by T. C. Edge
She purses her lips, and shrugs again, clearly not one to think too deeply into such things. I probably have the opposite problem; I overthink, and overanalyse, as I've been told before. It serves me well sometimes, but not others. If you think too much about something, you can find your way to whatever answer you want, and make it fit any agenda you might have. That, I know, can be dangerous.
"You want my advice," Hestia says, letting out a breath. Damn she looks tired. She really needs to rest.
"Sure," I say brightly, feeling far more refreshed.
"Get out of your head, Amber," she tells me sternly. "It won't end well for you if you keep on questioning everything."
"Spoken like a true soldier," I say. "I mean, that's how you're taught, right? You're broken down and taught to do whatever you're told." She frowns, insulted by the insinuation. "That's not meant to be mean, Hestia, it's just the truth. Soldiers aren't meant to think for themselves. They're meant to just follow, that's all."
Hestia rumbles her displeasure at the idea. I guess no one wants to be told they're nothing more than a lemming. Do this, do that. Run off that cliff. Some soldiers are so brainwashed and conditioned as to do whatever their commander tells them. Then, you just have to trust the commander.
For a more free spirit like me, that's not easy to do.
"Well," Hestia grunts eventually. "Good thing for you you're a Herald. You're not just a soldier like me."
"Oh come on, don't twist my words. I didn't say that at all."
"You implied it."
"No, I didn't. I'm talking about the masses in this army, not you. You're one of the top commanders, Hestia. You're a leader not a follower."
"Right. Nice backtrack."
"It's true," I repeat, stressing the word. "And anyway, I hardly have much authority really, do I? I've said it before; Herald in name only. I..." For some reason, Asher's words come to my mind, when he verbally attacked me the previous evening, blaming me for the loss of a loved one I killed when I lost control during my purification. "I'm...just a weapon, really," I finish, my energy suddenly stolen away.
I turn my eyes off, feeling immediately down at the thought. Hestia's hand lands on my shoulder.
"We're all just weapons, Amber," she says. "That's all a soldier ever is. A weapon who can take orders and act on them. But you're more than that. You're a super-weapon."
I shake my head and sigh, her words hardly what I wanted to hear.
"Don't take that the wrong way," she goes on quickly, noticing my discontent. "Perses was the same. All the Heralds are the same. There's nothing wrong with that. I'll say it again; don't overthink things."
I know, deep down, that she's right. Really, we're all just under the direction of the Prime, doing their bidding all the way down here. We're here, really, because we want to be. At everyone's core, they want to please their great master. They want to make their Mother and Father happy.
A smile glows on my face at that thought. I haven't really thought about them for a while now, active and busy as I've been. But truly, it is important to me, as it is all the rest of us, to make them proud, to fight in their name, to bring them great honour.
A new flourish of life swells within me, like a fresh coating of colourful paint added to a drab room. I look out of the window as we near the camp, and begin to move through the hastily erected gate. Eager, once more, to see what's to come.
91
The configuration of the camp isn't too dissimilar to how it arranges itself each night. Though the carriages have altered their form, adopting their more permanent, building-like structure, the general layout isn't too different, with the prominent carriages of the Heralds and other leaders set together, the soldiers grouped elsewhere, and the Fringers placed in rather less appealing confines towards the boundary at the rear.
Now, there are mess halls for eating, and barracks for sleeping, areas set aside for the storage of weapons and armour and food, and places where soldiers can group together, train, and learn of their specific role within any battle or siege that might follow.
The infirmary, already a large carriage, has grown even grander, linked together with a couple of other carriages to provide more space for the injured and dying. It is akin to a small hospital now, with separate areas for treating wounds and injuries of different types.
Where the leaders are to reside, an additional structure has been set up, dedicated to the purpose of war councils and battle planning. Inside, tables are laid out, the walls filled with maps and plans, some of which I recognise from my time travelling with Perses in Black Thunder. I notice, too, some rather more modern technology being adopted. On one wall, there's an interactive screen, allowing for the quick retrieval and display of information.
My place, of course, is Black Thunder, where I'm immediately led after dismounting the carriage, itself now set to be altered into it's more permanent form. With Krun being taken off to the infirmary for further treatment, and Hestia heading off to check in with her troops, I walk with Herald Gailen, silently inspecting the camp as we work towards our accommodations.
His own carriage, rather less gothic in its appearance than Black Thunder, and not so large as Worldshaker, is one I don't yet know the name of. As we near the group of now fixed housing, I ask him what it is, hoping that he'll be able to tell me through a few hand gestures.
He does so, pointing first to the heavens.
"Um, sky?" I say, trying to guess.
He shakes his head and searches the blue blanket above us, looking towards a small portion of clouds bubbling up in the distance.
"Clouds?"
He shakes his head again, and wiggles his fingers up and down from the clouds, as if mimicking the falling of rain.
"Er, rain!" I say excitedly.
Again, he shakes his head. I'm quickly realising how stupid I must look. It would be a lot easier just to ask someone else.
He, however, appears to be rather enjoying the game, and the challenge of getting a blockhead like me to guess correctly. Changing track, and perhaps to make it easier on me, he points to the ground. I look at the empty space of loose dirt, wondering what he'll come up with next. A moment later, the dust and grit hanging loose on the topsoil is rising into the air, forming into a shape that resembles, very closely, a large, fluffy cloud. A moment later, little bits of dirt are falling from the cloud of soil, resembling, again, rainfall.
He stirs it up, making it more violent, and suddenly it clicks into my mind.
"A storm," I say, as he turns to me with a smile and, blessedly, a nodding head rather than a shaking one. "That's it? Storm?"
He holds a finger up to pause me, telling me there's more to come, and then draws the fake storm cloud towards him, motioning with his hands as it approaches his person.
"Storm...master?" I say, growing a little frustrated, and wishing I'd never asked.
He gestures for me to continue guessing.
"Um...storm...maker?"
He shakes his head, and again mimics the motion of drawing the storm forward, bringing it towards him.
"Storm...bringer?" I ask, my voice a little dulled by the effort.
His eyes light up suddenly, a smile burgeoning as he nods happily. The cloud of dust and dirt falls immediately to the ground, a quite impressive display of one of his other numerous powers. He can control the wind, but also the physical world around him. Not fire, I hear, but certainly water. Almost anything physical comes under his command.
"Stormbringer," I say again, rather liking the name, and feeling quite relieved that the game is over. "It's good. It suits you."
He smiles again as we continue towards it, and I muse on how it would also suit someone like Master Taranus, being master of the weather as he is. Then again, the Chosen don't have their own carriages, seeing as they don't venture off to fight so often as the Heralds do.
Next door to the reconfigured Stormbringer, I find Black Thunder in the same setting. The wheels have retracted up inside, and the
entire base of the carriage has dropped to the floor. It looks slightly larger than before, although I can't be sure, and simply resembles a small building now, sturdy and durable. I leave Gailen to inspect his own as I, trying not to think of Perses, step inside.
While the exterior is similar, the interior has changed completely. Now, rather than one large area, the inside has been split into two distinct sections, the doorway giving access to them on either side down a short corridor. To the left, I find a bedroom, fitted with a bed and washing facilities, a small shower itself sectioned off in one corner. To the right, there's a living space, with comfortable chairs and a table in the middle. Shelving with books have now appeared, tucked away as we travelled, and now set along one wall. Little lamps, running off electricity, glow in the corners, creating a warm and pleasant vibe.
I sit down on a chair for a moment, thinking of just how different it looks. It seems a blessing at a time like this, and will make staying here a lot more easy. In its old configuration, it would only make me think of Perses. Like this, it won't be quite so hard.
As I sit there, I hear a knock at the door, and find the Overseer stepping in, his robes as brightly lit as ever. He looks around the place, seeming quite impressed.
"Perses liked to travel in some style, it would seem," he says, moving in and inspecting the bookshelf. "He was always keen to learn, to improve on himself. It's the mark of any good leader, Amber. To continually look for ways to do things better."
He turns to me at that, and moves to take a seat before me.
"You look better rested," he says. "I hear you only found one survivor?"
"Yes," I nod, "but a good one. It was Krun. The medic says he should be all right, though will be out of action for a while."
"Oh, well, that is some good news at least," he says, his manner slightly weary and solemn. "You may not think it to look at him, but Captain Krun is a fine leader, and well respected within the army. A successful night's work, then."
I dip my chin, though find it hard to reconcile the idea of success in finding a single survivor when most we came across were dead.
"So, I came to update you, Amber, on the task you set me."
I lift my eyes. "Jude?"
"Yes, indeed. The boy is safe, and unharmed beyond the wounds he's already suffered. I spoke with his supervisor down in the Fringers camp as soon as we landed here. Turns out he has returned to his duties, and willingly so. He is currently out with the others, helping to create dugouts for our lookouts and sentries."
"Do you know where?" I ask. "They're being built all over."
"Not specifically, no. But I'm sure he's fine. His supervisor told me he was quite eager to get back to work."
"Hmmm. Sounds like Jude."
"A hardworking young man. It's a fine quality."
"A little put to waste digging holes," I grumble. "With all the Forgers and Earth-Shakers we have here, why do we even need Fringers doing manual labour? Couldn't the telekinetics just do it all themselves? And much quicker probably."
"Well, you could say that," he says, conceding the point. "But the reality is slightly different, I feel. Forging takes a great deal of concentration and energy, and we need our soldiers in good shape when the time comes. And many are, currently, out working on other projects."
"Like?"
"Like the perimeter wall," the Overseer says. "They've been out building it since we arrived. It's further out from the camp, an additional measure of security. It will also serve to conceal us from the view of Haven. After all, we can't see what they're doing, so why should they be able to see us."
"And the shield? Hestia mentioned it was energy based somehow? We saw all the pillars being dug into the ground around the camp."
"A more effective immediate defence for the camp itself, or so I'm told," the Overseer says. "I'm no expert on such things, but I know it will provide excellent protection in the event of a sneak attack."
"Good. I don't think anyone would feel completely safe otherwise, seeing what happened last night. We found one of their energy rifles, actually. Hopefully it'll help us out a bit, understand how potent they are and what we can do to combat it."
"Ah yes. To know your enemy. That is the first tenet of war."
"And how's that going?" I ask, dully. "Isn't the whole problem here that we don't really know what we're up against."
"Well, Herald Kovas is currently working on just that, Amber. He's meeting right now with the others in the command station. I thought I'd come and collect you."
"Oh, right. There was nothing going on a few minutes ago. Herald Gailen and I popped in to check it out on the way."
"Well, the meeting is only just beginning. I noticed that you and Herald Gailen had arrived, so said I'd come and bring you in."
"Right."
We move outside of my quarters, my eyes scanning once again the nearest buildings, all neatly positioned around us. With Stormbringer next door, I see that Herald Avon's accommodations are set up across the path between us. And opposite me, Worldshaker, a short distance away.
"What's Avon's one called?" I ask, as we move down the path towards the command centre, placed at the head of the four Heralds's carriages.
"Oh, it slips my mind," says the Overseer. "Unbreakable, or something like that. "A reference, I assume, to Avon's fabled invulnerability."
I nod, thinking it suits him too, though wondering just how invulnerable Avon truly is. "And the Chosen are still staying with the Heralds, as when they were on the road?" I think of Elian, staying mostly with Kovas as they travelled. Latterly, of course, we stayed together on occasion. I can't see that such an occasion will be repeated any time soon.
"Yes, the same as before. The carriages, as you can see, can be partitioned off. They have a number of configurations to suit different requirements."
"So, Black Thunder was just a single space because it was only me inside it at night?"
"Yes. I don't imagine that the others would like to share rooms with one another. Think of poor Herald Gailen, sharing with Atlas. The giant snores like you would not believe, Amber. Gailen cannot speak, but he can hear just fine."
"Better than fine," I say, managing a light chuckle. "At least, that's how it seemed in the woods. Does he have some Perceiver blood in him too?"
"I...don't know, actually. Gailen is a mysterious one, it has to be said. I'd even say he's the most powerful of us, now that...Perses has departed."
"Really? Not Kovas?"
"No, I don't think so, though of course it would depend on multiple factors. Kovas is very direct and brutal, yet he doesn't have the range of abilities that Gailen does. What he is, however, is an inspiring leader. The men tend to relate to him better, and so they trust and follow him."
We continue on, nearing the command centre, passing by a final carriage set off to one side. I look at it with a frown, noting the more pleasing aesthetic of the outer walls, lighter and more attractive than the rest of these central quarters. And, surprisingly, surrounded with bright flowers.
The Overseer notices me looking.
"That's mine," he says, smiling. "Though, the lovely flowers can be attributed to Dianna. She shares with me, though as with the others, we keep separate rooms. Nothing untoward is happening, I assure you."
"I should hope not," I say. "You're old enough to be her...well, I don't know. How old are you, again? Did you ever tell me?"
"Old enough," says the Overseer. "But still young at heart. I've been around so long I've all but reached the end and gone in reverse. I feel as sprightly now as I did a hundred years ago."
My eyes widen, and I take a small step back to look at him fully. "So you are over a hundred years old? I wondered, given what you'd said before, back in Olympus. But still, that's...impressive, Master Over..."
I stop, thinking to myself and shaking my head.
"Something wrong, child?"
"Yes, actually."
"What is it?"
I fix him with a demandi
ng stare. "I want to know your real name," I say. "Frankly, calling you Master Overseer, or even just Overseer is starting to sound ridiculous on my tongue. We're past all that formality now, aren't we? Can't I just know your real name, so we can talk more normally, if only in private."
He raises a set of skinny fingers to his chin as he contemplates the proposal. His emerald eyes, tinted with a little gold of their own, twinkle with a youthful note of playfulness as he thinks, a smile of similar spirit creeping upon his lips.
"You know, there aren't many who know my real name, Amber. But then, most see me only in an official capacity. I know that we started off in a slightly...funny way, what with all that business in Olympus, but I see you as a friend now, if such a thing isn't so ridiculous, given our respective ages."
"Age means nothing when it comes to things like that," I argue. "And anyway, like you say, you're going in reverse, so we're probably closer than you think."
He grins at me, still thinking.
"OK, while you stand there and think about it," I say, "let me add this to the bargain. If you don't tell me your name, I don't want you saying mine. No Amber, or child, or young one, or anything like that. You will call me Herald, or Mistress Herald, just as I do with your official title." I puff up my face, bunching my lips. "Now, I don't think either of us want that now, do we?"
He laughs, enjoying the playful interaction just as I am, before finally nodding his head. "There really is no reason why not," he says. "I suppose I've always operated in such an official capacity that I've gotten completely used to my title. I don't even hear my true name very much anymore. Only the Prime says it to me often."
"And no one here knows it?"
"Perses did," he says. "In private, he'd use it. And Lady Dianna too. I rather like her. And I feel precisely the same about you, Amber. So here it is, get ready..."
He builds the moment, as if he'll come out with something completely outlandish to suit his eccentric character. Yet when he says his name, I can't help but be surprised by how...simple it is.
