by T. C. Edge
It's the idea of having something around my neck that I don't enjoy. Fabric of any kind, even fairly loose, just doesn't feel right wrapped around my throat.
And fingers, gripping tight...well, that's about as bad as it gets.
I wake from my nightmares in a cold sweat, my head aching, my body weak. There's a beeping sound. Unnatural white light. I slowly realise that I'm still in the infirmary.
No longer a visitor, but a patient.
A mild panic works through me as I reach to my neck, and feel that it remains restricted. There's something wrapped around it. Something cold. My fears grow again as I imagine Elian's wild, staring, flaming eyes. As I think of his strong hands gripping tight to my throat, choking the very life right out of me.
I thought no one would come. I thought I'd die.
Once more, it's almost surprising to find that I haven't.
As I sit up gingerly, trying to unwrap the bandaging from my neck, I hear the door swinging open, and a figure step in. She looks at me with almost motherly eyes, kindly even though she is, apparently, supposed to be rather more emotionally disabled than most.
"Oh, Amber, I'm so sorry." The President steps forward as I find my own state of emotional stability taking a uncomfortable turn. A rising tide of tears threatens to boil over. I've faced a lot in recent months, but seeing Elian, my friend, and maybe more, trying to kill me like that...
I shake my head internally at the thought. The rage in his eyes, the hate. The burning fire that yearned to consume me. To be looked at like that by him...
I turn my eyes down, shutting them tight, just trying to stop from embarrassing myself.
"How are you, dear? Are you OK?"
The President reaches me, and I take a moment before answering. Her presence, and her sympathy, is making me weak. I sniff and furtively wipe away a budding tear, just trying to compose myself.
"It wasn't him, child," the President continues softly. "It wasn't really him."
I nod. I know. But still, it doesn't make it much easier right now.
"What did you say to him?" she asks. "The guards told me you were only in there with him for a few moments."
Her question is good. Any question would be good. It stops me from wallowing. It keeps my mind active and my emotions at bay.
"I, um," I start, my voice a little ragged, my throat painful. "I...I told him what we're intending. I told him I've defected, and we're planning to eliminate the Prime."
"I see," she says. "Straight in for the kill."
I nod, thinking of the brief interaction. "I didn't think there was much point in skirting around it, you know. Thought I'd test his reaction."
"That's...well, that's what I suspected happened," she says consolingly. "I heard reports that he was sparking a little bit, his body growing much warmer. It's almost as though his fierce rage was enough to overcome the suppression drugs. The same thing happened with you, when Secretary Burns worked to rid you of your programming."
"A good thing that Perses is already free of it, then," I say. I look up at her. "Did, um, did Secretary Burns get anywhere with him?"
She smiles. "He did. He reported to me that what you told us was quite true. He will, of course, continue to monitor Perses, but his state of altered consciousness, and his escape of the Prime's internal manipulations, seems to be quite genuine."
"And Zander?" I ask. "This...spectral realm he speaks of?"
"I...well, Leyton didn't speak with Perses about that in detail," she says, her smile fading to something weaker, more introspective and distant. "I will talk to him about that, in time. I would...dearly like to hear of my grandson."
She goes quiet for a second, as I inspect her eyes. There's a deep well of emotion behind them, only occasionally breaking free, slipping through the cracks. The more detached manner she needs to portray as a leader seems to slip in quiet moments like this.
"Is something wrong, President Orlando?" I ask her.
She continues to look off for a moment, before turning her eyes back to me. "Nothing," she says. "I suppose, in a way, it should be good news. It's just..."
She goes quiet again, thinking. I lean forward, my motion probing, as I wait for her to continue.
Her eyes work back to mine after a pause.
"Your people," she says, "are gone. They must have left during the night under cover of darkness. They have taken my granddaughter with them."
I stare at her, thinking. It's hardly surprising news, but still. It seems awfully abrupt. Unlike Kovas to throw in the towel so easily.
"Are you sure they've left?" I say, peering at her. "This isn't some bluff to make you think they've gone?"
"Of that, we can't be sure," the President says. "We are sending a team to check their campsite. I'd like it if you went as well."
"Me? Why?"
"You may spot something our own people miss. And, frankly, it would be good for you to get some fresh air. If you're up to it, that is?"
"I..." I begin to nod, wincing a little at the pain in my neck. "I'm fine," I say. "Yes, I'd like to go."
"Good," the President says. "I am putting my continued faith in you, Amber. I am not yet happy giving you back your powers, but I'd like to allow you more freedoms here."
"And Perses?" I ask. "Would you put your faith in him?"
She doesn't answer immediately, considering it, clearly doubting it. "Of that, I cannot yet be sure. But, if you think he might also be of aid?"
"He'd be more likely to know what's happening than me," I say. "Much more likely, actually. And, well, he doesn't have his powers, so he's hardly a threat anyway."
"You're suggesting we continue his assimilation?" she queries, nodding.
"I...I guess. We can be, I don't know, advisors or something. He knows more about Olympus than anyone."
"Yes, advisors," the President says, stroking her sharp chin with those spindly old fingers of hers. "I rather like that idea."
I swing my legs from the bed and drop to the floor, landing with a slight bump. The impact works up to my neck, sending a throb of pain through it.
"Do I have to wear this bandage?" I ask, wincing, trying to pull it looser at the edges. "I'd really rather do without it."
"Well," she says. "I suppose the swelling has probably gone down by now. It was more precautionary than anything. Other than a little bruising, you should be fine."
"Great," I say, working my fingers to unwrap the thing. I struggle at first, only really managing to pull it this way and that without much success. The President steps forward to lend a hand, moving behind my back, and gently unwrapping the bandaging from behind, as I crouch down a little lower to let her work.
Though the cooling sensation of the bandage was rather nice, I can't deny it feels great to remove it. I take a long, and not exactly pain-free, breath, and lift my chin up a little, stretching.
My eyes turn to the old lady who leads this great city. "How do I look?" I ask, wincing awkwardly, though trying to put on a brave face.
"Beautiful, Amber," she says, smiling. "Here, let me..." She steps in again and pulls the pins from my hair, letting it fall off down the back of my head in great, golden waves, covering my neck to the rear and the sides. She pulls a few strands forward, concealing most of the damage. "There you go," she says. "You'd hardly know."
I turn around, searching for a reflective surface, and find one in the door of a nearby metal cabinet. I move over and inspect myself. The skin around the front of my throat is raw, even in the murky reflection. I tentatively move my hair to the sides and unveil the full damage. I can all but see the outlines of Elian's fingers, gripping at my neck.
I turn away and let the waves of hair fall back into place, hiding the raw skin and flesh beneath. My eyes are low, darkly thoughtful when I turn back.
"It wasn't him, Amber," the President says again, her voice soft, yet firm enough to force me to listen.
"I know," I whisper. "Is he...all right?" I think of him being thrown against the wa
ll so violently. It looked, through my blurred vision, enough to break a bone or two.
"He's fine," the President says. "A little bit banged up, but perhaps it'll knock some sense into him."
"Maybe I should see him," I say, frowning to myself. I look to the exit. He could very well be right next door...
"Not now," says the President. "He's still unconscious. Let him stew on it in his dreams. Let his subconscious mull over the damage he's caused." She turns to the door. "For now, your task is outside these walls. Follow me, Amber. The others will be gathering."
With that, she marches away, drawing me along in her wake.
121
I stand, looking at the trampled space ahead, feeling quite conflicted at the sight.
My eyes work left and right, and off into the distance. Where once was a fully functioning, though temporary camp, is now just a large patch of muddied earth, filled with tracks and prints and disused pieces of detritus and trash.
They're gone, I think, looking out. They're really gone...
Around me, a small band of New Haven soldiers and officials step forward, carefully looking out over the abandoned base. To call it completely empty would be slightly false; there remain several carriages, perhaps a dozen or so of them, dotted around, clearly not required after the many losses the army suffered.
Some of the soldiers rush forwards in little units, heading off to check them over under the orders of Secretary Burns. Others move to the areas beyond the camp, making sure that the borders are safe, and that this isn't merely some big trap to try to lure us in.
It...doesn't seem to be that way.
They really have gone...
I'd probably feel extremely alone right now if it wasn't for Perses, standing so tall and grand by my side. Even without his powers, he holds an aura that is hard to mistake, commanding and authoritative. He remains slightly weak following his temporary 'death', his skin still pale, his movement not quite so fluid and imposing as it once was. Were his powers to return, he'd heal up much more quickly, of course. As it is, he's recovering at the rate of a normal man.
It's strange to say it, but he wouldn't be much good in a fight right now.
Still, we're being watched over closely by several sets of eyes, a number of soldiers seemingly assigned the specific role of keeping us under their narrow gaze. They try not to be obvious about it, but I know it's part of their task. Monitoring us both at a time like this is only sensible, after all.
"So, Perses, what do you make of all this?" asks Secretary Burns, scanning ahead as he stands by Perses's side. Next to him, is another of the city's main military leaders, a man called Commander Glenn Hendricks, head of their City Guard. I vaguely recognise him, I think, from one of the battles we've fought. He's one of the few giving both of us the careful, distrusting eye.
"Well, it appears to me that my army has returned home," Perses says flatly, his heavy voice not quite as deep and commanding as normal, owing to his poor health.
"Your army?" asks Commander Hendricks, glaring at the mighty man. Or, well, not-so-mighty, right now.
Perses looks towards him. "A slip of the tongue, Commander," he says. "I have led Olympian forces for decades. And whatever my current situation, my allegiance remains with them."
Hendricks frowns, and pulls his posture tight. He turns to face Perses head on.
"I think what Perses means," says Burns, trying to diffuse the tension, "is that his allegiance will always be to his people, as it should be. That is not something we are trying to change. None of us here should look upon the Olympians, and their subjects, as our enemy."
"Because they're under the control of the Prime," says Hendricks flatly. "Yes, I know, Leyton. But until that connection and control is severed, they remain very much our enemy. One that wouldn't hesitate to kill us all, given the chance. I'll have us all remember that."
Burns dips his head. "Of course, you are right," he says. "But it's all semantics. We each understand the dynamics of this situation. It is in all our interests to help remove the webs of controls that ensnare the Olympian people. That is Perses's goal, as well as ours."
"I hope that is the case," says Hendricks. "But you'll have to excuse my total lack of faith, after what we've been through here."
"For which I can only apologise, Commander," says Perses, his voice somewhat deflated. "I am trying to make amends now, as is Amber here. I would not want you to think us as your enemy."
Hendricks goes quiet a second, then dips his head, before turning his eyes back over the camp. It seems a sure sign of his continued doubt and suspicion to me, but I'm not going to blame him for questioning our motives. Few can truly understand the pull of the Prime, the power and control they exert.
"So, Herald Kovas just ran away, did he?" Hendricks grunts, turning the conversation elsewhere. "Does that seem consistent with the man?"
Off in the distance, I idly watch as the soldiers check out one of the nearest wagons. They do so with a careful military insertion, working well as a team as they kick through the door and check the interior. They relax quickly, finding no threat inside, and set about searching for anything that might be of use. Elsewhere, another small unit does the same on another carriage, working towards the rear.
Away in the distance, the workers camp sits with a smattering of old carriages of its own. A couple appear to be smouldering, clearly set aflame before the army left, now little more than blackened wrecks as they sit there in the open field.
My attention is snatched away as Perses answers Commander Hendricks's query.
"Not particularly," Perses says. "It's possible that you made the army pay a heavy enough price that Kovas had no choice but to leave. The conquest of the city may have become untenable, and unrealistic."
"Or?" says Hendricks, peering at the man with quite narrow eyes. "You posed that as if there was another option on your mind."
Perses nods, and draws a breath. "The Overseer," he sighs, "may have influenced proceedings as well. I understand his motives now, his particular directive. He came here specifically to collect, capture, and bring Brie to Olympus. It would appear he succeeded."
"He told you of this?" asks Hendricks, growling.
Perses shakes his head. "It became clear to me through other means."
He shares a glance with Secretary Burns. It would appear that Perses's mystical interaction with Brie's twin brother in the spectral realm isn't something to be widely shared. At least, not right now.
"OK, so you're saying that the capture of Brie was as important, if not more important, than actually taking the city itself? Forgive me if I consider that a little farfetched, Perses."
"I didn't say that, Commander Hendricks," Perses responds coolly. "I merely said that it was the Overseer's central purpose for being here, beyond the other useful tasks he performed in camp."
"Come on, Glenn," says Burns, looking to the City Guard Commander. "You know full well how powerful Brie has become. In the wrong hands, she could be used to devastating effect. It's no wonder she was a major target."
His eyes turn up, scanning the various Neoroman figures around us, dressed in their trademark silver armour. Among them, I see the staggering figure of Ares, watching over things carefully, assessing the scene himself.
"Look at them," Burns goes on, referencing Ares and his men. "All were under the controls of Empress Vesper in Neorome not so long ago, even Ares himself." I see the huge Neoroman glance over at the mention of his name, clearly able to hear us from quite some distance away. "Brie has the same power of mass control that Vesper did. Her gifts are still growing, yes, but if fully unleashed, she could control vast populations at once."
I continue to look at Ares for a while as Burns speaks. I didn't know he was under this Empress Vesper's control. Even the mightiest of men, it seems, can easily fall to the will of another. Ares, Perses...they may be the two most formidable men on this earth, yet both have been manipulated and controlled against their true will.
"And doesn't this Prime have the same power?" asks Hendricks. "Why is Brie even needed?"
"The Prime use powers of empathy, not telepathy," says Burns. "At least, so far as we can work out. They control their population, it would appear, by specifically manipulating the most powerful among them, the Chosen and the Heralds, of which Amber and Perses were a part. That then filters down into the rest of the people through a system and hierarchy of power and worship."
Perses nods along as he speaks. He seems distant, almost, broken by what has happened to him. To learn his life has been a lie. It...it can't be easy.
"Is that correct, Perses?" Hendricks asks.
The great Olympian, hardly more than a shadow of his old self right now, nods slowly.
"And the Prime never leave Olympus," I say, adding my voice. "They always stay upon the central hill. They're mysterious, and never get near the general population."
"It's as if doing so might break their mystique," Burns says, thinking ahead, stroking his lightly stubbled cheek. "Perhaps their powers of control only stretch so far, and into so many people."
"And that's why they need Brie?" I pose.
"Quite possibly," says Burns. "Or, maybe it's something else. Maybe they'd wish to use her to take control of populations, even cities, without ever having to resort to physical violence and war. Imagine it," he says, looking to the camp, to the wall off to one side, hardly standing now after the battle on the plains. "Imagine if all it took was Brie to come here, and assume control of all of us from afar. Or at least the most important among us, turning our minds to a new path. That, perhaps, is the most frightening thought of all."
"It's terrifying," I whisper, my eyebrows drawing tightly together. "Surely that's not possible? I mean, I don't know the full story, but I imagine that Empress Vesper took a while to assume control of her people?"
"Yes. She did..."
The voice rumbles from a dozen or so metres away, drawing my eyes right up. I turn to see Ares stepping forward, much closer than he was only a moment ago, so resplendent and magnificent in his armour. Perses looks like a shade of him now, pale and weakened. Two men so evenly matched, so similar in stature, power, and commanding presence, now drawn apart in certain ways, one a shadow of the other.
