by T. C. Edge
"Well, if it makes you happy," I say. "Just don't put your back out. Seems like you're fairly important here."
Ralph scoffs jovially at the remark, as if it's nonsense, but I can tell he's rather pleased with the compliment.
"Here to see Jude are you, Mistress?"
"Sure am," I say, trotting forward. The carriage, as expected, resides right towards the rear of the convoy, currently parked up and grouped alongside a host of others utilised by the Fringers. Far behind me, a great deal of action continues to unfold, the operation to clear a path through the woods picking up some steam, just as the sun begins to set.
Ralph looks to the skies. There are few clouds, mere wisps up in the heavens. "It'll be a cold one tonight, Mistress," he says. "Weather's changing down here. Not that it'll affect you with all that fire in your veins."
"You a weatherman, Ralph?" I ask, smiling.
"Just a hobby of mine. Nothing scientific about it. Just got a feel for the skies is all."
"Perhaps there's a bit of Skymaster blood in you," I suggest.
"Ha! If there is, it's locked down deep. I'd need one of those awakenin' Heralds to bring it up."
"I could try to arrange it when we get back home," I say, though without any real belief that it would happen. Ralph is clearly aware that I'm just being playful.
"They'd be no point," he says, playing along. "My days are numbered, as I told ya. No good wastin' time on an old man like me."
I smile at the man consolingly at the remark.
"Ah, no need for that look, Mistress. I've long accepted it."
"Well, still."
"Still nothin'. I'm happy enough letting go, knowing there's someone like you on the inside now. I hear you fight for us lot, look out for us. We all appreciate you, Mistress. Truly."
"Ah...Ralph." I feel a pang of emotion at his words, foolishly blushing. "That's sweet of you to say."
"Well, it's true. Now don't let me keep you out here in the cold. Or, not so cold for you. Hop on in. I'm gonna light up one of these to stay warm." He pulls out a cigarette, and places it between his lips, the movement clean and professional, that of a lifetime smoker. "Don't worry if you hear me coughin'. If you come out and find me dead, cremate me on the spot, would you? Don't fancy being buried all the way out here."
He winks at me as he lights up the cigarette, and I climb up the single step into the carriage. I find the occupants slightly different from the previous evening. To my right, the woman who was in here before has now gone, her ailment, whatever it was, clearly fixed. The older man remains, however, lying on his side, snoring lightly as he was before. I turn immediately to Jude, feeling nervous once again. It'll take time to feel normal around him again. I hope we get there. I hope we get the chance.
"That bother you at all?" I ask, thumbing over my shoulder at the snoring man. "Does he ever wake up?"
I walk towards the dim interior. Jude, sitting upon his bed, turns to me idly. The bare hint of a smile cracks on his lips. "You said you'd be right back yesterday," he says. "If this is right back, then you need to get yourself a watch."
I stop, a couple of metres from him. "I meant to, I really did. There was all this commotion, I got caught up in it. Didn't you hear it? The gunfire and every..."
"Amber, Amber, calm," Jude cuts in. His lips work up into a smile, hooked high on one side, fuller than before. "I'm kidding with you."
"Oh..." I breathe.
"But your face," he grins, wiping a lock of warm brown hair from his forehead. It's grown longer in the intervening months. I kinda like it that way. "A Herald of War, so concerned about a lowly slave."
"Jude. Stop it. You are not a slave."
His gaze flattens. "OK, let's not go there," he says. "I think it's undeniable, but yeah, you can look at it how you want."
"Yes. Exactly. Would a normal 'slave' get approval from the leader of the entire army to be taken to the proper infirmary? To be treated by a healer from Olympus? Hmmm?"
Jude doesn't seem so impressed with the news. "I told you, you didn't need to do that, Amber."
"I wanted to."
"And...thanks, and everything. But how do you think the soldiers are going to take it. Some slave, some 'heretic' being treated by one of their own?"
"Some might not like it," I concede, "but I don't think most are going to care. They've got much bigger things to worry about right now," I say, channeling my inner Perses. "And anyway, there's no one even being treated there yet. I got a look in yesterday. There's no one there. The entire place is empty. And Lady Eloise is more than happy to help Fringers."
Jude's eyes show me he remains unconvinced. He looks to still be harbouring some ingrained animosity to the Olympians and Children of the Prime, despite what I've told him. His experience of them, of course, hasn't taken the same route as mine. Yet still, shouldn't he trust me?"
"Just...do it for me," I say, trying to win him over. "Would you do that, Jude? Please." I flutter my eyes as best I can, a sort of girlish mannerism that I've never been much good at. It just isn't me, and I'm not doing a good impression.
"OK, you can stop that now," says Jude, looking at me curiously, though with the shadow of a smile coming through. "It doesn't suit you, really. Must do better."
"So, that's a yes?"
He draws a long breath and lets out a long sigh. A shake of the head completes the trio of doubtful, though begrudgingly consenting, gestures. "Fine, for you," he says, as though doing me a massive favour. A wince runs up his face, his eyes turning down to his arm. "I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing to get this arm sorted out."
"Good," I beam. "OK, so we have a window of opportunity right now, so we'd better take it."
"Right now?" He looks unsure, as if he's been perfectly happy hiding away here, away from the soldiers and among his own people.
"No time like the present, right?"
"Well..." He looks to the door, still ajar. A shard of light cuts in, weak and losing its luminosity, telling of the fading of the day outside. "Couldn't we wait for dark first? I don't know. Talk a bit more, while we can?"
His sudden vulnerability causes my expression to change, budding with concern for someone I care so deeply for, with whom I've been through so much. My voice softens when I speak, as though to a frightened child, cornered and confused. "Of course," I say. "Of course we can wait."
I move in and sit down beside him, as he shuffles across to give me some room. I don't like the idea that we won't get to see each other much. I don't like the way he said; 'while we can'. Yes, I chose to try to forget him before, knowing not doing so would only bring me pain. It wasn't, perhaps, so much a choice as something forced upon me, a way of surviving in a brand new world. But now that we've been forced back together like this, now that fate has put us on this converging path, I don't want him to leave. I don't want to see him gone. I hate the idea that he really is a slave, a Defiant, his life now governed by the laws to which we both live our lives.
Is there anything I can do for him, really? Will I be allowed to circumvent the law and pardon Jude for his so-called crimes, the same crimes of which I was once accused?
I ponder it as I sit down beside him, enjoying the warmth of his presence next to me, that familiar smell, still notable to my senses despite the various odours within the room. Everything about him is so familiar, so intimately comforting for me. His voice wraps me up as we sit and speak. His face, though bandaged and bruised, is like a comfort blanket for my gaze. His smell, his mannerisms and little affectations, the way his lips go up on one side when he smiles, the way he looks at me, so interested when I speak, always wanting to know more about me...
I don't think I ever deserved him back home, and perhaps that's why I didn't commit. He is, simply, a better person than I am. And to see him here, beaten like a dog, forced into slavery for something that, essentially, I did...it breaks me heart, and I simply cannot take it.
I promise myself, right there and then, that whatever it takes, I'l
l see Jude free. Just like before, when he was chained up in Olympus, and I was forced to take part in the trials, I'll do it again, all over again. I'll ensure that his life doesn't endure in this vein.
We speak for an hour or so, there in the carriage alone. But, of course, for the man snoring in the other corner, appearing incapable of coming back to waking life. We sit, and speak of the things we've seen and done, of the new experiences, good and bad, we've both had to suffer through and bear.
In that regard, of course, I have the lion's share. I tell Jude of my journey, filling in the gaps of what he already knows. Of the trials and my rivalry with the other combatants, Elian included, who causes Jude to wince when I say his name. Of the life Lilly now leads, and the woman she serves, and the fine elements of Olympus that I think he needs to hear. Of my ascension to this new rank and role, my mission to face the remnants of the Cure, when I did battle for the first time, killed for the first time. In anger, at least.
It's a wild tale for Jude to hear, who listens with a soft expression, so sad for the things I've had to do. To see his eyes coil up when I speak of killing, of the vast and formidable power in my blood, brings a swell of shame up from my core. I can see why, and understand why, yet I don't regret the act. For while I try to remain the same girl as before, certain parts of me have changed, and are unlikely to go back.
Jude's own tale, told briefly to me the previous night, isn't fleshed out with much detail. I ask him about my parents, my grandmother, and hear things that turn my heart so cold. As the people of Pine Lake grow delirious at my tale, of one of their own ascending to the high gods, those I care about most withdraw, unable to reconcile their faith and love for the two children, and grandchildren, they've lost.
I've spared little thought for my parents since my departure, little concern for the mother and father, in particular, who appeared ever disappointed in me, at the path I'd chosen to take, at the poor reflection I was on the family and Lilly, model Devotee as she was. But now, thinking of them back there, alone, I feel a terrible grief at what their lives must have become.
And grandma, always more pretending to being a hermit that truly being one, now hiding away in solitary confinement, no longer with anything to cling to, anything to care for.
I stop Jude as he speaks, unable to hear more, desperate to move onto brighter topics, if such a thing is possible here. He understands. He always understands. And even now, with our lives going in such divergent directions, he remains a support for me when I need him, an unbreakable pillar on which I can lean when exhausted and unable to go on.
He doesn't ask of Elian, doesn't wish to hear about that part of my life. Right now, it all seems moot anyway, not a mistake, as such, but rather something that holds little importance. With everything that's happening, romance of any kind has been pushed far from the agenda. The idea of it, the mere thought, suddenly seems ridiculous to me.
When the hour is up, and the night has truly descended, I propose that we make our way towards the proper infirmary.
"I don't know how long we'll be here for, Jude," I say, "but it won't be much longer. They're forging a path for the convoy through the woods ahead. Once it's open, we'll be on the move again."
He draws a nervy breath, trying to remain stoic and strong, but clearly suffering from what he's been through. I forget, as I do with my own age, that he's only 19, still a teenager, surrounded by full grown men of formidable power. Though he frames it in simple terms, and only gives me the outline of his experiences, both here in camp and at the facility he was taken to, I wonder just what treatment he's suffered. Strong as he is, it's hard being abused so frequently, both physically and verbally. It seems to have broken a part of him, made him fearful in the face of these men.
And that, in me, breeds anger.
I help him outside, though he doesn't require any support, his legs working just fine, if still a little banged up and bruised. We find Ralph there, wrapped up in what meagre coverings he can find, and yet still shivering as he sits on the step, cigarette dangling from his lips. He stands and turns to move out of our way, doing so with a groan at his frozen, aching knees.
"Sorry for taking so long, Ralph," I say. "You really didn't have to stay out here the entire time."
"Ah, no, it's fine, Mistress," he says, trying to bow, but finding his stiff back won't allow it. "You needed your privacy, I knew that."
Jude reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Ralph. Not the best at stitching, but a good man all the same."
Ralph smiles. "Well, boy, weren't much fixin' that ugly mug of yours anyway. Gash across the cheek? Gives you character. You're boring without it I say!"
Jude laughs lightly at that. "Take care, old man," he says. "I'll be seeing you around I'm sure."
"And you, son." Ralph turns to me, dipping his head. "Mistress. Good luck out there. Though doubt you'll need it."
We leave the friendly old man with a smile on our faces, turning towards the camp which continues to hum with the sound of activity. There are fires lit here and there, soldiers, as always, sitting around them in a bid to stay warm. Ralph's meteorological prediction, it seems, has come true, not that it was a particularly wild assertion.
I see Jude quickly raise his hands, rubbing them together to combat the bitter cold, his breath coming out in clouds of mist. It's strange, really, to see all these men so cold, when I no longer feel it myself. My body self regulates now, keeping me warm at all times when the weather is bitter, cooling me down if it gets too hot.
I turn to Jude and take his hand. "Here," I say, "how's this."
I send a pulse of heat though my palm, guiding it up and into his hand, wrist, and arm.
He grins with satisfaction, a shudder working through his body.
I send a little more warmth his way, letting my body temperature rise enough to make the short journey more comfortable. A few eyes flash on us as we go, ever drawn to me as they are, perhaps wondering just why I'm being accompanied by a slave, who walks beside me, not subserviently in my wake.
I don't care myself, but am mindful of Jude's feelings, keeping him distracted as we go, secretly pointing out anyone I recognise, or the contents of the haulage carriages I know.
Ahead in the distance, where the woods begin, I see that a large path has already been fashioned, lit by a few lamps at the entrance. By now, with several hundred soldiers likely involved in the operation, they'll have progressed far into the forest.
A final route to war, right on Haven's doorstep.
81
It's about half way down the convoy that I discover the infirmary carriage, sitting quietly and currently out of operation. Nearby, to one side, a group of soldiers sit around a campfire, little more than shadows and dark silhouettes against its light. There's a carriage parked beside them, its rear end opened up. I glance over and see barrels inside. And in the soldiers' hands, metal cups.
Ale? I think. Are they really drinking alcohol at a time like this?
I wave the thought off, imagining that a little Dutch courage might just help them stay clear-headed. Ironic, of course, to speak about alcohol and clear heads in the same sentence, but so long as they don't overindulge they should be all right.
I breathe out a slow sigh of relief as we approach the steps to the infirmary, reaching out to knock on the door and await Lady Eloise's arrival. It takes a mere heartbeat for her to appear, as if desperate for something to do after weeks of inactivity.
She opens up, allowing a great beam of light to come pouring out from inside. It lights up the two of us, standing at the bottom of the steps, like a couple of kids out trick-or-treating.
"Oh my, my," exclaims Eloise loudly. "Mistress Herald. What a pleasant surprise." Her eyes drink me in for a moment before shifting across to Jude. "And...who's this young man?" She drops her gaze, ever so briefly, to his clothing, all tattered and torn, then back up to his face, half hidden in a bandage. "Oh, I see, I see. This is the young man Herald Perse
s told me about. The Fringer who was..."
"Shhh," I say, glancing about. "I'd rather keep this one quite, Lady Eloise."
"Oh, of course, yes," she says, lowering her voice. "Indeed, I understand."
I sense a slight shift of movement behind us, bodies passing in front of the fire. My intuition flares to life, my senses on alert.
"Jude," I say, voice low, "step aboard. Do it now."
Jude looks across at me, frowning. I notice his eyes then glance off to the movement behind us. And as he does, I hear voices.
"Ah yeah, it is him!" comes a call from the rear. It's slightly off, a little wobbly around the edges. He sounds half drunk. "That boy. That...heretic."
"Jude, get on. Now!" I say through gritted teeth.
He looks at me again in alarm, and I glance up at Lady Eloise, pushing Jude inside. Eloise does the rest, drawing him in and shutting the door tight. The pillar of light is immediately shut off, drenching the outside of the infirmary in darkness.
I turn, now, and see a group of men coming forward. Three of them I recognise immediately, faintly lit up by the firelight nearby. Three cowards. Three bullies. Three drunks who shouldn't even be here. One, in particular, with an expression of hate.
I begin walking immediately towards them, ready to assert myself, but find them impudent and unafraid, fuelled by ale that, by the looks of things, they've been drinking for some time. A long day on the road. A long day of building fear and anxiety. And these men, it seems, turn to alcohol to combat it.
"Oh, yeah, here we are," says one, voice calling from the gloom as they come. "The wonderful Herald Amber! Half breed from the Fringe...fraternising with her kind."
A couple of the group, evidently, don't want any part of such insubordination. I see their eyes turn to shock as they glance at each other, before stopping, turning, and quickly moving away into the shadows.
I move on, unperturbed, trying to remember Perses's guidance and advice. What would he do right now? I think. Not the Perses as he is today, perhaps, who'd never be approached like this, but a younger Perses. A Perses who, like me, wasn't born of Olympus. Who came from other lands, his powers awakened. If I'm a half breed, then so is he.
