Blood of the Chosen: Children of the Prime, Book 3

by T. C. Edge

  He smiles, showing that softer, warmer side of his. The side that I saw when we sat drinking together one night, when I found out about his desperate need to win the trials, the sister he loved so dear, the father who he ever wishes to emulate, even after his death.

  "Come on, I'll show you," he goes on, leading the way forward with his wondrous, crimson robes fluttering in the dying breeze.

  I follow behind him, moving across the open plateau, the little gardens and courtyards, the wide open spaces that make it feel so grand and imposing, surrounded by magnificent structures coloured to match their resplendent occupants.

  They become easier to make out now, the homes where the Chosen and Heralds reside. I see one grander in its proportions than the others, though only, I suspect, to make living more comfortable. "Atlas lives there," Elian tells me, as if I couldn't have guessed. The great mansion is coloured in rustic tones of brown, too, to match its owner, its doors wide and tall, the corridors and rooms and furnishings within designed to accommodate the man's titanic size.

  "Oh, and that's where Dianna lives," Elian goes on, pointing to a place nearby to his own house. It matches the sultry woman too, painted subtly white and green, its gardens beautifully tended and kept, bursting with flowers of various colours. "She likes to look after her garden herself," Elian says. "You should see her watering the flowers. Takes her seconds only, zipping about so fast I can barely see. It's quite the sight. Dizzying, but fascinating."

  I smile at the thought as we wander on.

  Other houses are pointed out to me, each slightly different in its appointments, though all as beautiful as the last. Then, I see one of slightly grimmer facade, dark and gloomy in a gothic sort of way.

  "Perses?" I question aloud, looking over at it from afar.

  "Yes," Elian confirms. "It suits him I think."

  He raises a smile and my lips follow, even though I don't necessarily agree. Yes, it suits him physically, perhaps, but Perses isn't a dark character. He's kind and paternal, not gloomy and grim. It makes me wonder, though, whether all homes belonging to the Heralds of War are similarly decorated and adorned.

  My concern is, however, dismissed as we near Elian's place, and he instead veers off to the side. I frown, confused, before he points his gaze ahead. There, right next door to his own mansion, stands another of similar size and proportion, surrounded by beds with red flowers of various colour, fountains and gardens stretching away to the back, leading to the cliff at the edge of the mountain where the world steeply, and dramatically, falls away.

  The mansion itself looks slightly different from the others. Less lived in, perhaps, more new. And then it dawns on me that, yes, it probably is. Built by a Forger, the Chosen Forger perhaps, to be my home here upon the hill.

  "It's...mine?" I ask, looking on. Gazing at the polished facade, the pillars and arches, the grand wooden doors, windows, balconies, statues built around it. They seem to depict Fire-Bloods and Heralds, perhaps even the other Chosen. At the front of the house, grander than the others, is one that has my own, incredibly detailed, likeness.

  "For whenever you're up here," Elian says. "That will depend on you. And...the future."

  I nod, entranced by the house ahead of me, as I am this entire place. But how much will I really stay here? Will I not be out there, beyond the city walls, performing the duty I've been assigned?

  "Of course, you can go into the city whenever you wish as well," Elian goes on. "To visit your sister. Or to stay at your other apartment, if you wish. I imagine that High Worthy of yours will miss you greatly if you only live here."

  "Marlow," I say, smiling fondly as I think of the man. "He's very loyal. I'll make sure to visit him when I can."

  "You can take the girl out of the Fringe, but you can't take the Fringe out of the girl," Elian muses, grinning.

  I frown, working out whether he's trying to insult me or not. "What do you mean by that?" I ask firmly.

  "Oh, nothing bad," he says, grin slipping. "It was meant to be a compliment, actually."

  "How so?"

  "Well, I guess...I guess it's kinda sweet that you'd still want to visit your High Worthy even after becoming a Herald. You'd actually make the effort, wouldn't you? That's kinda nice. I mean, I would never do it, but I'm a, well, I'm not like you, let's put it like that. I guess that's part of the reason why you were given the position."

  "What? Because I'm nice? That doesn't make much sense, Elian."

  "No, no, it does. The Heralds are always very compassionate. Well, the Heralds of War anyway. Their job is to protect Devotees, above all, seeing as it's them who suffer most from raids and attacks. You have to have compassion for the people of the Fringe for that job. You have to care about them and want to keep them safe."

  I begin to nod, having seen Perses at work. How he made sure that his personal attention was on saving the hostages, even when he might have aided significantly in the battle where he more focused on the main fighting. He might, in fact, have saved many of his own men. But he chose the prisoners instead, lowly as they are.

  "Kovas and Avon don't seem too compassionate to me," I say.

  "They are," Elian says, "I promise you that. And Herald Gailen the most of all."

  "Gailen? He's the strong, silent one?"

  "Both apt descriptors for Herald Gailen," Elian says, pursing his lips. "He's kinda like us, actually, a very powerful Elemental..."

  "Fire?"

  "No, not fire. He's most proficient at moving matter, like the Forgers and Earth-Shakers, but he can control wind and water too."

  "Wow. Quite the repertoire," I breathe.

  "I know. He's pretty devastating in battle, or so I hear. Doesn't like to speak much, though. Or, well, at all really."

  "He's mute?"

  "More or less, yeah. He was born without a large part of his tongue, or so the legend goes. The people say he does his talking on the battlefield."

  "Best way to do it," I say. "Must make leading soldiers difficult, though. Perses is trying to teach me to become a strong leader."

  "He doesn't do so much of that, does Herald Gailen. He's less a leader, and more a weapon."

  Weapon, I think, remembering once again what Marius said. Maybe that's all I really am too...

  A fresh sweep of cool air presses across us, and I turn my eyes to the now darkening skies, see faint clouds beginning to gather. A wave of exhaustion begins to claw at me as I drop my eyes once again and look far across the plateau towards the Temple of the Prime. Inside, lights shine, Perses enjoying a personal audience.

  I wonder what they're thinking, I ponder, looking on, thinking of our great Mother and Father. I wonder just what they know.

  Above all, I wonder what they will choose to do...

  "You look tired, Amber," comes a warm, strangely comforting voice. I look to Elian's bright, golden eyes, white teeth shining within his tanned visage. "You should get some sleep while you can." He looks to the temple as I did. "I have a feeling that we're both going to need it."

  He smiles at me once more, and then turns to leave, moving a little way off to his own grand home next door. The home once lived in by my own grandmother. The home saved for the Chosen Fire-Blood, passed from one to the next.

  But mine is new. Forged only as I journeyed on my mission beyond the city. A brand new home for a brand new line. The home of the first female Herald of War.

  I turn towards it and walk inside, seeking one of the many, many beds within.

  18

  I wake the following morning, my first upon the summit of Olympus, my first among the favoured Children of the Prime, to glorious sunshine and the wonderful, intoxicating smell of...coffee.

  It takes me a moment to come to in my new surroundings, to take in the shape of the huge bedroom in which I collapsed the previous night. I'm not entirely sure whether it's the 'master' bedroom or not. Given the size of this cavernous place, it might be nothing but a minor bedchamber, suited for guests or favoured staff.
/>   Then again, who exactly would I invite here, when the only people permitted to regularly attend the summit are those who have their own permanent abodes? And, well, I haven't really seen any evidence of staff either. No Worthies or High Worthies appear to be allowed up here, making me wonder whether the residents are expected to actually take care of themselves.

  The thought makes me laugh. It would be absolutely fine by me, of course, but I can't imagine the more pampered members of the hill, Elian among them, cooking and cleaning and fending for themselves.

  But, who does perform those tasks? I wonder. And...where exactly is that smell of coffee coming from?

  I climb out of bed and head to the wardrobe, unsurprised to find a selection of clothes - mostly robes coloured in various shades of red - awaiting me. Choosing one, I pull it on and wrap myself up, before venturing off into the mansion which, given my state of exhaustion, I didn't have the time or inclination to explore the previous night.

  Heading onto a landing that looks over the main hallway, I once more forgo the desire to explore - really, it's little more than a dull interest right now - and instead follow my nose towards the alluring scent of the coffee. Down the steps, through the hall, and towards the back I go, passing through large, open doors and into a grand, fully furnished kitchen. The smell gets stronger as I progress, until positively overpowering me as I look to see a pot on the boil, and a brightly coloured man attending it with a smile.

  "Ah, there you are," comes his smooth and beguiling voice. "How did you sleep, child? Do you like your new accommodations?"

  I blink, not at the light spilling in from the glass-fronted rear, showing the gardens outside, the cliff dropping away at the back, the simply astonishing view of the city stretching into the distance, huge bastions and fortifications visible from here, and even the open plains beyond. No, it's not at that that I blink, but the uninvited presence of the glamorous, colourful man in my kitchen.

  "Um, what exactly are you doing here, Master Overseer?" I ask, my voice croaky from lack of use. I cough to clear my airways, stepping deeper into the sprawling kitchen.

  The Overseer frowns humorously and looks down at the coffee. "I thought you'd want a cup to wake you," he says. "And a friendly face to greet you." He smiles, wrinkles deepening, though in a nice and grandfatherly way. It still baffles me to think of how old he really is.

  "So, thanks then, I guess," I say, taking a long breath as he picks up the pot and pours two large mugs. He hands one to me, and gestures towards a fine kitchen table to one side, looking out over the gardens and flowerbeds.

  We sit, the flamboyant man holding his large cup in two withered hands, breathing in the glorious fog as it rises up his nose. "Ah, delicious," he says, with a twist to his lips. "Nothing like a wonderful brew to start the day."

  I take a breath as well, and then dive in for a sip. Warm, smooth, and utterly gorgeous, I know for certain I could get used to this.

  "How is it?" the Overseer asks. "Good, I hope?"

  "More than good," I breathe. "But how come you made it yourself? I was just thinking about the lack of Worthies up here. I don't think I've seen a single one."

  "No, you wouldn't," the Overseer says. "It's a tricky thing, really, designing a place of such staggering exclusivity. How to balance using staff when their being here is so...inappropriate. To step foot upon the Sacred Stairs is meant to be a great honour, not intended for cleaners and cooks."

  "Then...how?" I ask. "We do it all ourselves?"

  "You sound perplexed, Herald Amber. Isn't that what you're used to back on the Fringe? I got the impression that being waited on hand and foot made you rather uncomfortable."

  "I was starting to get used to it," I admit with a sly grin.

  The Overseer lets out a bountiful laugh, drawing his mug to his lips.

  "Well, there's no surprise in that. But don't think that all the Heralds and Chosen work their fingers to the bone on menial tasks up here. No, much of what is required of the Worthies below is, well, automatic. It may not seem it from the outside, but there is a great deal of modern technology in use to aid the functions of daily life."

  "What. Like...robots?" I ask, not quite realising how ridiculous the suggestion is.

  "Oh, no child," chuckles the Overseer. "Just automatic systems, simple stuff really. All buildings here are supplied by below. Food comes up, waste goes down. You get the idea."

  "Erm..."

  "Anyway, that's not why I'm here, of course." He smiles and looks at me affectionately, those emerald, gold-tinged eyes of his, with their unlimited depth, surveying me so fondly. "I have come to see how you are, dear child. And I wanted to speak with you personally about your experience and how it all made you feel. So, talk to me, Amber. How are you this lovely day?"

  I raise my eyes, mumbling out something incoherent. "I, er, think I need a bit more coffee first."

  "By all means. Drink away. I'll bring the pot."

  As I continue to gulp down the very much needed elixir, the Overseer fetches the pot and returns to fill my mug. He does the same with his own, sits back down, and turns his eyes over the gardens outside.

  "They've given you a lovely spot here," he says. "Truly wonderful view over the city. Perhaps we should take a wander outside, get some fresh air?"

  I shrug, rather liking the idea, and we move through the doors with mugs in hand, the Overseer's lanky frame dwarfing my own. That's something I'm getting used to, though. Spending time among the likes of Perses, Krun, Marius, and now the simply galactic Atlas has made me rather accustomed to the idea that men come in all shapes and sizes that I never really knew existed. The Overseer, though tall, doesn't require me to crane my neck quite so much.

  We wander into the gardens, the grass so soft, the flowers so bright, the sun shining beautifully as it continues its early morning climb. Through to the rear we go, approaching the edge of the plateau, the cliff falling away into the depths and disappearing into the hanging mist. Through it, and beyond, however, the city is clear enough to see. It's as if looking from below, the mists are thicker. From upon this vantage, the view is less restricted.

  And my Prime is it extraordinary. An endless vista that beguiles and entrances, working to the horizon countless miles away. From here, the distinct parts of the city are visible, separated into wedges within the great walls. Though my eyes fail me, being only human, I can only imagine how a Farsight might enjoy this view, gazing at every tiny detail below, following the paths of individual men and women as they go about their days.

  And there, beyond the walls, the rugged plains stretch out, covered in that yellow-brown fog that hangs upon the earth like a thick, protective coat. It grows thicker in places, thinner in others, swirling about in rhythmic patterns that I could watch all day long. I wonder if that's where the weather-manipulators are stationed, within those thicker patches. It would make sense that their power can only go so far, each given a portion of the plains to conceal from unwanted eyes.

  "It truly is a stunning view, isn't it?" whispers the Overseer. "One impossible to forget. And one you'd never tire of. I can say that for certain, having seen it countless times. But there's always something new to look upon, some new detail, some new point of interest."

  He lifts a long finger, guiding it down towards the main gates. I can just about see the main square, with its multi-coloured paving stones, people moving about like ants upon the earth. And there, I see more soldiers, grouped into large companies, marching out towards the gate.

  "That, for example, is something rarely seen," the Overseer goes on. "Something that may become more common in the coming weeks." He turns to me again. "So tell me, Amber. How did it feel?" His voice is soft, drawing me in. "How did it feel to kill those men? How did it feel to enter the thrill of battle?"

  I return, just for a moment, to that recent memory, rising so clearly, so distinctly, within my mind. My march down the hill, my melting of those men. My bout with the Wind-Elemental, fighting off the flyi
ng debris, overcoming such a powerful foe. Oh, it thrilled me all right. That sense of power, of the fire within me surging free. It wasn't so much the death, the killing, that I enjoyed. Just the sense of victory over men of cruelty and evil.

  "It's hard to explain," I whisper eventually, holding the warm mug between my fingers. Enjoying that warmth. Feeling one with it. "It felt natural. I just behaved on instinct."

  "Good, child," says the Overseer. "The very best of us behave in just the same way. Anyone who is required to think too much can never mine the true depts of their power." He smiles, eyes glinting. "I have heard excellent reports from both Herald Perses and his soldiers. Even Hestia, of all people, seems to have warmed to you."

  "I kinda forced her to," I admit. "She's not exactly going to disobey the orders of a Herald."

  "Ah, quite true. But I have my ways of seeing beyond lies and half-truths, child. She has warmed to you, I assure you. You have been very much taken in by this city now. Word of your prowess is spreading. The people are happy to have you here."

  "They...are?"

  "Oh yes, most certainly. Yours is a wondrous tale of a prophesy come true. The girl from the Fringe, sentenced to die, who ascended to the ranks of the Heralds, protecting the weak and the innocent from evil. Oh, few can match that story, Amber. You will become a great hero to them in time. Already, it is beginning."

  The warmth, the feeling of profound satisfaction that swamps me at his words has my knees almost buckling. To find not only a purpose in life, but to explore this great power of mine, and to be loved by the people...it's a truly indescribable feeling. From a life of simplicity and frustration, to one of great renown. And the only black marks within my story, that of losing Jude, abandoning my old life, my family, witnessing certain horrors that still confuse me. Oh, they're patches of darkness, certainly, but so dominated by the light.

  The light, I think, instinctively turning to look backwards, across the plateau, towards the Prime. It is the light that fuels me...