Archon

by Lana Krumwiede

  That was your da? Saunch asked. The man who was here before?

  Taemon froze. How had Saunch known what he’d been thinking? Can you . . . ? Can you hear my thoughts, Saunch?

  Yes, sir. I mean, yes, Yens. I didn’t know you had telepathy like me and Neeza!

  I don’t, Taemon replied. You must be able to read thoughts as well as transmit them, he said. Taemon had never heard of such an ability. Were there types of psi in the Republik that even Challis didn’t know existed?

  But Saunch was shaking his head. No, sir. It’s you who’s in my head. You and Neeza. And only when you’re trying to talk to me.

  Taemon’s mind was reeling. Vaguely, he was aware of the game stopping, and of Captain Dehue yelling something. But he stood frozen in place, grappling with the significance of what he’d just learned. It wasn’t until the captain turned up her device and the ear-splitting noise filled Taemon’s head that he snapped out of his shock.

  “Class dismissed!” Captain Dehue shouted, and the seven archons filed out of the room.

  Before dinner, the general made his appearance. “One entire morning staring at rice, followed by an afternoon of ball games. Ridiculous.”

  “It’s how my da taught me,” Taemon said. “I thought it might work.”

  “And did it work?”

  “No,” Taemon said, knowing full well that the general was aware of this fact. “I’ll try harder tomorrow, sir.”

  “I suggest that you do,” the general said. “I need results, Yens! You have one more day and no more. If I don’t see something, you’ll end up where your countryman did, in the dungeon.”

  “Understood, sir,” Taemon said meekly.

  The general studied his face. “You seem remarkably unruffled by the prospect of spending your remaining years behind bars. Perhaps I should have mentioned earlier that we have room for only one prisoner in our dungeon. If you fail me, I’ll have to have your countryman killed to make room for you.”

  Taemon gasped before he could stop himself.

  “I see that you’re starting to understand. If you go to the dungeon, how long will you have till someone else is sent there?”

  That was hardly Taemon’s biggest concern. His plan for rescuing Da had depended on their being reunited in the dungeon! He couldn’t fail tomorrow, or his da would die. But he knew he’d never be able to teach these children to be what the general wanted. What was he going to do?

  “I know you have incredible capacity for dominion,” the general said softly. He chuckled in a way that made Taemon cringe. “We had to turn the disrupter device up as high as it would go to suppress your dominion. What I don’t understand is why you won’t exercise it.”

  Taemon started to argue, but the general cut him off.

  “Oh, you’ll use it to do little things, like stack boxes or move grains of rice. But we both know you’re capable of so much more. You’re the True Son, for the gods’ sakes! You could have torn this place down around our ears! So why haven’t you?”

  “I’m an emissary of Elder Naseph,” Taemon said carefully. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything that might bring dishonor upon his name.”

  The general grunted. Then he walked to the end of the room and made a show of placing the portable disrupter on the floor by the door. He held his arms out in a gracious gesture. “You are free to use dominion. Impress me.”

  I could kill you right now, Taemon thought. He studied the general’s face, trying to determine if the man had heard him. But the general’s expression betrayed nothing.

  If ever there had been a man worth killing, it was the general. He was dangerous in a way that Yens never had been — even in a way that Elder Naseph never had been. Because the general wasn’t content with just ruling over his own little part of the world. No, the general had much bigger goals. Much more dangerous goals.

  If Taemon killed the general, it would put an end to the threat against Deliverance, and to the threat against Gevri. It would also free all those children being trained as weapons. It could put a stop to a war that had been raging for hundreds of years — and prevent one that was on the brink of beginning.

  You have my permission to end his life.

  Skies! He’d heard those exact words once before, when Yens had tried to kill him. The Heart of the Earth was giving him permission to kill the general, just as she’d given him permission to kill Yens.

  But Taemon hadn’t been able to kill then. And he knew he couldn’t kill now.

  “For the gods’ sakes, boy! Do something!” the general shouted.

  Taemon looked around the room. What could he do? Everything was molded from solid rock. There was nothing to —

  Taemon turned back to the general. The man had a gun pointed straight at him. “Do something,” the general whispered.

  Taemon did the first thing that came to his mind: he used clairvoyance to look inside the gun, perceiving all its inner workings and intricate parts. Then he pictured the gun separating, all the pieces falling harmlessly at his feet. Be it so!

  As the metal pieces clattered to the floor, a sharp pain knifed through him. Taemon grunted and leaned forward, clutching his left side. His left leg gave out from under him, and he sprawled on the floor, staring at the disassembled gun.

  “Ah,” the general said. “Now I see. Your injury is bonded with your dominion. I’ve read about cases like this, though I’ve never seen one before.”

  Taemon didn’t want to continue this conversation. Using his good arm and leg, he hefted himself upright and leaned against the bed.

  “Yens, you are in a unique position. You have experience that I lack.”

  Taemon eyed the general with suspicion. “You seem to be doing fine without me.”

  “We’ve gone as far as we can developing dominion in these young people. We are now at a standstill. I need you to teach advanced techniques to my archons. And you need me to heal your injury.”

  “I can’t even teach your youngest archons how to manifest their dominion. What makes you think I can teach the others advanced techniques?”

  “Perhaps your talents have been wasted on our duds,” the general said. Taemon flinched at the familiar slur. Let me help you. My medical officer can repair the nerve damage across the left side of your body.”

  “It’ll get better on its own. It just needs time.”

  “Has it been getting better?” Taemon’s silence was answer enough. “From what I’ve read, these things only get worse without treatment. We can fix it.”

  But at what cost? Taemon wondered. “Your offer is tempting,” he lied. “But I’m afraid I don’t trust you enough to let your people treat me.” That, at least, was the truth.

  “There will be other benefits as well, just as Naseph and I agreed. You’ll lead the archon regiment. You’ll have a say in everything we do.”

  Skies, the man was relentless! If Taemon didn’t know better, he’d think the general was desperate for his help. But that would mean his threats about the dungeon — and about killing Da — didn’t hold water.

  “If I let you help me,” Taemon began carefully, “what will you expect of me, exactly?”

  The general smiled, though there was no humor in it. “You can’t really expect me to give away so much before you’ve given away anything, now, can you? First you must consent to see our medic. Then, when you’re back on your feet”— he nodded at Taemon, still propping himself up against his bed —“we can talk about what comes next.”

  “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it,” Taemon said at last.

  General Sarin’s steely gaze gave nothing away, and Taemon did his best to make his expression likewise inscrutable.

  “There are things you’re withholding from me, Yens. Your injury, for one. And why you’re playing games with my young archons. I trust you know better than to try to make a move against me. Such efforts would be futile — and perhaps even deadly.”

  The general picked up the disrupter and the gun parts, then put the piec
es in his pocket. “I’ll need your answer in the morning.”

  And with that, the general walked to the door. He opened it, then paused — clearly aware that Taemon was in no position to make a break for it. “One more thing, Yens. What made you think of taking the gun apart?”

  Taemon forced his features to remain blank, but his mind went to Gevri, to the moment when he’d done the exact same thing to one of the soldiers’ guns. “It might have had something to do with you pointing it at me.”

  The general nodded curtly. “A more common reaction than I would have anticipated.”

  When the general left, Taemon could scarcely breathe.

  There was no more time to waste. The general was too suspicious of him. He had to leave. He had to find Da and get out.

  Out! Out! Out! his pulse seemed to scream at him.

  He started to unlock the door with psi but stopped himself when he realized it wouldn’t even be dark yet. He needed darkness on his side. He had little else.

  He forced himself to rest on the bed and go over his plans. He would be starting off in a weakened condition, thanks to the general. And he’d have to use more psi than he would like just to find Da: telekinesis and clairvoyance to unlock the doors, more clairvoyance to locate the dungeon. All of that would take its toll and bring back his limp. What if he found Da only to realize he could no longer walk? What if Da was in a weakened state and needed him to be strong?

  It was impossible. Even if he managed to escape his cell, even if he managed to find Da . . . There was simply no way that Taemon could pull off something like this — not now, anyway. Not when he could barely stand.

  We’re coming, a familiar voice said, speaking directly into his mind. Don’t do anything till we get there. We’re going to help!

  Stay where you are! It’s too dangerous!

  Taemon tried to send a message back to Saunch, but the connection had been broken. Saunch wasn’t listening.

  Taemon paced the confines of his room in jerky, agitated steps. What were they thinking, coming to help him? They barely knew him, and they could be risking their fool lives!

  Mere minutes later, though, he heard tapping on his door and thought it best to let them in. Using psi to unlock the door left him a bit weaker, but he couldn’t very well let them get caught in the hall. Seven pajama-clad young archons spilled into his room and closed the door behind them.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Taemon whispered.

  “We heard you,” Saunch said. “Me and Neeza. We heard you thinking that you had to get out.”

  Taemon marveled again at their abilities. “You heard right. But you shouldn’t be here. If General Sarin or Captain Dehue sees you, you’ll —”

  “We want to go to Nathan’s City,” Cindahad broke in. Her large brown eyes stared up at him from her round, pale face. “We don’t want to stay here. What will happen if the general doesn’t want us anymore?”

  Pik spoke up next, his voice a little wobbly as he adjusted his eyeglasses: “Please let us come.”

  Taemon looked into seven pairs of eyes, all of them pleading. How could he possibly rescue Da and make it back to the city if he had seven kids trailing along after him? And what would await them if they made it? He couldn’t imagine convincing the entire powerless populace that these seven gifted archons posed no threat — especially since he wasn’t so sure of that himself.

  “I can’t,” Taemon said. “I just can’t. You won’t be safe in Deliverance, either. Trust me.”

  The archons said nothing, but Taemon could see how his words unsettled them. Without the hope of Nathan’s City to cling to, what was left for these seven outliers?

  “You need to find your da, right?” Berliott said, standing tall and rigid in her pajamas like the soldier-in-training that she was. “We can help you. If you let us come, we’ll help.”

  “I can’t ask you to risk your . . . your lives to help me,” Taemon said. Not when he wasn’t willing to risk his own — or his da’s — in return.

  But Saunch shook his head. “We want to help — and we won’t take no for an answer.”

  Taemon’s throat tightened with emotion. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t find any words.

  “Stop gaping like a fish, and let’s get started,” Pik said. “We already know where your da is. Berliott found him with her remote viewing during dinner.”

  “You found him?” Taemon was astounded.

  Berliott nodded. “I remember what he looks like. That’s usually enough for me, as long as it’s not too far.”

  “Impressive,” said Taemon.

  Berliott led the way. Pik used remote viewing to check for guards or soldiers who would cause a problem, and Saunch used telepathy to relay messages back to Taemon, who was at the rear, struggling to keep up.

  Cindahad kept an eye on Captain Dehue with remote viewing. “She’s sound asleep,” she assured Taemon.

  They reached an old storehouse, which Berliott insisted had a dungeon below it. Pik checked for guards on the main floor inside. Wendomer used clairvoyance to describe the locks to Taemon, who used the tiniest taps of psi to unlock them, grimacing a bit when the numbness spread farther down his left leg.

  All eight of them slipped inside, and Berliott, Pik, and Saunch went ahead.

  Taemon had a chance to rest for a moment while he and the others held back until they got the signal from Saunch.

  You okay? He heard Neeza’s shy little voice in his head.

  He turned to her and nodded, afraid to use any more psi than absolutely necessary. He’d have to be okay. This is what he’d come to the Republik for, and he couldn’t let himself collapse now.

  All clear, came Saunch’s go-ahead. But the door to the dungeon is locked. We need you and Wendomer to open it.

  Taemon, Wendomer, Neeza, Cindahad, and Mirtala stole quickly through the warehouse and caught up to the others. Saunch pointed to the lock that was holding them up, and Wendomer stepped forward to examine it.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said, frowning.

  “Try to describe it,” Taemon said.

  “It’s not a normal lock with pins and a plug. It isn’t a dominion lock, either.” Her frown deepened. “There’s a box with numbered buttons on it.”

  “Can you see what’s inside the box?” he asked.

  “Lots of circuits and wires. But I can’t figure out the latch. Yens, how do we —?”

  “Hurry,” Pik whispered. “Somebody’s coming!”

  “This isn’t what I’m used to. I need a minute.”

  Taemon stepped forward. “Let me try.”

  “Are you sure? What about your injury?”

  Taemon didn’t have time to wonder how they knew about his injury; he was beginning to realize that these kids had talents even he wasn’t fully aware of. He focused on the lock and sent his mind inside it.

  Wendomer had described it well. It was unlike any lock Taemon had encountered, and just as he was starting to fear that it would take him far too long to figure out how to open it, he realized he knew just what to do.

  “Mirtala, place your hand on these numbers here.” He guided Mirtala’s hand to where he needed it to go. “Now tell me what you see.”

  She scrunched her eyes shut briefly, then popped them open. “I see a code! Four-seven-two-eight!”

  Taemon tapped the four buttons. A little green light flashed, and the door clicked open.

  “Nice work!” he said, grinning so that he wouldn’t grimace. His left foot was almost totally numb.

  “Hurry!” Pik urged them again.

  From the moment they got through the door, it was obvious that this part of the storehouse was much older. They walked down a damp, dark staircase, the air smelling mustier with each step. Taemon leaned heavily against the wall, praying he wouldn’t tumble down the slick stairs.

  “We’re close,” Berliott whispered. “We should stay together now.”

  At the end of the long sto
ne steps, they came to a hallway paved with the same stone. It was empty, except for the grime and cobwebs that clogged the corners. Taemon felt bad for bringing the children to such a horrid place.

  “There’s more than one cell,” Taemon muttered, his eyes adjusting to the dimness.

  “There are eight altogether,” Pik said.

  So the general had been lying. There was no need to kill Da to make room for Taemon in the dungeon. He wasn’t sure why, but the general’s lie surprised him.

  “Shouldn’t there be a guard?” Taemon asked.

  “I don’t think anyone’s strong enough to escape,” Wendomer said.

  Taemon frowned, but Berliott spoke up before he could ask what Wendomer meant.

  “Your da’s in the third cell on the right.” She pointed down the hall.

  Suddenly, Cindahad tugged at Taemon’s sleeve. “The captain! She’s awake. She knows you’re gone!”

  Taemon looked toward the cell that Berliott had indicated. He was so close!

  “You all need to go — now!” he urged.

  “But Yens, what about your leg?” Neeza asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, forcing himself to stand as straight as he could manage. “But if you all get caught, I’ll never forgive myself. Now go!”

  The seven archons hugged him all at once, in one big scrum.

  “Just remember,” Taemon said, “you’re all a lot more powerful than anyone realizes.”

  Then, one by one, they turned and hurried back up the stairs, communicating the locations of the captain and the guards to one another, acting like a team — or a company of soldiers. Taemon watched them go up the stairs with a lump in his throat. “Skies help them.”

  As he limped down the dark stone hallway, the only noise he heard was snoring from some of the cells — that and his own uneven footsteps. He glanced at the little barred window of each cell he passed, but it was too dark to see inside. When he got to the third cell on the right, Taemon stepped up to the door and looked through the little barred window.

  “Da?” he whispered.

  This door had a heavy padlock on it, but it was the old-fashioned kind that Taemon had no trouble opening. He did so quickly, barely noticing the pain that was beginning to spread from his wounded shoulder.