Fractured

by T. C. Edge

  I find it hard to listen to her words and take them seriously. They are feeble excuses and nothing more. I can see that she knows that really.

  "That was never on our agenda," says President Orlando, thinking it time for her to include her voice. "We have been too weak to consider such a thing, Amber. I think it's quite safe to say that the designs of your leadership have been to take advantage of us while in a weakened state. The Cure attempted the very same thing. Now your people have marched here to conquer us. You can see that we are not so easily overcome, child."

  She speaks with a similar passion as I do, though with the natural authority and command that her position, wisdom, and age bring. I can see that Amber is smart enough, and lucid enough, to know that what we're saying is true. Any attempt to argue now would be wholly counterproductive.

  She isn't so far gone, I think, regarding her closely. It won't take much to bring her to our side...

  "I...I'm glad I'm able to speak with you," she says quietly, smartly moving the conversation on. "I wanted you to know that Nestor and his methods are not representative of us, just the same as Kovas doesn't represent the sort of people we are. Nestor was well known to have questionable and barbaric methods of awakening. That sort of thing isn't common in Olympus, or anywhere across the Fringe."

  I feel a renewed stirring of ire as dark, painful memories swell again. That gather and froth and force my tongue to relent, spilling off words I cannot hold back. "You mean taking slaves for torture and sacrifice?" I grunt, my words falling like blows of a hammer. "You mean snatching innocent people from their lives, merely to turn them into soldiers, or kill them in the attempt? You mean massacring entire villages, men, women, and children alike, in the hunt for the rare few people capable of withstanding Nestor's particular methods, as you call them? Is that the sort of thing you're referring to?"

  I continue to stare at her, unable to hold back the intensity of my expression. The President had told me to play nice. Well, perhaps I do need reminding, after all...

  "I never knew him," Amber says quietly, her voice harbouring shame that she shouldn't have to bear. I feel a threat of guilt as I look at her, knowing none of this is her fault or responsibility. "I can't speak of what you saw, Kira," she goes on. "All I can tell you is that we aren't all like that. There is good and bad in Olympus, of course. But I've found that there's more good than I first thought. I once thought as you do now, that the entire place was a nest of snakes, full of lies and deceit." She pauses to take a breath. "But it's...not as simple as all that. There are many good people there, trying to affect change..."

  'And you, Amber," comes the President's voice, sniping at her words and cutting them off. "Why did you come here?"

  She turns her eyes up to the President, thinking for a moment. "To...protect me people," she says. "To...do my duty." Her eyes fall away. "As least, as I saw it."

  Her words convince me, if nothing else has, of the sort of girl she is. She looks up at me, and I nod towards her, understanding just what she means. "I can understand that," I say, more quietly now, my passions doused by the cool waters of her contrition and innocence. "It isn't always easy to question a world you grow up in, the only one you've ever known. We follow those in power, and get swept up into their lies. You, at least, sound like one of the brave few who are willing and capable of seeing the truth, or some of it at least."

  She allows a small, nostalgic smile to lift on her lips. "My upbringing is...unique," she tells me. "I've seen both sides of the fence. I wanted to bridge the gap...if I could."

  Once more, the President accosts her with a direct question. "What is it you want, Amber?" she asks. "You speak of improving the lives of your countrymen and women. Of redressing the balance of wealth, power, and privilege in Olympus and across the Fringe. Is that something you really believe you can achieve?"

  She drops into a temporary silence, her expression and posture bereft of any real conviction. It seems like something she's considered a lot, though not in much depth. A passion project that, in reality, was always going to be far too big for her to achieve alone.

  "With help," she whispers after a time. "With help, it might be possible."

  "And this Prime," I find myself grunting. "Tell us of him."

  "Them," she says quickly. I frown, confused. "The Prime is a man and a woman," she explains. "They...they come as a pair." I watch, curious, as a smile begins to rise onto her face. All the strains and stresses in her expression begin to fade away, replaced by a look of relaxation and bliss. "They're...enchanting," she whispers, her voice growing distant. "Unlike anyone I've ever met."

  "They have an effect on you." I turn to look at the President, speaking as she watches Amber closely. "Your expression. It reminds me of someone...in love."

  Her eyes then switch to me. I can see what she's trying to say, and don't much like it.

  "I look like that when I think of Dom?" I ask, repulsed by the nauseating concept.

  President Orlando, the wise, stern old lady of the Nameless, smiles, rather enjoying my reaction. "Sometimes," she says. "We are all guilty of it. Well, not us Savants, perhaps, but the rest of us are susceptible."

  Her humour regarding her supposed lacking emotions is something she's developed over the last year. But, really, Cornelia Orlando isn't much different from a regular woman in that regard. Like Adryan, and even Secretary Burns, she's perfected rounded emotionally. And in Adryan, in particular, I've seen just how fiercely a Savant can love.

  I turn back to Amber, finishing my musings as she speaks.

  "I...I'm not in love," she says, her brow furrowing. "At least, not with them..."

  Her eyes wander off. I suspect, given what I saw out there on the battlefield, that she's thinking of this Elian boy. Or, perhaps it's her friend from home...

  "I didn't say you were in love with them," President Orlando clarified, doing so with a chuckle at the thought. "I said your expression reminded me of someone feeling a profound swelling of that particular emotion. That blissful look. They make you feel happy, don't they?"

  The question draws another smile on Amber's face as her mind turns to them again. It's smaller than before. She's clearly embarrassed by this particular line of questioning. "Yes," she manages to whisper, spending a fair bit of effort trying to hold back her growing smile.

  I turn to the President, a thought coming to mind. "Empaths?" I suggest. They're not something I've had any real experience with, though have heard rumours of such people over in Neorome.

  The President nods. "Possibly. Certainly something we haven't truly seen before."

  Not here, at least, I think.

  "Sorry. Empaths?" Amber asks.

  "They are like telepaths,” the President explains. "Though, while telepaths are able to read and influence minds, empaths can read and influence emotions. That is my gut instinct. That this man and woman who call themselves the Prime, are simply manipulating people via their substantial empathic powers and gifts. If they were to, say, make someone feel extremely happy when they think of them, then that would engender a desire to do anything they say, wouldn't it? To follow their orders, whatever they might be, and feel good about doing it, regardless of whether it was morally right or wrong."

  I listen to her explanation, quite succinctly put. The rare rumours I've heard in Neorome of such people suggest that they aren't particularly powerful or influential. It would appear that, if the Prime are empaths, they are the exception to this rule.

  "Sounds about right," I say, backing my President up as I look at Amber. "It's like you say, Madam President, she looked like she was in love. And when you're in love, you do damn stupid things because of it. You'd do just about anything to keep that feeling."

  "Yes," agrees the President, "unfortunately that is the case. And it comes in many forms. Brie," she sighs, "is now a prisoner for that very reason, for some compassion she feels towards Artemis. Foolish things are done in the name of love and devotion. It would seem to me that the P
rime is a master at manipulating emotions. However, sever that link and, perhaps, the city will be freed. And you, Amber, might just be able to affect the change you desire."

  I watch as a heavy, fearful frown begins to tumble over Amber's eyes. Her voice shudders when she next speaks. "Kill...the Prime?" she whispers. Her eyes dart left and right, so terrorised by the thought. She begins shaking her head feverishly, her words coming at a pant. "No," says, "they cannot be killed. They can't..."

  "Anyone," I cut in with a growl, "can be killed." I instinctively reach to the handle of one of my swords. Something about Amber's reaction tells me she might begin to boil over. "Empress Vesper in Neorome was exactly the same," I say. "She had the entire city under a cloud of her making. Now, she's gone, and the darkness has departed with her. There is no reason why the same cannot be done in your city, Amber."

  "I...it's not the same," the girl stammers and stutters, her face growing almost pale. "Vesper was just a woman. The Prime...they are..."

  "They are a man and a woman too," I interrupt, refusing to let her voice such foolish things. "Once more, it is the brainwashed part of you speaking. I can see your nerves, sense your fears. Don't worry, we have people who can help with that, don't we Madam President?"

  "We do," says the President calmly. "The Prime is no more divine than any of us here, child. They are enhanced, like the rest of us. Their great accomplishment, it seems, has been to convince an entire people of their lies, of their divine nature. But you are too smart to think like that, Amber. We'll have you back as you were soon, don't worry."

  "I..." the Fire-Elemental starts, seeming unable to voice words right now. Her lips tremble for a moment, yet no further words come.

  "The real question, Amber," continues the President, "is whether or not you are willing to help us. And in doing so, help yourself. It may not be entirely obvious to you right now, but our paths are aligned. You want to save your true people. We want to rid the world of the evil that festers in the north. If we help one another, we might just be able to achieve both."

  "And Brie," I find myself adding, always coming back to the girl I call Scout. "I don't know how quite yet, but I'm going to get her back. I did so when she was taken by Nestor, and I'm going to do so again. I just...need time to figure out how."

  "She'll be safe in the meantime," President Orlando assures me, as though it's me, and not her, who needs to be comforted over Brie's temporary loss. "If what we're discussing is true, then this Overseer is clearly keen to bring Brie back to Olympus. She will be kept safe, at least, until we can work out how to get her back."

  I go silent for a few moments, my thoughts turning again to my strange experience with Brie earlier that morning. "She...will," I whisper. "Somehow, I know it..."

  "Of course she will," the President nods. "We cannot think otherwise. But...right now," she turns to the Fire-Elemental, "there's someone you should see, Amber. Someone you can help us with."

  "Elian?" asks the girl hopefully. "He might be harder to get through to, given his upbringing. But...I can try, certainly."

  I glance at the President. I don't think it's Elian she's referring to. No, Amber is about to get quite the shock when she finds out that Herald Perses is alive...

  Yet, it appears there's also someone else on her mind. She turns quiet for a second and then, suddenly, turns to myself and the President with what sounds like a demand. "I'd want something in return," she says, the implication enough to pull a frown over my eyes. "I mean...I appreciate what you're doing for me and...how you're treating me," she says, realising that demands probably won't go down well, and she has a fair bit right now to be thankful for. "But...there's something I need..."

  I see President Orlando regarding her deliberately. "Yes?" she asks, the word carrying a bitter edge. "What is it you want, child?"

  "Jude," Amber says, the name all but panted off her lips. "I need to know he's safe. If...if you can find him, bring him here, then I'll do anything. I'll do whatever you want of me."

  "Caution, Amber," responds President Orlando. "Do not agree to such terms. Do not even suggest them. To submit to doing anything I might desire of you is a very dangerous path to tread."

  The girl seems quite taken aback by the President's position. She might have taken the opportunity to hold Amber to ransom in the future, forcing her to do anything she wanted. That isn't the old Savant I know.

  "We will," the President continues, "agree to seek out Jude." As expected, her eyes look over towards me. I knew that was coming. "Kira is our very finest tracker," she says. "She will be able to find him, if he's out there."

  I narrow my eyes, performing a quick assessment of the mission. A simple hunt, most likely, though one that will take me back outside of the walls. It would, however, give me another opportunity to further my search for Captain Marcus, and perhaps even discover more from Brie...

  "I'll do it," I say, my thoughts forming into a quick conviction. "In exchange for help when the time comes."

  "You have it," Amber says eagerly. "I promise, you have it.."

  "Good," I say to her, still thinking ahead. "I'll need a few details to get started. Where you last saw him, the direction he was headed, and so on. Then I can be on my way."

  Rest, it seems, will have to wait. Better to get this done quickly before this boy, Jude, gets too far into the wilds.

  "Amber can speak of them as we walk," says the President, turning her eyes upon us both. "We have someone, as I say, who she must see."

  She nods to us, concluding the discussion, and begins moving towards the door, passing through the prison as we head out towards the large, unfinished chamber beyond.

  "Is Elian in one of these?" Amber asks as we move through the prison, looking to the other cells. Evidently, she still thinks it's Elian she's being taken to see.

  The President corrects her. "Oh, I think you misunderstand," she says. "Young Elian is still resting within he infirmary here in the Oasis. He required monitoring after his fight with Ares, and is still recovering."

  "Oh...right."

  "However," the President continues, remaining cryptic, "it is not him who we are going to meet."

  The girl frowns, a little confused. "Then...who?" she asks.

  "Follow me, Amber," the President says. "You will find out soon enough."

  As we pass into the main chamber, I distract Amber from her confusion by getting the information I need from her. Striding to her side, I cast my green gaze upon her and draw her attention.

  "So, which direction was Jude headed?" I ask.

  "Um...east, I think," she says. "He left from the eastern side of the camp at least. Probably northeast if I'm being exact."

  "Right. And this happened right at the end of the battle?"

  She nods. "Before I came to try to help Elian. And you...well, knocked me out."

  "Still sore about that?" I ask, lightening the mood with a smirk.

  She rubs her temple. "My head is," she says, smiling in return.

  "Right," I say, thinking still. "I guess I'll start there. What was he wearing?"

  "Er...rags, basically," she says. "Just rugged working clothes, you know. Dark grey in colour. He had a bag too. The others were wearing similar garments..."

  "The others?" I frown.

  "Oh, right. Yeah, there were, I don't know, a couple dozen of them overall I think. Jude was leading them, all slaves and Defiants. Some had bags too, and weapons." She looks at me. "Will...that make it easier to find them?"

  I nod. "It will," I say. "That many will be much easier to track."

  For both me, and anyone else who might wish to chase them, I think. I choose, however, not to utter that to her.

  "OK, that's enough for me to go on," I say. "I'll get him back for you, Amber. Just do you part here, OK?"

  She nods to me, her golden eyes steely. And with that, and a look of farewell to the President, I turn and rush back off towards the core, preparing for yet another mission on that long, arduous, and se
emingly never-ending day.

  7

  Brie

  "Artemis?" I say. "Artemis, can you hear me?"

  I stand at the bars of my cell, gripping them tight as I look across to the figure in the opposite enclosure. He remains sprawled out on the floor as he was before, and has been since we were flung in here earlier this morning. I curse my lack of enhanced eyesight as I squint through the dim light, my powers now fully suppressed by the drugs in my system.

  Tucked into a darkened corner of his filthy cell, I can hardly make out much of him, little light penetrating the interior of this prison. I get a sense of his chest rising up and down, but it's faint. His breathing appears weak now. The stress and exertion of his captivity has clearly put a great strain on his ailing body.

  "Artemis," I say, my voice a little louder now. "Grandfather! Can you hear me?"

  Still, I get no response.

  Fearing he may well be dying, I turn my attention to the main exit, set off to one side. I know there must be someone on guard out there. If I shout loud enough, he'll hear me.

  "Hey! You outside the door!" I call out. "Get in here! My cellmate is dying!"

  I stop, wait, and listen. I hear nothing.

  "HEY!" I bellow, about as loud as my dry throat and tongue can muster. "GET IN HERE! NOW!"

  I begin banging around for added impact, stamping over towards the wooden wall and kicking hard. The wood is solid, confirming to me that any attempt to try to break out this way isn't going to be possible. With a few heavy blows, however, I feel sure that someone outside must have taken note.

  Duly, the soldier on guard arrives.

  The door swings open suddenly, a heavyset figure appearing in the centre of the blinding light behind him. He swings the door half-shut again and stamps over towards me. My eyes adjust to find that it's one of the same guards as earlier, tasked with watching over me and feeding me my drugs every four or so hours.

  "If you keep making all that racket," the half-Brute growls, "I'm going to come in there and ring your scrawny little neck."