Archon

by Lana Krumwiede

  Taemon nodded. “I’m sure he would have if he’d suspected anything was amiss. But once the priests voted to let me come, we were occupied with the preparations for my travel.”

  The man nodded briskly, which Taemon hoped meant he bought the story. “I am General Sarin, as I’m sure you’ve deduced. As for you . . . Yens. Are you as powerful as Naseph claims?”

  Taemon forced himself to hold the general’s stare without blinking. It all came down to this.

  “More powerful,” Taemon said boldly. “Not even Naseph is aware of my full capabilities.”

  That much was true, at least. But Taemon was hardly in top fighting form — Skies, he could barely manage to keep himself propped on his elbows!

  “I see,” General Sarin said. “I have to say, I’m not impressed with you Nathanites. When you didn’t show, we took matters into our own hands and found a replacement ambassador. But he proved to be very uncooperative. This is not the way we operate in the Republik.”

  “I’m very sorry about the delay, sir. And about the uncooperative ambassador.” Taemon struggled to remain calm, to appear docile. “I promise you won’t have any such troubles from me. Sir.”

  Skies, that ringing! Taemon rubbed his ears, but it didn’t help.

  “This room is equipped with electronic emissions that block any exercise of dominion,” the general said. “Normal people wouldn’t even hear that sound, but I can see it bothers you.”

  So that’s what it was. Much better than that Skies-awful serum they used in Deliverance, at least.

  The general held up a little box about the size of a piece of bread. “I have a portable dominion-blocking device right here. It’s coded to my thumbprint, so I’m the only one who can activate it.”

  That little thing? He had to be bluffing. How could anything be coded to a thumbprint anyway? The general must think he was stupid.

  General Sarin must have detected Taemon’s disbelief. He pressed his thumb to the device. Clutching his ears and stifling a scream, Taemon fell back against his pillow. Two discordant tones sounded in his head, competing against each other and making him want to vomit.

  The general released the button, and the ringing became bearable again. “You cannot exercise dominion in my presence unless I allow it.”

  Taemon swallowed the bile that had come to his throat and took a deep breath. “Understood.”

  “Good,” General Sarin said, and got up to leave. “Change into this,” he said, nodding at a folded garment. “I’ll return in three minutes to introduce you to Captain Dehue. Then we’ll see what you can do.”

  Captain Dehue was tall, with pale skin and red hair pulled tightly into a knot at the back of her head. He’d seen so many different skin and hair tones in the Republik already. People in Deliverance were not nearly so varied. Most had a light-brown complexion, dark hair, and dark eyes — the result of being locked away from the rest of the world.

  The general and the captain led Taemon down a gray unadorned hallway, turning twice. Two armed guards walked behind him. The walls were concrete, with metal plating that covered everything from about hip height down. The carpet, which had a shallow but dense weave, stretched over the entire surface of the floor. It was clearly not handwoven, but it wasn’t psi-woven, either. Again, Taemon wondered how they managed to produce such things.

  At least the ringing was gone. But General Sarin kept his portable device in clear view, thumb at the ready. Taemon had no intention of using psi, of course, but clearly they didn’t trust him.

  “Here we are.” The general stopped and ushered Taemon through a double doorway into a cavernous room about four stories high; it reminded him of the gym in Deliverance where they used to hold the psiball tournaments.

  What struck him first was the feel of this strange new psi. The air was thick with malice. He had always associated psi with a certain state of calm. It was the way he’d been taught, the way everyone in Deliverance had been taught, and he had assumed it was the only way psi worked. But there was nothing calm about what was happening in this room.

  Dozens of soldiers, perhaps a hundred, were using psi against one another in the most aggressive ways he’d ever seen. They were pushing, pinning, striking, twisting — and those were just the visible signs of fighting. Taemon wondered if some of them were causing internal pain and injury to one another. The noise certainly suggested that: grunts, shouting, whoops, and hollering.

  And the body movement! Some of the archons flung their arms as if they were hitting something. There were kicks and chops and shoves that were downright shameful. He wondered how they could use psi in all that chaos — and how they could use it to harm others.

  Nathan’s teachings held that psi could be used on another person only to assist, defend, or show affection. Even when Yens had wanted to bend the rules a bit, to do something he knew he shouldn’t, he’d first had to convince himself that what he wanted to do wasn’t morally reprehensible. His ability to outwit his psi was incredibly rare — and incredibly dangerous. Taemon shuddered to think what would have happened if Elder Naseph had managed to send Yens to General Sarin. A whole army of psi warriors, led by Yens.

  And the archons were so young! None of them looked to be out of their teens, and a few looked as young as eight. They had every variety of skin and hair color, but they all, male and female, had the same haircut: shaved fairly close to the scalp, with a point in the middle of their foreheads. The pattern widened in the middle, almost touching the ears, then came to a point again at the base of the neck. It looked as if someone had laid a large leaf on each of their heads and shaved around it.

  “Their hair,” Taemon said. “There must be some significance to that.” The shorn hair was a surprise, given Gevri’s long tresses.

  The general nodded. “When archon warriors get their first kill, we honor them by shaving their hair. For the second kill, they get to shave the stubble to a point in the front. The third earns them the point at the neck. You can see this is the advanced group. They have all had their first three kills.”

  “I see,” Taemon said, hoping the goose flesh on his arms didn’t show.

  “I’m not sure I buy into all that True Son business Naseph was always on about,” the general said, “but I’m willing to see what you can do. Whether or not you impress me, Yens, you must understand that there is no going back for you. You’re on our team now. You answer to me. Not to Naseph. Not to some silly prophecy. Me. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Taemon said. He’d expected as much. Now that he was in on their secret operation, they wouldn’t let him walk away. He and Da would have to escape. He’d have to figure that out later, though. For now, he had to buy some time to discover Da’s whereabouts.

  “If you manage to win my trust — and I emphasize if,” the general continued, “you will teach the warriors to work in unison to accomplish tasks that would be too much for one person.”

  “What kinds of tasks?” Taemon asked, his anxiety growing.

  The general considered for a moment. “Taking down a wall, crushing a building, felling trees. The sorts of tasks that will be useful in warfare.”

  Holy Mother Mountain! Taemon nodded at the general, but his mind was spinning. They’d told him the other trainer from Deliverance had been uncooperative. Now Taemon understood what must have happened. Da would never teach anyone to use psi like this. Never. He’d die first. Deep despair sliced through Taemon. Had they killed Da?

  “You’ll begin on a trial basis,” said the general. “We have some problem archons who are not developing quickly enough. You’ll have three days with them. Captain Dehue here will be supervising your daily sessions with them and reporting her findings to me. Each evening, I will visit you in your quarters and will debrief your progress. If you are successful, I will begin to trust you with my more advanced archons.”

  “And if I’m not successful?” Taemon asked.

  “You’ll be joining your countryman in the dungeon. Believe me, you do
not want to fail.”

  Taemon tried to look suitably frightened, but inside he was ecstatic. Da was alive! And all Taemon had to do was fail, and the captain would lead him straight to Da.

  If there was one thing Taemon was good at, it was failing.

  They assigned Taemon a room that felt very much like a prison cell. He had his own bathroom and was relieved to find that plumbing in the Republik wasn’t that different from what he had been used to in the powerless colony.

  Captain Dehue had assured him that this was a dominion-proof room. He didn’t understand what that meant at first, because his ears were not ringing. But after examining his small cell, he realized that everything had been carved out of solid stone. The platform bed, the sink, even the toilet — it was all one huge, thick slab of rock. The bed had a soft layer on top, but even that was somehow attached, as if it had been painted on. Even if he were to use psi, there was nothing to move or manipulate in any way. The rock was too heavy and thick to crack.

  Still, he wondered if it was truly dominion proof. Could he take the water from the toilet and use it like a drill to erode the rock? An interesting thought, which he tucked away in case he became desperate enough to try it.

  There were no windows in the room, only a door. The door had no hinges, which confused Taemon at first. But he’d seen some pretty intricate psi doors before, and he was confident that with clairvoyance, he’d be able to unlock it. He wouldn’t do that just yet. Let them think he was securely locked in his cell. When he was ready to leave, the door wouldn’t stop him.

  The next morning, he would start working with the archons. He knew he’d have to put on a good show at first to erase any suspicion; Gevri had made it very clear what would happen to him if they thought he was a spy. But how much could he really do with his injury — and with those repulsive archon methods? How was he ever going to convince them he was the True Son?

  He did not sleep well.

  When the morning finally came, Captain Dehue led Taemon to the same gymnasium-like room he’d seen yesterday, where he met his students. Seven children, all of them younger than himself. All of them had long hair, some in ponytails, some in braids.

  “These trainees have struggled from day one,” the captain said. “Their test results clearly show that they have dominion, but they fail to exercise it.”

  Taemon watched the children’s faces as Captain Dehue recounted their utter failure. He thought he detected hints of embarrassment, but for the most part they hid their reactions very well.

  The captain continued, “I suggest you start with the basics: shoving, crushing, slicing, and the like. And remember, I’ll be watching you closely. Any attempts to disobey orders will be met with immediate punishment.” She waved her disruption device in his face for emphasis.

  The students stood at attention during Captain Dehue’s entire speech and didn’t relax their posture even after she’d left the room. It made Taemon wonder if they had been raised in this military outpost. Had they ever known their families?

  He locked that depressing thought away. He couldn’t allow himself to care. Caring meant lowering his guard. And around here, lowering his guard meant certain death.

  The students recited their names in the clipped way of disciplined soldiers. All the names were foreign sounding and impossible to remember. It didn’t much matter, though; he wouldn’t be here that long.

  “Saunch,” said the last boy, the smallest of the bunch.

  “Saunch?” Taemon asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay . . . Saunch. Why don’t you start us off this morning?” Taemon glanced around the room. “We’ll begin with something simple: using psi — er, dominion — to knock down boxes.”

  Starting simple wasn’t only for the archons’ benefit; Taemon knew he couldn’t afford big bursts of psi, but small bursts from time to time should be okay.

  “Now, Saunch, see that pile of empty boxes? I want you to use dominion to knock those boxes down. Easy as peas, right?”

  “Peas, sir?” Saunch asked. Then, before Taemon could explain, Saunch seemed to catch himself. “I mean, yes, sir!” He jumped to his feet and assumed a purposeful stance, feet set wide. His features puckered into a deadly glare that he aimed at the sinister boxes. It was almost comical. But Taemon knew there wasn’t anything funny about the intensity with which the archons used dominion. Even young Saunch was a killer-in-training.

  Saunch held both arms close to his chest, then executed an elaborate series of moves, ending with his right arm shoving the air forcefully.

  “Eeeee . . . ha!” Saunch yelled as he delivered dominion to the boxes.

  None of the boxes moved so much as a squinch. In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Saunch executed a curt little bow, then returned to his seat as quickly as possible. He kept his face as solid as stone — all but a faint tremor in his chin.

  “Interesting.” Taemon pointed to another student. “You next.”

  Every one of the students used body movements and shouting along with psi. Taemon couldn’t see a pattern in the movements. Each archon seemed to have a different set of motions, but none of them was able to move the boxes.

  Taemon glanced up to the viewing balcony, where the captain was watching.

  Then he addressed his students: “Could someone please explain to me the purpose of all that yelling and waving your arms about? How does that help you exercise dominion?”

  The students shrugged or looked down.

  “Saunch?” Taemon asked, singling out the young archon simply because his was the only name Taemon could remember.

  “That’s what they taught us,” said Saunch. “Sir.”

  Part of Taemon longed to teach these kids the right way to use psi, to bring it out through a calm and settled feeling, not through anger or aggression. Maybe if he taught them the right way to use psi, they would feel connected with the earth, feel a sense of oneness with everything — and everyone — around them, and maybe they would be less likely to use psi for evil.

  It was a dangerous idea. Not only was he being watched carefully, but if he succeeded in teaching these archons how to use psi, there was no guarantee that they’d use their new powers for good.

  But what choice did he have? He couldn’t very well teach them how to use dominion the archon way. Nor could he sit back and do nothing — not with Captain Dehue staring down at him, watching for any missteps.

  He took a deep breath. “Let’s try it another way. Clear your mind and listen to my words: The boxes are connected to you. You and the boxes are made of the same dust. You are, in fact, the same organism. You are the brain, and the box is an arm or a leg. You are telling the box what to do. Not pushing. Not hitting. Not forcing. You are simply directing. Influencing. Persuading.”

  The students’ eyes widened. Some of them were shaking. At first he thought they were awed by what he’d just told them. But then he realized they were laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Persuading?” said one student. “That’s not dominion.”

  “What if the boxes don’t want to be persuaded?” another asked. “What if they don’t feel like it?”

  The class had a good laugh at that. Taemon could practically feel the captain jotting down notes.

  “Enough!” Taemon barked. “It’s clear that you cannot master dominion using the traditional methods.” He glanced up at Captain Dehue to make sure she was listening. “It seems to me that you have two choices: try it my way or be branded a failure.”

  That chased away their smiles. Taemon pushed aside his guilt and kept his voice stern.

  “This time, we’ll do the same thing, but no hand motions, no noises. You must be still, silent, serene. Saunch, you’ll be first.”

  Saunch assumed his determined stance and glared at the boxes stacked in front of him.

  “Relax,” Taemon said. “Be calm. Peaceful. You are simply informing the boxes of their new position. Picture it in your mind, and pe
rsuade them to do it.”

  “I can’t, sir,” Saunch said. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “It does. Watch.” Taemon stood next to the boy. He took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he used psi to move the boxes.

  A soft chorus of oohs came from the students behind him.

  “Persuasion,” Taemon said. “Harmony. Cooperation.” He glanced up at the balcony and added quickly, “You’ll be able to accomplish much more with your dominion that way.”

  They tried again and again, without success. A disturbing new thought occurred to Taemon: maybe it wasn’t possible for a Republikite to use Nathan’s form of psi. And if the archons couldn’t learn to use psi and he couldn’t learn to use dominion, how was he ever going to prove himself as the True Son that Naseph had promised the general?

  The archons were allowed a break for lunch, and after a quick meal, they had outdoor physical exercise. Taemon would meet with them again in the late afternoon.

  Captain Dehue escorted Taemon back to his room for the lunch break. Their footsteps echoed in the long concrete hallway. The captain’s silence unnerved Taemon, but he tried to project an aura of calm, as though everything were going according to plan.

  A tray of food was waiting in his room. He eyed it warily before finally taking a bite. It was a bit bland — nothing like the flavorful goose that Gevri had prepared for them — but other than that it seemed okay.

  His mind went back to the young archons he’d worked with that morning. Captain Dehue had said they had psionic ability, so they weren’t duds. So why couldn’t they move anything?

  Taemon scolded himself for worrying one second over it. It was Da he should be thinking about.

  He finished his food. What it lacked in flavor, it made up for in quantity. His stomach was full, and he stretched out on the bed, intending to use the time before the afternoon session to think through his plan for rescuing Da once he found him.