I reject them all. None will suffice. Because although I am writing something that will likely never be read on Founders’ Day, it still must pass muster of the Archons when I read it aloud to them beforehand.
Only then does the solution dawn on me.
What if I wrote a Chronicle that could test the listener? In other words, what if I wrote something that would only resonate with someone who was aware that The Lex was man-made and not Gods-made? If I tread carefully, I could reveal a knowledge of the falsity imbedded into the Triad and New North without actually disclosing the truth about the Founders’ intentional flooding of His Earth. And if I could read this Chronicle aloud to the Archons before Founders’ Day, thereby testing the knowledge of those most likely to know at least some of the truth, I might be able to avoid the public revelation planned by Lukas. An overhaul of New North, despite Lukas’s zealotry, has never been my objective. I must remind myself of that. In the end, exposing my twin’s murderer is all that matters. Whatever greater good can come of that will be a blessing.
Besides, if I am honest with myself, I must admit certain truths, namely that there are so many wondrous elements of life in New North, and the Triad endeavors to provide for all of us survivors. None of us Aerie go without. Nor do the Boundary who depend on us. We have everything we need, except freedom.
So my decision is made. I will write the Chronicle in the style of the Genesis tale. Those Archons who know the truth about The Lex may well have been responsible for the death of Eamon. I am almost certain that they are. No other possible scenario makes sense.
I allow myself a bitter smile, thinking of the guilty parties, whoever they may be, walking directly into my trap. Archons, or any members of the Triad, really, consider themselves untouchable. Wrapping my cloak tightly around myself, my fingers brush up against the Triad symbol stitched on the front. Instead of the smooth embroidery of my Lady Mother, I feel a rent in the sealskin. I pull the cloak off my shoulders to examine it.
The tear is no accidental rip. Someone’s knife tore through the Triad symbol, and the Triad symbol alone, in a clean cut. Not unlike the damage done to my gear the first night of the Genesis dig.
My jaw tightens. So I’ve been issued another warning. But this time I feel no fear, only icy resolve.
XXXX.
Augustus 15
Year 242, A.H.
The Archons assemble in the entry Hall. I line up at the end, as usual.
In the days since I’ve made my decision, my courage has faltered. Now I’m so nervous, I nearly knock down Pierre, the Archon closest to me. Although Theo has assured me that the Chronicle is perfect, I feel creeping panic. I aim to provoke a reaction from those Archons less oblivious to the truth than Theo—but now I’m uncertain what that reaction may be. Even my father won’t be able to protect me if the guilty parties become violent. Which seems a distinct possibility, as the person responsible for the warnings I’ve received is certainly among the Archons.
“Hail Mother,” my father intones, leading us in prayer.
I watch him, but I’m not listening to his words. In the days since I read his Chronicle, I can’t look at him as I had before. I can’t accept his fatherly affection or his Chief Archon instructions without skepticism. After all, he won the Archon Laurels and the Chief Archon role on the strength of a Chronicle that condemned Madeline as weak and sinful and incapable of Testing—she along with all women. What does he really think of me?
Yet even though I’m furious with my father for his true views on Maidens and Ladies, in spite of allowing me to train as Archon, I could never believe him to be complicit in the death of his own son. Eamon was as precious to him as he was to me. So I expect no unusual reaction from him, other than perhaps bafflement, when I read my Chronicle. From the others—like Laurence … What am I looking for in their faces? Something subtle like a raised eyebrow? Or will it be something obvious like a mouth opened, then quickly closed in a suppressed cry?
“Praise to the Gods,” we chant in unison at the end of the prayer. I take a deep breath; I know what’s coming.
My father turns his gaze to me. “Archon Eva, please read aloud your Chronicle of the Genesis excavation.”
Walking down the long line of rigid, seemingly obedient Archons, my heart beats faster with every step, and my forehead beads with sweat despite the cold air. Last night, I memorized the Chronicle. That way, I could be certain that I’d be able to focus on reading the Archons’ faces rather than the next lines. I take my position next to my father, square my shoulders, and begin.
“In the beginning, the Gods created the heavens and His Earth. After forming the seas and plants and trees and living creatures, the Gods decided to make a man in Their image. They named him Adam. The Gods then planted the Garden of Eden in the East, caused Her Sun to shine upon it, and placed the man They had formed in the garden to care for it.”
I take a deep breath, scouring the Archons’ faces for a flicker of recognition at the name Adam. But they are as cold and impassive as always.
“The Gods said to the man, ‘You are free to eat from any tree in the garden, but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, because if you do, you will certainly die.’
“The Gods watched the man and decided that it was not good for him to be lonely. They made a woman to be his companion. They named her Eve.
“But Adam and Eve were not alone. An evil being lived in this land with them, and he alone controlled the serpent, a craftier animal than any of the wild animals the Gods had made. One day, when Eve was apart from Adam and by herself, the serpent slithered over to her and asked, ‘Did the Gods really say that you cannot eat from the tree of knowledge?’
“Eve answered, ‘The Gods said that we would die if we ate from that tree.’
“The serpent said, ‘You will not die. The Gods know that if you eat from the tree of knowledge, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like the Gods—knowing good from evil. That is why They do not want you to eat from it.’
“Eve looked at the beautiful apples hanging from the tree of knowledge and believed that they were not only good for food but also for gaining wisdom. So she picked an apple off the tree and took a bite from it. She walked over to Adam and offered the apple to him. And he took a bite from the apple as well.
“In that tick, their eyes were opened, and evil entered the world.
“The Gods asked them, ‘Have you eaten from the tree we commanded you not to eat from?’
“When they answered truthfully, the Gods said, ‘Mankind has now become like the Gods, knowing good from evil. Mankind must not be allowed to eat from the tree of life that is also here in the Garden of Eden and live forever.’ The Gods banished the humans from the Garden of Eden, driving them out to harsh lands and guarding against mankind’s return to the Garden of Eden with flaming swords.
“There in the bleak world beyond the Garden, the evil being revealed himself as the false god Apple. He took hold of Adam, Eve, and their progeny. The Gods gave mankind many chances to return to the worship of Them, but mankind believed itself to be like the Gods and persisted in its reverence of the false god Apple. When the Gods could stand it no more, They rained down the Healing upon mankind.
“Only then, when the Founders stood onboard the deck of the Genesis, did they see Apple’s true nature—a false and evil creature. Not until that tick did mankind finally reject him. Slashing Apple’s symbol from the worship tablets they had brought on board the Genesis, the Founders began to draft The Lex, the rightful history of the true Gods and the goodly abundance of laws which mankind must follow lest it ruin its second chance. And in this way, New North became the new Garden of Eden.”
Once again I watch their faces. My father wears a minuscule smile, the one that surfaces when he’s bemused at my mother’s Ladyness but doesn’t want her to know. No one other than me would even notice it. He is pleased with my Chronicle, nothing more, no matter his insensitivities toward women.
The other Archons’ faces haven’t changed since I’ve begun; they are one in their stoicism. Nothing readable, no hint of conspiracy—nothing at all, except in Laurence. But how should I read the rage I see flickering there? Is it just his everyday loathing of me? His usual hatred of Eva the Archon? Or is it his fear that I’ll take his coveted Chief role when my father steps down? Whatever the source of his contempt, I don’t see any recognition of my Chronicle’s reference to the Biblical Genesis.
How is it possible that this entire arm of the Triad is ignorant of the truth? Did not a single one of them ever look at those books in the Vault? Maybe they couldn’t make sense of those arcane texts without knowing what I know. But if Eamon’s killer isn’t standing here in these Halls, where will I find him? In the other arms of the Triad?
“Excellent, Archon Eva,” my father says, breaking the silence. “With your Chronicle, you have captured well the importance of the Relics onboard the Genesis. In fact, you have explained well the significance of the Genesis itself.” He pauses. Taking a moment to peer at each and every Archon individually, he adds, “If there are no objections, I believe that you are best suited to read aloud your Chronicle on Founders’ Day.”
I want to revel in his pride, but the words from his own Chronicle hold me back. So I simply nod in acceptance of his generous compliment. From the other Archons, there are smiles of agreement. Some of the smiles look genuine, while others appear strained. Yet no one dares object.
Except Archon Laurence.
Arms folded, shoulders back, he faces my father across the great Hall. “This Neophyte Archon, this”—he spits the word—“Maiden. You really think she is ‘best suited to read aloud the Chronicle.’ ” He mocks my father’s commanding voice.
Perhaps I hear a gasp from some of the others. I’ve stopped breathing. But my father remains calm even in the face of what can easily be interpreted as heresy and sedition. I feel a sudden rush of admiration for him, even the old love, in spite of his flaws. The Lex would give him the right to strike Laurence down. In that instant, I see the difference between a true leader and one who envies such intangible power. And alas, I am certain I fall into the latter category, despite Lukas’s insistence to the contrary. It almost brings me a measure of peace.
“Yes, I do, Archon Laurence,” my father says evenly. “She wrote the Chronicle, and she is the appropriate one to read it to the people of New North.”
The words only serve to further incense Laurence. “The Genesis is my Site. I found mention of it in the archives, I discovered that the Site had reopened, and I’m the one that led the dig. No mere girl should get the credit. No mere daughter. The glory should go to me.”
With the same steady voice and a hand on the hilt of the sword at his side, my father replies, “The Genesis belongs to New North, not you. As does the glory. And the decision as to who should present the Chronicle of the Genesis belongs to me. I choose Archon Eva.”
XXXXI.
Augustus 15
Year 242, A.H.
As Lukas and I make one last trip through the Hall of Archons, my thoughts aren’t on what we might find but the fight over my Chronicle. Laurence is more unpredictable—and therefore dangerous—than I’d realized. This new worry fuels my concerns over finding Eamon’s killer. Is my father’s life in danger as well? I’d argued against another trip to the Hall after our narrow escape last time; I didn’t think we’d uncover anything new, and indeed our limited bells there yield nothing fresh, but Lukas was insistent and persuasive.
After a mercifully safe exit, we return to Lukas’s chamber in the Clothing Keep to finalize our Founders’ Day arrangements. His room feels impossibly warm after the bitter chill outside. I peel off my hat, gloves, and coat and watch as Lukas removes his outer furs. He wears nothing but a thin tunic over leggings, and the tunic clings to his chest and arms. For a tick, we stare at each other. Even though I’m hot, I once again crave the warmth of Lukas’s arms. He reaches out to me, and I turn my face up to his. Waiting for his kiss, just like last time.
Instead, Lukas hands me a bound volume.
Blushing, I turn my attention to it. Is this some sort of present? I’m nervous about opening it at first; the last time he gave me a book, it was Eamon’s secret journal. I don’t think I could handle another shock like that. But the ticks are short until the Founders’ Day ceremony starts tomorrow morning.
“What is this?” I ask.
“It’s your speech for tomorrow,” he says, as if that explains everything.
I look at him, confused. “My speech for tomorrow is already written; you know that. I’ll be reading my Chronicle to the entire population of New North. Just like you wanted.” I don’t go into the awful fight between my father and Archon Laurence over who would read my Chronicle on Founders’ Day. I didn’t want to relive the experience and in the process give Lukas one more thing to worry about.
“This is something for you to read after your Chronicle. I think it’s the best way to sway the people of New North to side with us.” His tone is matter-of-fact, as if we’ve already agreed upon this.
“Side with us?” I repeat.
His face is as inscrutable as the Archons’. “Yes. Side with us in making changes to New North. Peaceably.”
I gape at him. “Why wouldn’t tomorrow be peaceable?”
“Eva, I believe that you are the only one who can persuade the people to change; that’s why you are the Angakkuq. I don’t want to use force. No one does. War is not the answer. You know it. We know it. There are far too few people left on this earth to risk a single life.”
His words have the intended effect; they reassure me.
But as I skim through the text, throughout which Latin words are sprinkled, the reassurance turns to grave concern. Here is the real history of New North as we’ve uncovered these past few weeks. No detail is spared, from the Founders’ intentional flooding of the earth, to their creation of The Lex, and the falsity of the Gods found in the pages of The Lex. Even the actual documents upon which the Founders based their fabrications are mentioned: the Bible, myths, and legends.
I don’t think the people can bear this, and it is precisely the revelation of this entire truth I’d hoped to avoid by sharing my Chronicle instead. I have explained all this to Lukas, how we could identify those with knowledge, the New North wrongdoers, by simply reading my Chronicle aloud. We could then take action and perhaps even create the change he longs for quietly and without alarming the people.
I thought he had agreed with me. I obviously mistook silence for acquiescence.
There is something very wrong with this speech, and it’s not just the content. Lukas led me to believe that only he and I know the full truth, that his Boundary comrades know only that the Angakkuq is working to support their general beliefs. But someone else had to have created this, someone who’d been told everything.
“Who wrote this?” I demand.
“I did.”
I shake my head. “Come on, Lukas. There’s Latin in here.”
“I wrote it, Eva. Why is that so hard to believe?” He looks offended.
“You know Latin? Don’t deceive me.”
“Yes.”
“But you said you didn’t read Eamon’s journal because it was in Latin. You had me read it to you.”
He shrugs, his bottomless black eyes unwavering. “That’s what you assumed when I asked you to read it to me. I simply did not want to invade his private thoughts without your permission.”
I don’t know why this explanation troubles me so, but I am unnerved. Does he think he can so easily sway me? That he can just hand me a script and I’ll present it to the entire population of New North like some sort of puppet? We have never discussed anything other than finding Eamon’s killer and identifying those within the Triad who know the
truth about New North—and only then, if all goes according to plan, maybe making some kinds of changes behind the scenes. Beyond that, we really haven’t formulated or discussed a single course of action. I might indeed agree with his approach, but I deserve to be consulted before decisions are made. Especially if I’m his precious Angakkuq.
A fight is brewing between us, and I’m just about to launch into it when I hear a knock at the door. I glance over at Lukas. The Clothing Keeper at this bell? Lukas reaches for my outerwear and leads me to the window. He’s right to get me out of here. It doesn’t really matter who it is; I cannot be found in an Attendant’s chamber tonight of all nights.
Lukas pushes aside the heavy skins covering the opening. If I’m quiet and quick enough, I might slip out unnoticed while he speaks to the person at the door. I grab my gear and ready myself to climb out the window when I spot them. A line of guards from the Hall of Archons standing outside Lukas’s chamber.
Lukas drops the skins.
What are we going to do now? Tears of frustration stream down my face. We are so close to finding out who killed Eamon and finding out the truth—and now we never will.
A voice calls out from behind the front door. “You can come out. Or I can come in.”
Is there any choice? We know what’s waiting outside. But is the alternative really any better? The gallows, I think, remembering that pour soul who was put to death as a warning to me. Was there ever really any other possible ending to this prolonged subterfuge? No, the gallows awaited me from the moment I decided to take avenging my brother’s death into my own hands.
Lukas opens the door. It’s Archon Theo.
XXXXII.
Augustus 15
Year 242, A.H.
Theo? Of all the Archons to be involved in this terrible conspiracy to suppress the truth, Theo is the last one I’d suspect.
“Archon Eva, are you all right?” he asks. He looks and sounds shocked at my presence in Lukas’s chambers and concerned for my well-being. How did he not know I was in here?
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