by T. C. Edge
Kira shakes her head immediately. "Oh, no, I'd never expect that. I've just relayed the information. I'll leave it to Ares and Perses to fight over."
The two great chunks of man look at one another. I wonder who will defer to the other first, given they're both so respectful and polite.
"I wouldn't say this expedition needs a single, designated leader," Ares says. "But if decisions need to be made, and made fast, then I would say Perses is best placed to guide us. It is his city, after all. No one knows it better."
The room seems to nod in unison. No one counters the suggestion.
"So be it," says Perses, taking on the role in his typically humble manner. "I would suggest we leave after dark, and slip away from the western edge. It sounds like we have only a vague idea of where the entrance to this tunnel is?"
He looks to Kira.
"The highest point in the western hills, Zander told me," she says. "He told me I should be able to find it by using the sight."
"Ah yes, those hills are rarely visited, and never at their summit," Perses says. "They are a fair few miles from the city and across the plains. Progress will be slow in the tunnel, and we must be wary. If we time it right, we may be able to make it to the gate just before the change of watch. The soldiers on duty will be weary then. And in the dead of night, the city will be quiet."
"The legion will need to be ready to enter the city if and when the gate is opened," Burns says. "I will be able to muster the City Guards and prepare them to attack."
"And the legion?" asks Perses. "How do you propose they ready themselves, when the General doesn't know of our intentions?"
"He will know," Domitian says. "The General is being kept out of things right now because he may slow down or impede this plan. Once the plan is in motion, there is no reason to continue to exclude him. In fact, his participation will be essential."
"And you don't think he'll be angry?" asks grandma.
"Oh, he'll be livid," Domitian says with a grin. "But that won't stop him taking action. We shall be ready when the time comes, I assure you."
"Then there is little else left to say," says Perses, resuming control, rising into his position as leader of the party. It's hard for me to express just how happy it makes me. To be led on a mission by Perses again. To see Perses and Ares fight side by side. To see Kira back to her true self, focused, direct, forging a path for us all to follow.
And Lilly, I think. To have a chance to save her, to end the war tonight...
After a night of tragedy, and a day of sorrow, the evening might just be one of great triumph.
"Rest up, then," Perses finishes. "We have several hours until nightfall. Take the time to prepare. We shall reconvene when the sun goes down."
With that, he nods, and moves out of the tent. One by one, spaced out in intervals to conceal the ruse, we follow. I'm left at the back, with Elian, and grandma. There's a sense of excitement among us, enough to override our fears.
"You'll come fight when the gates are opened?" I ask Elian. "Or...will you stay behind with Leyton?"
Burns, still in the tent as well, hears me. "He will do no such thing," he says, stepping over. "I'll be perfectly safe back here. Elian will be needed in battle." He pats the young Fire-Blood on the back, giving his permission.
"I suppose you have no choice, then," grandma says with a grin.
"And you, Alberta?" asks Burns. "Will there be one last hurrah?"
"Oh, I suppose we'll have to see," she says. "As I say, I have been yearning to step foot back in the city. Perhaps this is my moment."
"Well if it is," says Burns, "let us mark this moment with a drink. I have a bottle of wine tucked away. How about it, Amber. Do you need some rest, or would you rather spend your last hours here in good company?"
"I would say it's inadvisable," I say, "to get drunk before going on an important mission. But then, my blood's too hot for the alcohol to affect me. So," I grin, "why not."
"That's the spirit," says Burns, turning away to fetch the bottle.
And so my final hours in camp pass by.
In good company.
195
BRIE
"The city isn't so beautiful in the fog," sighs Minerva, as we sit in the fading light, looking down from the gardens outside her mansion.
The sprawling metropolis, with all its disparate architectural styles and cultures, flows to the distance, towards the great wall that borders and protects it. The lights are beginning to shine and gleam, softly concealed within the faint mist that spreads throughout the city. It's not like it has been, thick and murky, especially towards the southern wall. Now, it's akin to the light mist of an autumn dawn, billowing softly among the streets.
"Oh, I don't know," Marcus responds. "There's something appealing to it, don't you think? All those lights, merging. The shadows and blur of far off things."
"It's been too long, Marcus," Minerva says. "For a morning, yes, I enjoy the sight. When it lasts for days I grow weary of its presence."
We sit there, the night air beginning to cling cold, sipping on wine as we look out upon the world. Up here, the air is clear and crisp, only beginning to grow muddied down towards the southern wall, and within the immediate area around it. There, the air cracks regularly, split by the sound of distant explosions. It's been a soundtrack we've endured for some time now. At least, I think it has.
On the table before us, the smell of Minerva's cooking remains, a feast of soup and beef and potatoes, greens of various sorts, warm, toasty bread, and much else besides. Her cooking is a marvel to me, a culinary delight. With a belly full, and blood lazy with wine, I sit content as I look down into the city, the lights and shadows, parts clear and others indistinct.
"I suppose the Overseer found himself too busy in the end," says Minerva, drawing her goblet to her lips, reclining in her cushioned chair. "He takes much time with the Prime recently. Much more than I've known him to before."
Marcus looks toward me. His face has a frame of secrecy to it. What is it about, I wonder. The truth of the Overseer, the truth of the Prime? The truth, indeed, of what we are set to become?
Amid the shroud of recollections and faded memories, my mind clears with one recently joined. I remember with great clarity our time in the ancient bowels of the hill, far beneath the Temple of the Prime. I recall the Overseer's words verbatim, brief though they were. I know, as Marcus does, something that no one else seems to. The great secret at the heart of Olympus, kept by only a few. The secret of the Prime, and the Overseer's, origin. The secret of their age, their coming death. The secret of who is being groomed to replace them...
The thought comes, troubling and exciting in equal measure. A sudden urge takes me, to seek council on all I know. I turn to Minerva, considering telling her, thinking I need it, thinking she's earned it. I go so far as to open my mouth, but the words seem strangled in my throat. I cough, instead, drawing her attention.
"Oh, what is it, sister?" she asks. "Water. Do you want some water?"
I shake my head, composing myself. The urge to tell her, to speak the truth, vanishes like a drop of water in the sea.
The skies darken further, the wine bringing with it a comforting fatigue. I sense some discontent in Minerva, looking down at those mists, shaking her head as she listens to the thudding at the wall. She is a pacifist, I know, much softer of heart than her brother. She takes great pleasure and joy in awakening people, improving their lives. War brings the opposite, as she sees it. She understands the necessity of it, but holds contempt for it all the same.
"I should clean up," she says after a time, not wishing to look down upon the city any longer. "So long as you're both finished?"
I nod, rubbing my stomach. "It was so delicious, Minerva. Thank you."
"My pleasure, sister," she smiles. "I shall keep the leftovers for you, should you want them."
Marcus offers a similar sentiment, before Minerva collects the plates and platters and bowls, returning them to the house. W
e both offer to help, but she insists we stay.
"Enjoy the view, such as it is," she says. "Your eyes see more than mine."
I return to my wine, and the view, as Marcus moves to sit a little closer to me. I don't know when it happened, exactly, at what point it became expected of him to do so, but his arm wraps fondly around my waist, and he pulls me tight, holding me close.
It is the embrace of lovers, of those moulded to one. He turns his face, a golden brown, and kisses me on the cheek, urging my neck to swivel, to meet the flesh of my lips instead. I do so, unable to deny him, but feel uneasy all the same.
Part of me wants it, part senses it's wrong. I cannot think why right now. I have only vague memories now of my past, of people once important to me. I get a flash of silver eyes, dark hair, pale skin. They try to form into a face, but come as an impression only, an idea without form, like the bare bones of a thinly plotted novel, yet to be fleshed out.
Marcus senses something wrong. He pulls away, hurt. "What's the matter?" he asks. "Have I done something wrong?"
I shake my head, not wishing to insult him. I ease his face into a smile by leaning in, kissing him again.
Wrong. It feels wrong.
I pull away, hold my smile, and turn my eyes back to the city. I wait for the moment to pass, for the unease to fade. I hardly know anymore why I feel as I do. When I try to search my past, it comes as a blur. I know only here and now. I know only what my future will hold.
A throne. A sea of supplication and service. A world at my feet, bowing to a goddess.
My lips coil up, and then fall down. I am lost in a world of conflict. A battle between desire and passion, and a hidden, shadowed dread.
The time flows on, the skies picking up stars. They twinkle brightly, the moon vividly lit tonight. But in the distance, I sense clouds. A blanket of dark grey, consuming the celestial light.
"Looks like a storm may be coming," Marcus says, following my gaze. "There are some things the Skymasters cannot repel. Especially not with their attention taken so."
I look to those clouds, and somehow, I welcome them. I relish the roar of thunder, the pouring of rain. To slip into my bed and descend beneath the blankets. To let the rumbling skies send me to my sleep.
"We should go in, before the rains come," Marcus goes on. He stands and I do the same. His arm stays around me as we move into the mansion, a rumble of thunder, distinct from the bombardment at the wall, sounding in the far distance.
I rejoin Minerva, stepping into the sprawling kitchen. The pull of sleep tugs at me now, a desire to be alone. I shift gently from Marcus's grip. "I need to rest," I say. "I think it's the wine."
Minerva smiles. "Of course, sister. Rest up well. I will wake you in the morning, at the usual time."
I step away, thanking her again for the dinner, and move into the grand hall. The place seems more spacious than ever, suddenly so stark and empty, like a museum, a place suited for dozens, fit with only two.
Marcus looks at me, hoping to bring the house occupants to three. "Would you like company?" he asks. His eyes hold a hopeful tint.
I look into them, deep brown, ringed hazel. "Not tonight," I say. "I need some time alone."
He dips his head, disappointed, yet respectful. I turn and move for the stairs, creaking underfoot. Has he stayed with me before? I wonder, not entirely knowing. Something tells me he has been staying with Herald Avon, learning from his wisdom. But I could well be wrong. It's so hard to know.
I reach my room on the first floor, one of the smaller bedrooms in the house. My bed invites me in, taking me into a fond embrace, my robes slipped from my frame and dropped to the floor. I feel the soft bedding gather around me, tucking into the spaces between limbs. With a few shifting movements I settle, letting out a long, slow breath, as I feel my body and mind unwind.
Silence falls, such a comfort to my ears. I lie and wait for the pull of sleep to take me, wondering whether the rains will come first. A few long, slumberous blinks begin to lure me, like Sirens calling on the seas. I reach the precipice, about to fall, when the first taps begin to sprinkle at the window.
A smile draws on my face, as the rains come gentle at first, and then begin to fall hard. They join with the thunder, with the booming at the walls. I listen to all three, enjoying all three, the rain relentless, uniform in its delivery, the others more sporadic, coming when they please.
A crack of thunder bellows, louder suddenly than before. It dominates, sounding above the more distant bombing, delaying my fall to slumber for a moment longer. My weary eyes open a little, my head lifting from the pillow. The rains grow louder, the skies splitting once more, rumbling as though the ending of the earth is nigh.
I settle amid the drama, comfortable and closed off in my nest. The thunder continues to shake the heavens, and the walls continue to thud, thud, thud. On the window and the roof, the deluge dances, a sprinkling sound, a tonic for my ears.
I begin to drift away, my thoughts falling within. I hear more thudding there, more banging in the depths of myself. It must be a dream I'm in, a nightmare. That battle within me grows louder, more violent. The beast with two heads and eyes of light...
I focus on the fight, sensing it reaching some grand conclusion. It feels to me a battle that's been raging days, perhaps weeks, a war between light and dark. The beast, the monster, the creature of malice, so long holding the upper hand, seems to weaken. It cowers backwards, its spectral form fading, eyes flickering like failing streetlights, preparing to go out.
A figure looms before it, tall and heroic. He puffs out his chest and lifts his chin. Victory is imminent. The warrior shall prevail. He hauls a great sword to the sky, as though ready for the finishing blow. The monster draws back, slithering rearward.
Behind it, a shadowed figure watches on. He is a silhouette only, black as night. Yet on his jaw, a sliver of white.
He's smiling.
A loud creak stabs at my head. Heavy wood on groaning hinges. My eyes rip open, heart tensing. The sounds of the storm return to my ears, no longer soothing but ominous, my muscles aching with nerves.
I turn to the door. Light glows where it once stood dark. A silhouette stands on the threshold. Tall, thin, head teasing the top of the frame. I blink and draw the blankets up around me, assailed by a sudden terror. The figure doesn't move, a cutout of black, motionless and silent as death.
I stare, for what seems like a lifetime, my mind and body paralysed. The form just stares back, a lightless void. And then, something. A glint of white as the mouth opens to a grin.
"Come, Brie," says the Overseer. "There's something I must show you..."
196
KIRA
"This is it, Adryan. This is my chance to get her back."
He looks me in the eye, his own a pale silver. There's a conviction there I like. A trust in me that I'll get it done. He knows this is no time for doubt or cold council. No matter how long the odds might be, this is our chance, and we must put all we have behind it.
I draw him into a hug, and his silent stoicism breaks. "Do it, Kira," he says, quietly and into my ear. "Save her, one last time."
One last time, I think. Perhaps this was my purpose all along. Save Brie, and save the world. I draw up a wry smile. No pressure.
I step from Adryan and to Dom, standing nearby. We have been here many times before. No words are required, no goodbyes. He knows what I need right now, just as Adryan seems to have discovered. No weakness, no doubt. He worries each time, of course he does, but he will now show me that face.
I hug him, and kiss him. I cannot describe how much I love him. I'm not one for words; there is no poetry in my bones. I show him through my actions, through the warmth of my embrace, the pressure of my lips.
"See you soon, darling," is all he says, his face wrapped up in a confident smile. "Do what you were born for."
The others have said their own goodbyes, though mostly back in the centre of camp. Amber, I know said her temporary farewell
to Alberta and Elian back there. Perses and Ares...well, they're not the sort for such things. A nod here, a lift of the chin there. They might just be the two most physically formidable men in the world. How tremendously lucky that they're both on our side.
"Good luck, all of you," comes the voice of Secretary Burns. I'm not sure there's anyone in camp more widely respected than him. Whether Fringer, Olympian, Havenite or Neoroman, Leyton Burns is a man to listen to. "We will be ready when you open the gates."
He turns to look at the sentries stationed here at the west of camp. They are City Guards, and necessarily so, purposely stationed here by Burns. The Neoromans, as yet, are not aware of the plan.
"Go, and go now," Burns finishes. His eyes turn skyward. "A storm is coming."
We leave at those words, slipping off into the shadows in the west. Night has only just fallen, giving us plenty of time to reach the hills, search for the opening, and venture down the tunnel. We need it, given Amber's presence on the team. She can be quick, yes, when using her flames, but not as fast as the rest of us. It is a necessary sacrifice to ensure her inclusion. If we should run into trouble, someone of her power will be exceptionally useful.
We work in a circular motion, keeping out of sight of the Olympian sentries posted upon the walls. Perses, Ares, and I all know instinctively just how far an enemy Hawk, stationed upon those battlements, will be able to see. We keep just out of reach of their sight, therefore, aided by the coming clouds. They march in from the east, chasing us down as we go, blotting out the stars one by one to blanket the world in a more pervasive darkness.
"Will the storm last?" I hear Ares ask Perses, as they take the lead, Amber and me following. "Do the Skymasters have the power to deny it, or change its course?"
Perses only has to glance to the heavens. His heavily bristled chin shakes. "With all the Skymasters assembled, perhaps, but their numbers are lower than ever. Storms have been avoided here when they have been scattered at posts around the Sacred Plains. Now, the city is as any other; at the mercy of the weather of the world."
