by T. C. Edge
"So, what?" I say. "What do I need to know about you that you haven't already told me? It can't be any more crazy than what I've already discovered."
"It isn't crazy, Amber, I assure you of that," she says. "It is, perhaps, the most sane thing I have ever done."
"What?" I ask, impatient as she turns quiet again. "What are you talking about, grandma?"
She looks at me with a muted smile. "Freedom," she says. "I am talking about freedom, Amber."
I frown at her, more questions rising to my lips. They're swiftly cut off before I can utter them, as Jude pulls the car to a sudden stop.
"It's as far as we can go, Alberta," he says from the front. "We're gonna have to go on foot from here."
Before I can continue my enquiry, we're stepping back out of the vehicle again, and setting off westwards towards my grandmother's cabin. I begin marching after her, eager to get the answers I desire, not least as a distraction from my current concern for my parents. Grace, however, swoops in before I can do so, moving beside my grandmother and pursuing an enquiry of her own.
I let out a sigh as Jude joins my side, the sound of a nearby stream reaching my ears. "We're close," he says. "Whatever she's talking about, we'll find out soon, don't worry."
"Worry," I say, turning to look at him as we crunch over the leaves. "How can I not worry right now, Jude."
"Of course," he says. "I didn't mean that. Come here." He stops me in my tracks and pulls me into a hug. I feel slightly numb as he holds me, staring over his shoulders into the pinewood forest, wondering where my parents are, if they're OK, whether they were taken for something far worse than seeing their so-called faith restored.
"Maybe it's Kovas," I find myself saying, my thoughts turning to a whisper on my lips. Jude pulls back. "Maybe he's trying to get revenge, Jude," I say, looking up into his warm, sympathetic eyes.
"Revenge for what, Amber? He doesn't know you're siding against him now."
"He doesn't? How do you know that, Jude? With everything you've seen, you think he can't find something like that out?"
"Well...maybe, yeah. But even if he knows, he isn't going to waste time seeking petty revenge. You were taken to New Haven for one reason, and one reason only, Amber - to burn it to the ground. Why should he really care what happens to you now? He's got an army to run, and a city to defend. I seriously doubt he's involved in this."
His words make enough sense for me to drop the point. "I guess," I say. "Maybe my father did just lose his faith. The same thing happened to you, didn't it? You spoke out and were taken."
"The very same," Jude nods. "And this is all I have to show for it," he says, tapping his cheek. "Sure, I suffered a bit in the worker's camp, but nothing that I can't get over. With any luck this is all your parents will get too. A scar on the cheek. Something to remember how cruel their masters were."
I lift a small, hopeful smile, and raise my eyes. "Were?" I say.
"Were," he says resolutely. "We're going to win this war, Amber. And when we do, anyone with a brand like this will be able to look back and remember how dark these days became, and how they managed to break through into the light."
"And you're sure we'll get them back?" I ask softly.
He leans in. "I'm sure," he says.
Away through the woods, I hear a distant call. I look up from Jude's warm, brown eyes, to find my grandmother and Grace a good way off through the trees.
"Are you two coming, or what?" she calls out, her voice carrying over on the tranquil air.
I share a final look with Jude, his words a rock, as ever, for me during hard times, and together we hurry back towards the others.
It's only five or six minutes later that we're approaching my grandmother's cabin, tucked away nicely in a part of the woods that's so rarely visited. It's a small place, a simple place, yet full of life and character. Built by her own hand some years ago - though now, given all I've learned about her, I'm starting to doubt that I can trust such claims - she has lived here alone for many, many years with no one but Washington for company.
Usually, the lively old goat would come trotting out now, so eager to see us and so happy to see my grandmother return. Without his bleating and the clip-clopping of his hooves on wooden floorboards, the entire experience of arriving here doesn't feel quite right.
Yet, there's something else that doesn't feel right either. There are signs, I can see, that others have been here. I suppose that's something I've picked up on my travels now. I see prints in the mud around the base of the front porch of the cabin. I see muddied tracks leading inside that my grandmother would never tolerate. And as I look beyond, I'm certain I can see shadows through the window. People moving inside.
"Stop, grandma," I say harshly, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. She looks back at me in surprise, as the others stop on the path.
"What on earth has gotten into you, Amber..." she begins.
I place my finger to my lips and dart my eyes towards the cabin ahead. "People," I whisper. "There are people inside."
"Yes, there are people, Amber," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "They are here at my invite."
"But...I thought you said there was only one," I frown at her, feeling like she's not being entirely clear about everything right now.
"One who can help us find your parents," she nods. "But others for another purpose. Come now. They've been waiting for some time."
She steps off again, moving towards the old wooden porch. Now I see more signs of the strangers' presence; discarded bits of food tossed here and there, jackets and other rugged items of clothing hanging on lines and nearby branches. I look to one side and see a box. There appear to be weapons inside. The sort of old hunting rifles that Jude once used.
I frown, following quickly onwards, my concern for my parents pressed further to the sides by my burning intrigue. I slow my step as my grandmother reaches the door. She turns back and holds up a hand to stop me. The others stop too. Turning back to the door, she performs a strange knock, tapping three times, then stopping, and then tapping once more. All loudly enough for those inside to hear.
The gentle murmurings from inside stop immediately as she performs the secret knock. Once completed, the door opens up and a huddled group of figures appear beyond. It's darker inside the cabin, and the figures aren't immediately clear. I squint for a moment until the one at the front, a man of medium height and build with a scraggy, uneven beard, steps out.
"You're late," he says, his voice as craggy as his rough appearance. "We were expecting you two days ago, Alberta." His eyes flash on us behind her with a note of suspicion.
"I was delayed, Burton," my grandmother replies. "I see you've been making yourself at home."
He nods, still looking towards us. "Who are these?" he asks. "I assume the girl is the granddaughter you told us about, but the others..."
"Are friends," she says. She turns to look at us. "This is Jude," says she, "a young hunter from nearby, and his auntie, Grace. They're close friends to Amber and myself."
"Can we trust them?" he asks.
"Of course we can trust them, Burt," grandma says, semi-dismissively. "I'm sure they'll be thinking the same about you." She looks back again, clearly seeing the array of confused looks on our faces. "I think this requires some explaining," she goes on. "Why don't we all go inside, and talk it out."
She leads us in, Burton staying by the door as we pass. He suspiciously eyes the woods nearby before shutting the door. It appears to be his default position, to be wary of things.
I find, as I walk into the familiar - though currently rather musty - interior of my grandmother's cabin, five other individuals: three more men, and two women. Each and every one of them carries the look of a Fringer, their clothes relatively poor and worn, their hair, skin, and general appearance not primly made up like the residents of Olympus.
Mostly, they're in their early thirties up to their fifties. Burton himself appears to be about fifty, though
the others seem to fall within a range. There's no one too young, and no one too old. It immediately strikes me as a leadership group of some kind. None of them seem nervous or skittish. They all look quite steady and serious.
As I stand there, trying to work out what's going on, grandma does a quick round of the room, greeting the assembled Fringers. I hear their names as she goes - Judith, Edgar, Penelope, Bryan, Keith - and do my best to remember each one.
"I assume you didn't have any trouble here?" she says, once she's done. "The town was only hit a few hours ago. No soldiers came here?"
"No," Burton says. "No such trouble. We weren't aware the town was hit. What happened?"
"The same as has been happening everywhere," grandma says. "I'll need to speak with you privately in a moment, Burt. There's something you may be able to help me with."
He nods and doesn't ask what it is. Grandma glances to me. Clearly, Burton is the man who may be aware of my parents' location.
"I've got an update for you, Alberta, if you want to hear it." I turn to look at another man. I think he was the one called Bryan, though can't be sure. He's probably the youngest of the group. Keen, perhaps, to make a good impression.
"That won't be necessary right now, Bryan," grandma says. "I first need to explain what is going on to my granddaughter and her friends."
The Fringers murmur as they look at me, as if working out who I am.
"And what is going on?" I find myself asking. Once, perhaps, I'd have been too shy to speak so brazenly in such a group. Having spent time among the leaders of both Olympus, New Haven, and even Neorome, gatherings like this don't faze me. I look around the gathering, scanning their faces. "I'm assuming this is some sort of underground group?" I say. "Rebels, heretics, that kind of thing. The people behind the uprising?"
Several of the people before me purse their lips. I turn my eyes to my grandmother, who merely smiles.
"Didn't I say she had a sharp mind," she says, looking out over her friends. "You are correct, Amber, but only partially. Let me explain."
The room falls silent as the others watch on. The looks on their faces suggests they respect her a great deal, and have known her for some time. This doesn't appear to be a fledging alliance, a group to stir trouble across the Fringe. It appears to be something that has been building for a while, a growing tumour within the system, operating in secret beyond the radar of the Olympians.
"The group before you, Amber, has been assembling for some time," my grandmother says, immediately confirming my thoughts. "For many years, in fact. They come from across the Fringe, and are but the tip of the iceberg of those committed to our cause. We have grown out of sight, beneath the surface, and beyond the knowledge of Olympus..."
"And your cause?" I ask, looking across the group. "What is it, exactly?"
"Freedom," my grandmother says, "as I told you a few minutes ago. We call ourselves the Fringer Liberation League." She looks to the young man, Bryan. "You can thank Bryan for the name. It perfectly sums up what our intention is."
"To free everyone across the Fringe?" Jude asks. "But how many actually want that?"
"More than you'd think," grandma says. "To the southern border, in particular, we have a great deal of support. Of course, we nave to be necessarily careful with who we speak to about this, only bringing on board those we believe will be truly committed. That isn't easy, and takes time. Thankfully, Olympus hasn't shown much interest in us over the years. They are blind to what goes on beneath the surface. Their subjugation of the Fringe isn't as widespread as they think."
My mind ticks back several months as she speaks, thinking of Raymond, of the heretics who'd been captured and taken for purification. They'd been strung up alongside me, burned to death at the stake. I still recall the horror on Raymond's face as he tried to stop from screaming out. As the agony eventually forced his lips to tear open, his shrieks to ring out across the square.
Was he, I wonder, a part of this Liberation League?
"Westhollow," I say, looking to my grandmother, remembering the town where Raymond came from. "There was a small revolt in a town called Westhollow a few months ago. Some heretics spoke out against the Prime. They were..." I draw a breath. "They were burned at the stake alongside me. That's when Olympus found out what I was. Their leader was a man called Raymond. Was he...one of yours?"
My grandmother turns her eyes around the group. I see a series of frowns and shaking heads.
"Doesn't ring a bell to me," Burton says. "If he was, he was a minor member. There are plenty of heretics we haven't managed to get to yet. This Raymond must have been one of them."
"But if he spoke out against the Prime so openly, perhaps it's a good thing he wasn't a member of the League," says one of the two other women among the group. Judith, I think she was. "We cannot have our members drawing attention to us like that. It was a brazen act, and he paid for it."
"He did, yes," I say bluntly. "By being burned to death. That's the punishment for apostasy here."
"A terrible and regretful punishment," my grandmother says gently. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Amber."
"So I am."
We share a moment of silence, as a group, to honour the fallen man and his allies.
As we do, my mind turns to another man, another heretic, whom I know to be dead. Old Ralph, the Fringer medic within the worker's camp. Also burned to death, yet this time for the crime of withholding information about Jude and the others' escape from the Olympian camp. Jude knows, now, of what happened to Ralph. I know he feels guilty about it, though there's little he could have done.
I idly wonder whether Ralph knew about the League as well, though don't ask whether that was the case. I just listen as my grandmother continues her explanation, speaking now of the plan they forged. A plan, it would seem, that centred less on rebellion, and more on escape.
"Our intention," she says, "was to free as many of those who wished to leave these lands as we could. We have been stockpiling weapons, secretly manufacturing armour. We have spies all across the Fringe who provide us with information about the movements of the Olympian patrol and border soldiers. It has become a vast interconnected network, fashioned over many years. There are many thousands of us who are prepared to risk our lives escaping the Fringe, and the yoke of Olympus. And now, with everything that's been happening, many thousands more will quickly convert."
"But, it's too dangerous, isn't it?" Jude asks. "If you left in such numbers, you'd be hunted down. You'd put up a fight, maybe, but what could you really do against the might of Olympus?"
"In a straight out fight?" grandma says. "Not much, perhaps. But that was never the intention. We have been biding our time, awaiting the right moment. And recently, it came."
"The attack on New Haven," I find myself saying. "You were waiting for the main army to leave so you could act?"
"Exactly," says grandma, smiling at me. "We knew that the distraction would give us a chance to escape, and to rally others to our cause. The uprising that began across the Fringe was designed as a further veil to hide our true intentions. We never planned to openly rebel against Olympus, and see our rights, our lives, improved. All of us here know full well that that would never happen with the Prime at the helm." She shakes her head. "No. The true intention was to flee, to forge a new life beyond the Prime's control. We even spoke of going south, to New Haven. Anything, we knew, would be better than living amid this lie."
"I had a similar thought, Alberta," says Jude, his voice turning solemn. "When I escaped the Olympian camp with the other workers. We only wanted to try to live free, to forge a life elsewhere. This is the same. Just...on a different scale."
"A different scale entirely," says grandma, nodding and smiling towards him.
I look into Jude's eyes and see something. Some purpose now rebuilding. Here, he can find his place. Within this cause, he will discover his path.
"And when do you plan to leave?" I ask, staring at my grandmother. "There's no bett
er time than now. The soldiers have gone. The borders aren't so protected. There must be tens of thousands now losing their faith with everything that's been happening." I look around the group. "When will you go?"
"That, Amber," my grandmother says, turning towards the other leaders. "Is precisely what we now need to discuss."
144
"Now," says Edgar, another of the League's leaders. His voice is crisp, a perfect foil for Burton. Of all the assembled group, he appears the most prim and proper of them all. "We should leave now," he repeats. "As young Amber says, there won't be a better time. We should rally all those who wish to flee and escape within the coming days."
"I can head east immediately," comes the voice of Penelope, one of the youngest among the group, though with a hardened expression on her face that suggests she wouldn't bow to anyone. "It'll take me days to get to the eastern reaches. I can gather my people and head south."
"We can meet at the assembly point towards the south centre," Burton adds, his craggy voice carrying a tone of distinct authority and self assurance. "It's equidistant between the eastern and western reaches and will enable us to converge within a reasonable time frame. If we all set off now we could be heading southwards within four or five days." He looks to me. "We have heard that New Haven is a welcoming place now. Is that true, Amber?"
"Absolutely true," I say. "I was told they've taken in over ten thousands refugees over the last year or so. You'd be welcome there if you can make it."
I feel a ripple of excitement spread through the group; a sort of pent-up feeling of hope finally being released as the light at the end of the tunnel comes into view. I imagine that this long-term venture of theirs has always come with a significant caveat. That they haven't truly believed it possible until now.
"Then perhaps that's our best bet," says Edgar, perhaps only second in age to my grandmother. "New Haven may help provide us with the protection we need."
"And we're certain that's what we want?" questions Judith. "To merely become refugees in a foreign city. They may be welcoming, but we will not have control there. We will not have true freedom to forge our own path."
