Archon

by Lana Krumwiede

  “What things?” Taemon asked.

  Gevri hesitated. “Things about Nathan.”

  “Trust me, we know all about Nathan,” Amma said. “We learn about him in church, at school, everywhere. Even little kids know about Nathan.”

  “Yeah, but there’s more. When Nathan took his people and left the Republik, he pulled up the mountains to protect it —”

  Taemon nodded impatiently. “Cha. We know. Everybody knows.”

  “And . . . he created a famine in the Republik.”

  “A famine?” Amma said.

  “That’s right. Nothing would grow. Plants died, crops failed, people died.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Taemon said. “Why would he do that?”

  “Nobody knows. My guess is that his purpose was to end the Great War — because that’s exactly what it did. For a while, anyway. The war started up again later. But thousands of people died during that famine. People had to flee the region until crops could grow again. And that took nearly a hundred years. The scientists think he used dominion to leach the nutrients out of the soil.”

  “Maybe it was just a natural thing,” Taemon said. Beyond being the founder of Deliverance, Nathan was also Taemon’s ancestor, and he felt obligated to stand up for him. “Maybe Nathan had nothing to do with it.”

  Gevri shook his head. “That’s not how the history books tell it. Our history books, anyway. When I studied the books that my dad found, they made no mention of the famine. I’m not surprised that you two had never heard of it.”

  Taemon didn’t know what to say. Was Gevri expecting an apology?

  Gevri looked away. “The thing is, people here, they hate Nathan, and they hate Nathan’s City. If anyone knew you were actually from the other side of the mountain, well, to be honest, they would probably kill you.”

  “Kill us?” Taemon said. “And you’re only telling us this now?”

  Amma frowned. “What if we’d gone to the outpost without you? You only said they’d imprison us, not kill us!”

  Gevri at least had the good grace to look sheepish. “I didn’t want to get involved at first. I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

  “So you would have just sent us to our deaths?” Taemon asked. “Isn’t that just like a Republikite, to look out for himself and never mind about the other guy.”

  “Taemon,” Amma said, chastising him, “he’s helping us now. We shouldn’t be too hard on him.” She put extra emphasis on that last line, and Taemon knew what she meant: weren’t he and Amma doing something similar, keeping Gevri close because they didn’t fully trust him? Still, keeping someone close was a far cry from letting someone die.

  “They might not have killed you,” Gevri said, which was a very small comfort. “The archons, on the other hand, definitely won’t kill you. They’ll respect your skill and want to talk to you — especially my father. Once you get inside their facility, you should be fine.”

  “And how exactly are we going to get to this facility?” Taemon asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Gevri said. “Do you know someone named Naseph?”

  Taemon saw Amma go pale, and by the chill that traveled down his spine, he figured his face was paling as well. Slowly they both nodded.

  “A while back, he was talking to my father about sending someone over the mountain — Yance? Lars? Something like that. But no one came, and so my father sent an archon to take someone — your dad, I guess. But maybe you could pretend to be Yance and make up some story about being delayed. From what I can tell, Father hasn’t heard from Naseph in a few months, so he’d have no reason not to believe you.”

  “Yens,” Taemon said. “The person your father was waiting for was named Yens.”

  “Was?”

  “Is, I mean,” Taemon said, recovering quickly. “His name is Yens. . . . Actually, he’s my brother.”

  Gevri’s expression brightened. “Terrific! This will work better than I thought.” His brow furrowed. “I guess that’s why they took your dad — he must have been the next best thing.”

  Had they known who they were kidnapping, though, or had Da just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? It was hard to believe that anyone who knew anything about Taemon’s da could think that he’d willingly undertake the kind of work Yens had agreed to do.

  “What about me?” Amma asked. “Who should I pretend to be?”

  Gevri considered this. “You could say you’re collateral — Naseph’s way of making up for the delay in sending Yens. As long as you have psi, it shouldn’t matter too much who you are.”

  Amma’s eyes met Taemon’s. Without her saying anything, Taemon knew what she was asking. As subtly as he could, Taemon shook his head no.

  “What if . . . ? What if I don’t have psi?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  Taemon froze. Skies, Amma, why did you say that?

  Gevri tilted his head and frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Amma took a deep breath and explained about the powerless colony, about the handful of people in Deliverance who didn’t have psi and how they lived separately. Taemon listened tensely, ready to jump in should Amma decide to start giving away all their secrets.

  “You . . . you really don’t have dominion?” Gevri looked devastated.

  Amma shook her head.

  “You should have told me that sooner. This changes everything.”

  Taemon and Amma sat in taut silence while they waited for the verdict from Gevri. Would he refuse to help them now that he knew the truth — or part of the truth, anyway? Worse, would he decide to turn them in?

  Even Jix seemed uneasy. A low growl rumbled from the jaguar as she sat beside Gevri. Taemon could swear he felt the vibration of it through his shoes, and it set him on edge.

  Gevri finally spoke up. “I don’t think Amma should go into Kanjai.”

  “What do you mean?” Taemon said.

  “It’s too dangerous for her,” Gevri said.

  “I came all this way,” Amma said. “I’m not going to give up now.”

  “Taemon’ll have a better chance of finding his da if he’s alone,” Gevri said. “If you don’t have dominion, they’ll never believe you’re from Nathan’s City. And it’s very obvious you’re not from the Republik. They’ll think you’re a spy. You’re too young to be a soldier, but not to be a spy.”

  Amma swallowed. “What do they do to spies?”

  Gevri looked serious. “The same thing they do to traitors.”

  “If she stays behind, she’s still in danger,” Taemon said. “She could get caught by the patrols.”

  “I’ve already thought of that. She and I will head back over the mountain,” Gevri said. “You can catch up with us when you find your da.”

  “What?” Amma crossed her arms. “That wasn’t part of the deal. What if Taemon needs us?”

  “The deal’s changed,” Gevri said. “You two withheld some pretty pertinent information. There’s not much we could do except wait. And waiting increases the chances of getting caught.” He looked at Taemon. “I’ll tell you how to find your father, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need to get there. After that, the best course of action is for Amma and me to head back to Deliverance.”

  Gevri didn’t know Amma like Taemon did. She didn’t shy away from danger. Together, he and Amma had started a prison riot, confronted Yens and Elder Naseph, faced down two earthquakes, and crossed Mount Deliverance. Never once had she flinched. She wouldn’t leave him now.

  “I’m afraid I have to insist,” said Gevri. “If you want my help, Amma stays with me.”

  They argued about it for a while longer, but in the end, Gevri’s suggestion seemed to make the most sense. Amma couldn’t help Taemon from outside the outpost, and Taemon would have an easier time finding his da if he weren’t also worried about Amma getting caught and imprisoned — or worse. Taemon and Amma both put up a good fight, but they had nothing better to suggest.

  “The archo
n facility is on the edge of the outpost.” Once again, Gevri drew a map in the dirt. “That will work to our advantage, because you’ll only have to pass one checkpoint.”

  Taemon’s stomach twisted at the thought of having to pass even one checkpoint. Sure, he’d snuck into Deliverance back when he was a fugitive, but he’d had Amma by his side for that. She made him feel like he could do anything.

  He turned his mind to Da. He would do what he had to do to help Da.

  “I don’t get it,” Taemon said. “My story is that I’m Yens from Deliverance, but I can’t tell anyone that until I get to the archon facility. What do I tell them before I get to the archon facility?”

  Gevri grinned. “That is where my brilliant idea comes in.”

  Taemon approached the checkpoint, where two guards stood watch. He tried to walk with confidence, but the pain in his left leg made it difficult. That, and the fact that he was a Nathanite strolling into a Republik military outpost.

  Under his feet, the road was paved with a smooth, hard surface. From what Gevri had said, this hadn’t been done with psi. How in the Great Green Earth had they paved these roads so flawlessly by hand? He could hardly fathom it. In the powerless colony, a few of the roads were paved with cobblestone, but most were dirt or gravel.

  The guards at the checkpoint stared at him as he drew closer. They looked only mildly curious, but they blocked the entrance defensively with their bodies and held their weapons at the ready.

  Taemon took a deep breath. This was where his acting skills would come into play. This was where he would find out if he even had any acting skills. He limped forward.

  “State your name and business,” one guard said.

  Trying to match Gevri’s gruff style of speech, Taemon gave the Republikite name Gevri had told him. “I’m heading back to my unit. We were on a wilderness survival drill. I, um, got separated from my unit.” He tried to look sheepish, as if he were embarrassed by his incompetence.

  The two guards stared him down. Taemon put his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them!” shouted one of the guards.

  Taemon brought his hands up. “Easy, easy. I look suspicious, I know. It’s a spy-training exercise. The captain made us dress like this. You know, so we can go over the mountain.”

  “Gods, man, you look like a girl with those sleeves. And who wears a scarf like that?”

  “Apparently, Nathanites do.” Taemon almost smiled at the thought of an entire city full of people wearing Challis’s outrageous scarves.

  The other guard grunted. “ID card?”

  Taemon leveled them with what he hoped was a disapproving look. “Spies don’t carry ID cards.”

  The guards exchanged a glance. “You’re supposed to carry your ID card.”

  “And get caught by a Nathanite carrying a card that says I’m a spy?” Taemon scoffed. “The captain always says that the way you practice is the way you perform.” Actually, it was Taemon’s music teacher who said that. But it sounded good.

  One guard turned to the other. “Did you hear anything about the spy unit doing maneuvers on the mountain?”

  “They never tell us anything,” his companion muttered.

  The guards eyed him warily but drew closer. Slowly, Taemon lowered his hands.

  One of the guards started to chuckle. “Whoo! You smell bad enough to be a godsown stank. That part of your training, too?”

  Taemon didn’t know what a stank was, but he was no stranger to being teased. “We can’t all have cushy guard jobs,” he answered before he could stop himself. He tensed. Had he gone too far?

  The other guard grunted. “Looks like this little stank’s got teeth.”

  The two guards loomed over Taemon, standing so close to him that he was forced to take an awkward step back.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “Twisted my ankle up on the mountain,” Taemon said with what he hoped passed for exasperation. “That’s how I fell behind.”

  “Looks like you failed that training exercise,” one of them said.

  “I’m glad you fellas are finding this so amusing,” he grumbled. Gevri had furnished that Republikite term — fellas. It sounded ridiculous to Taemon, but it seemed to work. “Look, the captain’s only going to be madder the longer I’m gone. Can I go now?”

  The two guards stepped aside and let him pass.

  Taemon walked through the gate on rubbery legs. He’d passed the first hurdle. Now for the second: find the archon facility without getting caught.

  The outpost had more foot traffic than he would have liked. But people here walked with purpose, and most of them seemed to ignore anyone who didn’t figure into that purpose. Taemon tried to add a little purpose to his step as well. His purpose was to find Da — and to stay alive while doing it.

  Turning a corner, he saw rows upon rows of oddly shaped houses. No, they weren’t houses, though they were the right size. They were vehicles of some sort; each had wheels and treads on the bottom. But they looked like nothing Taemon had ever seen. The vehicles seemed designed for one purpose: to carry a huge cylinder. One end was fitted with a monstrous drill-like apparatus, and the other end was capped with a huge metal disk.

  Could this be some kind of cannon? He’d heard of guns and cannons from tales of the old world, but they never seemed real to him, more like the stuff of frightening fairy tales. Taemon stopped to get a look. There were dozens of these things — too many to count — lined up on a wide stretch of gravel.

  Studying the machines, Taemon felt a familiar gnawing of curiosity. How did these giant contraptions work? If he used just a squinch of psi, he’d be able to see inside one of them. Perhaps he could learn something that would be valuable to the people back home.

  He willed himself into the stillness he needed for psi, blocked out all other worries, and focused on the nearest of these frightening abominations.

  He encountered machinery, wires, substances unlike anything he’d seen before. Even though he could see all the parts, he couldn’t begin to make sense of them. But these were evil machines — that much he knew.

  “You there! What are you doing?” a sharp voice rang out. “Who’s your captain?”

  Two soldiers had appeared while Taemon had been examining the cannons. He turned to face them, and his left leg nearly gave out on him, his entire side suddenly numb. It took all the mental discipline he had to stay upright.

  “I’m with the spy unit,” Taemon said. “Just got back from maneuvers.”

  The soldiers looked him up and down. “Why are you standing here?”

  “I thought I saw someone in there,” Taemon said, thinking quickly. “They told us to report anything suspicious.” He turned and peered down a row of cannons.

  “There!” Taemon shouted. “Someone’s hiding in there.”

  In spite of the added weakness Taemon knew would follow, he reached for psi. He needed something convincing right now, and psi was his only ally. Quickly, he used psi to move the gravel in a pattern that sounded like the crunch of running footsteps.

  The two soldiers immediately snapped into action. “Halt!” they shouted, bolting into the rows of cannons.

  As fast as he was able, Taemon limped in the opposite direction and ducked into an alley between two concrete buildings. He steadied himself against the wall with his good arm — which wasn’t all that good. He had to find somewhere to rest, somewhere safe, so he could get some strength back. He couldn’t show up at the archon facility barely able to walk.

  He hobbled on.

  Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind, then twisted his arm painfully behind his back.

  “I saw what you did,” a voice whispered in his ear. “You have dominion.”

  Taemon cried out as his arm was wrenched more violently. His left leg gave out, and he ended up on his knees. His attacker clubbed him over the head, and everything went dark.

  When he came to, his vision was blu
rry and there was a shrill ringing in his ears. He had no idea where he was. Skies, he hated passing out, and it seemed to be happening a lot lately. He tried to shake the fuzziness from his mind, tried to remember what he was supposed to say and what he wasn’t supposed to say. He’d rehearsed it with Amma and Gevri, but that seemed so long ago. He tested his bad arm, flexing his elbow and wiggling his fingers. It felt a little stronger, which made him wonder how long he’d been sleeping.

  “Who are you?” A man was addressing him, but he could see only a blur that was probably a face. “How do you have dominion? Explain yourself.”

  Taemon squinted. Was he inside the archon facility? There was no way to know for sure, and he didn’t think it was a good idea to ask. But the man had mentioned dominion, which meant there was a good chance Taemon was exactly where he wanted to be.

  “I’m Yens Houser, from Deliverance. Elder Naseph sent me.” His vision was slowly improving, and he could see that the man’s expression was full of doubt. Was this Gevri’s father, the man responsible for the army of archons? He was dark-complexioned like Gevri and spoke with the same bouncy Republikite accent.

  “So, the True Son has finally honored us with his presence,” the man said with a mocking tone. “You were supposed to be here months ago. Why has there been no word from Naseph?”

  The ringing in Taemon’s ears made it hard for him to concentrate.

  “Elder Naseph sends his apologies. There were . . . unforeseen delays.”

  “What could possibly explain a delay of four months? And why didn’t Naseph send a message?”

  Taemon was prepared for these questions. “He did send a message.” Taemon raised himself on his elbows and tried to look equal parts confused and concerned. “He sent one of his guards to tell you in person. The high priests insisted on having a say in the decision, then deliberated for weeks before deciding I should come. Are you saying . . . ? Are you saying the guard never made it?”

  The man’s expression gave nothing away, but Taemon knew his story’s credibility was being weighed. “No, the guard never made it,” he said simply. Then, “Ruling committees are a nuisance. I know this only too well. Still, Naseph should have sent a second messenger when he failed to hear back from the first.”