Blaze of Heroes Read online

  Well, I guess this turned out to be another fantastic fucking idea…

  As the second Anomaly's personage flickers fully into view, I become acutely aware that in order to stay invisible, he must have had to strip entirely nude. Ohmyfuckingwellthatsdefinitelyadick. Regardless of my compromised position, it's difficult to ignore the heat in my cheeks as I hastily avert my gaze. And my subduer seems to notice.

  “All children who choose to walk the long and lonely road their Mother laid for them will be welcomed with warmth at Arundel Castle.”

  Neither of the men restraining us are the ones who speak. The voice comes from the gatehouse, where the smaller door to one side of the main portcullis is wide open. A third man, shorter and portlier than his brigade mates, is striding out to meet us.

  “Lynx, Spectre, please—unhand these siblings of ours, and do so with care!” His arms are spread wide beneath the royal purple and white robes he's clad in, open and inviting. I do everything in my power not to see him as your stereotypical 'Friar Tuck' character, but his balding top and cute waddle aren't doing much to help his case.

  “Let us welcome them inside. My name is Elder Beaumont. How far have you travelled to find yourselves at our threshold?”

  The soles of my boots touch the ground as Tall, Dark, and Naked gently lowers me by my clothes. I'm still doing my damndest to avoid eye-contact with his waistline. I can't decide whether how relaxed he is about his bare state is liberating, or giving me major second-hand embarrassment.

  “Only a day,” I say, as Duncan wrestles himself away from the man I'm presuming goes by Lynx, unless they switched names to fuck with people. “About ten hours with stoppage time.”

  Elder Beaumont's overgrown eyebrows shoot up. “Ten hours in a day?” he gasps.

  “Aye,” says Duncan, quickly finding his usual place at my right shoulder. “Drove all the way down from York to deliver an important wee package to all of yer.”

  I smile inwardly with sadness for my poor friend. I'm entirely aware of how uncomfortable any type of enthusiastic religion or spirituality makes him, even if it's well-meaning. I know he must be itching to get shot of this place. Maybe one day I'll understand why.

  “A package?”

  I nod, waving a quick signal behind me with one hand. The van doors pop open, and Lynx and Spectre snap alert as our brigade pours out onto the old street.

  “A lost Novanite who could probably use a bit of a nod from Mum,” I explain, and while Beaumont doesn't appear entirely comfortable with my borderline-impious verbiage, the urgency of the situation is quite literally an urgency only he would understand.

  Bizarrely, his little eyes don't even glance over any of my lads. Their squinty stare is locked on Juniper immediately, and in a blink, all trace of a smile is gone from his face.

  “Oh, my eternal Sun,” he whispers, and then his intense eyes have captured mine again.

  “You must rest here, at least for this evening,” he insists, in a way that oddly doesn't make me all that suspicious. “Lynx, guide our guests inside and ensure they are able to park their vehicle somewhere close to the Keep. Spectre, advise the Council to adjust the rations for tonight's feast.”

  “Oh—!” I interject, alarmed at the mention of a word that would send any survivalist worth their salt into a frenzy. “Please, don't adjust anything for us. We have more than enough supplies of our own.”

  Elder Beaumont chuckles, placing a hand on one of my shoulders. I sense Duncan stiffen, but the priest's actions don't upset any warning bells in my own mind. In fact, quite the opposite. I feel... oddly at home in this strange new place.

  “Please, do not concern yourself with the status of our stock,” the old man says graciously, “for our goddess is the Mother of giving, and any children of Hers are siblings of ours.

  “Besides,” he adds, his lips curling at the corners, “once you see the life the Sun Mother has provided us with here, you will understand why there us no welcome wagon too grand for us to roll out when a brigade like B.L.A.Z.E. comes knocking at our doors.”

  I visibly recoil in shock, but he's already turning back toward the gate, leaving myself and Duncan staring after him in dumbfounded disbelief.

  5 Alfie's Less-Hedonistic Happy Place

  It's beautiful. Ethereal. Fucking gorgeous. Insert the Solar Angels of Nova singing hymns here, and all that atmospheric bollocks that proves how totally bloody perfect this place is.

  “I'll tell you this much, muppet.” I elbow the token baby of the brigade, who was stupid enough to sit next to me when I've been trapped in the poxy van all day. Which, by the way, means anything he complains about is officially null and void. "I love getting somewhere right when the party's kicking off."

  “Maybe they heard you were coming and threw the party for you,” is his bland answer. I hate it when he's bland. He's such an interesting little geezer, he really is—when he ain't being a total pranny.

  “Fuck me, you're a right proper spanner, aren't you?”

  He's not looking at me. He don't look at anyone anymore, not in the eyes, anyway. Not since he, I don't know, thought about snogging Penny and found out he's actually gay, or something. Or realized he's not into her, and the past few years of thinking about her have been a fucking waste of time. Or realized he is into her, a bit too much.

  Whatever his problem is, we've all noticed. Even the new bloke. He and Duncan are legit convinced he's gagging for her and don't know how to act on it. It's honestly enough to make a man cry.

  “Elder Beaumont already said what this ritual's all about,” I tell him. “If you actually listened with your ears instead of moping in your head, you'd learn a thing or two.”

  “Thank you for the advice, sensei.”

  “Hey, you're welcome. What are mates for, eh?” I give him a playful shove with my shoulder, not firm enough to jostle him off the wooden bench we're sitting on. We're both having to raise our voices to be heard over the livelihood of the celebration, the fifty-some people currently living in Arundel Castle all coming together to revel in their own spirituality. Pretty fucking baller, I gotta say.

  “My siblings!”

  Elder Beaumont's cheerful cry comes from the center of the circle, the exterior built from benches similar to our own and others sitting cross-legged in front of us. It's bloody lovely out for October. Even this late at night, we're out under a clear sky of stars, wrapped in each other's hoodies and blankets with warm hearts and cold cheeks.

  … don't ever tell me I'm not deep as fuck. And don't ever tell anyone else I said something that batty.

  “As you all know,” Beaumont continues, the gigantic bonfire crackling behind him, “we gather here bi-annually, every Midsummer and Winternights, to pray for the Sun Mother's blessing as we embark upon yet another holy crusade.”

  My ears prick up.

  “Holy crusade?” asks Oliver, and I shush him without holding back.

  “Twice yearly, we embark upon a quest.” The entire audience of Novanites are captivated by their Elder as he talks. I've never been part of something so electric before—at least, nothing like this. Nothing so enlightening. “A mission. A self-assigned duty to add to our ever-expanding holy vocation. This winter's crusade will see a pride of a half-dozen of our finest warriors travel east to the sun-sacred coast of Dungeness in Kent. They will escort there a convoy of fellow Anomalies, poor souls in desperate need and search of a better life beyond our country's borders. The violence these people are fleeing is unprecedented in this country's modern history. And they are willing to suffer and sacrifice to do the impossible, and provide a better life for one another, and for their families.”

  The other side of Oliver, Juniper gasps. On her other side, Penny whips her head around, probably to check on her. But frankly, Penny looks as shocked by that news as the rest of us are.

  Beyond our country's borders? Did he seriously just say they were planning to go down to Kent and ship a boatload of Anomalies over to France or Belgium or
whatever else is down there? Are they having a bloody laugh!?

  … because, if they are, this is definitely my kind of party.

  “We have some very honored guests here with us this evening, my siblings,” Beaumont continues, and I can feel Oliver shrink away when he motions toward our brigade. Duncan's been an obnoxious twat most of the night, sulking about with a face like a slapped arse. So, his usual self. He's standing behind up with his arms crossed, but everybody else is having a fantastic time. Ain't gonna let some grumpy Wall-jumper spoil our fun.

  “I have been given explicit permission from their captain to formerly divulge their presence, as I'm sure you've all heard the rumors. I am excited to announce that our stronghold has been graced by the fighters for our country's freedom known as B.L.A.Z.E.”

  A collective gasp sucks the air out of the circle. Dozens of eyes are all over us, and I sit back and take it all in. I mean, who wouldn't? We risk our arses on a daily basis, have done for years, and if you think basking in what little bloody grandeur (I think that's the word) we actually get is sinful, then I don't want you on my FaceFolio friends list. Tally-fucking-ho.

  “Yes, we are humbled and privileged to be in their esteemed presence, and they look forward to further mingling with you all over the course of the night's festivities,” says Beaumont. “But we are also honored to welcome back an old friend of ours, another brother who spends his life a-wandering, serving the needs of others wherever and whenever he can.”

  “Maybe you should've introduced me before the celebrities, Bo'?” comes a voice from somewhere across the circle, and laughter rumbles up from the crowd.

  “Perhaps, perhaps,” Beaumont says, also chuckling. “Siblings, we're so glad to have Izzey back with us for this pre-Winternights feast.”

  I zone out. I don't really give a fuck who this Izzey bloke is, and I'm more interested in what Penny and Duncan are whispering about. I hate when people are whispering and I'm not in on it.

  “—don't want to stay here anyway, you've made that quite bloody clear, Dee,” Penny is hissing.

  “Aye, but I was wanting to leave the location and all the folk what live in it.”

  Penny scowls softly. It's pretty fucking hot. “You don't think this is something worth our time, our effort? Have you heard the insane stunt they're going to attempt to pull to give some Anomalies the chance at a better life?”

  “What's this now?” I butt in. Penny shoots me a look clearly designed to hush me down to the same volume as them.

  “I was considering,” she whispers, “holding one of our fancy democratic group referendums regarding offering our assistance with the transport of the convoy to the coast.”

  “Oh, I don't quite know about that, Captain,” Rhys winces, like the drama queen he is. “We British aren't exactly good at referendums. Historically speaking.”

  “Will you take a night off, son?” I scowl at him.

  “Why not?” Oliver asks, shrugging. I'm a bit surprised he's the first to speak up. Or speak up seriously, anyway. “It's no more dangerous than the sort of job we typically take on, and we'd be doing a massive service. Not just to the convoy, but to this…”

  He hesitates, your typical awkward atheist, and peeks sheepishly up at me. I snicker.

  “Pride, muppet. Groups of Novanites are called prides. You're welcome.”

  “What are everybody else's thoughts?” asks Penny, all business as usual.

  “I'm fucking in like Flynn,” I pipe up, and when Oliver gives me a funny look, I take my second opportunity to grin at him.

  “Tron,” I sneer. You should learn as much about my interests as I know about yours, mate.”

  “I would certainly be on board for some reckless philanthropy,” says Rhys, before throwing both hands up defensively. “Oh—my apologies, were the two of you not done squabbling like a couple of adorable newlyweds?”

  I redirect my annoyance at the taller of our two resident pretty-boys. I'm so grateful for the radiant heat of the bonfire on my bare torso; it's likely the reason I'm being so fucking nice despite the idiocy I'm surrounded by. “Right, 'cause Pen' and Double-Dee-Dumbarse haven't been doing that since we got here?”

  “Well,” back-pedals Rhys, adjusting the knot of his scarf, “yes. But I imagine you and OP here don't spend copious amounts of time inside each other, so I would just expect it a lot less from the pair of you.”

  We all share a laugh and several repulsed faces at the idea, but mine is cut short when the full weight of what Rhys just said dawns on me.

  Wait... wait... wh-what!?

  “Wait, you mean—” My eyes dart frantically between them, one by one. Juniper seems to be as confused as I am, but the rest of my brigade slowly stop giggling like schoolgirls as they realize I'm not in on the fucking joke.

  My cheeks burn, hotter than theirs ever could. I glare hard at Penny. The way her smile falters and then falls proves she knows how pissed off I am. That the switch inside of me we both know exists is close to being flipped.

  They're… they're both…

  “Oh—oh, Diesel.” It's Rhys again, and the cocky bastard is laughing at me. “Oh, our sweet, sweet, naive little Diesel.”

  “It's sort of their thing,” mutters Oliver quietly. “Did you seriously not know? Huh, and I thought I was the oblivious one.”

  My vision shrinks to a pinpoint. The world around me is suddenly dark. Sound echoes, blood roars. My hands, trembling with the rising adrenaline at my sides, flex in and out of fists so tight my fingers are going numb.

  Shock. Rage. Embarrassment. And, and something else…

  “Diesel—”

  I don't give Penny the chance to say whatever bollocks she's trying to spout at me. I stand up, ensuring it's with enough bravado and intensity that they all know how bad they've all fucked up. How bad they've pissed me off.

  How bad they've hurt me.

  “Diesel!”

  Penny's voice, still only a hiss, is barely audible as I walk away from the circle, away from Beaumont's sermon, away from the ritual. Away from something that mattered so much to me just minutes ago.

  And while the teeny-fucking-weeny voice in the very, very, very back of my head is telling me I'm overreacting, being overdramatic... my body won't let me listen to it.

  It's the voice that haunts me before, during, and after these little meltdowns of mine. A voice I know only too fucking well by now. And yet, it's a voice I've never bothered learning how to properly heed.

  6 Oliver's Warning

  “Your friend, Diesel—is he going to be okay?”

  As I glance across the small blanket I'm sharing with Juniper, I can't help but wonder the same thing. While Alfie's never done anything too irreversibly awful during one of his rages, there's always the fear that this time will be the first. All we can do at this point is trust his sanity and sensibility outweigh whatever demons he's dealing with.

  “I'd imagine so,” I answer, with as much conviction as I'm able. “It's not the first time he's stormed off in a huff like this, and it won't be the last.”

  Juniper stares at me with what appears to be a compound of concern, confusion, and a genuine desire to empathize. I laugh nervously.

  “Traveling with friends with mental health issues,” I say, doing my best to deflate any tension in the air. “We all learn to anticipate and tolerate each other's quirks and tics.”

  “It must be lovely,” she says wistfully, and it's my turn to stare, stupefied, and her turn to explain her weirdness. “Sorry. No disrespect intended. I more meant it must be lovely to have a brigade around you whose quirks and habits you know so well. I imagine you learn to love them for their faults as much as their fortés.”

  My lips tug up into a smile as warm as the flames on the left side of my face. “Wow,” I say softly. “That was really beautiful. I sort of want to write it down.”

  “Really?” She laughs, and I'm reminded how wonderful it is to have a female around who I'm not wild about. I've always taken
to female friends over male in the past, and the gender-odds are a bit stacked in our current brigade. Not that I'm opposed to the current line-up. But the few times I'm able to just relax and kick-back with a girl, chat about philosophy and other nonsense… I suppose it's the same as how regular blokes get the urge to go down the pub with all their mates, get drunk, and watch the footie. My 'pub' is always quiet, and good conversation (sometimes with a smattering of gossip) is apparently my sport of choice.

  “So, you really don't remember anything?”

  Juniper nods soberly.

  “I know how far-fetched it must sound,” she cringes. “But it's the truth. Other than knowing I'm a daughter of Nova, and I was put on this planet to accomplish something in Her name, I have no idea who I am.”

  “Do you know if you'll come with us?” I can't help asking. “To assist with the convoy? If not, I'm sure Elder Beaumont would be more than chuffed you have to stick around here. You might be able to access whatever buried memories you have, with their help.”

  She sighs. “I haven't decided. Is Beaumont going?”

  “I think so?”

  “Maybe I'll stay here then.” She grins mischievously. “You know, save myself the headache.”

  She giggles at the expression my face twists into. “Oh my gif, don't even joke. Wait, he's not here, is he?” I can't stop a quick whip around of my head, scanning the immediate area. “I've managed to avoid him for over an hour now, I don't need another lecture about… I don't know what he was lecturing me about, actually, I zoned out after a few sentences.”

  Juniper laughs out loud. “I'll warn you if I see him. He's not all that easy to miss. I wonder why he's taken such a shine to you?”