Semper (New Eden)

by Dudley, Peter J

  “Friends and countrymen, we gather here to witness the promotion of the thirteenth Semper of Southshaw.” His words bark with authority and strength, and already I can see the crowd is losing the memory of the roaring reception it made moments before. Darius, for his small stature and air of anger, projects authority. He commands their attention. He commands my attention.

  Beyond him, in the shadows at the side of the stage, Baddock lurks. Baddock stares at me. I stare right back. He may have thought he could push me around as Semper-son, but when I am named Semper in a few minutes, he will have to obey me without question. I try to put that thought into my stare, try to project it into his head. He must not be getting the message because his dark scowl slowly twists into a derisive sneer.

  Darius has moved to a podium where the Book of Laws lies open in the sun. It’s a hot morning, and Darius is sweating as he speaks, small drops glistening on his forehead and rolling down his cheeks into his doggish beard. He begins reading.

  “Semper is leader in all things. Semper understands all Laws and administers them with the authority of our Lord. Semper is guided by Truth in all decisions, inspired by the voice and mind of our Lord. Southshaw cannot exist without Semper, and Semper’s first duty is to serve Southshaw without fail."

  He finds a ribbon and turns pages to the next passage.

  “Upon the death of the Semper, or upon the Semper’s fifty-sixth birthday, a new Semper will be Promoted, and that will be the Semper’s eldest son. If the Semper has no son, the next male of Semper’s house—progeny, sibling, or cousin—will be selected. Should no such man exist, a new Semper will be elected by ballot from all Southshawans.”

  Darius looks out over the crowd, slowly surveying the faces. He then looks pointedly at me, with that smugness that makes my skin crawl. “We are very lucky, Southshaw! Not only has our beloved Semper left us a son to be his heir, but that son—Dane—is destined to be the greatest Semper Southshaw has ever known!”

  The crowd is unsure how to react to this. Some applause skips up in patches but falls silent when others don't join. I am not sure if they should applaud or not. Perhaps they are thinking of my father. Perhaps the older ones see my father standing up here. Perhaps the image I create, wearing my father's clothes, disturbs them.

  No. I would not applaud either.

  “Dane. Approach.” Darius reaches out to me. I release my grip on Freda's hand and stride toward him, my steps somber and slow, my thoughts on my father. I stop when I reach the podium, standing still and stiff. Traditionally, and in all cases but one, the Semper-son has been promoted by his father, the retiring Semper. I had looked forward to that pleasure for a long time. I wish I could spend nineteen more years looking forward to it, as I had thought I would when I went into the woods a few days ago. I would trade everything to have him back right now.

  Darius appears to mistake my sadness for seriousness, and he seems to approve. And that makes me angry. I don’t want his approval. I don’t want anything from him. I want my father to stand where he stands. I want the crowd to cheer my father, not me. I want to go back in time, to have my father preside over my wedding.

  “Kneel, Dane.” I kneel and bow my head.

  Darius slips a thick, cloth ribbon over my neck, weighted down with a large, brass key.

  “I give you the Key and anoint you Semper. Rise, Semper.”

  As I rise, Darius bows low before me. Everything is so strange. Darius bows. My mother and Freda wait at the sides. Baddock lurks in the shadows. Silent anticipation smothers the entire square. The heavy key rests against my chest, its velvety lanyard smooth and warm on my neck. Is that it? I am Semper now?

  I turn and look a the crowd, all of whom stare up at the stage, at me. They seem to be wondering the same thing. Is that it? Is that all? I am Semper. There is no more. They should be leaving, going off to the various wedding parties that will happen throughout the afternoon and evening.

  I look to Freda. She seems to be waiting for me to do something. Oh, I should have her join me. I gesture to her, and she comes to me showing a tinge of relief. As she arrives, she whispers, “You must address your citizens, Dane.”

  But what will I say? What could I possibly say? I should have another twenty years to plan this speech. It’s not fair.

  “Just tell them what you feel,” Freda whispers.

  Tell them what I feel? That I feel my father has not been properly mourned, that I feel my mother has desecrated his memory with her marriage to my vile uncle, that I like my new wife but might be in love with a mutant girl from the north? Sure, that will go over really well.

  But I’ve learned to trust Freda’s wisdom over these past few hours.

  “Friends and countrymen,” I begin. Freda squeezes my hand, which should give me strength but only reminds me that she would do much better with a speech right now. Right, Dane. She might be better at this, but she’s not Semper. You are. Pull yourself together and say something.

  “Friends and countrymen—Southshawans. Right now, I feel…” not the things I should. Proud of Southshaw. Angry with the northern mutants. Honored to become Semper. Instead, I feel sad. I feel tired. I feel pushed into something I’m not ready for.

  Words spill from my mouth. “I feel sad. And tired. And… and angry.” The horrified gasp I expect doesn’t happen. Instead, I see people all over the square nodding with a concerned sympathy. A thousand faces. I've said something they connect with. I look to Freda, who watches me with an expression of curious anticipation. She nods very slightly: Push on, Dane.

  I push on. “Yesterday, I was a boy in the woods, gazing at the beauty of God’s sunset on the lake, marveling at the majesty of two deer come for a drink in the silent dusk.” I think I’ll leave out the part about Lupay, the ghosts, the ancient house, Baddock… “But today… today, I am no longer a child enjoying God’s wonders with innocent eyes.”

  I squeeze Freda’s hand but continue to look at the gathered populace. Confidence and strength swell into my voice, though I'm unsure what I'll say next. Whatever it is, I must make them believe it.

  “I am a man. I am a husband. I am Semper.” I look down and lift the key, stare at it for several seconds. I hold it where everyone can see it, turn it over and over in my hand, show the crowd that I'm contemplating the gravity of the position. The noon sun glints and glimmers off its shiny curves and corners. It symbolizes the ability to unlock God’s Truths and Laws, but really it’s just a molded hunk of metal. Just as I symbolize the authority to lead, but I’m just human flesh. And I’m no more fit to lead Southshaw than this key is useful for understanding God.

  I let the key fall with a bounce to the end of its lanyard, feel its physical and spiritual weight pull down on my neck. Some of the people now squint up at me with real concern. They’re wondering what I’ll say next; I can see it in their frowns. They want me to be my father.

  “Some of you may wonder,” I say with an aggression that surprises even me as I step to the very front of the stage. “You may wonder whether I am ready. Is this boy—is he ready to do what is necessary for Southshaw?” I turn to stare down Darius across the stage. I speak at him now. “Can he become the man we all need him to be?”

  Darius does not react, but the people fidget and some turn their eyes to the ground. Across the quad the tall man lurks in the doorway to the chapel, staring at me with hesitant expectancy.

  “I have seen things some of you would not believe. I understand life and death. And truth.” I glance at Baddock, off in the shadows. “And lies.” I let my gaze linger on Baddock for several seconds. “I have been raised to understand the books and to commune with God. I inherit that from my father. No one else in Southshaw shares this.”

  The tall man in the back wears a hint of a grin behind his beard, and his eyes sparkle a little. This fuels my courage and sends me spinning onward.

  “Am I ready? I do not know if I am ready. But I am prepared. The First Wife and I will do all we can to—“

&
nbsp; A commotion interrupts the back of the crowd, near the northeastern gate. A murmur grows into an outcry, drawing everyone's attention. A wave slithers through the square as a knot of people serpentines through the throng, making its way to the stage. It’s a small group, a half dozen or so, and shouting precedes them.

  “Make way!” Voices leap before the newcomers, parting the crowd. As they near, at first I’m unsure who or what they are. Soon—too soon, for they move swiftly—I see that it’s a handful of Baddock’s men, a portion of the group I fled from yesterday. They wear red-stained bandages. Some limp. Some have their heads wrapped in blood-soaked rags, and others lean on their companions for support.

  As they approach, Baddock springs from his hiding place and pounces to the ground, makes his way to them. He knocks aside men, women, children in his haste.

  Freda and I stand on the stage, rooted to the spot with uncertainty, waiting. When Baddock reaches the men, they stop. The crowd thickens around them, penning them into a tight circle. There is murmuring, discussion between the men and Baddock, frantic gesturing. After a minute or more, several people near Baddock twist their stares at me with suspicion and horror in their eyes. I don’t know what Baddock has heard or said, but when he spins on his heel and starts pushing hard back through the crowd toward the stage, I know it is not good for me.

  What can I do? The people around the wounded men—there are only seven—now alternate between shooting me glances of disgust and trying to help the men. Baddock takes only seconds to reach the foot of the stage. Instead of angling for the steps, he simply leaps up directly in front of Darius.

  He ignores all else and whispers directly into Darius’ ear. Darius gives nothing away by his expression while Baddock talks, which is only for half a minute. There’s an evil darkness spreading out, slowly, in tentacled radiance from the knot of wounded men. People are passing along some news.

  Freda squeezes my hand, and I can barely hear her whisper over the tempest of my thoughts. "Some dark and dire news. You can actually see it spread through the square." People's faces turn to us, then look away.

  When Baddock finishes, Darius steps to the very front of the stage, only a few yards away from me. I see a swift signal of his right hand, and movement snaps out from the edges of the stage where his guards are posted. He never looks at me. Instead, he throws his hands to the sky and shouts in his loudest voice, “Southshaw! Hear me now!”

  The square goes as silent as when he walked onto the stage at the beginning of the Promotion.

  “There has been a grave evil perpetrated upon us this day.” Nodding heads, angry glares. People at the edges, those who have not received the rumors, wait with anticipation.

  “A brutal, dastardly, sneak attack was thrown down upon our peaceful band of Home Guards this morning. Mutants from the north, most likely the same ones that attacked homes on the border yesterday, ambushed these men. When they attacked, our Guard numbered thirty-one. Now you see only seven!”

  Cries of outrage and woe echo around the square. They’re repeated a hundredfold until Darius throws his hands skyward again.

  “People of Southshaw! This is tragic news. We are under attack.” Darius lowers his hands as silence falls over the crowd again. He looks down at the stage, projecting regret and sadness in slumped shoulders and shaking head. Standing so closely to him, I can see he's faking. He is performing. I can smell his nervousness, his eagerness. His fingers tickle the fabric of his pants with arrhythmic tapping.

  “But there is worse news. Far worse.” He pauses to let this sink in. “The old prophecies have come to pass.”

  This sends a collective groan from the crowd. It’s unclear what it means, though. I can hear anger, fear, disbelief in differing amounts, from different quarters. Freda's hand feels cold in mine. Her fear matches my own.

  He speaks lower now, and the crowd stops fidgeting to catch his words. “This sneak attack was aided—perhaps even planned—by one of our own.” Darius points at me, and I can see what the crowd cannot: wild triumph in his eyes. “Before he returned to us, Dane colluded with a mutant girl from Tawtrukk to plan the ambush.”

  This takes a moment to hit me. He is accusing me, in front of the entire community, of designing an attack against our own Scouts? Surely, no one will believe it. How could they?

  Baddock’s guards arrive at my side, and two grab my arms while two others grab Freda. They yank and jostle us to the back of the stage as Darius continues. “The mutant girl was captured in Southshaw two days ago, I have been told. She told the Home Guard of a secret meeting she had with a Southshaw boy who called himself Semper-son. How the two talked of murderous plans to kill courageous, peaceful Southshaw Home Guardsmen. And how, after they talked, the two lay together in the woods in sinful fornication.”

  I cannot believe he is saying these things. Surely no one can believe it. But they do. The crowd is divided—some seem to be shouting objection, others staring at me with hatred I have never seen before. Freda’s hand is torn from mine as the guards shove us apart.

  “Semper-son fled before the Home Guard caught her. But they found Dane’s satchel lying beside her. And in it, they found sinful books." My pack, the one I left behind, has appeared in his hand. I can't breathe. My legs go weak, and I'm held upright by the strong guards.

  Darius yaps out, spittle flying from his lips, "And technology!” He raises my pack over his head and turns it over. The heavy book slides out and thuds to the wooden stage, followed by the little box of music which clatters away.

  “After the mutant girl confessed, the Home Guard was set upon by forty or more heathens. They were slaughtered! Massacred in a cowardly and evil manner. Only the seven here escaped.”

  The people murmur a restrained sound of rage that sends terror through me. If I were among them, they would tear me apart with their bare hands.

  “Semper-son,” Darius shouts in accusation at me, “how did that mutant girl come to be in possession of your satchel? How did the mutants know where our Home Guard would be?”

  He does not wait for an answer but signals the guards to yank and jostle Freda and me to the back of the stage. Baddock comes to us and grabs the key around my neck, pulling it so the lanyard snaps on my skin, burning my neck. We’re dragged into the house while Darius continue to address the people.

  “Those who remember the prophecies, as I do, know that the thirteenth Semper will cause the downfall of Southshaw. Although it has begun—" He raises his voice in command to quell the growing outcry. "Although it has begun, we can avert catastrophe! Dane is hereby condemned, and the fourteenth Semper is named. I accept that role now as the next in succession."

  The crowd growls, a mixture of outrage and protest.

  "And now we must rise to arms. We must protect our people, our land... humanity itself! The only answer is complete annihilation of Tawtrukk, down to the very last mutant. The time for peaceful ignorance is past. It is time to reclaim the Earth from the heathens that God has marked with the color of sin!”

  As the guards drag both Freda and me down the halls, down the stairs into the underground jail, the crowd's growling has turned into a chant. I gasp, “What are they saying?”

  Freda, before a guard’s hand clamps over her mouth, says, “War. They’re chanting war.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “For your own safety. I’d kill you myself if Baddock would let me.” The guard, whose name I don’t know because he’s from the eastern borders, shoves me through the door into the jail. The other pushes Freda in behind me, and the door closes with a clatter of metal bars and a jangle of keys on a ring.

  I’ve been here once before, but only as a child when I wandered the wrong way. The cell was empty then. It's nearly always empty. It’s used for only the worst criminals.

  Freda stumbles across the room to a rickety wooden bed with a straw mattress and sits down. She rubs her left arm, and even in the twilight dimness I can see the raw redness where the guard's hand was clamped. Sh
e’s looking down, her shoulders slumped. Her face is hidden, but I can see she's sobbing silently.

  Poor Freda. I've done this to her. She should not be here. She's done nothing. I should have picked Suzee Lummon as I was told. I wouldn't feel so awful if Suzee sat there instead. But then, Darius wouldn't have thrown Suzee in jail. I didn't beat Darius by selecting someone else. All I did was doom Freda. One of the few Southshawans smart enough to see through Darius' lies and try to rally the people against him.

  How could I have been so stupid? So easily used, manipulated. I would have been better off staying out in the wilderness, maybe even running off to Tawtrukk with Lupay. Now I’m certain to be exiled, and Freda too. I'm suddenly very tired. Exhaustion overcomes me, and I slump backwards against the hard iron bars.

  I look to Freda and wonder how I can possibly apologize. What words can I say that will let her know how bad I feel about this?

  “It’s not your fault, Dane.” Her voice is meek and tired. She sounds resigned to her fate, and in those five words I hear that she understands what awaits her. What awaits us both. She lifts her face to me. For a long time we just stare at each other. I’m not sure what to say. I’m not sure there is anything to be said. But for once, she's wrong. It is my fault.

  I could rattle the bars, beat on the walls, search for a secret exit. But I know there’s no way out. Guards just down the hall. Stairs to the stables where other guards wait. Even if we managed to steal a horse and get into the nearby woods, we'd never get farther than a mile or two before we're hunted down.

  Freda whispers something to me, something I don’t quite catch. I walk the few yards across the stone floor and sit next to her on the straw bed. The chill of the unheated underground room has started to make its way through my clothes and into my bones, and I give a slight shiver. Freda is trembling in her thin dress. I pick up a rough horse blanket from behind her, unfold it, and drape it over her shoulders.

  She whispers it again. “Is any of it true?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper back. I think she’s whispering so the guards won’t hear. Better to keep our thoughts secret between us. “Why would Tawtrukk attack our Scouts?”