by T. C. Edge
And now, one has returned.
Time seems to slow as the people in the yard take note of my sudden presence. They look up at me, taking several moments to believe me to be real. The flame around me is so sudden, so bright, as to largely conceal my frame. I see them shielding their eyes as they look up, the Fringers cowering lower, perhaps believing their judgement to have come.
Oh, judgement has come all right.
But not for them.
Stepping forward, I draw in my rage and contain my flame, pulling it close to me and centring it on my target. I leap as I reach the edge of the shelf, propelling myself onwards, gliding through the air at the soldier holding the whip.
The crowd shrieks and begins to call out, the Fringers rushing away and dispersing. The therapists do the same, looking wildly on as they try to determine who I am. The soldiers, trying to catch up, are too slow to raise their weapons and fire before I reach their compatriot. Too confused, perhaps, by what is happening to judge whether to fire at all.
I swoop down like a flaming phoenix, gliding upon flame, and turn my body upright as I land in front of the whip-wielding guard. My fire, blazing hot around me, is contained within the shield I forge. Where once it might have melted all those nearby, it now holds itself close to me, clutching me tight. Within my force field, the raging inferno burns and boils, only released when I want it to, only guided at targets I choose.
The guard, slack jawed at what he's seeing, merely stands there as I come. It happens too quickly for him to know what to do. He seems almost transfixed by my arrival, all but flying down from the ledge wreathed in flame. Landing, I step towards him, my anger controlled and yet fierce.
I draw a breath, raise a hand...
And release a burst of flame.
Those wild, staring eyes of his, looking on in wonder, turn suddenly to those of terror and torturous pain. The flames wrap him up tight, coiling around his body at my command. I control them now. They do what I say. They wrap him up, every inch of him, and with a single command from my lips, suddenly burn with an untamed ferocity. I watch, uncaring of his plight, as his body is quickly consumed to little more than ash.
It all happens so fast, though seems to last some time. The soldiers nearby now realise just who and what I am. They raise their weapons and begin to fire. And just as they do, I hear gunshots coming from above.
At the front of the yard by the checkpoint, two of the guards drop immediately to the ground, bullets expertly shot right through their brains. I flash my eyes up towards the top of the cliff, to see Jude and Burton there, rifles in hand. They fire again, seeking to take out others. The soldiers, this time, are alert, zipping off and proving themselves to be Phasers. I watch them move, though with little concern. They are quick, yes, but far from the quickest I've seen. The soldiers stationed here at the camp, in particular, are of a lesser breed. The others who have just arrived appear to be somewhat more potent.
The yard, now, becomes a wild place. I watch as Fringer and therapist alike scatter towards whatever safe haven they can find. The shooting that begins, however, as the Olympian guards fire at me, catches a number of them in the crossfire. I see Fringers falling, and therapists too. My eyes find the white-suited manager here dropping to the floor, blood gushing from a bullet hole in her chest, staining her white suit red.
The bullets begin hitting my shield, pinging off in various directions. Those, too, are dangerous, ricocheting to places I cannot control. I scan in a panic, searching for my parents amid the rush. I cannot see them in the hectic blur as bodies begin to fall like flies, and the quarry erupts in a cacophonous din of gunfire and screaming.
The soldiers, now spread out and firing from what cover they can find, begin to surround me. Their gunfire is held at bay, though each shot is a possible danger to those I have come here to protect, those I have committed to save. I see one soldier behind a building ahead and quickly rush towards him. The pulses of fire that push me on have me moving more quickly than he'd anticipated.
I burst before him, and tangle him in flame. He lurches violently in pain and runs wildly towards the building nearby, the fires spitting off him and onto the wooden frame. The fire spreads quickly, engulfing the building itself. My lungs burn with fear for anyone who might be caught inside.
I rush, as quick as I can, around and through the door. I scan the simple interior - beds and bunks set up along the walls - and see that it is empty. I hurry back out, relieved, and see that the soldiers have begun to change their targets. A couple fire up towards Burton and Jude at the top of the quarry.
Yet others...they fire upon the Fringers themselves.
They see me again, and turn their guns in my direction. I rush towards them, but they quickly displace, trying to outflank me. I see their captain among them, much faster than the others. Even in the blur of battle I can see the hateful look on his face. I can see the terrible intention as he seeks to kill as many Fringers as possible, take out those I have clearly come to help.
Perhaps they were his orders; to take or kill, one or the other. Or perhaps it's just him. Cruel, callous, evil.
Either way, it doesn't really matter. I will kill every last soldier here.
I hurry for the man, firing flame in his direction. I forge it into acute strings of fire, ropes to tangle him. They rush from my fingertips, though he's just about able to see them coming. He slips quickly behind the cover of another building. Another building that bursts into flame.
No...
I rush inside that one too, and mercifully find that it's empty. The firing continues outside. I hurry back out once more and see all the Fringers gathering together at the far side of the quarry, running away as they're mercilessly gunned down.
I make to go after the soldiers again but then, above, see a flash of light. I look up and see the glowing figure of my grandmother, standing at the top of the cliff a hundred metres above. Her hands gather a boiling, churning mass of fire. She whips her eyes, flashing red, towards the Fringers.
And from the top, I hear her voice calling, echoing down through the din.
"Your shield, Amber," she calls out. "Use your shield..."
To protect them, I think. Just as she'd said. Use your shield to protect...others.
Knowing now what I have to do, I turn away from the soldiers and begin spreading my shield wider. It creates a barrier of fire and impenetrable heat as I go, spreading as a wall at my back. All bullets batter into it, flashing as they're diverted away, half melted by the impact as they ping off into rock and wood alike.
I bear quickly down on the Fringers ahead of me, a gathering of thirty or forty there. I scan left and right and see that they're the only ones remaining. All others have fallen, murdered here for...for what?
I clench my fists, and see that there are a few remaining therapists among them. I give them no mind right now as I rush forwards, protecting them with my shield wall. Above, my grandmother continues to gather the flame. It swells and grows, her intention becoming clear. I have no time, as I go, to scan for my parents. I think I see my mother amid the huddle but can't be sure...
I reach them, and call out loudly.
"Don't be afraid!" I bellow, my voice carrying over the clattering gunfire at my back. "I'm going to wrap my shield around you. Stay inside it. Try not to move!"
I don't have time to wait for confirmation or questions. I hardly know how many have heard me. All I can do is act, rearranging the shield at my back, stretching it around the group into a wide bubble. One, terrified and confused, tries to rush off away from me. I divert the fire shield from the boy as he goes, calling out.
"Stop!" I shout. "Don't move!"
And then, from amid the huddle, another voice roars out.
A voice I recognise.
"Come back here, Billy!" it roars. "Stay where you are!"
I stare, momentarily, at my father, standing tall among the cowering Fringers. He stares towards the boy, only a teenager, his words stopping him in his
tracks. Billy turns and looks at my father, shivering.
"Come, Billy," my father calls again. "She is here to protect us. To...save us."
Then, amid the wildness of the battle, my father looks me right in the eye. He eyes are steely and yet soft all at once, affectionate, not those of the man I know. The eyes of a man changed. A man who doesn't look at me as divine. But, just as I am.
As his daughter, returned.
I feel a renewed determination fill me now as I spread the shield right around them, drawing them into the great bubble of flame. I look up again at my grandmother, a burning beacon upon the cliff. And nodding to her, I give her consent to act.
And boy, does she.
From up there, at the top of the quarry, a waterfall of flame comes flowing down from her hands and body. It rushes, almost liquid in form, some strange amalgamation of raging fire and molten water, spreading quickly from above as it pours down towards the camp.
The firing begins to stop as the soldiers look up, watching the burning heavens fall from the skies.
Rifles drop immediately from their fingers as they speed off, sprinting as quickly as they can towards the steps; the only way out. The captain, fastest among them, goes first, proving himself a coward as he pushes past one of his men, knocking him to the dirt to be consumed by the flames.
Yet, I see that it won't matter. Even he, faster than the rest, only manages to zip up a couple of the zigzags of the huge, ten metre tall steps, before the rushing fires greet him on the way up. Diverted by my grandmother, they hunt him down and crash upon him, melting him where he stands, before flowing down through the quarry and destroying all before them.
Within the faint film of fire that surrounds us, the Fringers watch on, terrified and yet fascinated, as the flowing fire comes at them like a wave. I strengthen the shield as much as I can as it hits, rolling over the final soldiers and therapists, fruitlessly attempting to flee into buildings or up the sides of the cliff itself.
None can escape. None outside of my shield will survive. The fires hit, pressing against the barrier, the shimmering shield suddenly assaulted by a wave of orange as it spreads around us. Protected within that bubble, the Fringers scream and tighten up, huddling closer together. I hear my father, still standing tall, calling out for them to stay calm.
And all the while, I just stand there, looking at him, and my mother at his feet, cowering with the others. Something in him, I see, has changed. He is not the bitter Devotee he once was.
Slowly but surely, the raging roar of the flames reduces, as they begin to subside and fade away. I hold the shield up for a little longer, turning my eyes out now towards the camp. All is gone, nothing but blackened stumps of buildings and men remaining. The camp for faith re-alignment, and all who saw to its nefarious purpose, are gone.
And so, I think, with a heavy heart, are many of the poor people brought here for treatment.
As soon as the flames fully relent, and the bottom of the quarry begins to fill with smoke as it chugs into the air, I finally release the shield of flame and let it fade and wither away. The Fringers, still huddled tight, slowly begin to stand and look out, shocked and amazed by all that they see.
From them, my father steps forward. His hand is clutched to my mother's, drawing her to her feet. She sees me, her eyes filled with tears. Yet my father merely walks, steady and calm, as he approaches.
I rid my body of the flames, of the shield, of the heat that surrounds it. My battle armour, glowing red and bright orange, douses again to its darkened, grey-black hue. He looks on, his eyes turning glassy, a smile of relief and joy building upon his face.
And then, as he gets near, he suddenly rushes forward, quickening his step, hurrying towards me and drawing me into a hug. He holds me tight, as my mother joins, her arms wrapping as she sobs.
"Amber...my dearest Amber," I hear her say. "You came for us. You...you came..."
I draw back from them, my own eyes squeezing out the tears I'd rather didn't come. Yet now, I don't care. I lay my emotions bare before them, as mother pulls my cheeks to her lips and kisses wildly. As father holds me tight, his hands clinging to my hair, his lips pressing against my forehead.
The moment is the sort I'd always dreamed of. The sort I believed would never happen. Yet it took such wild circumstances to occur. For all we knew to be broken down, for our lives to truly change before we realised just how much we mean to one another.
My father pulls back, his eyes still glassy and yet refusing to shed tears. He looks at me, that fond expression turning to something else. To some guilt, some shame, something long suppressed that now flourishes to the surface.
"I'm so sorry, Amber," he says. "I'm so sorry for how I was."
"Father, you don't need..."
"I do," he says, cutting in. "I've never been a good father to you, Amber. I have always loved you, of course, but I..." He shakes this head, struggling to find the words. "I was blind," he finishes. He smiles and looks upon me, taking the whole of me in. "I am so very proud of you," he whispers. "And I know, now, how right you always were."
He takes me into a hug once more. Around us, the other Fringers begin to thaw and move into the yard, not sure of what to do. The buildings are gone, nothing but black tar upon the stone, breathing smoking fumes to the skies. The carriages, too, have been destroyed. Only thirty or forty men and women remain, stranded here now, with nowhere to go.
As my parents release me, I find my attention drawn again to my responsibility. I look up to find that Jude, Burton, and my grandmother have begun moving towards the great steps. They wave us up, calling for us to join them.
I turn to my father.
"They trust you, father," I say. "We need to get out of here."
He nods, and then calls out quickly, relaying my orders to the bewildered gathering. "We must move up the steps," he says, drawing their attention. "More soldiers may come. We cannot stay here. Follow me."
He steps away, taking the lead, I follow behind with my mother. She looks at me in amazement, her eyes still wet with tears.
"We heard you had gone south," she whispers. "We heard about it all, Amber. A...Herald of War. Our own daughter..."
"I'm not a Herald of War anymore, mother," I say. "I...I never really was. I was just a weapon, that's all. This fire," I say, holding up my palm, sending flames flicking between my fingers. "It's all they wanted from me. To kill. To murder." I shake my head. "Everything they told me was a lie."
"And this?" she asks, her voice barely more than a squeak. "Everything that's been happening. The Fringe is being raided, Amber. We hear there may be an army coming..."
"It's coming," I nod. "And I'm fighting with them." I stop, and turn to her. "The Fringe is going to rally, mother. We will fight for our rights. For what we have always deserved." I look up towards the steps. "Jude is here. Alberta is here. So much has happened that you don't know about. But what matters most is that we're together again. That we will see the Fringe free of the Children of the Prime. As it always should have been."
She smiles at me proudly, still slightly awestruck, as tears continue to roll down her cheeks. "And your sister?" she whispers. "Is she...still in Olympus?"
I nod, a dart of pain poking at my heart. "She's safe there for now," I say, reassuring her, trying to reassure myself. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her."
"But...this army," her voice shivers. "If they attack the city, your sister might..."
"I'm not going to let anything happen to her," I repeat, my eyes and voice equally resolute. "I promise you, mother, I will get her out safely. She is my priority now."
She turns her eyes down briefly, though seems to be comforted somewhat by my words. And turning to follow the others, we move up the great, snaking steps towards the top of the hill.
148
It takes a little while to reach the top, the snaking steps fairly steep. From above, Jude rushes down, leaving grandma and Burton in conversation near the summit. He hurries do
wn past my father, heading towards me. I see my father stop him as he goes, stepping ahead of him. I quicken my pace to find out what he might be saying.
And as I get nearer, I hear an apology fall from my father's lips.
"I'm sorry for how I always treated you, Jude," he says. He looks to the young man's cheek. "And I was sorry to hear what happened. But I can see, now, that you've only ever wanted what's best for my daughter."
"I do, sir," Jude replies, suddenly so prim and proper, humble in the face of my father. "She is very important to me." He looks over, seeing me coming. A breath of relief leaves his lips as he sees that I'm uninjured. He turns back to my father. "What happened to you," he says, glancing to my mother. "To both of you....it was terrible. We're going to ensure that no one else has to suffer this brand again."
My father nods, and takes Jude's hand in both of his, shaking fondly in kinship and solidarity. It's something else I've always longed for, to see Jude accepted as my friend, and perhaps more, by my father. And yet, as with everything else, it appears to have taken these awful circumstances to achieve.
"Are any of the people injured?" Jude goes on, looking to the group still wearily moving up the shadowed steps.
"Nothing major, I don't think," says my father. "They're shaken but all right."
"And you, sir?" he asks. He looks to my father's cheek. "Has anyone seen to that yet?"
My father looks back as my mother and I approach. "Not yet," he says. "But we're fine, aren't we?"
My mother, more timid, nods. My father, though never a particularly strong man, was always the more domineering of the pair. Their simple lines were driven by their expected roles. Now, all of that has been cast off. He has - they both have - the opportunity to be more.
We continue towards the top of the quarry, the group of Fringers a range of ages. The youngest appears to be Billy, the boy who my father called back. His cheek, I see, is unbranded. The same is true of several others, not everyone here given the scar of Defiant. At least, not yet.
