by T. C. Edge
"But...I've never heard anything about this," I whisper. "Over on the Fringe, we never felt like we were under threat."
"Of course you didn't," Perses says. "We protect the people of the Fringe, and don't frighten them unduly. We try to pass by unnoticed when we go on operations. We come and go often without ever being seen. The borders of our lands are growing more exposed each year. Each year brings fresh threats, hungry to take what we have. So far, we have been able to deal with them without drastic loss of life to our citizens. But that won't last forever, Amber. One day, we will clash with an enemy that will truly test us."
He takes a breath, barrel chest filling, and turns his eyes back to the window. "That isn't something the people of the Fringe need to know. Nor the residents of this city. It is our burden. That of the Heralds, and the Chosen, when they are called upon to help. Now, it is your burden too, young one. Are you ready to accept it?"
My beating heart slows, a pulse of fire spreading through my body. Within that dimly lit carriage, I glow softly red, and a flicker of fire dances in my eyes.
"I'm ready," I say. "I'm yours to command, Herald Perses."
The man smiles faintly, and nods. "From what I've seen of you so far, Amber, I'd expect nothing less."
A warmth, not of my inner fire, spreads through me at his words. I turn my eyes again to the window and pull back the curtain. It allows me a panoramic view of the city as it slopes away around us. A magnificent place of great beauty and culture. A hub of enlightenment in a dark and dangerous world. I know, here, that much knowledge of the past is stored and celebrated. The many districts, so varied and distinct, are a testament to that, embracing various cultures now long forgotten elsewhere, unknown to the more primitive populations that exist beyond our borders.
But not here in Olympus. No, here we harbour and protect that knowledge, aim to bring it to the new world, bring light where shadow looms and festers. I look out, and feel my mind so changed to when I first arrived here. Find my old circumstances just a blip in my past, a memory fading now into the recesses of my mind.
No, the past I've laboured through doesn't matter anymore. What matters is my future, a future of significance. And perhaps, I wonder, staring out, that's just what the Prime have prophesied and foretold. That I am to be important in the battles to come, in helping to protect and save this city, and all the wonders it contains.
Ahead, stretching away, I see the tops of the external walls starting to rise. Mighty bastions that few enemies could surely penetrate. A wide moat lies outside, I know, and miles upon miles of mist and fog beyond. A veil to hide this place from intruders and invaders. A blanket laid down by those who possess the power to manipulate the weather, stationed in hideouts on the plains all around us, tasked with the single duty to hide the treasure within.
Yet despite it all, I see the worry in Perses's eyes. I see the tension upon his face and deep in his rippling limbs. There's something out there with the power to threaten us, something, perhaps, that's been lingering in the shadows for some time.
"What is our mission?" I ask, looking ahead to the great square that marks the main entrance to the city, paved in a multitude of vibrant, beautiful colours. At its edge, the portcullis lifts, providing passage through the walls towards the huge, silver gate, and bridge to the plains beyond.
Perses's answer draws my eyes back to his. I observe his expression carefully, his leathery features twisting as he speaks. "Your mission, Amber, is to study and learn. To witness the truth of what these lands hold. To assume the tools you'll need to protect them."
"I understand that, Herald Perses," I say. "I understand that this is all new to me but...well, that wasn't my question." His eyes lift, faint smile coming too. "What is our mission?" I repeat. "Why have you been called out?"
"For the very reasons I've spoken of," he says. "To protect our borders and our people." He shakes his head. "No, you hear little on the Fringe. We make sure of that. But the truth is, young Herald, that massacres do happen. That we have a lot of land to watch over, and sometimes those on the outer reaches, in particular, fall into one of our blindspots."
"Massacres?" I ask. "What do you mean? You're talking about our people. The people of the Fringe?"
"What else would I be talking about?" he says. "This is the reality, whether you know it or not."
"So...what happened?" I ask, impatient, my armour glowing a little brighter as we move towards the square. My mind fills momentarily with my old home, my loved ones there. Surely not Pine Lake? Yes, it's towards the western edge of the Fringe, but it's too far inland from our borders to be considered unsafe?
Perses notes the concern in my eyes, and puts my fears to rest.
"A border settlement on the south eastern edge of the Fringe was assaulted a couple of days ago," he explains. "The assailants pillaged the village, and made off with their loot, much of it being gathered for tribute. They murdered the men and the elderly, and have taken the women and children into bondage. We lost several of our own border soldiers trying to protect them. We have several others who have tracked the assailants to the south, where they are currently in camp..."
My heart tightens as he speaks, hearing of such a horror. Yet Perses delivers it without emotion, reciting the events as though they're commonplace.
And they are, Amber. You just don't know it, but they are...
"You want to know our mission, Herald Amber?" the man goes on. "I think you can figure it out."
I nod, my fists bunching, teeth clenching tight.
"Retrieve the hostages. Kill the assailants," I grunt. "Torture them for information if we can."
Perses lifts a half smile. "A perfect answer," he says, leaning in. "Now, answer me this question...are you ready to kill?"
My head fills with images, though not of the same blackened bodies as before. No, I think of these faceless, nameless assailants, these scum who'd lay waste to an innocent village. I imagine them sitting around a fire, enjoying their bounty, women and children gagged and tied up nearby. I imagine them laughing about what they've done, sharing stories of murder, of rape, of unimaginable cruelty.
I imagine that fire then rising by my own hand, engulfing them, melting their flesh, killing them slowly. I imagine it, and feel joy. A profound sense of justice in cleansing this world of such evil.
Oh, I'm ready to kill, I think.
In fact, I yearn for it.
I nod, my eyes telling their own story. There is no lie within them.
"Good," Perses says. "That is a good start. But know this, child; to take life should never be joyful. We do it because we have to, not because we want to. To take pleasure in the act is a dangerous road to travel."
"Even with the things they've done?"
"Even so," nods Perses. "I understand how you must feel, hearing of this. You seek revenge, and think, quite fairly, that you'll be only too happy to kill for what these men have done. That is a natural reaction. But you must detach yourself from the emotion of your duty. To open yourself to such things will only lead to pain. There is a fine line between taking pleasure in killing, and letting the act consume you. Detachment is the only course."
"That doesn't sound easy," I sigh.
"Easy? Nothing about killing is easy. But it is necessary. It will take time for you to learn, but heed my words now. To start on the wrong track may lead you astray."
The sound of the convoy of wagons begins to echo as we enter into the great square. I look outside to find the citizens gathering to see us off, bowing and waving as we pass, saluting the brave men and women who let them sleep soundly at night. They know this chariot. They know Black Thunder. They know just who rides within.
And I can see it on their faces, and in their postures; they respect Herald Perses greatly. They worship this man who watches over them all.
"We travel for two days at speed," the man says as I look out at the square, the people gathered around. "With luck, our prey will hold camp where they are. You will tra
vel here for the duration with me, Amber. One day, you will be able to christen a carriage of your own." He smiles, showing, for once, a little bit of tooth. "I think red might be a good option for yours."
I nod, smiling back.
"Now relax, and enjoy the ride. Your first mission as Herald of War begins now."
Through the gate, and across the drawbridge we go. Back out onto the vast, open plains.
10
I watch the world pass by, the beauty of the city replaced by the rugged endlessness of the dusty brown plains. The mist that enveloped Jude and I as we ventured across them several weeks ago remains in place, a permanent feature suffocating the world for miles and miles to the south.
There's little to see those first hours, little more than the occasional rock formation to look upon, or the sight of a towering statue marking the land, one of the Prime or the many powerful servants under their charge. I muse on my previous journey here as we go, on the state of my life as it was then. I do so while adopting the advice of Perses; to stay detached, to draw a veil upon my emotions. To think of the changing of my life as if viewing it from afar, not dwelling on the details of what I've lost or left behind, but considering it all from a more dispassionate standpoint.
I ask him questions as we travel together, and observe him during times of silence, of which there are many. I learn by osmosis, sucking up what I can from the great man, trying to figure out just how he stays so unflustered no matter the circumstances of what's happening around him.
I pose the question to him, and his answer is simple. "Experience," he tells me. "And a commitment to a cause. "I came to this city as a young man, similar in age to you. I wasn't as I am now. I was more wild, my powers hard to tame. I learned through commitment and repetition to harness them, bend them to my will. With that feeling of control came a greater control of my emotions. They go hand in hand, Amber. To lose control of your emotions is to lose control of your powers. That is something no Herald or Chosen, or any soldier of mine, will tolerate."
"And what are your powers?" I ask, so fascinated by the man. I can only assume his bloodline possesses a range of genetic enhancements, each adding up to give him a potent cocktail that few, if any, can match.
"I possess a blend, Amber," he says. "I have been blessed to be granted the strength of the Titans, and the speed of the Phasers. I can see like the Farsights, and have other gifts that are, as far as I've so far discovered, unique to me."
"Like what?" I breath, wide-eyed as I look at him.
He manages a smile at the wonder on my face. "Ones that are harder to quantify, I suppose," he says. "Stamina and endurance. I can push myself to my limits and sustain them for a long period of time. Sleep isn't something I require as often as others. And," he finishes, completing his staggering set, "I have the rare gift of durability. I told you earlier how I have, in a manner of speaking, died several times before?"
"Yes..."
"Well, that would be true of most other men," he tells me. "I do not suffer as others do when my flesh is torn. Wounds that might be fatal for others aren't so devastating for me. And when I suffer injury, I heal with greater efficiency." He points again to his scars. "These were never stitched or sutured. They closed and knitted of their own accord."
I find myself speechless when he shuts his mouth, quite unable to imagine how a single man could possibly harness and master such a combination of gifts.
"It's no wonder," I whisper eventually, finally finding my voice again, "that you're the greatest of the Heralds."
"I don't think of myself as such," Perses counters modestly, eyes drifting to the window. "I am a man of duty, as we all are. Our gifts are merely tools that enable us to perform the tasks we're given. But if you like to use the word greatness, then consider it for yourself, Amber," he says, turning his eyes back to mine. "If it motivates you, embrace it for now. Let it fuel you. You might just become the greatest of us all."
I scoff audibly at the thought. Perses merely raises his eyes.
"Yes, I can see how you might doubt that statement, but I am not lying when I speak it. You don't yet know the depths of your strength. You may not think my words so outlandish if, and when, you dig your way to the bottom."
As the afternoon stretches on, he teaches me other such pearls of wisdom, instructing me into the nature of mental peace in the face of great adversity, in tapping into the vastness of ones true potential. Few, he tells me, ever excavate the full treasures of what lies within them. Many of the most gifted have more to give if they truly dedicate themselves to a single ideal and purpose. Those that do attain an almost spiritual link between themselves and their power. A bond that no human relationship could ever compete with.
"I feel the beginnings of that now," I tell him. "I feel the fire in me. I feel it trying to break free."
"And in that you must be careful. You must continue to train and tame it. Dedicate yourself to that, and embrace what you are, and your bond will grow stronger than you can imagine."
We don't stop for lunch, only taking a short break to allow the soldiers to use the bathroom. No time for it, not here. No, all energy will be provided, I'm told, by the nutrition bars that help satiate you for hours. Each carriage holds a good supply of them, far more than should be required. Bland, yes, but extremely useful in providing the necessary energy for the powerful individuals here to fully utilise their gifts should they need to.
I step out during that first break, keen to stretch my legs if nothing else. Across the plains, I see soldiers hurrying off into the mist and disappearing behind little boulders and rocky outcrops. I look down the line of a half dozen transports and see that my early estimations were about right, noting a count of roughly ten to twelve soldiers in each, depending on their size - Krun, obviously, takes the space of several men - giving a total of about fifty or sixty. Seeing as the front carriage is only being used by Perses and me, the convoy really amounts to five.
It's a good number, and I suspect a formidable force. Though I don't get a great look at many of them, I do recall a few faces from the troop that first found Jude and me out here before. They must be just as bemused as Krun at my speedy, and frankly unheard of, climb up through the ranks of this city.
The break doesn't last long, the soldiers zipping off and back again without a moment to spare. As I'm about to turn and step back into Black Thunder, I catch sight of a faint red glow down the line, moving through the mist towards one of the rear carriages. Intrigued, I step towards it to get a better look, and the sight of Fire-Blood robes begin to come into view.
I get a strange feeling of kinship as I look upon them. And then, as the face of the owner reveals itself, that feeling departs, replaced by something else. Not a loathing per se, but a pretty firm dislike.
Hestia, Chosen candidate and Primary Fire-Blood, catches eyes with me before she steps into the rear carriage. We stand, staring at each other through the mist, for an extended moment, memories of our time together in the dorms and competing for the position of Chosen playing through my head. To be fair, we were beginning to lighten up a little around each other towards the end, but that was probably because we thought we'd never have to see each other again.
But here we are, together once more. Frankly, it just makes me smile in an ironic sort of way.
She...well, she doesn't exactly return the expression. To be honest, I'm not sure she can smile. Unless in the presence of the Prime, perhaps.
Instead, she does something I guess I'll have to get used to. She bends her usually arrow-straight back, and dips her head into a bow. Hestia may be an A-class bitch at times, but she sure does observe military etiquette and rank. Now, I seriously outrank her, and she knows it full well.
As she steps away into the carriage, and I do the same, a single thought comes to mind.
I could have some fun with this.
We camp that night beyond the thick carpet of fog that coats the plains, near enough to the northern border of the Fringe to be in
sight of a town in the distance.
Lit by firelight a couple of miles or so away, it's the first sight of the Fringe I've had in weeks, though a vastly different part to anywhere I've been before. My entire life within these lands has been spent on the western edge, around the lakes and woods nestled in the shadows of the mountains. Here, along the eastern frontier, we must be hundreds upon hundreds of miles away, the lands much flatter and far less interesting, going by what I've seen so far.
I imagine, however, that the town flickering in the distance is typical for the northern edge of the Fringe. Like Black Ridge, it's sure to be more pious and religious, absolutely devoted to the worship of Olympus, the Prime and their Children. If only they knew that the great Herald Perses was camped so close by. How excited they'd be...
The camp itself is a simple affair. Fires are lit for warmth and comfort, allowing the men, and few women, among the troop to chat as they dine on their tasteless nutrition bars. The carriages themselves are perfectly comfortable to sleep in, but certainly don't have the capacity when their occupants are lying prone.
It seems that they are reserved for the senior figures among the troop, of which Krun, being a captain, is one. Black Thunder, of course, is reserved for Perses, a space he'd usually have to himself. Not with me around. Though I try to protest, the hulking man in black insists I sleep in the comfort of its interior.
"It is yours, Amber," Perses tells me, making it sound more like an order than a suggestion. "You will sleep here tonight."
I look around the space, which is plenty to accommodate the both of us quite easily. The thought of sharing it, however, with Perses, isn't overly appealing. It's not him, really, but me. I'm scared I might talk in my sleep or something, as I did down in the dorm-chambers of the Temple of Fire.
"The interior seating folds out," Perses goes on. He stands from his perch and ushers me to one side, rearranging the interior and unfolding the comfortable bench into what looks like an even more comfortable bed.
