by T. C. Edge
Jared performs a slight shrug. "I...don't think so. Don't know why they'd bother, sir. Just...just what are you doing anyway? Why do you want to get near the outer walls if you're not trying to get into the city?"
"Never you mind, son," says Ares. "It would be difficult to explain, even if we tried."
"Yeah, best not burden yourself, Jared," I say. "It'll make you rethink your entire existence, I guarantee you of that."
"Anyway," Ares says. "I suppose you're right, Kira. I shall accompany you into the sewers. Killian, best if you stay around here with Jared for now. Return to the jeep. We'll meet you there shortly."
Jared's eyes flare.
"Don't worry, son," Ares goes on. "You'll be released as soon as we return."
With no choice but to trust Ares's words, Jared relaxes. And with Killian by his side, they begin moving off once more, heading for the jeep about half a mile away.
"Right, who's first, then?" I ask. "Better you go to confirm that you can fit."
Ares shakes his head lightly, before stepping towards the hole. It takes a bit of shuffling, but he's soon enough through, climbing down the ladder into the gloom. I follow, the stink growing more powerful as we go, arriving at a platform at the bottom to the side of the sewer, extending off into the darkness ahead. Flowing to the side, the stinking, putrid water runs, a literal river of shit.
"Careful you don't slip in, Ares," I say with a grin. "Imagine that. Half of this probably belongs to Kovas..."
He raises half his mouth into a smile.
"What do you think the Prime's...excretions look like?" I asks, pondering the question as though it's some great philosophical problem. "Do you reckon they glow?"
"They'll be just as...unpleasant as everyone else, Kira," says Ares, refusing to fully engage with my toilet humour. "Now come on, enough of that. Let's not spend any longer down here than we need to."
He leads us on, the tunnel heading mostly straight but winding occasionally, as it goes. It appears to be the main conduit, other, smaller pipes and tunnels emptying into the river to our right as we move along as quickly, though carefully, as we can. The main tunnel, thankfully, is easily big enough for a man of Ares's size to navigate, allowing us to move at a decent clip. With only about a mile to travel, it shouldn't take long.
It doesn't.
While we can't exactly move at full pace, we still manage to travel quickly enough to arrive within a few minutes, dodging flowing, waste-filled water and rat infestations as we go. Before long, Ares has me slowing, suggesting to me that there may be Bats - or what the enemy call Perceivers - stationed around the city walls who might just hear us if we make too much noise.
I doubt it, but don't argue, slowing behind him as we creep towards a large, barred exit at the end of the tunnel. From it, the filthy water flows, emptying out of the moat and stopping it from overflowing. We approach the end quietly, stepping up to the bars and looking out into the moat itself. And across the way, the towering walls of the city rise up, water flowing from pipes out of them, emptying from the city sewers.
It's very different seeing it from this vantage, several levels below ground. The sewer pipes empty from above us, pouring from the outer wall. Further up, and way towards the west, I can just about make out the bridge, lowered across the gap. Light blooms over there, the wagons and carts still being unloaded and brought into the city. I imagine it's a job that will take many hours still, lasting long into the night.
"OK, Kira," Ares says, trying not to breathe too heavily down here. "It's time. If you cannot connect with Zander here, then we can't get any closer."
"Unless...unless we try to sneak into the city itself," I say. "I reckon we could do it. All we'd need to do is intercept an incoming wagon. I doubt anyone would give us a second look if we..."
"Kira, stop delaying," Ares warns. "You know I will never agree to that. Now come on, go ahead. I will give you some space to work."
He takes a few steps back, and turns away, looking down the other end of the tunnel.
And then, focussing, I shut my eyes and fall, once more, into my mind, calling out Zander's voice.
And, almost immediately, he answers.
With words that send a heavy throb through my chest.
The Prime, Kira, I hear him call. Brie is about to meet the Prime...
29
Brie
I try to ignore the disdainful look on Kovas's face as we move up the Sacred Stairs, the grand square below growing distant, the city, in all its sprawling, magnificent glory, stretching out in all directions.
Walking alongside the Overseer and Cromwell, I notice the lead Herald of War glancing back to me as he continues his ascent, evidently still disgusted by the fact that I'm with them. He doesn't seem to share the same aversion for Cromwell's presence. Perhaps it's my age. Perhaps it's my gender. Perhaps it's that I remind him of Amber, young and powerful and only too happy to criticise his decisions.
Frankly, it could be any or all of the above. Bitter men will always find something to displease them.
The others appear to have no such feelings towards me. A mild interest, certainly, but one overridden by something greater. In moments, only, they are to face the Prime. The reckoning for their failure is nigh.
"Few ever tread these steps, Brie," the Overseer says softly as we go. "It is a rare honour that not many are granted. Fewer still get to ascend more than once."
I turn my eyes to the others, walking just ahead of us. "They live up here, don't they?" I ask.
"Indeed they do," comes his answer. "All Heralds and Chosen have a permanent place atop the hill."
"And you?" I ask. "You're not a Chosen or a Herald. Do you live here too?"
"I...come and go," he simply says. "I prefer to stay mobile in my accommodations."
"Right..." I say. "Because, you strike me as the most important of them all." I speak loudly enough for Kovas to hear. He turns back with a snarl and I respond with a smile. "Certainly more than him," I say, looking right at him. "The man has the authority of a turnip."
A gentle huff of laughter comes from the side. I swivel my gaze to see that Lady Dianna has her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.
Kovas, meanwhile, seethes, and quickens his march ahead.
"The authority of a turnip," whispers the Overseer, grinning. "Good one, Brie. He'll be stewing on that for days."
"Then that just proves my point, doesn't it?" I ask. "Anyone who can be so insulted by a simple remark isn't much of a leader, are they?"
The Overseer shakes his head. "Perhaps not," he says.
"Then why was Kovas appointed leader after Perses?" I look to the others. "What about them?"
"Kovas was always second senior Herald of War, and it was his right to take Perses's position when he died," the Overseer says. "Avon is young, and has great potential. Gailen is the most powerful, but mute, unfortunately. He leads by example, though that isn't enough to manage an army."
"He...can't speak?" I ask, glancing towards Gailen, a man with kind eyes and a gentle manner. He is, however, fierce in battle, and has more gifts in his locker than you'd find in Santa's sack.
"Born without a tongue," the Overseer nods, pursing his lips. "I think, in the end, it's made him a finer warrior. More time to practice when you're not wasting time on chitchat. Particularly important when you have such a cocktail of powers as he does."
"Makes sense," I say, nodding along. "And Lady Dianna?"
"Is a Chosen only, and not a Herald. It is the Heralds of War who must lead us into battle."
We continue up the steps, moving into the low clouds. The mists seem to be held here by design, most likely the work of the Skymasters. I pose the question to the Overseer, who gives his confirmation.
"The summit of Olympus is mostly hidden from view of the people below," he says. "The Prime are only to be seen when they choose."
"Sounds awfully like you, Artemis," I say, looking across at him. "You used to hide up at the top of
the High Tower too, didn't you?"
He turns his eyes towards me, but doesn't answer.
"He'd come down only on occasion," I explain to the Overseer. "If there was a big event in Inner Haven, he might deign to descend to the lower floors of the High Tower so he could be seen. You can imagine all of our excitement."
The Overseer smiles at my rampant sarcasm. "You are cruel, Brie," he says.
"Pfft. Cruel," I huff. "He'd have to have emotion first."
I look at Cromwell again. A flutter of something shimmers in his eyes; the man he became, my true grandfather, locked now within this cold, hardened shell. Trying, perhaps, to break free.
And then, casting my own expression into a scowl, I look the Overseer directly in the eye. "You did that," I say, growling the words out. "And one day, I'm going to kill you for it."
For perhaps the first time, he seems slightly taken aback. He blinks a couple of times, drawing a breath, before turning away from me and striding on.
We continue up the stairs in silence.
Several awkward minutes later, the top comes into view. I step towards the summit, turning my eyes across the vast plateau. There are grand buildings spread all around the perimeter, the central areas filled with gardens and fountains and statues. Away to my right, a great temple awaits. I squint as I look towards it, noting the strange carvings and symbols cut into its facade.
I remember those symbols only too well. The very same symbols as Nestor had cut into his forehead.
Unity. Power. Destruction. I think. The tenets of the Prime.
I notice the rest looking straight ahead, and follow their eyes forward. There, right at the heart of the enormous, flattened plateau, I see a courtyard of white, polished stone, set with chairs and surrounded by statues and stone-carved trestles, all covered in flowers and vines. There, waiting, I notice a number of figures dressed in robes of various colours, some with a single hue, others multicoloured. Among them are others, dressed in simple grey robes, their heads shaven, their foreheads cut.
My chest tightens, pulse quickening, as I look upon Nestor's kin.
The Heralds of Awakening.
"Everything OK, child?" the Overseer asks, his mask slipping just a little, a wicked smile on his face.
"I...I'm fine," I say. "Everything's fine."
He can see through my belligerence. "Ah, you must be thinking of your experience with Nestor," he nods, knowing. "He was, of course, only one of a dozen. Most of them have now gathered here. A few remain on assignment elsewhere. I'm sure I could introduce you around, if you'd like?"
I fix my body and stop from shuddering. Yet in my gut, a queasiness builds.
Hold it together, Brie, I tell myself. Hold yourself together...
"Who are the others?" I ask, turning from the taunt, as we continue forwards. Ahead, I see Kovas walking in a particularly odd manner, stepping stiffly as though trying to hide his nerves. "More Chosen I assume?"
"Correct," says the Overseer. "Most of the Chosen didn't march to war. Not everyone is suited to it."
"Something we can finally agree on," I say. "A bit like most of your army. They're not suited to war either."
The Overseer lets out a long, slow sigh. I can see that my continued insults are just starting to get to him.
He chooses not to respond, falling silent again. That silence doesn't work for me. It gives me time to think, time for my own nerves to build. Flashes of my experience with Nestor burst within my head, memories I've battled with for more than six months now.
The loss of control. The loss of free will. I draw a breath and stare ahead, fearing now those who await me. And two, most of all.
I see them now. Two figures, glowing white, surrounded by an odd radiance. They sit in chairs before the small gathering, set apart upon a platform at the rear of the courtyard. I find my eyes on them, and them alone, as we continue onwards, unable to rip my gaze away.
Their posture, lean and upright, is perfect. They sit, still like stone, resplendent in white robes.
"Ah, now there's a face I've seen a thousands times before," whispers the Overseer, looking down at me. "It's the same, every time. Look, child, even your grandfather is drawn to them."
I turn to the side, and see Cromwell staring forwards too. His eyes hold a vacant, staring quality. He walks smoothly, flowing like a river, drawn inexorably on. It's as though he's caught in a dream, lost to some sort of spell, becoming nothing but a fly drawn towards a bright, flickering light.
I tear my eyes away from him, and look back upon the Prime, resolved to react differently, to see them for what they are.
Charlatans.
Fakes.
Still only human.
Their glow seems to brighten in response, as if only for me. Their eyes, as we draw near, shift just a little, turning to look at me. They do so as one, together, united. And, as one, gentle smiles lift upon their lips.
And with them, comes a strange, profound, feeling of joy.
I snap out of it, drawing my gaze away. The feeling begins to fade, like a wave crashing against the shore and rolling up the beach. I frown, taking a deep breath, and call out into my head.
If you're there, Zander, I call. Don't let me fall to them. Fight them off. Fight them as you did Nestor...
I get no response, my powers still subdued. Ahead, I see the Heralds, led by Kovas, and Lady Dianna move. The other Chosen and Heralds of Awakening, gathered here to greet us, spread to either sides, presenting them a clear path ahead. I feel the Overseer's hand resting on my shoulder. Gently, he guides me on, until I'm standing a little behind the others, Cromwell alongside me.
Within the forward group, Herald Kovas steps forward. He drops down to a knee before the platform, bowing his head to the Prime.
"Mother, Father," he says. "We have returned from..."
"We know where you have returned from," they say suddenly, their voices coming as one, overlapping, intertwining.
I find my breath caught in my lungs, the air paralysed by the effect. It is unlike any voice, any sound, I have ever heard before.
Kovas dips his head again, staring at the ground. The Prime, still siting, stare down at him, every movement, every single twitch or flicker of their faces, arms, bodies, all perfectly synchronised.
A terrible silence fills the air. I find myself staring on, almost paralysed myself, almost sorry for Kovas as he kneels there in submission.
Slowly, every movement purposeful, the Prime look up, their eyes turning to Avon, Gailen, and Dianna. All dip their faces, staring at the ground.
"So few have returned," the Prime says. "So many children...lost."
Their eyes then move again, heading my way. As they pass me by, I dip my eyes too, too frightened to meet theirs head on. Looking up again, I see them staring at the Overseer. They nod, and he steps forward.
"You have completed your task," they say. "It was never in doubt."
The Overseer bows his head. "I have returned with another," he says, holding his arm out towards Cromwell, standing by my side. "This is..."
"Artemis Cromwell," the Prime say together. "Former Director of Haven. We know who you are, Artemis," they say, dipping their heads. "You are welcome here in Olympus, our honoured guest. You shall stay with us upon the hill."
My grandfather looks on, eyes glassy, and nods his head too. "Thank you," he says. "It is...my pleasure to be here."
I see the Prime smile at him, and notice, in an all too brief flash, my grandfather reappear in return. A smile works onto his face, genuine and real. The sort of smile that Director Cromwell could never exhibit, but Artemis, my grandfather, could.
It leads me to smile as well, looking at him, seeing the man I'm starting to care for break free, if only for a fleeting moment. It's as if the Prime are able to return his emotion, stirring something deep inside, before snatching it away once more. And all with nothing but a glance.
Empaths, I think, watching it all unfold. They have the power to control emotion...
Still down on his knee before them, Kovas comes back under their scrutiny. I watch as they stand, now, doing so in perfect unison. They step forward together, the glow around them appearing to douse. And for the first time, I see them properly; their youthful, perfect faces, their slender, athletic frames.
"Dear child," says the female Prime, her voice now lifting, alone. She takes a short step away from the other, and bends down onto her knee ahead of Kovas. He looks up, and she smiles. "Why do you worry so?"
Kovas's head falls again. "I...I failed you, Mother," he says. "I have shamed you both."
"No, no," whispers his Mother. "Do not say such things, my Son."
I hear, now, Kovas begin to weep. He sniffs and blubbers, staring at the ground.
"Do not cry, my Child," she goes on, softly. "Crying will not change the past."
His sniffs relent, and he looks up once more. His Mother stands again, and takes a step back, moving in beside the other.
"Stand, Son," he says now, only the male Prime speaking.
Kovas follows the order, standing to his feet, extending his squat frame. I can see his hands trembling to his sides, his posture arched and sunken in fear.
"I...I will not fail you again, Father," he says, trying to firm his voice. His Father stares at him, his eyes going ice cold. "I...I..."
"No, you will not."
Suddenly, from nowhere, I see Kovas's body twist and coil, his fingers gripping, squeezing tight at the air around his body. From down in his chest, a guttural shriek begins to rip up his throat, pouring from his mouth like shards of broken glass. It pierces the air, splitting it in too, causing me to wince and turn my head down, reach to my ears to block them.
Kovas reaches too, hands pressing at his temples. He falls again to his knees, unleashing a bloodcurdling scream, echoing across the plateau, and down into the city beyond. I look on, cringing against the sound, my heart pounding hard in my chest as a terrible fear grips at me.
And all the while, the Prime just look on, staring down at him as he screams and coils, tormented by an unimaginable agony.
