by T. C. Edge
"To make you do things you don't want?" asks Jude, turning his eyes from the path ahead.
"To make you feel happy about it," I say. "It isn't just about doing things you know aren't natural. It's about making you want to do them, despite that fact. It's...hard to explain unless you've felt it."
"And hard to bear once you've escaped it," my grandmother adds. "I try to council myself, saying the things I've done weren't my fault, but sometimes that doesn't help. The dead can pile up on your soul regardless."
I nod, thinking of those I've killed. The first, during my purification, when I lost control of my powers. Then, on my first mission as Herald in training, fighting the remnants of the Cure. Since then, I've killed many others, Havenite and Neoroman alike. In the days and weeks to come, I may kill more of my own countrymen if I have to. By the time I'm done, how many will be gone because of me? How many fathers will never see their sons again? How many sons will never see their mothers, their wives, their children?
"It isn't easy, is it, Amber," I hear my grandmother say. I look up again and find her turning back to me from the passenger seat. "No matter who they are, taking life chips away at you, bit by bit."
"But some people deserve it, don't they?" asks Jude, glancing between us and the plains ahead. "This is war. It isn't murder."
"Some deserve to die, yes," my grandmother says, "but who is it who makes that judgement? Do you make it yourself? Is it your commander who tells you who to kill?"
"I guess in war, you follow your leaders," Jude says. "You can't be held responsible for them, or who they ask you to kill. Not if you're just a soldier."
"And who tells the leaders who to kill? Where does it all come from?"
"From the top. From those who rule."
"Precisely," my grandmother says. "From the very top. In this case, from the Prime. Tens, hundreds of thousands, have been killed because of them. So who deserves to die here? The villainous commanders ordering their soldiers to kill? The soldiers themselves?"
"The Prime," Jude says. "It all comes back to them."
My grandmother nods, her eyes narrowing. "It all comes back to them," she growls, staring out of the front window.
We continue on, gently easing into slightly less morbid topics, passing the time as we continue to progress well towards the west. It isn't an easy balance to strike, determining what to talk about. While the three of us have spent many, many hours together over the years, chatting openly in grandma's cabin, the topics at hand were rarely so dark, or related to some deep set trauma one or another of us may have experienced.
We used to speak about the Prime, their Children, the falsities of their divine claims. We'd discuss how foolish the people of Pine Lake and the Fringe were for believing in all their lies. We'd moan and groan about how much tribute we were being forced to gather, and yet would never take any action to actually subvert their ruling.
They were serious topics, of course, but none to truly touch a nerve. Mostly, we'd accepted that life was what it was, and would enjoy the secrecy of our little meetings and rendezvous. We'd laugh, and drink grandma's home brew, and enjoy the tranquility of the forest away from it all.
Now, little can be talked about with the same casual air. Jude has been scarred by losing me, by being taken into slavery, by the dreadful treatment he suffered at the hands of the Olympian soldiers. I have seen death, and dealt it out. I have been torn this way and that, my mind and emotions manipulated, my true path concealed until now.
Catching up on everything we've been through isn't an exercise in fun. The innocence of those days in the woods, and by the lake, have been stripped away now. We live with our eyes opened wide to the true terrors of the world. Fanciful ideas of escaping, of running away, sound like nothing more than childish fantasies as I think of them now.
With what we've seen, how could Jude and I ever have thought we'd survive? We were foolish, naive children, and nothing more. Now, we have to live with what we have seen and done, and have grown hardened by all that we've been through.
Still, we talk all the same, the interior of the car becoming little more than a therapy room as we share our woes. Grandma, as always, tries to pepper the conversations with bouts of fun and laughter. She succeeds at times and fails at others. Any time we appear to move onto something more lighthearted, we spot another plume of smoke in the distance, or spot a burnt out town from afar. It serves to dampen the mood again. Brighter days will come, I'm sure, but right now it feels wrong to indulge in whimsy.
Our pace is steady, faster on occasion and slower on others. When grandma thinks it's safe to use the roads and properly marked tracks, we do so, but only ever when the lands are flat enough for us to be able to see to the horizon, and spot trouble if there is any. Otherwise, we try to move off the road, slowing our pace as Jude navigates the slightly rougher terrain.
Obstacles serve to hinder us too, the occasional wood or lake, canyon or river forcing us down certain paths. The latter two are most troublesome, only crossable in certain places as they are. These lands to the central-west of the Fringe are quite rugged, and certainly more so than the region around Pine Lake to the far western reaches, and the flatter lands we've just seen in the centre. With guidance from grandma, we always check carefully before we feel safe enough to cross a bridge, passing over a rushing river or canyon that would otherwise force us to divert our path.
Blessedly, however, it appears that these areas have been almost entirely abandoned. I'm told that there are sometimes sentries on guard at such checkpoints, something that Jude has certainly had to deal with in the past during his semi-illegal trading activities. Now, those checkpoints have been abandoned as the Olympian soldiers have fled north. Were a raiding party to come up from the south, they’d find no resistance here now.
Not that there’d be much for them to raid, I think morbidly.
With an average speed of about thirty miles per hour, we approach the western borders of the Fringe after about six or seven hours. It's longer than I'd anticipated, and we still have a little way to go. Ahead, the rising lands are starting to become clear, the old Rockies climbing skyward. I begin to smile as I see them, my mind flooding with memories. I used to love spending time in the mountains when I was young. The mountains, the rivers, the woods and lakes. I forget sometimes just how beautiful it all was.
"I'm not sure we'll be able to get back by tonight," I say, staring forward. I check the clock on the dashboard of the car. It's a little past one in the afternoon. "Even if we turned around right now, we wouldn't get back before nightfall."
"I think we underestimated the distance a little bit," Jude says. "We'll be here for a while as well. And this thing," he says, tapping on the wheel, "won't get through the woods. We'll have to go on foot to get to your parents' cabin, Amber. And to get to my auntie's place."
"And what about yours, grandma?" I ask. I shake my head, wondering why I haven't thought about it yet. "What about Washington? Did you leave him at your cabin?"
She goes quiet for a moment, turning her eyes to one side. "Washington...had an accident," she says, the shivering grief in her voice so clear. "He...he died."
"Oh, Alberta," whispers Jude, reaching across from the driver's seat and taking her hand. "I'm so sorry."
"It's OK," she says, drawing a breath. She smiles reminiscently. "He was only a goat. It feels silly to mourn him with so many people dying..."
"It's not silly," Jude says, his face so full of sympathy, so connected to her grief. "Washington was much more than just a goat. He was your friend. You have every right to grieve."
She smiles and draws her hand from his, reaching to his stubbly cheek. "Such a sweet boy," she says, sniffing. "Any girl would be so lucky to have you."
I can't be sure if the comment is pointed at me. It seems unlikely that she'd do it when speaking about her recently deceased goat.
"What happened, grandma?" I ask. "He was always so lively."
"Well, that happened," she say
s, sighing and shaking her head. "He was too lively. Silly old thing didn't seem to realise how old he'd gotten. A bit like me, I suppose," she smiles, wiping away a tear. "He...he fell into a shallow gorge and broke his back. I had no choice but to put him down."
I reach forward and squeeze her arm consolingly. For her goat to die is one thing. To have to put him down in such distress? It's quite heartbreaking to imagine.
"I'm sorry, grandma," I say. "We'll get you a new goat when all this is done." I realise, just as I say it, that it isn't a particularly sensitive comment. "Sorry," I say. "I just mean..."
"I know what you mean, darling," she tells me. "But the fact is, there was only one Washington. May he rest in peace."
We take a moment to recall the goat's rather eccentric nature, a mirror to my grandmother and as she was back then. Then, as the mountains continue to draw ever nearer, we turn our minds again to the task at hand.
"Where should we head first?" I ask, once a suitable amount of time has passed. "Should we check on Pine Lake or go right for my parent's cabin?"
"From the direction we're coming from, we'll see Pine Lake to the north," Jude says. "I'd say we go right for the lake. If the town is burning, we'll know pretty quickly."
"And if it is," says grandma, "there's nothing we can do anyway. Collector Ceres will have had his men scour the town for supplies, I'm sure. That vile little man will be relishing in all this."
I think, briefly, of my interaction with the old Collector for Pine Lake. I used to despise him more than anyone, yet the last time I saw him, I'd humiliated him in front of his people on the day I became a Herald. I don't feel particularly proud of that. Vile though he was, Ceres is a servant only. I don't feel the same ire towards him as I once did.
"If they've come by this way, they'll have done it by now," I say from the backseat, straining my eyes as I search to the northwest. "The western reaches were one of the first to be hit, weren't they?"
"As far as the reports go," grandma says. "But Pine Lake isn't a major supply settlement. It won't have been their priority."
"Then we may get lucky," Jude says. "Perhaps they aren't going to bother with it."
"One man's luck is another's misfortune," grandma notes wisely. "If Pine Lake hasn't been hit, another town will have. We must treat the entire Fringe as our home, not just the small town you grew up in."
"Even the northern border?" I ask. "They're certainly not going to rebel. If anything, they'll be siding with Olympus over all this. I'll bet their stocks and provisions haven't been raided in the same way."
"No, you're probably right, Amber," my grandmother nods. "They are more deluded than the rest of us to the north. But they remain our brothers and sisters. They'll see it eventually."
Ahead, the lands begin to grow more familiar. Pine Lake, like many settlements across the Fringe, is situated on a relatively flat expanse of land, the plains stretching away to the north, south, and east, where we are currently coming from. It is to the west, however, that the region becomes more interesting, and from where the town got its name. There, the pinewood forests stretch away to the foot of the old Rocky mountains, peppered with lakes and rivers, gullies and gorges. It is an area of outstanding natural beauty, and marks the edge of the western reaches of the Fringe, the mountains acting as a de facto border for the territories ruled by the Prime.
"We're getting close," grandma says. "Keep a lookout towards the north, Amber. Jude, get as far towards the woods as you can. We'll park the jeep just south of the town and continue on foot."
I grow nervous as the minutes pass. Nervous to see the fate of Pine Lake. Nervous to see my parents again. The last time I saw them, Lilly had just been taken to Olympus, forcing me to make the decision to follow. I recall in vivid detail how my burgeoning powers had been revealed to them then, how they'd witnessed the fire in my blood for the first time. I wonder what they'll think of me now. I wonder what I'll think of them...
My thoughts tumble, distracting me as we go. Grandma and Jude continue to talk, their words only background noise to my ears. I sit, breathing a little more heavily, as I stare away to the northeast. And then, as we begin to grow nearer, and the lands open up ahead, we get confirmation of what we'd feared, and hoped we wouldn't see.
Pine Lake, like so many other towns, lies in partial ruin.
141
It's hard to get a proper view of the extent of the destruction. From this distance, it's much like other towns we've seen. Swirling plumes of smoke. The suggestion of blackened buildings. An air of destruction that could be mild, or could be extensive, something we'd only be able to confirm by getting much closer.
"It's as we feared, then," says grandma, looking on towards the north of our position. "They must have been here quite recently. The smoke is still thick in places."
I squint ahead, narrowing my eyes against the sunlight, to see that she's right. In a couple of spots, black smoke pours into the skies. I think I can even see the flicker of flame still burning.
"Seems to be coming from the main square," Jude says, turning his eyes towards the distant town. It's a small place, and we all know it intimately. It's easy enough to know just which areas have been targeted.
"They may have been forced to gather their provisions for burning there," grandma says. "I've seen it elsewhere."
"They'd do that?" I ask, disgusted by the implication.
"You seem surprised, Amber," she says. "You shouldn't be. It's been happening all over. They're taking all the supplies they can, and making sure they burn all the rest. The townspeople will have been compelled to bring all their personal supplies and upcoming tribute. What wasn't taken will have been destroyed."
"Sick," grunts Jude. "It's sick."
"Sick doesn't do it justice," I growl. "I don't think there's any word for this."
"Maybe we should help," Jude says, glancing over regularly as the car slows. "Who knows, there might still be some soldiers there. We could get revenge at least."
Grandma shakes her head. "No," she says, sounding suddenly concerned. "We should get to the lake. Revenge can wait."
Jude nods and plants his foot down on the accelerator, speeding us forwards. I continue to stare towards the town to the north as we venture quickly towards the woods ahead. The verdant green and brown tones are a balm for my eyes after so long on the dusty, and often craggy, plains. Beyond, the sight of white tipped mountains provides some further relief as well.
It's all short lived, however, as we press onwards, seeking a path into the woods. Jude, his knowledge of the region as good as anyone's, quickly determines that there's a track that will allow us to get close to the lake without having to get out and walk too far.
We rush down it, bouncing along, as we enter into the forest of pine trees, nicely dispersed and not hindering our view ahead too much. We manage to make it a couple of miles before we're forced to stop, the track coming to an end.
Turning off the engine, we step out into silence. Jude steps around to the trunk of the car and fetches his rifle, a much more potent firearm than he'll ever have used. He takes a pistol too, and fits it to the holster that came with his new City Guard fatigues and armour. I've always liked seeing Jude in his rugged, hunter's attire. This, though, is equally fetching.
"Suits you," I say, as he holds the rifle in his hands, looking like quite the soldier. "You look like you were born with that gun in your hands."
"It's light," he says, looking down at it, testing its weight. "You wouldn't think it. Much lighter than my old hunting rifle."
"More effective too, I suspect," grandma says. "You'll be able to do a lot of damage with that."
He smiles to himself, turning again to the trunk. "We have a couple of others, if you want?" he says.
I step over and look inside. "I'll take a pistol," I say. "I find the bigger guns too cumbersome."
He hands me one, which fits nicely to my sleek and near-invulnerable Herald's armour. I clip it right to my hip without any troub
le.
"Alberta?" asks Jude, picking up another rifle.
My grandmother raises a smile and shakes her head. "I never got the hang of those things," she says. "Used to just rely on my Fire-Blood powers when fighting. I think I'm too old to change now."
"If you're sure?" says Jude, waiting for confirmation before placing it back into the trunk.
"I'm sure, Jude," she says. "I doubt we'll be needing them right now anyway."
We set off at that, miles now from anywhere and happy to leave the jeep parked where it is. Jude suggests we cover it with branches and leaves for camouflage, but the likelihood of anyone coming by this way, let alone knowing how to operate it, makes the idea unnecessary.
"The lake's about a mile or so from here I think," Jude says, as we begin moving off through the trees.
We do so at a brisk pace, somewhere between a fast walk and a jog. Grandma, despite her age, is quite able to keep up, her old frame bolstered by her internal Fire-Blood powers, the flames helping to forge her into a much younger woman in terms of physical capability.
I take in the scents and sounds as we go, enjoying the chirping of the birds and the smell of the pines despite the circumstances. I try to compartmentalise the nostalgic joy of returning to the lands I grew up in, with the nerves that now build once more at the idea of seeing my parents again, and my father in particular.
The minutes are quickly eaten away before the lake begins to appear through the trees. Jude rushes ahead, hurrying to the edge of the forest, turning his eyes immediately left down the shore of the lake. He turns back to us. I try to read his expression as I set into a gallop of my own, outpacing my grandmother with a swift burst of flame, and bursting out into the light at the water's edge.
I look down the shore. There, I see my parents' cabin sitting where it always has. It looks so lonely now, its core build of ancient stone, several pinewood extensions fashioned around it. Seeing it, my heart bursts with a blur of memories and emotions. The nerves are joined by others as I launch again into a sprint, boosting myself down the shore and leaving Jude behind. I rush up towards the cabin, calling as I go.
