's most trusted men, he's multi-powered and gifted with more than one divine attribute.
As I see him, he sees me, my shining suit equally as likely to draw the eye as his titanic size. We share a look of solidarity and speed along, side by side. My mind flashes with my initial meeting with him, how he was so cruel to Jude and me, tearing us apart outside the cells of Olympus. It was the last time, before today, that I saw my best friend. And though I've taken to accept, and even like Krun, I still harbour some resentment over that initial encounter.
It's gone in a flash, however, matters of far greater urgency refilling my mind. Together, and with a small legion of others following behind us, we cut a path towards the commotion, nearing the edge of the camp just as the sound of gunfire begins to die out and fade away.
Ahead, across the open plains, a wild patch of woodland awaits.
"It came from there," calls Krun. "Come on!"
We continue on into the field of grass, already wetting with dew that glitters and shines under the moonlight. Ahead, coming from the woods, figures begin to reveal themselves. Shadows of men coming our way. We stop, drop to our knees, and wait. Krun lifts his mighty rifle. I draw a shield of heat around me, let the flames flicker between my fingers. And behind us, several hundred soldiers in our wake stop, drop, and prepare to follow our lead.
We wait. A silence falls. And then, suddenly, a strange, inhuman shrieking sound comes out way on the wind.
I narrow my eyes, my heart thudding heavily, but can see little more than the shapes still speeding in our direction. From behind, a voice calls out. "It's Herald Perses and Herald Kovas, and some of our men! They have captives with them!"
I glance around and look at the man, his eyes staggeringly deep. A Farsight, and a gifted one. From here he'll be able to see through the darkness with no trouble at all.
His words ease up the group, and we stand back up from the moist grass. The strange screaming sound continues to clatter through the air as our men rush towards us. They begin to separate into distinct shapes and figures, Perses's ominously powerful frame quickly becoming apparent, and Kovas, squatter and much shorter, by his side. With them are a number of soldiers, possibly the scouts who'd been checking our path ahead. A few of them lead several men across the grass in the direction of the prison carriage. Others continue to come towards us, dragging a net along behind them.
And in that net, I see a writhing, wriggling thing. A thing that screeches and whimpers, scrambling futilely at the grass and mud as it's hauled mercilessly along.
A sense of strange, morbid quiet settles among the gathered throng as the group approach and near us. We all stare at the creature in the net with a disquieted fascination and disgust. Perses and Kovas march onwards, pressing towards us with the authority afforded their titles and experience. The call out for the beast to be brought forward, the net dragged ahead of them and placed in front of the crowd.
"You see this thing," calls out Herald Kovas, his bald head lit by the moon, the deep scar across his neck looking particularly pronounced. "This is what we get here in this cursed land. A demon from the forest. A mutant form of man, corrupted by the heathens we come to obliterate!"
I see Perses glance over at Kovas, not entirely impressed with his inflammatory rhetoric. But it does the job, stirring the men up, who cheer and jeer, and show their disgust at the grotesque thing before us. I stare, too, my face itself mutated into a expression of sheer revulsion as I look at the thing. All long of limb and bald of hair, its skin clammy and thick, pallid as if it's never seen sunlight. It
has the distinct shape of a man, though deformed and devolved into something quite horrifying.
A demon, Kovas says, but what is it really? I'm not so foolish as the rest to believe his words.
"We caught it in the woods here," Kovas continues, his voice all gruff and throaty. "There are many others creeping around in there, though we killed every one of them we could see. They are fast and agile, and can move almost unseen. They are likely under the influence of Haven. We have had our first taste of war!"
Again, the crowd cheer. Again, Perses looks a little more circumspect, regarding the thing as a beast, and not something to be used by a city of regular people. All I've heard of Haven suggests that they are sophisticated, smart, and hardly barbarians. This thing, whatever it is, surely isn't working for, or with, them, is it?
The look on Perses's face suggests he's thinking just the same, though doesn't seem willing to utter it with the soldiers riled up as they are. In that, at least, Kovas is quite good. You wouldn't expect it, really, but he seems to be quite useful at stoking the fire, igniting the pugnacious, warring passions of his men.
As they roar and cheer, however, my eyes find their way across the field, where the other captives continue to be led. It is immediately clear that these are men, not monsters, though they do have a look of the savage about them. Draped in what looks to be pelts and animal skins, with strange haircuts and odd jewellery, they march in a chained up line, a half dozen of them, grunting and cursing in a weird dialect as they go.
One looks to be particularly large, though not by the standards of the Titans, or even Perses. Still, he's big for a regular man, if that's what they are, his head shaven and chin fitted with a long, unwashed beard. Though far smaller in size than the giants I've seen, however, he cuts an intimidating figure nonetheless, ruggedly aggressive in his swaggering, stamping walk as he's drawn along at the front of his men. And yes, they look to be his men. This man looks like the alpha of this particular pack, singled out by both his size and the particularly prominent necklace of teeth and claws, beating upon his chest with each step. The others wear similarly grotesque jewellery, though without so many fangs and morbid trinkets upon them.
