by T. C. Edge
And there, on the battlefield, we both fall to darkness.
THE END
The Children of the Prime will continue in Book 6 - Fall of the Chosen
Part VI
FALL OF THE CHOSEN
110
I'm not dead...
It's the first thought that enters my mind as my eyes crack open weakly, squinting as the light creeps in. It's bright, artificial. This isn't the light of the rising sun out there on the battlefield...
Noises begin to filter into my ears. A general hum around me, distant, unclear. They join the throbbing in my head, my temple sore and aching, my mind fuzzy and blurred.
I try to focus my thoughts as my eyes open wider, taking in the frame of a room. Small, unfurnished, built of stone. It's cold, the air slightly musty and dank, as though we're underground somewhere. Ahead of me, there's a door, solidly built, a small, slit-like window around eye-level that looks like it can be opened from the other side.
A cell, I think. I'm...in a prison.
More thoughts begin to flood as I rise from the bed. It's the only piece of furniture in the room, set to one wall ahead of the door. There's nothing else, nothing but the single light on the stone ceiling above, sending down its sickly glow.
My last recollection comes back to me. My eyes, slowly shutting out there on the battlefield, watching as the mighty Neoroman, Ares, lifted his great sword up high, about to strike down on...Elian.
Elian!
My heart thrashes, pumping hard, causing the aching throb in my head to intensify as I cringe at the thought, the terrible memory. Through my blood flows an ache too, one of grief, of pain, knowing I was too late.
He's dead, I think. And it's...all my fault.
I abandoned him out there, leaving him to fight alone. He was never going to be able to defeat Ares on his own. With me, who knows, perhaps we might have been able to fight him off, even defeat him. Or, at least, have gotten away.
But no.
I left him.
And now he's gone.
I stand, my legs feeling unsteady, other fears accosting my mind.
Jude. What of Jude? I think, my insides wrenching, coiling up tight within me. Please don't tell me he's gone too. Please...not them both...
I reach to the side of my head, feeling at the large, swollen lump pressing out of my skull. It's tender, sensitive to the touch, as though it's still brand new. It was a knife that did it, the handle crashing into my head, thrown at speed and with expert skill by an unknown assailant.
Someone...some girl with red hair, green eyes. She could have killed me but she didn't.
Why?
From outside the room, I hear movement, and find myself tensing as I turn to face the door. I instinctively try to send a pulse of fire through my blood, dismissing the throb, the ache, the pain of my body and mind. But...nothing happens.
The fires in me have gone out.
A scratching of metal sounds as the slit in the door slides open. A pair of eyes look through from the shadows beyond, narrow and intense. They stare at me for a moment, before the window slides shut once again, locking me away.
I rush right for the door, my motion unsteady, banging hard with my fists as I reach it.
"Don't just walk away!" I shout as my balled fingers pound against the cold metal, creating nothing but dull thuds. "I...I need to speak to someone. I need...I need answers!"
I pant, lowering my eyes, knowing exactly where I am.
Haven.
I'm a prisoner of Haven now...
I begin pacing again, breathing heavily as I march around the small cell, back and forth between the walls. I try, once more, to light up the flames inside me, but feel nothing. No hint of fire. No bare trickle through my blood. The dull ache in my head continues to throb, causing me to grow dizzy as I go. I find myself moving back towards the bed, sitting down, my entire body tingling with a cocktail of emotions and physical exhaustion.
Elian, I think again, lowering my eyes, tears threatening to fall. Jude...
Footsteps sound again outside of the door, drawing my eyes straight back up. They reach the door only a second before the small window slides open once again.
I see a pair of dark eyes looking in, just as before. Then movement, as someone else takes their place; a second pair of eyes gaze in, stare at me a moment, and then move back into the shadows beyond.
"Open the door," comes an old voice I faintly recognise.
I tense, listening to the bolts being drawn across the metal, cringing at the heavy screeching sound that accompanies the opening of the door on unpolished hinges. It's pushed right open, two soldiers stepping immediately inside with guns raised in my direction. I instinctively attempt to bring up a fire-shield as protection, trying to renew my powers for a third time.
And, for a third time, they fail to activate, fail to ignite.
"It's OK," comes the old voice once again. "She's no threat to us. Isn't that right, Amber?"
I turn to see a final figure enter the room, dressed in an official pair of pants and large, grey coat. She cuts an imposing figure, despite her diminutive, elderly frame. Not a figure to impose herself physically, but one who displays her authority through wisdom, respect, and a command of her people that not many possess.
“Lady Orlando," I whisper, my voice cracking from recent lack of use, my throat dry as a bone after my antics the previous night. "Where...where am I?"
I feel little trepidation, strangely, in her presence. My mind turns back to my only interaction with her, speaking directly with the old lady after the meeting out on the plains a couple of days back. She'd mentioned how Haven was filled only with good, innocent people. Words that echoed in my mind as I prepared to see through my terrible purpose here.
To kill them all, burn down an entire city. To commit genocide under the orders of Herald Kovas.
Does she know, somehow, of my purpose, I wonder? Will she now seek to punish me for what I might have done?
"You are in a safe place, Amber," the old lady says says, walking towards me. The soldiers either side continue to hold up their guns cautiously. She looks to each of them as she passes. "It's OK. Lower those crude things. She's just a young girl, that's all."
Just a young girl, I think, my fires doused and put out. Without them, that's all I am. Just the girl I once was, back on the Fringe.
“Yes, President Orlando,” they say, cautiously lowering their guns.
So, she’s President now…
"My powers," I whisper, looking up to the President. "You've…taken them away?"
"It is a necessary precaution, child," President Orlando says, stepping closer still. I see her more clearly than ever, see the many lines around her eyes, her lips. See the wisdom on her face, the wrinkles that tell of so many years of leadership and command. A natural authority hums from within her, a power in itself. Something Kovas lacks.
Something Perses most certainly had.
"How?" I ask. "Drugs?"
"Yes," she says softly. "A simple concoction really, though we have to give you a large enough dose. Your fires seem to burn it off at a quick enough rate if they're fully lit. Like this, subdued as you are, it's easier to keep your powers in check."
"I wouldn't use them anyway," I mutter, lowering my eyes, thinking again of Elian. "I never wanted to kill any of you, Madam President." I look back up, growing teary. "I didn't want to do it. I never wanted to do it..."
"I know, child. I know." She steps towards me, and lays her palm upon my cheek. It's cool, her hand so withered and wrinkled. "My granddaughter told me that you were a good person really," she says. "She saw it the other day when we met on the plains. We don't consider you our enemy, Amber. But how you want to proceed here is up to you."
"Choice," I find myself huffing. "I haven't had much choice recently."
"No. You are a victim. You have been brainwashed, like so many others. We can help you shed those burdens, if you wish."
"I..." My voice cro
aks again, the tears filling my eyes. "I don't know what I want." I look up at her, see a compassion on her face, locked within the more detached facade she generally portrays. "I need to know some things," I whisper. "Two people I care about." I shake my head. "Ares. He...I think he killed one."
The tears flow freely now, escaping me, my normal manner and commitment to holding things together abandoning me entirely. I can't help it now. I don't care right now. She may be a President. She may still be my enemy. But somehow, her presence breaks me. Speaking of it all...breaks me.
"I'm sorry, child," she whispers. "Ares was merely defending our people. We had no choice but to protect our city and our citizens with violent force."
I nod quickly, sniffing, wiping my eyes. "I...I understand that. I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone. He was right to do what he did. I just...I cared about Elian a lot. I..."
"Elian?" says the President, her voice lifting a little. "You're speaking of Elian, your Chosen Fire-Blood?"
I nod weakly, my eyes still struggling to look up. My mind centres on the moment Ares's sword looked set to fall.
"Child," she whispers, reaching to take my chin. She lifts it gently. I find a small smile on her face. "Elian isn't dead. He is just fine."
Her smile widens as I look into her old, greying eyes, searching for a lie, for some deception.
"But I...I saw him there," I whisper, staring at her. "I saw Ares's sword come down..."
"I don't know what you saw, Amber," she says. "All I know is that Ares's hand was stayed. I believe it was Kira who stopped him. She said the battle was over. She said he didn't need to die." She nods again, hope on her face. "He is alive, Amber," she says again, as though knowing I need to hear it to believe it. "He is alive and safe, right here, with you."
A profound sense of relief floods through me, causing my breathing to rise, my pulse to lurch. I shake my head, half of me still failing to believe what happened.
But then I think of the name.
Kira.
The redhead with the green eyes.
She might have killed me with that knife, but didn't. She must have saved Elian for the very same reason.
"I'd like to thank her," I find myself saying, breathing out the words. "I'd like to meet her."
In a flash, my mind works back a month or two, before we'd even left Olympus on this failed march to war. It was this girl, Kira, who dealt with Herald Nestor along with Brie. The two girls are not villains, not targets to be killed or captured.
They are...heroes to me.
"You will," President Orlando says. "I shall arrange for it immediately."
"And Elian?" I look up at the wizened old lady, hopeful yet vulnerable to the possible denial. "Can I...see him?"
She smiles warmly. "Of course you can, Amber," she says. "Do not look around this cell and consider yourself a prisoner. We would not wish to cage you, nor take away your remarkable gifts. We do so only to protect ourselves, to be careful during these times of war. Yet the truth is, child, I don't consider you a threat to us at all. I look at you and see a confused young woman, still trying to find her place in the world. A young woman who has been manipulated by others with more nefarious goals. That stops here," she says, firmly, but reassuringly. "Your days of serving causes you don't believe in are done."
"I..." I try to find the words, but nothing comes. It's all too new, too fresh. I still don't know where I stand, what I really want. And she knows it. I can see it in her eyes. She knows the discord in me, just as Brie did when I saw her in the camp.
That must have only been...hours ago now.
Once more, my thoughts bring questions to my lips. And the other man I care for so deeply, the one I still don't know if I truly love, works up into my mind.
Jude.
"When did the battle end?" I ask. My fingers instinctively reach to the side of my head, touching at the tender lump caused by Kira's knife. "How long was I out?"
"Hours only," the President tells me. "The battle concluded early this morning. It is now...late afternoon."
Her eyes work into a frown, some worry lifting on her face. I find myself leaning forward, trying to repay the concern she's shown me. "What's...wrong?" I ask.
She shakes her head slowly. "We lost many fine soldiers," she merely says, words that don't need any further explanation. As a leader, she'll feel each keenly. I could never understand the responsibility that lies on her shoulders, leading, defending a city against an onslaught, a siege.
How could we do this? I think, a heavy guilt rising within me. How did it come to this?
I think, at that moment, of the Prime. This was their choice, their doing. The flutter of joy that comes with the thought of them isn't as strong as it usually is. Dampened, perhaps, by the drugs in my system, by the grief on the face of the old woman in front of me. It swells, helping to lighten my mood, but only faintly now.
Somehow, I feel as if a part of the shroud is lifting. As if I'm scrambling through the fog, the suffocating mist, searching for clean air. I feel it weakening, fading around me. The pure air ahead is so very close.
"Tell me, Amber," asks the President, her eyes surrounded by a network of deepening wrinkles. "What might Herald Kovas do with a prisoner of war? One to match your eminence and importance?"
I look at her, not understanding her meaning. "One of yours was captured?" I ask, needing the clarification. "Like me and Elian were?"
She nods. "My granddaughter," she says. "Brie."
"Brie," I whisper. "She's your granddaughter?"
She nods, looking forlorn.
"He wouldn't do anything to her," I say quickly, trying to find the words to comfort her. "She's worth more kept alive and safe. He might be willing to make a trade?"
I think of myself, and Elian, though not with a great swell of hope or desire. It's strange, really, that that's the case. That the idea of swapping me back to my own people isn't something that immediately appeals to me now.
Because they're not really your people, are they? a darker, more bitter part of me thinks. Your people are the slaves they keep. Your people are the ones from the Fringe.
"I'm not certain that's possible," the President says. "At least, not according to Ares."
"Ares?" I ask. "He's...spoken with Herald Kovas?"
She shakes her head, as though not wanting to dwell on it. And not, perhaps, wishing to divulge such secrets with me, a captive, a prisoner from the opposite side.
"I saw her, you know," I say. "I saw Brie in the camp, right towards the end."
Her eyes lift up. "You did?" she whispers.
"She was there with an old man. The one we were holding prisoner. I guess he has some significance for her."
The President nods, her energy, her vitality sapped. "Her grandfather," she tells me. "They have a troubled history, one to match that of this city itself, and many of its occupants. Brie has a very big heart, Amber. The man didn't deserve her forgiveness, but got it. And now, she is lost to us. Because of him. Because...because of me."
"You?" I say, probing gently. "What could you have done?"
She shakes her head, but doesn't elaborate. I know a little of this city's past, the turmoil it's gone through. It seems that this family, centring around Brie and her grandparents, have been at the very heart of it the whole time.
"What did she say to you?" she says after a pause. "When you saw her in the camp."
"Just that...that I'd be safe here," I say. "She said I'd be taken in, if I chose to come. Me and my friend, Jude."
"Jude? He's another Fire Elemental?"
"No," I say, thinking of him with such fondness, my chest clenching at the thought that he, too, might now be dead. Out there in the wilds with the other slaves, leading them into the deadly snares that seem to litter these lands. "He was my friend, back home. My life wasn't always like...this. It was simple. It was...peaceful. This is all new to me."
"He's not a soldier?"
"No," I whisper. "He's...more." I choo
se my words, not wanting to call him a slave. A title he never should have been given. "He was taken as a worker," I continue. "I was in the camp to get him out when I met Brie. She saw it all in my head in just a flash. It was amazing."
"Brie is amazing," the President whispers. "You...you were trying to save him?" she asks, nodding along, her expression understanding.
"Yes. From a life of service. From Herald Kovas. But, Jude is...well, he's a fighter. He has no powers, but he can inspire people. He led some of the other workers out. They went into the wilds. And I...I went back to the fight."
"I see," she says. "And Brie advised you to bring him here?"
I nod. "She said we'd be safe."
"And you will, Amber. But...I don't know anything of your friend. There have been no reports of workers from the Olympian camp coming here. I'm sorry."
I feel a slow ache beginning to build within me once again. I knew, when I left him, that he was only telling me what I wanted to hear. I knew he wasn't going to come here, hand himself over to the unknown, give up on his freedom. No matter what I told him, he was never going to fully believe me.
I stare at the ground for a while, just thinking of him. How I'll probably never see him again now. How, if he does get killed, set upon by bandits, or hunted by the Olympian soldiers, I'll likely never even know about it.
I had to forget about him once, when I was drawn into the web within Olympus. When I knew I wasn't going to be able to return to my life on the Fringe. Somehow, during those hectic weeks, I was OK with it.
Now...I know it's going to be that much harder.
"You look like you need more rest, Amber," the President says softly. "I will arrange for food and water to be brought to you. Elian is currently sleeping. Don't worry, he's just fine. When he wakes, I will inform him of what has happened. Then, you can see each other."
I manage a weak smile, quite undeserving of this sort of treatment. "Thank you," I say. The words aren't enough. "I hope I can repay your kindness one day."
"We don't perform acts of kindness here with the expectation of getting anything in return," she tells me. "We have taken in over ten thousand refugees in the last year alone. We are an open city, Amber. I just hope you can see that we are people you can trust."
