Trial of the chosen, p.1
Trial of the Chosen, page 1
part #2 of Children of the Prime Series Series
Trial of the Chosen
Children of the Prime, Book 2
T. C. Edge
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Also by T. C. Edge
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2018 T. C. Edge
All right reserved.
First edition: August 2018
Cover Design by Laercio Messias
No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
BY THE AUTHOR:
CHILDREN OF THE PRIME:
The Chosen (Book One)
Trial of the Chosen (Book 2)
Blood of the Chosen (Book 3 - forthcoming)
THE ENHANCED SERIES (MAIN SERIES):
The Enhanced (Book One)
Hybrid (Book Two)
Nameless (Book Three)
Assassin (Book Four)
Captive (Book Five)
Renegade (Book Six)
Invader (Book Seven)
Avenger (Book Eight)
Defender (Book Nine)
Nemesis (Book Ten)
Sequel (to main Enhanced series, and Warrior Race series):
The Enhanced: Awakening
THE WARRIOR RACE SERIES (ENHANCED UNIVERSE):
The Warrior Race (Book One)
The Red Warrior (Book Two)
Angel of War (Book Three)
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:
THE WATCHERS SERIES:
The Watchers Trilogy:
The Watchers of Eden (Book One)
City of Stone (Book Two)
War at the Wall (Book Three)
The Watchers Trilogy Box Set
The Seekers Trilogy
The Watcher Wars (Book One)
The Seekers of Knight (Book Two)
The Endless Knight
The Seekers Trilogy Box Set
THE PHANTOM CHRONICLES:
The Last Phantom (Book 1)
Phantom Hunter (Book 2)
Phantom Legacy (Book 3)
Phantom Unleashed (Book 4)
1
My eyes split open, cracking like fissures opened up on the barren, scorched earth. Light floods through the narrow gap, blinding, overpowering.
A deep ache echoes through my head and body, worse than any hangover I've ever experienced after indulging too liberally in grandma's home brew.
It comes in waves, forcing my eyes to weld shut once more, my hand reaching instinctively to cradle my forehead, my skin still hot to the touch. I wince, bracing against the memories that bring the pain...
The fire exploding from my body, spreading out from the pyre.
The bodies of those caught in the inferno, chased down by death as they tried to escape.
The grey-robed Worthy, my old brothers and sisters from the Fringe, eroded to ash right there before my eyes.
The throb in my head pulses wildly, the memories assaulting me, violent and relentless. I open my eyes once more to distract myself, expecting to find a cell, surprised to even be waking.
My final thoughts were of death. That of those I'd killed.
That of my own.
But no, this isn't the end. I open my eyes a little wider, blinking through the discomfort, and find the source of the light. A window, large and grand, set into a wall of stone, its perimeter edges beautifully carved. A glorious yellow radiance spreads from outside, illuminating a room of lavish decoration and generous proportion.
I feel the ache in my body and mind temporarily withdraw as I gawp at the space, blinking as my eyes adjust. I find a bedroom, fitted with fine furniture, the floor of marble and walls of glorious white stone. There are frescoes painted into the ceiling, depicting powerful men and women in heroic, magnificent poses and garb. There are tables and softly cushioned chairs, curtains and deep maroon drapes, bowls of fruits and other foodstuffs, jugs of drink to the side.
And beneath me, a bed of startling softness and comfort, far larger than any I've ever seen, laden with pillows and blankets and other forms of bedding I didn't even know existed.
I press myself up into a sitting position, my back hitting a headboard behind me. Immediately, my eyes seek out a door, a way out. They rush left and right and discover an exit of solid wood, the door as opulent as the rest of the chamber. I find no other person in the room but me, another scan of the space confirming that I'm alone.
I take a heavy breath, trying to catch up. My first reaction is to rush for the exit, seek a way out, try to escape this dreadful place. But, somehow, I find myself stagnant for a moment, my body too weak to make any such effort, my mind still numb from the horrors I've seen.
And done.
Another barrage of shame attacks me, images of blackened bodies appearing before my eyes. I suck in another breath and turn away from them, shaking my head as if the motion will frighten them off, force them back into the shadows where they'll surely reside forever, ever lurking and creeping to the light when I'm at my most vulnerable.
I slip to the edge of the bed, feet dropping to the cool marble floor. The light continues to pour in from the grand window, the skies so clear here above the great city of Olympus.
Is that where I am, I ponder. Am I still in the city of the gods...or have I been taken elsewhere?
The thought has me moving, standing to my feet, approaching the light. My body complains with every step, emptied of all energy, running only on reserves. I stagger a little, my knees almost buckling. I reach out and steady myself as I approach the window, hands planting to the fine stone sill, a sweep of clean, pure air pressing immediately into my face.
I breathe it in, my hair ruffled by the soft breeze, shining bright gold under the light. Once more, I blink as my eyes adjust, the sun so bright in the skies above, set within an ocean of brilliant azure blue. And gradually, the world comes into view.
The city tumbles off into the distance, stretching out beyond the limits of my sight. Ahead, I see the hill that climbs into the clouds, its peak once again hidden amid the mist. A memory surfaces, perhaps from only hours ago. The Prime. Man and woman. Standing there, presiding over the deaths of Raymond and his compatriots, surrounded by the Heralds, the Chosen...
I grimace, my hands pressing harder at the windowsill, the ache in my skull briefly forgotten. My eyes drift away, and there, not far away, I see the grand square beneath the hill, the stone stage scorched down one side, the square itself similarly blackened.
My anger departs, replaced again by shame and grief.
How many did I kill? I think, staring numbly at the distant square. How many of my people died by my own hand...
Somewhere deep, a voice responds, rising up from the depths.
It wasn't your fault, the voice says. Don't carry the weight of the dead.
I shake my head in denial of the words, knowing I'll carry that weight forever. My anger, my rage...it got the better of me. I lost control, just as I always do. I acted before thinking, and somewhere deep down, I wanted to seek revenge. I wanted to see those arrogant, superior faces cast in fear. I wanted to show the Children of the Prime, and their great rulers upon the hill, just what I am.
And a part of me, I know...it wanted to kill.
Only, the wrong people lost their lives. People deceived by a lie.
My people.
I force my eyes from the square, from the hill, from the Temple of the Prime hidden up there in the clouds. My mind adjusts, correcting its course, turning to other concerns. Names lift, joined by faces.
Lilly.
Jude.
What will happen to them now? Will they be punished for what I did?
I turn, unable to stand there any longer, and feel some energy pouring back into my body. I set my eyes on the door and march towards it, eager for answers, needing them. I reach the heavy wood and take a grip of the metal handle. I shove it down. It doesn't budge. I do so again, despite knowing it's futile, confirming that the door is locked.
I revert to plan b, banging my fist hard against the wood. It thumps with a dull thud, sounding bluntly beyond. I wait a moment, half nervous to see who might answer. Nothing happens. I bang again for a full twenty seconds before realising I'm getting nowhere.
Huffing, I pace back towards the window. I squint against the bright light as I reach the edge, looking down to see if there might be another exit, a way to climb out of this opulent cell. A frightening sense of vertigo immediately assaults me as I gaze straight out and down, the city dropping away a dozen floors to a wide stone street far below.
I pull back, panting, eyes searching off into the distance once more. I get a sense, as I did when I first entered, of a city separated by distinct regions, each one carrying its own tone, architecture, and perhaps even culture. Colour abounds, particularly varied in certain places, others carrying more mu
Then, off in the distance, I find something starkly different. A region of taller buildings, standardised in size and shape, lit with blue and silver light. It's a tease only, but suggests what I suspected before; that there are areas of this city that embrace the world as it was before the fall, technologically advanced and embracing of modern, futuristic design.
But, not elsewhere. Elsewhere, it seems more antiquated forms of architecture are favoured, the city seemingly dominated by grand stone buildings and statues, open squares and parks. It's beautiful, diverse, a city designed as a snapshot, an homage to cultures of the past.
Lost for a moment in wonder, I hardly hear it as a grinding sounds from behind me. I turn to find the door opening, a cloaked figure appearing in the corridor beyond. That cloak is simple, coloured in muted grey. I lock eyes with the eyes of Marlow, High Worthy of Olympus.
So, he survived...
He enters, walking in with a nervous gait, the door gently falling shut behind him. It closes softly, perfectly fitted to the frame. I stand, steady, staring. Even despite the cool, I can see the beads of sweat forming on Marlow's shaven dome, the condensation glinting under the sunlight.
He approaches me, that slightly detached look he carried before now absent. His eyes flick up to meet mine, before tracing off again. He stops short of me by about ten feet, hands clasped before him, chin low. The sense of fear is palpable, but there's something more.
Reverence.
Now, he sees me as a god.
He hesitates before speaking, as if afraid the wrong words will fall. Once more, his eyes glance up but don't stay on me for long. I look past him to the door, shut tight and leaving us alone.
Aren't they afraid that I'll hurt him, even kill him? I wonder. Is that...is that now my right?
The thought appalls me, and though I have no love for Marlow, I can't help but feel ashamed of the way he's behaving around me. It's the last thing I wanted, to be looked at as one of them...
"Divine Fire-Blood, Elemental, Daughter of the Prime," he begins, bowing low before me, the motion crisp and well practiced, "I do hope your lodgings are suitable, and that you slept well..."
"Stop," I say, my voice catching. "Just...stop, Marlow."
"My Lady?"
"Don't 'My Lady' me," I huff. "And don't ever call me a Daughter of the Prime! I have my own parents back home outside Pine Lake. Those two charlatans up there have absolutely nothing to do with me!"
My words are met with a mixed reception, Marlow struggling against the insult to his gods, yet seemingly unable to now reprimand me for speaking out against them. His eyebrows quiver, facial expression shuffling about as if my words are quite literally painful for him to hear. Yet, he still is forced to lower his head, bow and cower before me. And the vehemence of my words...well, they send a shudder of fear through him too.
"I...apologise, Lady Fire-Blood," Marlow says, performing another subservient bow. "I understand that you must be stressed, and have many questions you'd like answered. However, I would..." he says, dipping his head once more and hesitating slightly, "caution against calling the Prime a charlatan. In time, you will discover the truth."
"The truth," I repeat, turning to glance out of the window, my gaze climbing to the summit of the hill, ever concealed by mist and fog. "Like the fact that the Prime is two people, not one. And yet, here you are, using the singular form of charlatan."
"Well, yes," murmurs Marlow, remaining uneasy and, perhaps, thinking I may roast him alive at any moment. "The Prime is considered a single entity, the unity of the genders. They take the dual form to represent us all, as both mother and father to the divine residents of this city."
"And yet I only ever heard them referenced as 'he'," I say.
"Ah, yes, well that is down to preference. Many here call the Prime 'she', or 'they' as well."
"That's ridiculous," I say. "And you actually think that these two people 'took' this form? As if they descended from some higher plane of existence to watch and rule over us?" I shake my head. "They're just a man and a woman, Marlow. Genetically enhanced, but still mortal."
"That isn't what I believe," the High Worthy replies. "Nor anyone else here. In time, perhaps you will come to see the truth as well."
I choose not to respond to that, but merely turn away from the man and walk over to a chair to one side of the grand chamber. I drop into it, feeling my body caressed by the soft fabric and cushioning. A renewed feeling of fatigue permeates me, my body slumping into a pose that would no doubt be considered far too listless for the people around here.
I care not. All I want is to be able to go home. To get my sister and Jude and return to Pine Lake. To the parents I should have respected more. To the life I shouldn't have taken for granted. To the grandmother who I should have consulted before venturing off on this foolish quest.
I draw a breath, and sigh it out with a question.
"What will happen to me now?" I ask, staring blankly into the room. "I killed people, Marlow. I...I killed so many..."
"It was...regrettable," the High Worthy says, still hovering somewhere closer to the door. "To lose any Son or Daughter of the Prime is a horrible thing."
I look up, getting confirmation of what I'd already suspected. "I killed some of...them?" I whisper, feeling no joy, no gratification, from that fact.
"Several, yes," Marlow responds. "They have journeyed to the Eternal Halls."
"And...the Worthy?" I ask weakly.
"Two dozen or so," he says, trying to sound sincere. "Such a terrible shame."
Two dozen...
I duck my head, setting fingers to my temples. That gnawing pain in my skull returns to assault me once more.
"I should be executed," I whisper. "I'm clearly too dangerous to be left alive..."
"Ah yes, dangerous you are..."
The words are delivered by a newcomer, light and friendly. I lift my gaze to the door and find it mysteriously open, a man standing there on the threshold, somehow entering without making a sound. He's tall, draped in a magnificent blue and red coat with golden lining, his hair dark brown and straight and neatly swept back. Emerald eyes spring from his narrow face, his chin pointed and cheekbones clearly defined. The wrinkles around his eyes and brow suggest a man of middle age, though in a place like this, such a thing is almost impossible to determine.
He steps forwards, Marlow immediately shuffling back and out of the way, bowing low as he goes.
"You were meant to introduce me, Marlow," the man says coolly, not even looking at him as he draws near.
"Yes, Master Overseer, I was about to. I...I apologise..."
The Overseer flicks a wrist, shutting Marlow up.
"No matter," he says. "You can step outside, I'll take up Amber's queries from here."
"Yes, Master, of course..."
Without a second's hesitation, Marlow dips his head once more and retreats, shuffling towards the door.
A moment later, he's gone.
Replaced by a man who, evidently, holds the answers I'm looking for.
2
It takes a moment before further words are ushered in that grand bedchamber, the man known as the Overseer, walking in with a meandering step, gazing upon the room fondly, and paying particular attention to the frescoes on the ceiling. He does a short circuit around the centre of the room, looking up, smiling, his glorious coat swaying behind him.
Eventually, he turns to me, regarding me with great interest, a smile spread across his face.
