Boundary (3 page)

But then almost instantly, everything feels wrong. This should be Eamon’s moment. No matter how hard I worked to win the Laurels in his memory, Eamon will never have a chance to live his dreams, whatever they might have been. He was cheated out of his life. How dare I try to fulfill his destiny for him?

I push away my dark thoughts and work hard to match my father’s stride through the warren of narrow streets. Our sealskin coats trail behind us like ravens’ wings, and we are moving so fast I almost feel like we are flying, almost like I felt coursing over the snow on my sled during the Testing. Maidens must always move with careful grace—
Let no inelegance overtake your movements; instead keep the slow passage of Her Sun ever in your mind—
so this is new to me. But now I’m an Archon. It’s kind of liberating. I try to focus on that.

My father doesn’t mention it, but I know my long moment with Jasper is the reason we must hurry. We have to make it through the front doors of the Hall of Archons before the Prime Bell sounds its final sixth chime. Otherwise, the Archon-Guards will lock it for the day. It would not only embarrass me, but my father as well. There are Aerie who would enjoy seeing that happen—my own mother among them, if only to remind me of my true role as a Maiden.

Just as I spy the ice-spires of the Hall of Archons over the top of the Raiments Keep, the first bell of Prime sounds. My father grabs my hand. Panic must show on my face, because he smiles. “We can’t have you late on your first
day, can we?”

“We won’t be late.”

Hand in hand, we sprint down the final street before we reach the small plaza in front of the Hall of Archons. The usually stone-faced Archon-Guards look shocked to see their stoic leader breathless and ruddy. I empathize. This day is indeed unlike any other. I wonder if they think of the sacrifices that have been made—chief among them Eamon’s life—so that I can enter this sacred place. As the Ring-Guards heave open the thick metal doors, I compose myself.

It is dark inside, save for the torchlight. No cheery welcome awaits. Only a fearsome line of black-uniformed, expressionless Archons are assembled, facing me from the back of the Hall. The doors screech and clang shut behind us. Many of these men are familiar. I’ve Feasted with them, prayed to the Gods alongside them, and played with their children, but their faces bear no hint of recognition or Gallantry. I glance over at my father. No evidence of his kindly reassurance remains, either. The hand that helped me along a few ticks ago has passed me off to his underlings. I am no longer Eva—daughter, Maiden, fellow Founding family member, Betrothed, Schoolchild. I am simply the newest Archon.

During the long days before the Testing and the even longer
siniks
of the Testing itself, I had envisioned so much about becoming an Archon. But I didn’t envision this day. I wonder if the Testing is such an ordeal to mask what is truly terrifying: Archon service itself.

I manage to harden my own face and nod when one of the more senior Archons directs me to the back of the line. As I march past the dark, watchful eyes of the other
Gallants, I remind myself that I won the Laurels as they did. I deserve to be here, too.

I must be strong. If I allow even a tiny chink in my armor, the others will see my true purpose. So I make my way to the back of the queue, where I am the youngest and the shortest without question, and repeat to myself, “You are just an Archon here to do your sacred duty.” Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t allow myself to think of my real purpose, of uncovering the truth about New North and along with it, the murderer of my brother.

My father starts a prayer, and we join our voices with his. “Oh, Father and Mother, who art in the Heavens, Hallowed be Thy names. Thy Kingdom has come, Thy wills have been done …” I try to lose myself in the chant I’ve uttered so many times, the sacred reminder that the Aerie is the fulfillment of the Gods’ prophecy, that we are Their endgame. And that as Archons, we are here to keep mankind in that endgame.

My eyes drift as my lips form the familiar words. The walls and ceiling of the Hall are covered in the symbol of the Triad. It’s one way of reminding us of who holds the control, I guess. A few windows dot the thick ice walls lined with shelves, arrayed with Relics from past Testings. Mounted on one shelf are a grouping of artifacts—bowls, boxes with small handles in many colors, metal cans, and bags imprinted with crude words and drawings.

Are these the sorts of artifacts Lukas would want me to investigate? I don’t think I’ve ever heard them mentioned in the Chronicles of past Testors, but then, the Archons often undertake excavations about which the people of New North hear nothing.

I hear my name. Reluctantly, I shift my gaze from the
Relics to my father.

“The Lex mandates that each Neophyte Archon be assigned a Mentor Archon who can train the newly Laureled member of the Triad. This selection is undertaken with great care by the senior Archons. This relationship is key to the Neophyte’s understanding of the Gods’ will. For our newest Archon Eva, we have chosen Archon Laurence as Mentor.”

IV
.

Archon Laurence?

At first I think there’s been a mistake. Laurence is the second-in-charge under my father, far too busy to serve as Mentor. Usually a seasoned but relatively junior Archon would be chosen for this role.

Maybe I should view the selection as a compliment, but I’m worried that the others will see it as favoritism. Or maybe I should see it as my father overprotecting me, as a female in a male’s world? Then there’s the fact that Laurence expects the Chief position when my father steps down from his ten-year term. He can’t be thrilled about this appointment, either. Not only am I the first Maiden Archon, I’m possible competition: The Chief is selected solely on the strength of his or her Chronicle, not his years
of service. And everyone keeps talking about how much the people loved my Chronicle.

My father finishes his speech, and the Archons disperse. No one tells me where to go. Only my father and Laurence remain, engaged in deep conversation. For an endless tick, I’m standing in my queue spot in the Hall, awkwardly awaiting their command.

“Archon Eva,” my father calls.

Walking over to his side, I answer, “Yes, Chief.” Calling my father “Chief” feels artificial, like we are playing a Schoolchild game. But it must be done.

“You know Archon Laurence, of course.” My father gestures to him.

Out of long habit, I start to curtsy. Stopping myself, I bow to my senior as would any other Archon, and wait for Laurence to speak. He doesn’t. He merely lowers his grey eyes and silvery-blond head. It’s not quite a bow in return. It’s an insult. Such deviance from polite rituals of greeting—whether Archon or Maiden—is defiance itself.

Glaring at Laurence, my father says, “I’m certain that Archon Laurence will serve as a dutiful Mentor to you, Eva. The Lex says that Triad members must obey the authority of their leaders above all else. Isn’t that right, Archon Laurence?”

Laurence waits a long tick before answering. “The Lex does indeed say that, Chief.”

My father’s voice hardens, matching the flicker of anger across his face. “As an obedient member of the Triad, you will comply with The Lex and conform to the authority of your leaders in the matter of Archon Eva, correct?” It is not a question, but a command.

“Of course, my Chief.” Laurence answers with a deep
bow that hides his steely eyes. I’m certain they would not display the same submission that his words suggest.

Father always says to keep your enemies close. For a split tick, I wonder whether Laurence is the killer that I’ve been seeking. His loathing of me and Father is ill-conceived. No, he seems too self-protective and much too self-serving to take such risks, even if he viewed Eamon as a threat, which I’m guessing he did.

“As I thought,” my father answers, his voice lighter. “You and Archon Eva may be dismissed to begin her instruction.”

Laurence and I bow to my father.

I really must start thinking of him as Chief in the Hall of Archons. I turn and retreat to the vestibule at the end of the Hall.

When Laurence stops walking, I do as well.

Another Archon stands there. At first I don’t recognize him in the darkness of the windowless space, especially after the relative brightness of the Hall. After my eyes adjust, I realize that I know him from Feast days.

It’s Archon Theo. He won his Testing year nearly forty years ago, making him the oldest Archon still serving.

Why is he here?

Laurence finally deigns to speak to me. “Archon Eva?” he grunts. “I will see you in two weeks, at which time we will leave for an excavation on the Frozen Shores. Until then, Archon Theo will train you.”

Even in the shadows, I detect a sneer—a sneer that Laurence surely wanted me to see.

Before I can ask any questions, he slips off into one of the many hallways that extend from this spot like a squid’s tentacles. So this is how Laurence follows the authority of
his leader. He’s palming off his mentoring responsibilities to a frail old man.

My father would be furious. Should I tell him? If I do, there is no doubt he will inflict his fury on Laurence, and Laurence will know why. So Laurence is testing me. He wants to prove that I’m just another Maiden who will run whining to her family.

No, I’ll wait for my father to find out through other means, as he certainly will. Besides, his anger wouldn’t really be about the mistreatment of his daughter. But everyone else would see it that way. I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself—more attention than serving as the only female Archon in history draws all by itself.

I need to stay quiet if I’m to do my true work. I don’t know what that work will entail, so I’m not willing to name it just yet—not even to myself. Quiet is what I shall become. A quiet little mouse scurrying in and out of the Hall’s secret places.

V
.

“You can’t be happy about this reassignment of your education, Archon Eva,” Archon Theo says as he leads me away. “I know how archaic I seem to a young Archon.”

Is he baiting me? I think about how Eamon would respond, and I say, “I follow the authority and commands of my superiors. Happy doesn’t factor into my thoughts, Archon Theo.” I’m thankful that I’m walking behind the wizened old man; it allows me to keep my eyes hidden while I utter a complete untruth.

“The perfect response. Very nice, Archon Eva. Such stoicism and obedience will serve you well in this Hall.” He turns around abruptly. His rheumy eyes look me up and
down. “Just like your father.”

Turning back around, he signals me to follow him down a sharp turn off the corridor. He walks quickly for a man of his years and girth, maybe trying to prove that he’s still vital. “The Lex does not permit diagrams of the Hall of Archons. We must protect our Relics and our study of them by every means. You must rely on your internal sense of direction and your memory to guide you through our labyrinthine hallways.” He chuckles. “But I’m guessing that if you won the Laurels, you’ve got a pretty well-developed sense of direction.”

“Yes, Archon Theo.”

“Good. You’ll need it in this maze. You will have much to learn in a short time, and you can’t waste a tick by getting lost. Understood?”

“Understood, Archon Theo.”

The passage narrows, its ice walls more rough-hewn. He points out a bright room, full of long tables strewn with objects. My heart quickens: the Conservation Chamber. Two unfamiliar Archons hover over the strange artifacts, examining them with a tool I’ve never seen before. It is black and C-shaped with a tube at the top. The Archons slide bits and pieces under the tube, then peer down the other end. The tool looks like a Relic itself, as if it should be studied rather than doing the studying. But Theo’s pace is fast, and I don’t have the chance to linger and watch them work.

Just as I commit that chamber to memory, Theo points out others. We twist down endless hallways, turning in one direction or another at what appear to be random forks—passing the Receiving Chamber, the Chamber of Equipment, the Examination Chamber, the Chamber of Records,
the Map Chamber, and on and on. All places I’ve heard my father mention over the years, but of which I had no clear sense. Now his world is becoming mine.