by T. C. Edge
Some could be so much more, I think. Some could yet see the wonders of Olympus. The thought brings a smile. Because that is why I am here.
Ahead, several officials stand with clipboards, ticking off the people as they enter. I notice that the bags are not being checked, at least not here. The entire operation is quite impressive, overall, but security could certainly be tighter.
I glance at the soldiers accompanying Marcus and I. They all have weapons, I know, concealed beneath their clothes. A quick search might reveal them. It seems no one is being patted down either.
"All right, step this way," calls out one of the officials. She waves us over, spotting that we are part of a group. Marcus moves ahead, prepared to do the talking. "Where are you six coming from, then?" the lady asks. She looks at her clipboard. I can't see it clearly, but it appears to list a variety of towns and settlements across the Fringe, along with numbers of people who have come from each.
"We're from Greenbank," Marcus says, suppressing his accent as well as he can. "All six of us."
The lady looks us over, one by one, then down to her board. "Greenbank," she says to herself. "We've had quite a few from there, though most came days ago. Why the delay with you?" She looks up, eyes raised.
"We would have preferred to stay," Marcus says. "Just...didn't seem reasonable with everyone else leaving. Town felt...empty."
The lady nods along. "Well, you won't feel like that here," she says. "Hunter's Station is overflowing already, but we've got lodgings set up to the south of the town. Be best for you to head down that way." She looks again around our little group, eyes turning over the four, cold-eyed soldiers here to protect me. "Unless...you're willing to join the militia?" she asks. "If you're interested, head towards the barracks nearby. A soldier will point the way. You look like you can all handle yourselves." Her eyes fall on me, stick a moment, and then move off. She seems to conclude that I, too, have the look of someone who would fit in among the militia ranks.
"We're simple builders," Marcus says. "But may be willing. We'll think about it. If that's OK?"
"Not a problem," the official says. "The militia is large enough as it is, and weapons are running low. Just a thought. Anyway, head to the south of town, and you'll see the refugee camp. They'll set you up with somewhere to stay down there."
Marcus smiles charmingly at her, as she waves us through, before moving right on to the Fringers behind us.
We take a few additional paces away, moving through the checkpoints that border the western edge of town. Marcus seems to be in complete control, knowing just what to say, just where to go. He stops once we're far enough away from the soldiers watching the boundary, and turns toward us.
"The contact should be waiting nearby," he says. "They will take us to the meeting point."
He turns his supremely gifted eyes around, scanning toward the south. There are quite a few people around here, though no one seems to be paying us any notice. The town is, as we've heard, positively heaving. There comes a time where it becomes extremely difficult to manage such a large population, especially one that has grown so quickly.
We continue a little to the south, passing nearby to what appears to be the militia's main base, established within an old industrial area. Some of the warehouses look to have been burned down, likely during the initial raids upon the Fringe. Other large buildings now seem to be housing men and provisions. The militia is large, I know, a couple of thousand at least having been reported to have travelled north to Olympus, yet with thousands more still here, protecting and running the town.
We turn a corner, travelling a little inwards down an alley. At the end, I spot a cloaked figure, standing alone and quiet in the shadows.
"There he is," Marcus says, stepping toward him.
The man turns, his head bald, his face youthful. He looks almost like Nestor to me, though doesn't have any scarring on his forehead.
"You are the preacher?" Marcus asks him, seeking confirmation.
The man nods. "I am," he says, his voice pleasant and smooth. "They are ready for you, gathered in the square. Many are regular commoners, but many others are part of the militia, so will already be armed. Finding arms for the rest shouldn't be hard. I have made 'friends' within the armoury and weapons storehouse."
"Good," Marcus says. "Well done."
I look at the man, intrigued, and blink into his head. I find that he isn't just a mere man, but a telepath, like me. Nowhere near as powerful, but gifted enough to cause problems within a town like this, populated by Unenhanced. His job, I know, has been to seek out those who wish to be awakened, to gather those with hidden potential. There are several other preachers here, sent in among the refugees to do the same over the last few days. A plan concocted by the Overseer, to set these poor people free.
"If you would follow me, then we can get started." The preacher looks at me, and bows his head low. "Lady Herald," he says quietly. "I am honoured to be in your presence. I hope I have not let you down."
He shuffles away at that, leading us on. Marcus takes my hand gently, drawing me through the streets. The soldiers step behind us, ever watchful, as they have been all night and through the early morning. We head towards a large, open square. I sense the buzz of activity as we approach, the narrow streets opening up into a sizeable plaza, filled with people.
"They are here for you, Brie," Marcus says. "More for you to set free."
The preacher smiles at me, and bows once more. "They are prepared, Lady Herald," he says. "The other preachers have gathered many of their followers here. Look, they stretch down the streets. They are all waiting."
"And the soldiers?" Marcus asks, looking out. Though they're not always easy to immediately distinguish from the masses, there appear to be a great number of people with guns here too. The promise of being awakened, of journeying to Olympus, clearly has a wide appeal.
"The soldiers on duty here are those under my command now," the preacher says. "I have had days to work at it, master. The square is mine." He looks to me. "Now, my Lady, I hand it to you."
He takes a step back, as the people begin to notice my presence, the square growing suddenly quiet as eyes begin to find me. I enjoy the sensation, the attention it permits. It lures a smile to my face as I turn to look upon them.
"How many are here?" Marcus asks, looking to the telepathic preacher.
"About seven hundred, master," the man says. "However, we have another square, to the north, where more are gathered. We can go there after, to continue the Lady Herald's good work, before continuing to the armoury to gather additional weaponry. Stocks are running low, but there are still some we can use to put in the people's hands."
"And the authorities here, the leaders...they know nothing of this?"
"The leaders are gone," the preacher says. "The man who now runs the town is a fool. His name is Bryan, a lesser leader among the League. He knows nothing of this, and there's little he could do anyway. The militia will not strike at their own people, not here. We will have no problem walking out of town in such numbers."
"Good," Marcus says, turning to me. "Then Brie, it is time. It should be no problem for you, should it?"
I shake my head, already scanning. The preacher must have been careful with who he brought here. So many have potential, almost all of them in fact. "It won't take long," I say. "Just a few minutes, that is all."
"And you know what to do?" he asks, looking at me carefully. "You know what the Overseer wishes?"
I frown, not entirely sure what he's talking about.
"You know, Brie," he goes on. "It is our task to help end this war. We must do that, no matter the cost. We have been turned to the correct path. We cannot deviate off it now."
Slowly, the answer clears through the mist in my mind.
"The camp?" I whisper, my eyes still hidden beneath a frown. "The blockade..."
"The city is being strangled, Brie. The people you freed, you saved, are all under threat. We're here to help stop tha
t. That is our task. And we must be strong."
He moves in closer to me and takes my hand. "Death is necessary sometimes," he whispers, "for others to flourish and thrive. If this war goes on, it will claim countless lives. We know what our true purpose is now. We know it's bigger than this." He smiles, so handsome, and gives me strength, as though channeling the words of the Overseer, the joy and glory of the Prime. "Go ahead, Brie," he finishes. "Do this, and we can return to the hill, where we belong. We can leave the nasty business to others."
His eyes flick to the four soldiers, and then to the hundreds gathered in the square.
"Do it," he tells me. "Awaken them. Give them their new purpose."
I nod, and turn to the people once more.
Ready to set them all free.
183
KIRA
"Nothing then?" asks Secretary Burns, standing with his hands behind his back within the royal tent. "No word at all?"
I shake my head, lying down upon one of the sofas, as my ankle is firmly massaged. It's part of the rehabilitation programme that will, I'm told, have my ankle fully healed within another session or two. The medic, I know, has a special healing power that is helping to knit the ligaments together more quickly.
"I'm afraid not, Leyton," I tell him. "I may return in a day or two and see if I can make contact next time."
Burns nods, pensive for a moment. "I suppose Brie could be too far away," he says, thinking to himself. "Or else Zander has been more permanently silenced."
"I feared the latter might be the case," I say. "I was hoping you might have some insight, given your powers."
"I'm afraid you may be left disappointed," he says. "Brie and Zander's connection, and his presence within this spectral realm....well, it's too much for even me to fully comprehend. I've never heard of such a thing before. I'm afraid anything I say will be speculation."
"Dom said about the same thing," I tell him. "This appears to be new ground that no one has explored."
"And where is the Emperor?" Burns asks.
"He's visiting with the troops," I say. "He, er, he likes to wander through the camp, keep up their spirits."
"A good attribute for any commander," Burns says, impressed.
"He'll probably be back soon," I say, looking through the opening to the tent. "If you want to speak with him about anything,”
The afternoon light is now beginning to die away, the day an unremarkable one. It seems the immediate plan is to wait, and see how the walls hold out against our continued bombardment.
"I have nothing specific to report," Burns says. "I was considering heading to the other camps, seeing how my own men are doing. But, it might be getting a bit late for that. I'll probably leave it for tomorrow."
I shrug, not thinking such a thing necessary. “We’re only just getting started here, Leyton," I say. "I'm sure the City Guards can do without you for a while."
"Oh, I'm certain of it," he tells me casually. "I just like to keep busy where I can. I hear these sieges can become quite protracted. The General is clearly happy to wait for now, and see how the Olympians respond to the early exchanges."
"Gives me more time to rest up, I guess." I look at the medic, still working hard on my ankle. It's a quite strange sensation, really. Uncomfortable, and yet hugely satisfying at the same time. There's a profound feeling of warmth spreading through my left ankle, foot and calf. Each time he works on me, I feel significantly stronger for it.
"Yes, that's the spirit," Burns says, raising a small smile. "I shan't keep you any longer. Enjoy your rehabilitation in peace, Kira."
He turns and steps toward the opening to the tent. I stop him with a question before he leaves.
"Is Elian back?" I ask him. "I hear he and Amber were out training. Is he looking to fight for us now?"
Burns turns back to me. "I'm not yet certain of young Elian's intentions," he says. "But yes, I believe they have recently returned. Elian is a dutiful young man. He seems intent on guarding me, even here in the heart of the camp." He shakes his head. "There really is no need. I'm happy to allow him some time alone with her, at least." He raises his eyes. "Would you like me to send them to see you, if I spot them?"
"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head. "I'm just interested to hear how they went today. It can wait until tomorrow. No rush."
He nods, waiting if I have anything else to say. A final query does come to mind.
"And how's Adryan getting on?" I ask him. "Are you keeping him busy?"
"As busy as I can," he says. "But really, there's not a great deal for him to do, or me for that matter." He allows a faint grin. "Being here, in camp, is enough for him for now."
"It'll have to do, I guess. Maybe find him some work managing rations and supplies, or something? It would suit his skill set."
"I'll look into it," Burns says. "But I assume the General has all of that in good working order. He runs a tight ship, and a well oiled machine." He smiles again. "But alas, I shall not keep you a moment longer. Enjoy your evening with the Emperor, Kira. Good night."
He leaves the tent at that, as I lie back and continue to suffer the strange, painful and yet satisfying massage on my ankle, stimulating regrowth and repair. The medic, mostly, works silently unless I ask him a question. I don't tend to do that, using this time to reflect and think.
When the medic does speak unbidden, however, it's predominantly to provide an update on my progress. He gives me one now, as he completes his work for the session.
"One more session, Lady Kira," he says, "and you should be as strong as ever. I would like to give it another couple of days to heal, before I complete the work."
"Thank you. I really appreciate all you've done."
"It is my pleasure to serve my future Empress. However, if you'd permit me, I would offer my professional advice, and tell you to stay here in camp with the Emperor, rather than storming the city when it is breached." He smiles, quite charmingly. "We would all have you safe, my Empress. No one wishes you to fall to harm here."
His words might be taken by someone else as inappropriate. After all, who would speak so plainly to a future Empress like that? But, I don't take it as such at all. I take it as endearing only, as a compliment to my place among the Neoromans, who have taken me as one of their own, and only wish me to stay unharmed here, when there are so many other soldiers to fight.
He certainly has a point. In another circumstance, I might find myself stepping back and not engaging. I might let the legion do its job, and do what it does best. But, I can't. Not with Brie in there. Not when my best friend needs saving.
"I don't think I was ever given your name," I say to the medic. "I don't think I ever asked. I'm...sorry about that."
"It's quite all right, my Lady. My name is Silvius."
"Well, Silvius, thank you for all that you've done. And for your kind words. A part of me wishes I could stay out of the fighting, however I fear that won't be the case. But I wouldn't worry about me. I've been doing this all my life."
"Of course, my Lady. I wasn't suggesting that you weren't sufficiently competent."
"I know you weren't, Silvius. But know that I am looking forward to the next challenge now. I am excited to represent Neorome, and become Empress Consort to Domitian."
He smiles fondly, and bows his head. "We will welcome you, my Lady, with open arms."
He steps away and leaves me alone, as I stand and test my ankle once again. It feels stronger than it did earlier, strong enough to fight on when the time comes.
I draw a breath, and put a little more pressure on it, dashing from side to side within the unnecessarily large tent. I feel no discomfort at all. If anything, it is my right ankle that feels a little weaker than my left now.
I'm back, I think, nodding to myself and smiling. Oh, I'm back...
"What are you smirking at?"
I spin around to find Dom striding in, decked out in his full armour. He likes to wear it when in front of the troops. Back here, he prefers more com
fortable attire.
"Nothing," I say, ripping the smile from my face. "How'd it go with the men?"
"Good, right Max?" Dom says, looking to Max as he walks in just behind Dom, ever at his side these days.
"Very good, my Emperor. The troops are always inspired by your presence."
"Well, not much else I can do around here, is there?" Dom says, marching straight for the table at the rear of the tent. He pours a goblet of wine, then another two, before stepping over to hand one to me, and one to Max.
"Sir, I really mustn't," says Max. "I'm on duty..."
"You're on nothing, Max," Dom says. "We're surrounded by thousands of Neoroman soldiers. I'm perfectly safe here, fear not." He thrusts the goblet into Max's hand. "Now take it, and drink. I won't force you to have more than one, I promise." He offers me a wink at that, to which I sigh and shake my head.
He steps over to the side, and unfastens his chest plate, shuffling out of it and placing it to the side. He does the same with his more cumbersome armour, leaving him in his fashionable under robes.
"So, darling, how did the session go?" he asks as he works. "Good, I hope?"
"Really good, actually," I say. "I feel pretty much back to normal."
Max smiles warmly. "That is excellent news, Kira," he says.
"And your arm, Max?" I ask him. "You fully recovered now?"
"Would such an honourable man as Max put himself forward to protect me if he wasn't?" Dom says, now moving toward a couch to take a seat. He settles in and takes a sip of wine, owning every inch of ground he touches. "Come on, take a seat you two. Don't stand so stiff."
I move toward the sofa, and sit down next to Dom, though maintain an appropriate distance between the two us given we're in company. Max, meanwhile, sits alone on a single seater, upright and rigid in his armour.
