by T. C. Edge
I find Burton admiring his as I arrive, looking over it like it's some beautiful woman. "A fine, fine weapon," he says, stroking the long barrel. He looks up at my grandmother and me as we arrive. "Might the coalition forces have more of these that we could use?" he asks. "They'd be most useful to our cause."
"They'll probably have a few," I tell him. "They'll always brings extras, just in case. And we've gathered up some Olympian firearms too. They could be put to use."
"We have a number of those ourselves," Burton says, "scavenged over the years. But they're not as sleek as this."
"Looks aren't everything, Burt," my grandmother says. "I'm sure the modern Olympian weapons are just as good."
We move in to join them, as Jude continues to keep watch. I pass him a slightly reprimanding look.
"What?" he says. "You looked so peaceful, that's all. I didn't want to wake you up. You need your energy more than me, Amber."
"Says the guy who drives the jeep. What if you fall asleep at the wheel at some point?"
"I won't," he says. "I got a bit of sleep before Burton woke me. That's plenty for me."
"Well, I appreciate the sentiment, Jude," I say. "But I wanted the last watch. I don't like being left out, you know that."
"And I'm sorry for that," he says, "but you didn't miss anything, don't worry. Still the same two guards as before on duty. I don't think they're particularly interested. Spent most of the last few hours playing cards."
"And the others?" I ask, creeping towards the edge.
"Nothing." He looks to the rising sun. "But the day will start soon, if it's like when I was here. I'll give it another thirty minutes or so before the yard is busy."
"Then we need to act," I say. "The busier it becomes, the harder this will be."
"I agree," says grandma. "Have you figured out another way in, Burton?"
"There isn't one, other than right down those huge zigzagging steps," he says. "And even then, we'd be seen coming a mile off."
"Can't we climb?" Jude asks. He looks over the edge of the cliff. It's pretty much a sheer drop, though there are a few ledges every twenty metres or so. Elsewhere, the other sides of the quarry are similarly sheer, with the occasional shelf breaking things up at various points. He draws back and lets out a sigh. "Looks difficult," he says. "Probably too dangerous."
"We could snipe them from here," Burton suggests. He places his gun down on the rocky floor, and looks along the barrel towards the men in the distance. They're a good hundred and twenty or so metres away from us. It would have to be a damn good shot to take them out. There would be no room for error.
"Do you have silencers for those things?" grandma asks, looking at him.
He frowns. "I'm not sure."
"I don't think they do," I say. "Not without an additional attachment."
"Then the other guards would hear the gunshots and know we're here," says grandma. "We can't take the risk. We have to be more stealthy than that."
My eyes are drawn by the lightest activity down below. There, within the buildings of the camp, I see faint movement inside, through the glass windows. "It looks like people are starting to wake," I say. I look again at the ledges below, then towards the sentry guards. They're facing away, looking towards the steps on the other side. I draw a breath. "Maybe I could get down there myself," I say.
I sense the others looking at me quizzically. "How?" asks Burton.
"I can slow my fall with my fire," I tell him. "I might be able to leap from ledge to ledge without the guards seeing."
"And if you don't slow yourself enough?" asks Jude. "You could break a leg or worse."
"I'll raise a shield too," I say. "It may break my fall."
"May?" Jude says, frowning at me concernedly.
"It can pretty much stop bullets," I tell him. "I just haven't tested it like this before. I'm sure I'll be fine."
I look to my grandmother, considering things with a hand to her cheek. "It might work," she says. "And the fires will help reinforce your joints, bones, muscles too. They make us very durable. What do you plan to do when you get down there?"
"I...I'm not sure," I say, realising I haven't really thought that far head. "Improvise. I'll stay hidden if I can and try to spot my parents. I'll take out the guards down there while you take out the ones at the checkpoint." I look at them, shrugging. "Might work."
"Might isn't good enough," grandma says. "But I'm not sure we can do any better."
"Sooooo?" I say. "You're in?"
"If you think you can do it, Amber, then who I am to tell you otherwise," she says.
I smile at her, as Burton interrupts the moment.
"Well, if you're going to do it, you'd better do it quick," he says, drawing our attention. "It looks like we have company."
I follow the direction of his eyes and see a couple of extra carriages rolling along the plains on the far side of the old quarry, moving quickly towards the snaking pathway down.
"Great," I say. "More soldiers?"
"More Defiants?" says Jude. "They've probably been gathered from nearby towns."
"They're not far off, Amber," Burton says. "If you're gonna go, you need to do it now. They'll spot you if they get much closer."
I nod, knowing he's right. I wish I had an extra few moments to think this through, but it seems I don't. Right or wrong, this is the path I'm taking. I can't back out now.
I quickly turn my eyes left and right along the cliffside, and around the edges of the vast quarry, searching for the shortest drop to the next shelf below. I see an option nearby, about fifty metres to my right, roughly a dozen or so metres from the top.
"OK, I'm going there," I say. "Jude, Burton, keep your sights on the guards at the checkpoint. If you see me engage, or feel like you need to act, take them out. Grandma," I say, looking to the wizened old Fire-Blood. "Well, I guess...do what you do. You know this routine better than I do."
"Remember to use your shield, Amber," she says. "It might come in handy protecting you...and others."
I nod, sort of understanding what she means, before rushing off to the right, keeping low as I hurry along the edge of the cliff. I reach the area above the ledge quickly, and turn my eyes out again across the plains. The carriages remain a way off but are coming fast. If they have Farsight lookouts with them they may have seen me already.
The thought drives me onwards. Narrowing my focus, I let the fires flow through my body, drawing up an all-but-invisible fire shield around me. Then, stepping to the edge of the cliff, I draw a breath, and step right off without thinking.
I fall, quickly, plummeting to the narrow stone shelf below.
The ground rushes up quickly as I pulse out flame from beneath me, turning my hands down and shooting fire from my palms for added propulsion. The effect is immediate, my motion slowing significantly just before I hit. I land with a light thud and drop straight into a duck. Already, the ledge is low enough to have me falling out of the sight of the incoming carriages at the top of the quarry.
My lips work into a smile.
So far, so good.
I look again, searching for the next way down. The shelf here is fairly wide where I stand, though narrows quickly either side, merging into the sides of the cliff. I pace to the edge and see a further shelf roughly twenty metres below. With a renewed bubble of nerves, I take the leap, dropping down and, as before, slowing my motion considerably as I begin to reach the ground.
I land even more lightly than before, my motion almost slowing me to a complete stop before I even hit the rock.
With a little more fire, I wonder if I could...
I continue quickly on, glancing up towards the others at the top of the cliff, watching me work down, bit by bit, shelf by shelf. I'm forced to head off further to the left, moving away from them as I seek another drop. There another of about twenty metres ahead. I drop off, this time, without feeling so nervous.
As I fall, it's Herald Gailen who comes to mind. He has such control of the wind,
such utter focus, that he's more or less able to fly, using the air around him to propel himself forwards, upwards, left and right.
If he can do it with air, why can't I do it with fire? I've seen already that I can more or less float if I reach a high enough temperature. I did that ages ago, during the trials, and my powers have come on leaps and bounds since then.
My control is better. My focus is better. My confidence is better.
Why not?
I leap, dropping down once more, though this time begin to slow much earlier. I do so as if the ledge is only fifteen or so metres below me, pretending the landing is five metres closer. I slow fast, the fires roaring quickly from my palms.
And there, five metres off the ground, I stop, suspended in midair.
A feeling of elation swamps me as I look down, my feet dangling some way above the ground. I begin to reduce the power of the blasts from my hands and body, and slowly begin to lower. As I near the ground, I press harder again, the flames burning hotter, brighter, pushing me back up into the air.
No...way, I think, my heart thundering wildly. It...actually works.
I can...fly.
My attention is stolen as I turn my eyes forward and down again. I see movement down there in the camp, a few people stepping out of the buildings and moving into the square. I drop, immediately, half losing my focus, falling to the shelf with a heavy crunch. I feel my knees jar at the connection, though the fires around me take most of the brunt, my entire body reinforced by the strength of the flame rushing through me.
I drop to my belly and shuffle quickly towards the edge, looking down into the camp. It's less than fifty metres below me now. Another couple of controlled jumps and I'll be there, dropping in behind one of the buildings at the boundary.
I look again to the people entering the yard. I see that two, three, four of them are holding weapons.
Guards.
Another group have the appearance of the 'therapists' that Jude mentioned. There are a small swarm of them, moving towards the various buildings that, I assume, must house the Fringers and newly assembled Defiants. I stare for a second, waiting to see what happens.
My parents...they must be down there. Down there in one of those buildings...
I unthaw, my thoughts distracting me. I'm not good to anyone up here, caught hallway down. I need to get to the bottom.
I scan again, noticing that the guards are moving towards the main checkpoint to join the other two. The therapists disperse. None are currently looking in my direction.
This is my window.
I press myself up from the rock and rush right for the edge, not analysing the distance of the descent this time. I drop immediately over the side, and notice that the final shelf before the bottom is a good thirty metres away. I suck in a breath of air and quickly centre my focus, pressing my palms downwards, firing boosts to halt my speed. I slow in time, reducing my speed at just the right moment to allow me to land without a noise. As soon as I do, I put out the fires around me and drop again to my belly, disappearing from view.
Once more, I silently slither towards the edge, and peer down into the camp. It's a mere fifteen or twenty metres now, one final drop in behind the rear buildings. I can hear voices from the main yard as the therapists begin moving to the various buildings around the yard's perimeter.
Ahead, the guards are gathering at the checkpoint. They seem to be looking upwards. I turn to look too and see that the carriages have now arrived at the top of the quarry, beginning their zigzagging route back and forth down the path, working left and right down the tiers into the basin below.
Once more, I quickly perform my analysis, working out if anyone's looking my way. I prepare to leap down before I see a couple of the guards turning their gaze in my direction.
I drop to my belly again, pressing my face to the cool stone. The sun has fully risen now, though much of the quarry, at this great depth, remains in shadow. Only the very top, across one side, is being touched by the sun, the celestial illumination slowly casting its gaze deeper as the sun continues to climb.
I hold my breath for a few long moments, trying not to move. I wonder if my descent has left trails of smoke in the air, conspicuous in the cold morning light. I listen closely, the murmurings ahead continuing to build. I gently turn my eyes up to the top of the quarry, to where I know my friends to be waiting. I can just about make out the sight of Jude there. I can't be sure, but I think he's urging me to stay down.
I do so, staying in position for several minutes, as Jude suddenly disappears from sight. Below, those in the camp can't see me, yet the carriages snaking down the path just might be able to.
I zip my eyes left and right, still keeping low, and notice a small crevice just to my right side. I slither towards it, dragging myself along on my stomach, and dropping out of sight of the carriages ahead.
A slow release of air escapes my lungs as I lie in wait, not sure of what to do. There are too many sets of eyes now, too much activity. I can hear the doors of the barracks and cells being opened, the Fringers drawn out into the gloomy light of dawn. I try to peek out to see if I can spot my parents but am forced to duck back down immediately as I see the carriages reaching the bottom, turning onto the main pathway down into the camp.
The rattling of wheels begins to fill the air as the carriages approach. I listen as they come to a stop, footsteps sounding as people step out. I steel myself, and lift my eyes again, peering over the top of the little crevice in which I hide. I notice that all attention is now on the front where the carriages and guards gather. I quickly scan what Fringers I can see but find that their backs are turned, all of them grouped into little, shivering crowds.
There are another half dozen guards moving from the carriages towards those in the camp. One appears more prominent than the rest, stepping ahead of them. He nonchalantly sways his gaze over the base guards, speaking as he does so. Mercifully, he speaks loudly, and clearly, the words having no trouble reaching my ears as I lurk amid the rocks.
"Who is the camp officer here?" he asks, his voice carrying an element of arrogance to it. It would suggests he's of a reasonable rank. And that would suggests he's not someone to take lightly in battle either.
"I am," comes a voice, not from a guard, but from one of the therapists. A middle aged woman in a white suit emerges from the crowd, moving towards the guards. "What seems to be the problem, Captain?"
"No problem, Doctor," the soldier says. "Just orders. He looks over the camp, briefly counting the number of Fringers present. "Everyone here is to be relocated," he says. "They are not intended for faith realignment anymore."
"Relocated where?" asks the doctor.
"Olympus," the captain says quickly.
My heart throbs at the word. No...
"Olympus?" says the doctor, sounding confused. "But these are Defiants and heretics. What is their purpose being brought to Olympus? Unless for purification and execution, I cannot think..."
"You don't need to think, Doctor. Not on this occasion. This is an express order that comes right from the top. I have not questioned it, and nor should you. Fringers are being gathered in their droves. The Prime clearly has a purpose for them. That is not for us to query or doubt."
"Of course not, Captain," says the doctor, dipping her chin. "And, everyone here is to be taken?" she asks.
"Yes. Everyone, including your therapists and guards." He looks towards the collection of carriages nearby. Some of them, I imagine, will be motorised, unless they have a gifted enough telekinetic or two to drive them. "Are they enough to fit you all," he asks.
The doctor looks over. "I believe so," she says. "But I must say, I find this most irregular. This facility has been doing the Prime's work for many years. Why would they seek to shut us down?"
"Because they have other work that needs to be done," the captain says. "The enemy is at our doorstep, Doctor. Stay here, and they may well find you anyway. I can assure you, you'll be glad they do not."
He turns around the throng, and begins calling out loudly, his voice carrying easily through the camp. "You heard us," he shouts. "Onto the wagons and carriages. We have others to get to besides you."
I watch on as the yard turns momentarily shambolic, figures rushing about here and there. The carriages are quickly brought forwards as the therapists and staff gather any personal supplies and items they have. The guards move into place, raising their weapons and terrorising the Fringers into position. Several are violently poked and prodded as they’re corralled towards the carriages. Others are hit, whipped across their bodies and heads if they don't immediately comply.
I scowl angrily as I flash my eyes up towards the others. I can see them all now, peering over the edge, looking down as I am. And there, in the distance gloom, I see a pair of eyes flash. I flash mine back, telling my grandmother I can see her. Then hers slowly turn, looking down towards the Fringers once more.
And following the direction of her gaze, I see two figures, a man and a woman, huddled together...
My father, cradling my mother, their cheeks red and raw from their recent brands. Near them is a soldier, his hand gripping a short whip. He marches across, lashing at the prisoners, ducking and cowering as he comes.
I stare, the red mist falling, as he approaches my parents.
And when his whip flashes, so do I.
On that little rock shelf, less than twenty metres up in the air, I stand and erupt into flames.
147
I stand as a beacon of light and flame, glowing wildly in the deep gloom of the quarry. Upon that shelf, less than twenty metres in the air, I look out upon the camp and assembled guards, therapist and Fringers, my eyes ablaze as they stare ahead.
A guard. A single guard is my target. I stare at him as he holds the whip, my parents cowering at his feet. Father huddled over mother, taking the brunt of his bigotry and ire. My parents, whom I haven't seen for months, their lives eviscerated by the loss of their daughters.
