The Last Archon

by Richard Watts

  “This will help Cassie, Hayden. And Chains is off the street for a while. You’ve done some good today. Carry that light with you, and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  Hayden feigned a smirk. “See you tomorrow, old man.” The screen door creaked as it swung open. Hayden waved as he walked backward through it. “Try not to break a hip getting out of bed.”

  Deckard glared at the door as it snapped shut. If he could just teach him to touch the Axiom without warring against it…

  No, he wouldn’t. He’d chased the boy away before he could.

  The late autumn breeze curled into the house, and he shivered. Deckard closed the front door, locked it, then returned to the dining room to study the small wooden enigma.

  He drew sigils of connection and insight on the tabletop with one finger. The Axiom warmed him, but it moved more slowly than it had in the past. Instead of water, it ran thick, reluctant, like syrup. Holding it was harder. Or maybe he was just weaker.

  Deckard blocked defeat out. He breathed, focused on the face of Cassie Gates, and let tendrils of light dance from his fingers over the box.

  There was little time to lose.

  Chapter Five

  Comets rained from the sky.

  The gathered Knights of Atlantis fell from the teeth of the storm, trailing boiling, angry wings of flame. Their swords and spears emitting blinding bars of light. Their fury rippled the air before them, rage at their brother, their lover, their friend, their enemy, their betrayer.

  At him.

  The gate crackled to life, a wreath of silver-blue lightning arcing between the six triangular tines, each taller than two men. Night itself bubbled up in the middle like a spring, filling the plaza with a slowly growing lake. Something different lifted out of the surface, sinuous and powerful, before diving back in.

  He lifted his face to the rain, smiling, as the warriors settled in a broken halo around him. “Welcome!” He raised hands painted in rapidly cooling blood. “You’re just in time!”

  “Sen!” He turned his back to the pool of blackness and smiled wider at the shock on Bel-Kessek’s face. His brother wore the traditional battle armor in gleaming gold: Boots and greaves, cuirass and tassets, pauldrons and gauntlets. Thin bands of gold glittered in the gaps like a second skin. The hood of his short green cape was thrown back, and rain plastered his wheat-blond locks to his skull. With one hand, he gripped a spear of light. With the other, he reached, helplessly, for the bodies.

  “Sen, what have you done?” Kess’s eyes and mouth gaped like a fish.

  He laughed at the absurdity. “What have I done? I did what you’ve been too scared to do for two thousand years, brother.” He gestured at the well behind him, and the bodies scattered on the steps below it. Red-black stains glittered in the flickering magics of the gate, stark against the marble.

  “I made peace.”

  The Worm launched itself from the portal in a fountain of oil-black liquid. It screamed as it tore its way into the world, slick, leathery segments glistening. Tendrils of its flesh writhed and thrashed.

  The disjointed halo fell apart as the gathered Knights of Atlantis rushed to war. A second mouth-stalk breached the gate and reared into the storm. He turned to see Kess rushing at him like a hawk, the diamond-hard beak of the spear pointed at his heart.

  A second, unseen spear pierced his back. The voice of the Worm thrummed through his being. Time fell apart. He stood outside it, eternity and moments yet to come braiding together in a stuttering stream.

  The spear descended, and pain cleaved his body. Blink.

  The sun died, swallowed whole by the Worm, burning the darkness for a moment before being snuffed by the shadows within it. Blink.

  Rain streamed from Kess’s cheeks like tears. Blink.

  A burning form rose from the ground far beneath a man-made peak. Blink.

  His life streamed from the wound in his chest, as Sennek reached for the shreds of his soul.

  And he caught it.

  Time congealed. With his left hand, he grasped his brother’s weapon arm and jerked him close. With his right, he formed a spear from the voice of Setuklash-Toth and plunged it through Kess’s stomach.

  Kess’s eyes widened in horror, and he shuddered, trying to draw breath through his ruined lungs. He smoothed Kess’s dank hair out his face with his left hand and twisted the spear of darkness in his right. Kess jerked.

  “Sssshhhh. It’s okay, brother.” Pity welled up in him. Kess couldn’t understand. “I promise I can save you. I’ll save them all.” Kess coughed and a warm mist touched his face. He smiled as the light of the Axiom in Kess’s eyes flickered.

  A roar challenged the night, and the sky exploded into light. The Worm screeched and its emotion thrummed through Sennek’s own being, filling him with...fear? No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t possible.

  He tried to turn, to see what was happening, but Kess held him pinned. Blood bubbled from Kess’s lips. His brother’s voice rasped and wheezed, completely drowned in the screaming sky and the roaring god, but he could read the word in the growing light.

  Burn.

  Kess’s body ignited into a man-shaped fire. The spear skewering him hardened and the blazing light of the Axiom traveled up it and into him. The Setuklash-Toth part of him spasmed in agony. He screamed in terror. In frustration. He was so close! He was so close!

  Fire washed over him and tore him apart.

  Hayden woke up in a cold sweat and instinctively called up a blade, raising it high. The glowing shape of a khopesh landed in his hand, a comforting weight. The pale golden light fought back the shadows. Phantom flames burned on him, inside him, vying with the wet, putrid tendrils of the Worm to tear him apart. The smell of ozone lingered in his nostrils from the burning air, the taste of blood in his mouth.

  He focused on breathing like Deckard had taught him. In and out, slow, measured. Be here. It took a few minutes for the phantom pains to fade, a little longer for the adrenaline shakes to die down.

  Throwing off the covers, Hayden dismissed the sword, and sat on the edge of the bed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was always like this whenever he held the Axiom for too long. He got up and stalked to the bathroom. He wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight.

  Chapter Six

  Hayden walked up to the doors of the Venti Tori Cafe, practically carried by the scent of coffee alone. He’d been up since 3:00am working off the stress with weights and meditation exercises. That and a shower had helped, but the visions still left him wrung out. He rubbed his hands together and huddled under his jacket. Chill air lingered with an autumn breeze, though with the city awake and the sun over the trees, it wouldn’t be long till it warmed up. People eddied around him, hurrying to and from classes and hunting down food.

  A crowd gathered across the street, near some kind of rally. Hayden guessed a couple hundred people milled about, with more trickling in. Roadies schlepped cable to two large speaker towers at the top landing, bracketing the front of the doors to the building. Uniformed officers and campus police manned some small barricades winging off the front corners of the building’s steps. News crews were setting up, gathering B-roll, and interviewing the crowd.

  Maybe it was about the shard deaths. He’d seen posters and web announcements for some political thing, but had forgotten all about it in the fight and chase last night. A flapping golden banner caught his eye.

  “Maybe it’s the Grand Opening for a new clinic, genius,” he sneered at himself, shaking his head. The banner read ‘Elevation Clinic- Grand Opening’.

  “Excuse me?”

  Hayden looked down to see a cute barista in a Venti Tori shirt, a short jacket, and sunglasses staring at him, obviously offended. She held a piece of pastel chalk in one hand and had been in the process of kneeling down to fill out the special of the day on the little folding chalkboard. It currently read “Don’t Be Latte-” in a neat, graceful hand.

  “Oh, not you genius. Me genius. I mean…”
Hayden squeezed his eyes shut for a second and willed himself not to blush. He opened his eyes to see a slight smile on her face as she rose to her feet and drew a lock of brown hair back behind an ear with her free hand.

  “How about I go inside and tip really well, and you forget I said anything quite that stupid?” he said, finally. She smiled wider.

  “I think it’s worth a shot,” she said.

  Hayden smiled sheepishly, nodded once, and pulled open the door to the coffee shop. The aroma of various coffee blends thickened into a comforting cloud as he stepped in. The crowd was light for the time of day, with many of the usual suspects missing, but several of the butcher block tables and a couple of stools at the window-facing bar were occupied. Hayden got in line and was soon sitting in one of the wood-and-wire chairs to the side of the shop, where he could keep his back to brick and still see out the windowed front wall.

  A cheer from the crowd outside, followed by a muffled blare of music, grabbed his attention. He rose and walked to the bar area to get a better look, sipping on his coffee as he went.

  How had civilization arisen without coffee? Bloodily, that’s how. Grind beans or grind enemies. Sleepy, grumpy enemies who probably raided you to stop your roosters crowing. The music outside ended, and he pulled himself from his caffeinated ruminations.

  A man walked up to the podium, thanking the crowd and motioning for quiet. He was youngish, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair and tanned face. He wore a fitted suit that cost as much as Hayden’s car. The man moved with energy and purpose. Hayden thought he looked familiar. He smiled pleasantly at the crowd’s reaction, accepting applause with confidence. Eventually, quiet prevailed, and Hayden could make out what the man said over the loudspeakers.

  “Thank you! Thank you very much. I’m pleased to see so many people out so early, braving the cold for a worthy cause. I’d promise to keep this short, but I’m running for office so you wouldn’t believe me anyway.” The crowd chuckled politely. Hayden finally placed the man’s face. His name was Marcus Wolfe, and he was in contention for city council. The billboards were all over the city: “Marcus Wolfe. Opening the Way Forward.” Half of them showed Wolfe shaking hands with Pendragon.

  “When I meet with citizens of our city, and I ask them, ‘What’s the one thing that most troubles you today?’, the number one response that I get is the Primes. We can understand that, can’t we? After all, what do you do to keep your family safe against someone who’s bulletproof, who can toss a car into your living room, as happened in Detroit? This response is driven by fear. It’s the natural response of the rabbit before the wolf. But you’re not rabbits, are you?”

  A roar of ‘No!’

  “Of course not! So why the fear? Why the anxiety? Because Primes are new. They’re different. And what we really fear, in the core of our souls, is that they’re not us. We worry that, even if we aren’t rabbits, they are wolves.” The volume of the speech dropped as he went, and his cadence slowed, pulling the audience in to hear, filling the air with a tension Hayden could feel even across the street and through plate glass.

  Wolfe’s smile turned sly, and he leaned over the podium as though sharing a secret. “I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, I’m the only wolf here.” The crowd laughed, tension dissipating as the joke landed.

  “There are Primes with us today. They walk among us, all over this city. Some are blatant with their gifts, using them to rob and to abuse, the same way bullies have always used power. But some, my friends, some choose to use their abilities quietly, choose to help and to heal and to protect. Would you like to meet one?” Another roar from the crowd.

  The barista from earlier came up to the bar, cleaning away a basket containing the remains of a breakfast scone, along with a beige ceramic mug. She smiled at Hayden, still wearing her oversized sunglasses. She paused to look out the windows as well. “He’s got the crowd eating out of his hand.”

  “Seems that way,” Hayden replied.

  “Mandy, come on up!” Wolfe turned and held a hand out to the right side of the stage, and a small Hispanic woman stepped up from the wings and came to join him. She wore a simple floral pattern dress, a white sweater, and a shy smile. She stood to Wolfe’s right, hands clutching one another in front of her, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “This is Mandy Alvarez. She’s a nurse practitioner at a local family medical clinic, the proud mother of four boys, and from what her sons say, a fabulous cook. She’s also a Prime.”

  A gasp sounded from Hayden’s left and he turned to see the barista, whose name tag said “Vivian,” grasp the bar. She’d taken off her sunglasses, revealing gorgeous baby blues currently locked on the crowd across the street. They flicked back and forth at things he couldn’t see. As her eyes did so, they changed, growing paler, brighter.

  “Hey. What is-” Hayden began, but Vivian’s knees buckled, and he lunged to catch her and lowered her to the floor. The basket and crumbs scattered across the tiles, knocked from the bar as she fell. Vivian stared up at Hayden, eyes full of fear and shock. And glowing faintly with the light of the Axiom. She clutched at Hayden’s arm.

  “They’re going to kill him.” Her voice was a shaky whisper.

  “Who?”

  “Marcus Wolfe,” she rasped. “He’s going to be shot.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Wolfe? Who? Why?” Hayden jerked his head to peer through the legs of the bar stools as Wolfe let the little Hispanic nurse take the podium.

  “Listen!” Fingers dug into his bicep, and Hayden looked back to those eerie silver eyes. Words leapt from her mouth in a rush. “Left-hand side of the crowd, six-foot or so, white male, puffy black hiking jacket. He’s got a...a gun in his right hand and a Royals tattoo on his neck. He’ll pull the trigger within the next twenty seconds.”

  A skinny guy in slacks and a polo walked near and asked, “Hey man, does she need a doctor?” Hayden ignored him.

  “How can you know tha-”

  “Fifteen seconds.” Vivian shoved weakly at his chest. “Go!”

  Hayden glared at her, then at the skinny guy. He thrust a finger at him. “You, stay with her!” He bolted for the front door, trying to keep count.

  Ten seconds. He flung open the glass-and-oak door, dodged around a pedestrian, and bounded over the little chalkboard in a hurdler’s leap.

  Nine seconds. Four lanes of traffic. He slowed for a passing van, got honked at by a Volvo, and stepped in what he hoped was mud on the median.

  Seven seconds. More traffic on the far side. A cyclist jerked to a stop, yelling. A distracted soccer mom in a minivan didn’t even slow down, forcing him to leap and roll onto the far sidewalk. He spun to his feet and took off up the street.

  Four seconds. The crowd was enormous, a mass of heads, shoulders, and backpacks. Worse, several people looked back at him. No time to summon the armor and too many eyes. Hayden gritted his teeth.

  Three seconds. He’d never make it in time; he couldn’t find the shooter in the crowd. His gaze locked on Wolfe. He called up a disc of energy into his right hand.

  Two seconds. One chance. He hoped to God Vivian wasn’t crazy. Balling up his left hand into a fist, Hayden wound up his right, and let the disc of light fly.

  Once second. In the crowd, someone raised his arm. It was the man Vivian had described. Hayden stood close enough to see the gang tat on his neck. The black metal of the gun in his hand glittered like a snake. Hayden held his breath, watching the disc arc between Wolfe and the shooter. He touched the Axiom, and through it, the disc. Fire raced into his soul, burning the edges of his vision. He flexed his fingers open.

  The gunman pulled the trigger. The disc expanded into a sheet of energy so thin it was almost transparent in the morning light. The crack of gunfire squealed in the microphone, and people scattered. Hayden lost his sight to the flames and hastily let go of the Axiom.

  Hayden’s vision returned to show him police wrestling the shooter to the sidewalk, and the crowd slowing as thei
r mad dash gained them a little distance. He held his head against the pain and looked to the stage to see Marcus Wolfe leaning on the podium and staring straight at him. Had he seen?

  Wolfe leaned down and picked Mandy up and then turned to the podium microphone. “Is everyone alright?” No screams; no running. The press grew quieter.

  “How about a round of applause for those brave officers, huh?” Wolfe clapped, and the crowd erupted. People shouted and whooped. Wolfe let it run for maybe a minute, then raised his hands. The crowd slowly let their fervor die down. Once it was quiet enough, Wolfe spoke again.

  “Now, I know the media may want to focus on the shooter, and I certainly want to aid that investigation in any way I can. But I refuse to let that man steal the focus from what is truly important: the work Mandy and her staff are doing, and will do, here at the Elevation clinic.

  “Men like we just witnessed are reacting out of fear. This clinic, and the shelters and outreach centers to come after it, will give the community two gifts. First, hope for healing.

  “For Primes, its hope of understanding and controlling their powers. For those with more ordinary obstacles, a real chance at effective treatment. Second, it will be a place where we can show Primes we are neither rabbits, nor wolves, but men and women of courage, compassion, and conviction. And Primes can show us the same. Together, we’ll open the way forward to our dim future. Together, we will stand tall and carry the light.

  “Thank you all for coming! Thank you!” Wolfe waved heartily, smiling at the recovered crowd, who responded with claps and cheers. He shook Mandy’s hand and walked with her off the stage.

  Reporters swarmed toward the stage, and Hayden hustled back toward the coffee shop. He had to slide past a small crowd of patrons and employees at the front door. Half stared at him like he was insane and the other half sat transfixed on the rally. People talked excitedly.