The Children of the Prime Box Set
The Complete Dystopian Series - Books 1-8
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 2019 T. C. Edge
All right reserved.
First edition: June 2019
Cover Design by Laercio Messias
No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
Contents
I. THE CHOSEN
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
II. TRIAL OF THE CHOSEN
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
III. BLOOD OF THE CHOSEN
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
IV. MARCH OF THE CHOSEN
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
V. WAR OF THE CHOSEN
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
VI. FALL OF THE CHOSEN
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
VII. RISE OF THE CHOSEN
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
Chapter 138
Chapter 139
Chapter 140
Chapter 141
Chapter 142
Chapter 143
Chapter 144
Chapter 145
Chapter 146
Chapter 147
Chapter 148
Chapter 149
Chapter 150
Chapter 151
Chapter 152
Chapter 153
Chapter 154
Chapter 155
Chapter 156
Chapter 157
Chapter 158
Chapter 159
Chapter 160
Chapter 161
VIII. FATE OF THE CHOSEN
Chapter 162
Chapter 163
Chapter 164
Chapter 165
Chapter 166
Chapter 167
Chapter 168
Chapter 169
Chapter 170
Chapter 171
Chapter 172
Chapter 173
Chapter 174
Chapter 175
Chapter 176
Chapter 177
Chapter 178
Chapter 179
Chapter 180
Chapter 181
Chapter 182
Chapter 183
Chapter 184
Chapter 185
Chapter 186
Chapter 187
Chapter 188
Chapter 189
Chapter 190
Chapter 191
Chapter 192
Chapter 193
Chapter 194
Chapter 195
Chapter 196
Chapter 197
Chapter 198
Chapter 199
Chapter 200
Chapter 201
Chapter 202
Chapter 203
Chapter 204
Chapter 205
Chapter 206
Chapter 207
Chapter 208
Chapter 209
Chapter 210
Chapter 211
Chapter 212
Chapter 213
Chapter 214
Chapter 215
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by T. C. Edge
Part I
THE CHOSEN
1
I've always hated collection day.
The pomp and ceremony. The bowing and fawning. The subservience shown by the townsfolk in our little community at the edge of the Fringe.
It's like this across the entire region, I guess, and few share the same opinion as me. Perhaps that's why I hate it all so much - to be left out, to think so differently from my friends and neighbours. There's something lonely about that. At times I wish I could just give in and accept that this is how life is meant to be.
Right now, the people are gathering in our town of Pine Lake, one of the largest across this western edge of the Fringe, and so named because of the beautiful pinewood forests and turquoise lakes that sprinkle the area. With midday swiftly approaching, the place is bustling with an excitement that accompanies this day each month, the people assembli
ng from their homes and outlying hamlets with tributes and offerings in tow.
Annoyingly, it's always been down to me to bring along the offerings from our household. It's as if my parents think that forcing me to endure this monthly spectacle will make me change my mind, even though they rarely attend themselves these days.
At my side stands a girl three years my junior, her eager eyes staring up towards the sloping plains to the north of town, the sun-bleached grasses shimmering with a warm yellow radiance. She's about half a foot shorter than me, and her eyes aren't quite so golden, but beyond that - and the age gap - we could quite easily be mistaken for twins. I suspect that once she catches me up in height, people will find it hard telling us apart.
Well, at least in visual terms, that is.
Lilly may look just like me, all golden hair and eyes, tanned skin and slender build, but that's about where the similarities end. Unlike me, she fits in like a glove around here, and you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone of her age more devout and devoted to our self-proclaimed rulers in the north.
I love her to bits, of course, but I do wish I had a little sister who wasn't quite so brainwashed. Then again, I could say the same about mother and father, as well as just about everyone else I know. Those who go against the grain of common thought are few and far between, and tend to do little more than grumble privately about their lot in life; one of servitude and devotion to a people who - as I see it - give us little in return.
A smile begins to simmer on my face as I see one such grumbler now, coming our way from the pinewood forest to the west of town. He is the archetype of tall, dark, and handsome, a combination that has brought with it a roguish charm and easy smile that tends to draw a range of expressions as he passes through the gathering throng.
Some of the more colourfully dressed grin girlishly at him, blushing as he glances their way. Others merely shake their heads and mutter something rather less polite.
Jude has the impact of splitting his audience. Young people - girls in particular - tend to like him. Adults feel quite the opposite. Although, it has to be said, he's clearly managed to win over a few of the more seasoned ladies by the looks of those secret smiles...
The sight of him has Lilly spinning on her heels, her keen eyesight turning from the northern, sun-drenched plains and taking in the tousled brown locks and deep chestnut eyes of my closest friend and confidant. At nineteen, Jude's a couple of years older than I am, though that age gap is probably reversed in terms of maturity.
He carries an almost perpetual, lopsided grin to his tanned face, his chin and cheeks ever dusted with a coating of dark, albeit patchy, stubble. He's kept the look ever since he began growing facial hair, proudly displaying his masculinity despite the fact that, around here, being clean-shaven is considered a mark of respect to the Prime and his children.
Clearly, he believes leaving the stubble fits with his image as the local rogue. He's not entirely wrong. It does suit him, I have to admit, and I do enjoy the subtle - or perhaps not-so-subtle - display of insubordination.
"Hey, Jude," Lilly exclaims in a rare bout of enthusiasm at anything other than being a good Devotee. She clearly falls into the first category of Jude's admirers, despite her best intentions.
"Hey, Goldilocks," he replies, one side of his mouth curling into its customary grin and chestnut eyes slanting mischievously. He hurries up towards Lilly first - really, he uses the nickname on both of us - stepping skilfully through the crowd, and draws her into a hug, picking her up and spinning her around. Then he looks over to me with a raised brow, grin morphing into a smirk as he drops my sister back down to the ground. "You look well, Amber," he says, attempting formality, stiffening his posture and standing up straight.
I roll my eyes. Jude knows full well my feelings on this particular day of the month, when my aggravation levels tend to peak. I'm not sure whether he just enjoys torturing me, or if this is all just some cute way of helping me loosen up.
Probably a bit of both.
Dressed in his common hunter's attire of rugged pants and tan shirt, he steps in and casually lays a strongly muscled arm over my shoulder, turning my attention out towards the crowd, now gathering excitedly around the specially designed ceremonial courtyard at the northern edge of town. The community here isn't exactly huge, but has a decent sized population of about a thousand, a number doubled when adding in the local hamlets and other smaller settlements nearby.
Lilly and I live in one of those, sharing a fairly simple one-storey cabin with our parents near to the region's largest lake. We're part of a small fishing community several miles from here through the pinewoods; a quiet place at the base of the mountains off to the west.
According to our grandmother, they were once called the Rockies, though given her reputation as the local crackpot, not many people tend to listen to her. Perhaps it's a curse that I do. She's a large part of the reason why I'm about the worst Devotee across this part of the Fringe.
"Looks like a good haul this month," Jude says, gesturing at the offerings being gathered within the courtyard and loaded onto ornately carved, ceremonial tables. His own back is laden with a heavy sack, though the weight doesn't seem to have any bearing on his strong, six feet two inch frame. "You meet your quota?"
"Of course we did," comes Lilly's voice from the side, tinged with a note of indignation. "We always bring more than enough, Jude," she stresses, looking up at the young man with a crinkling brow.
Jude drops a smile that eases her frown. "Of course you do, Goldie," he says warmly, prodding her shoulder playfully. "I just have to make sure. I wouldn't want my two favourite girls getting in trouble."
Lilly's face softens into a grin, a common result of Jude's natural charm. She nods hurriedly and then looks to the bag on Jude's back.
"What about you?" she asks, gesturing to the sack. "You going to add your tributes to the collection area? Or, you know, wait for them to arrive." She raises her eyes and shakes her head. "They won't like that, Jude. You're cutting it fine as it is."
There it is, preachy little Lilly. Such a stickler for the rules.
"I've been doing this longer than you, little lady," Jude replies, casually flicking the bag's straps off his shoulders. The sack drops towards the dusty earth, but he spins and catches it before it hits. Any excuse to show off his highly developed speed and reflexes. "I've got plenty of time," he finishes, eyes turning up to the cloudless skies, raging with a warm summer sun. He glances at me and then winks at Lilly, ruffling her golden hair as he passes her by, and strolling off through the crowd towards the collection area in the square.
"He always likes to be last," I say to my sister, shaking my head and watching him begin to unpack and arrange his tributes in his assigned area. It looks like a generous haul of meats, mostly venison, rabbit, boar, and other common game. He also appears to have brought along some metal trinkets too - simple jewelry by the looks of it - clearly fashioned by his auntie, who he's lived with since the death of his parents years ago.
Here in Pine Lake, our primary purpose is to provide tributes of food. A settlement like mine near the lake will bring mostly fresh fish. Someone like Jude, who lives in the pinewoods a little to the northwest, will bring game meats, with others focusing specifically on fruits and vegetables and certain types of crop, breads, other baked goods, and so on. However, other offerings can be given in order to gain favour if one is so inclined, or simply as a display of respect and fealty.