The Last Archon

by Richard Watts

  He picked up a new set of papers to add to his spreadsheet just as someone knocked on the door to his closet office. The door opened, and Marcus Wolfe stepped in, smiling.

  “Hey, Hayden. Do you have a second?”

  “Sure, Mr. Wolfe. Uh, I’d say have a seat, but…” Wolfe waved the comment down.

  “No problem,” he said, closing the door and muting the chatter in the main room to a dull roar. “I don’t have long, anyway. I have an interview regarding the Elevation clinic debacle in about twenty minutes. That’s what I wanted to ask you about.”

  Hayden dropped his paperwork to the desk and stood. “Sir, I’m sorry for being out of the loop, but how is that your fault?”

  “It’s not, but I endorsed a clinic that failed to vet its workers. Two of them stole drugs and tried to kill a girl who saw them doing it? The optics of the situation are terrible. I need some way to shift this into a positive category. Underlining the need to protect Primes, emphasizing the good they can do. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  Hayden tensed under Wolfe’s scrutinizing look. Obviously, Wolfe only had the public story: ‘Evil Primes Prey on Local Clinic.’ Hayden could give him another story: ‘Prime Hero Saves Student.’ Net wash, maybe even net gain in the public eye if Wolfe could spin it into more support for the clinic. The clinic run by a psychotic Nurse Frankenstein, to hear Vivian tell it.

  “Hayden, I know you have an identity to protect, but just a word from Arclite could soften this, make it shapeable.”

  It took Hayden an agonizing second to respond. Wolfe’s ideas weren’t without merit, but Archon never gave public statements or sought public endorsements. What did it say if Arclite did? Worse, what if someone recognized his voice? It left a bad taste in his mouth, but everything he knew said Deckard was right about this. He had to stay out of the public eye.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Wolfe. I really am. But, a secret identity protects my life and my ability to live it. I can’t put that at risk, not even for someone I respect, sir.”

  Wolfe’s mouth turned down, and he let out a long breath of disappointment, but he nodded. “Alright. You know the girl who was attacked, right? Would she be willing to make a statement in support of the clinic? She could even write it if she wants. No face on T.V.”

  “I think she just wants to forget about it, sir. Being involved at all would just make her more of a target.”

  “I understand. Well, please pass along that offer. How is she doing, by the way? Mandy said the girl was a patient at the clinic.”

  “She’s fine, sir, just shaken up,” Hayden replied with a slight smile. Wolfe didn’t know Alvarez was in on it. His unease ebbed, then spiked again as his smile died. That meant he didn’t know how dangerous the nurse was. “Mr. Wolfe…”

  “Yes?”

  Hayden hesitated. Alvarez hadn’t shown any restraint, trying to kill or capture Vivian twice. No one who knew about her connections to Shard would be safe. Hayden couldn’t be at every meeting. If he told Wolfe now, he’d be putting the man in harm’s way. The whole reason he’d taken this job was to keep that from happening.

  “You may want to distance yourself from the clinic at this point, sir. I hadn’t considered the position these events put you in. I’m truly sorry I can’t repay your support with more overt help, but…”

  Wolfe smiled. “I’ll manage. I can still focus on the actions of Archon and Arclite as examples of what Primes can and should be about.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “Thank you, Hayden, for what you do. I wouldn’t be here today without you, and your friend might not either. Please let her know that if she needs anything from me or from Mandy while the clinic is closed, all she needs to do is call. And make a suggestion about her voting ballot, too.” He winked.

  “I’ll pass that along, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “Good.” Wolfe gave Hayden a sidelong look. “I don’t think it will be long until Primes like you don’t have a choice but to take the spotlight, one way or another. I’m going to make sure the spotlight is favorable. One of these days you’re going to have to stand next to me on a stage, Hayden. Heroes shouldn’t be hidden in tiny offices in the back.”

  “I’ll look forward to that, sir.”

  “Great.” Wolfe held out his hand, and Hayden shook it. “Have fun keeping us in the black. Thwart the evil auditors and their bookkeeping minions!”

  “I’m on the job, sir.” Wolfe chuckled and breezed back out of the office into a sea of chatter.

  When the door closed, Hayden sagged back into his chair. He hated keeping secrets from good people. Fortunately, there was one person left he could talk to. He pulled out his phone and dialed Vivian’s number.

  “Hayden!” Just the sound of her voice made Hayden’s day brighter.

  “Hi, Vivian. Just calling to check-in. How’ve you been?”

  “Busy. I’m glad you called though.”

  “Me too. Listen, I can’t talk long right now, but my boss wanted me to run an offer by you. Is there a good time we can talk tonight?”

  “Can you just come by tonight? I’m going stir crazy trapped in this house.”

  Hayden glanced at his pile of papers, thought about Bernie’s inevitable last-minute email, and said, “Absolutely. What time?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Hayden trotted up to Deckard’s house, secondhand loafers crunching on the gravel drive. A cool breeze rustled the autumn painted leaves in the trees. The warm glow in the windows looked inviting.

  He stifled a yawn as he hopped up the porch steps. He really needed some sleep. Sheer habit raised Hayden’s arm to wave down the alarm wards. Deckard had set them to alert him if anyone approached unannounced. Hayden shoved his hand back in his pocket and kept going to the door.

  I hope you’re napping, old man.

  Guilt settled on Hayden immediately for such a petty thought. Angry embers still smoldered in him, but acting like a child wasn’t going to solve this. It would just prove Deckard right.

  He opened the screen door and rapped on the thick wood behind it. A moment later, the lock clicked and the front door swung open.

  Vivian wore a deep blue dress with a white sweater and a pearl necklace. Her dark hair fell in waves to her shoulders. The swelling on her face had faded completely, and her eyes gleamed as bright as her smile was wide. Hayden’s breath caught.

  “Hi,” she said. Hayden frantically shoved his brain into gear, trying to find something suave to say.

  “Wow,” he finally managed. It must have been in the ballpark because Vivian’s smile deepened.

  “Glad you like it. Do you mind stepping in for a minute? I need my shoes.”

  “Still stuck on ‘Wow,’” he said but stepped inside anyway. Vivian walked to the living room and picked up some earrings. “What’s the occasion?”

  “We,“ she said, smiling as she fastened an earring in place and kicked a foot into a shoe, “Are going out. I’ve already made reservations at Portofino.”

  Hayden’s eyes widened. “Woah, uh...I know I said I worked for a politician, but they’re paying me minimum wage plus donuts. I think he has to actually win before I get free meals at places like that.”

  “I’ve got it covered.”

  Hayden tilted his head a bit. Something in Vivian’s voice told him she was hiding something. “What’s going on?”

  Vivian sighed. “Mr. Deckard is paying for us to go.” She rushed on as Hayden’s face hardened. “Can we just go have a good time?”

  “He’s all on my case about taking you out of here the other day, and now he puts up money for a date night? Why?”

  “Hayden, I’m leaving town.”

  “Oh.” Hayden’s anger evaporated, leaving him with a hollow in his stomach. “When? Wait, how? I thought the whole point of keeping you here was to keep you safe until we find the guy behind the murdered Primes.”

  Vivian held up her right arm. A chain dangled from her wrist, sporting simple silver leaves
etched with Atlantean writing. “Mr. Deckard has been working on this. It does the same thing for me that he set up for the house. He said it works like your armor to keep someone from scrying on you.” She lowered her arm and stepped into her other shoe.

  “He didn’t say it, but I think it’s a kind of apology for having to keep me here. I think the nice dinner is an apology, too.”

  But not for me. She refrained from saying the words, but Hayden read them on her face. He’d need more than a steak dinner for him to trust that man again.

  “So you’re leaving.”

  Vivian bit her lip. “Two days. I kind of hate this town now. I’m...not sleeping very well. I lost my apartment, my car, I’m not sure my roommate will talk to me again. Mom and Dad are worried sick and want me to come home. I didn’t tell them everything, but they know enough.

  “You and Mr. Deckard have been great, but it’s a little weird to be staying in a house with a man old enough to be my grandfather. Now that I have the bracelet, I’m taking a bus back to Jacksonville Friday afternoon.”

  “What about your training? The visions?”

  Vivian smiled at him and held her hand out, palm up. She closed her eyes, and her breathing slowed. It took her several seconds to reach it, but a small globe of Axiom energy flickered into life above her hand.

  As it did so, a brief pulse of sensation washed out, as though the floor had fallen away beneath him. Hayden’s stomach lurched for a split second as new emotions rolled toward him. Nervous excitement, pride, fear of embarrassment, fear of danger, determination, affection and desire, hunger for knowledge, for more power, for safety, to be known, all wrapped up in a sense of grateful awe.

  Lost in that beautiful, heady mixture and it took Hayden a second to realize what was happening. He pictured an invisible shield between himself and Vivian, and the swell of emotions ebbed away. Vivian opened her eyes and the little globe winked out. She put out a hand to steady herself against the corner of the hall. She blushed as well, though with embarrassment or something else, Hayden couldn’t quite tell.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m still working on control. Sometimes it leaks out. I scared the neighbor’s cat up a tree yesterday.”

  “Unconscious connections,” Hayden said, taking a couple steps toward her. He let the mental shield lapse. “They’re common when you first start out. It took me a second to realize what was going on and throw a shield up. Are you okay? I couldn’t tell if that went both ways, or...”

  “It did. Sorry.” Vivian blushed harder and looked away.

  “Don’t be.” Hayden took another step and floundered for a safe topic. “Less than a week. You’re a natural. I take it you’ve been practicing?”

  Vivian nodded and looked back up. “Every day. Not much else to do here. Mr. Deckard gave me exercises to do. I, uh...”

  She trailed off as Hayden stepped close, took her face gently in both hands, and kissed her. Her lips pressed warm against his, and her hair smelled like honeysuckle. She placed her hands against his chest but didn’t push away, fingers curling lightly on his polo.

  He slowly peeled their lips apart and opened his eyes. They stared at each other from inches away. Vivian’s eyes filled his sight, luminous.

  “Wow,” she said breathlessly. Hayden laughed, taking both of her hands in his.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for days.”

  Vivian smiled back. “Shouldn’t you have waited until after the date?”

  “We just skipped ahead a few steps.”

  “What now?”

  “Now,” Hayden replied, “I take my girlfriend out for dinner like I promised.” Vivian beamed at him, and Hayden gloried in it. He tucked one of her hands around his arm. Vivian picked her clutch off the end table and they walked to the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Deckard stood at his workbench and examined the contradictions. He had a map of the city laid out in front of him, with red dots labeling the sites of those harvesting circles, eighteen in all. They were scattered in a loose circle throughout the city.

  Eighteen. One for each of the Knights.

  Too many kills for just one person. Whoever the mastermind behind this sorcery was, he had help. Agents or disciples? The distinction was important. Agents might be willing or unwilling, knowing or unknowing. Disciples would mean a war, one Hayden was not ready to fight.

  Then there was the clinic. Deckard’s instinct told him that was a primary means of finding Primes to seduce or infect, though not the only one since Chains and his ilk kept distributing more. But why take the risk of the Worm driving them mad at all? It would take an extremely strong will to maintain control of one’s self after infection. And if you have the clinic, why run the risk of a thug like Chains getting caught?

  And if the goal was to gain allies through the clinic, why kill them later? At least some of the victims had been Primes. Deckard was sure of it. Was it a warning? An initiation?

  The circles were elegant, if vile. So were the boxes of Shard. The clinic was a smart, methodical means of hiding your true purpose. All these Primes, vying for sponsorship or for peace. Some of them would want a shortcut, an edge.

  But dealing Shard like a drug? Word would spread before long, and only the most desperate or foolish would take it. And it was sure to draw unwanted attention.

  Unless the attention was the point. Eighteen circles. Atlantean writing left behind when it could have been destroyed. The “gift” at the clinic. It all served one purpose: to draw Archon out.

  But that would require someone who knew the origins of Deckard’s abilities, that he wasn’t just another Prime.

  It didn’t necessarily have to be someone connected to Atlantis. Deckard looked at the artifacts shelved around the room: a glass box holding a brass key made of interlocking plates and hidden gears, a wooden stand upon which rested a crystalline rod containing an ever-shifting array of alien ocean views, a mask of bleached skin stretched over ebon-black bones covered in amethyst eyes. Civilizations and worlds were represented there that no human being had interacted with in centuries. There were the Rah Nok, the Undying Court, the...no. No, the seals held strong, the Pact unbreakable. Besides, none of them would ally themselves with the Worm. This felt targeted. Personal.

  The killer was Atlantean or possessed Atlantean knowledge. After thousands of years, Deckard’s sins had finally caught up to him.

  The gall of it was, he could have been the one with the army. When Atlantis had fallen, Deckard had sworn he would let its secrets die. Bel-Sennek’s betrayal showed how much damage even one fallen sorcerer could threaten. To keep that from happening, he’d limited his help and teaching. No intervention in non-supernatural events. No apprentice, no matter how talented, received more than crumbs. A single apprentice, perhaps once a generation. After all, it appeared he would live forever. The threats remained, but so did a Knight. One single Knight.

  Deckard cursed himself for his arrogance. There should be an entire order out there, hunting the killer to ground. Instead, he’d reacted in fear and left them vulnerable to this spider in the shadows.

  When the next event occurred, and Archon didn’t show, the enemy would know. With no one left to stop them, that was when he and his allies would move.

  Deckard forced that thought from his mind. He lacked merely time, now. He may not have the strength he’d once possessed, but he still had both knowledge and will. He was still Archon if he dared to be.

  Deckard pushed himself to his feet. He’d held off on this possibility as long as he could, hoping Hayden or Vivian might give him another option, but he had to face it. Unable to see this threat coming, he’d destroyed their only lead when he had burned the Shard to a cinder in the clinic.

  He summoned his armor. The weight of it comforted him like the embrace of an old friend. Deckard walked to the bone-and-skin mask and squared his shoulders. Its dead gem eyes winked in harmless rows.

  He took a moment to calm himself and settle his nerves
, painting on the pose of confidence. Once centered and ready, Deckard carefully called in the Axiom. A trickle of energy answered him, slow and thick, but warm and easily controlled.

  It took him a full minute to summon his staff, the glowing bar of energy gently bleeding tendrils of light, enough to outline his features on one side. He reached out with an Axiom enervated thought, and the sorcerous lanterns lighting the workshop winked out.

  Deckard recited eighteen names to himself, steeling his will. He reached his own name and lifted his staff to tap the mask. A deep tone rang once. A funerary bell. Violet eyes burned to life in the darkness. A susurrus chorus emanated from the mask, a buzzing whisper made of overlapping voices.

  “Who seeks the counsel of the Legion?”

  Deckard’s voice boomed with all the power and authority he could supply. “One who requires knowledge.”

  “Who seeks knowledge of the Many?”

  “One who must know the future.”

  “Who supplicates the Ascendant?”

  “One who is blind and alone.” Sibilant whispering filled the silence behind the ritual greeting. Faint enough to make you believe you imagined it, it came from behind and above and below. Deckard waited and focused on keeping the staff construct supplied with Axiom. He would show no weakness.

  “We offer sight and fellowship, supplicant. We offer the Thousandfold Thought. Will you join us?”

  “I must decline your offer of Fellowship. This one is alone and must remain so.”

  “Then we require your name, supplicant. Who would remain apart from our transcendence?”

  “I am Bel-Tarran, Lightbinder, Skycaller, Thoughtseer, Flameholder. I call upon the Legion by right of victory. I call upon the Pact Adamant.” More whispers, faster now. They simmered in the darkness as time crawled past. Deckard fixed the mask with his attention and held himself perfectly still.

  The whispers stopped instantly, sliced from the air. The mask spoke, but now the voice rumbled, deep and cavernous.