True Son (15 page)

Nothing came to him.

Patient. He had to be patient. He had to be still and listen.

Still nothing came.

What could he do? Pout? Demand an answer?

No, he could only wait. He would wait all night if he had to.

He tried not to think about how long he’d been there, but it had been a long time. Maybe it was the darkness, or maybe the worries were too great to keep at bay for very long. Taemon could feel despair creeping into him.

And with despair came its companion, doubt.

Was he leading the people to safety? Or was he cowering from opposition? Was he really the True Son?

Once started, the doubts flooded his thoughts like a cloud of bats. They gathered and multiplied and swarmed until he could barely breathe.

Was the Heart of the Earth even real? Or was she just a voice he made up in his head, a way to fool himself into thinking he had a purpose?

And then it hit him: there was no way to know.

And when you can’t know something, you have to choose what to believe. What would he choose?

The cloud of bats vanished, and Taemon could hear the frogs again. The Heart of the Earth would not tamper with free choice. If she gave him a sign, some proof that she existed, then he would have no choice but to believe. She wouldn’t do that; she always let him choose. He had to make his choice first. And then he’d be able to see the signs, if there were any.

What would he choose to believe?

A laugh burst from his chest. He had answered his own question. He believed in the Heart of the Earth. He couldn’t imagine the world making sense without her. She had spoken to him. She had given him ideas that he never would have come up with on his own, ideas that he sometimes didn’t even want to hear. She was real. Of course she was.

Taemon scrambled to his feet and stepped away from the tree. He stretched his arms out on each side, dropped his head back, and looked into the stars. “I choose to believe,” he whispered. “I will be a True Son. Please tell me where to go.”

And he saw.

In his mind, he saw a place, south of the colony, past the lumber camps, into the Western Forest and close to the smaller mountains south of Mount Deliverance. He had never been there before, but he saw it clearly and understood how to get there.

It was such a relief to know, to have a destination. He didn’t care if people didn’t like it. He didn’t care how much they complained. He knew where to go. He just needed to persuade more people to go with him.

I could use a little help with that
, he added.

The wind picked up and ruffled his shirt. He knew somehow that he’d gotten all of the answers he would get tonight. It was time to head for home.

He walked back to the tree to gather his things. Just as he reached for his blanket, a gust of wind picked it up and blew it away from him. In the darkness, Taemon couldn’t see where it had gone.

The wind was steady now, flapping at his clothes and stirring his hair. Was there a storm coming? He grabbed his knapsack and hurried to find the trail.

The wind did not let up. If anything, it got stronger. The good thing was that it was at his back, pushing him along the trail. The trees swayed and bent. A good-size tree limb snapped and caromed across his path. This was getting serious. Taemon quickened his step.

The noises were louder, too. The leaves roared as waves of wind crashed into them. A flock of birds flew overhead, squawking with alarm. Then another flock. What in the Great Green Earth was going on?

He stopped and turned to look behind him. An orange glow rimmed the treetops farther up the mountain. The roar wasn’t just from the wind. It was from a fire!

Was it the Republik? Had they started the fire?

This is what you asked for
, said the Heart of the Earth.
Run!

Taemon turned and ran. He used his arms to pump. How fast could he run downhill without falling? He found out when he fell. He scrambled to his feet and kept running.

He could feel the heat on his back now. The wind was faster than he was, and the fire would soon overtake him. How had he caused this? He tried to replay his conversation with the Heart of the Earth in his mind, but he couldn’t focus his thoughts. Surely he hadn’t asked her to set the mountain on fire!

Now he began to see little pockets of flames in front of him, the dry yellow grass bursting into flame before his eyes. His legs and lungs burned with the exertion, but he kept running.

The smoke was getting thicker. He was sucking in heaving breaths now, and the smoke was bad. He tried to pull his shirt up over his nose and mouth, but that slowed him down. He coughed. Something crashed behind him; he didn’t dare look.

Something that may have been a bush but was now a ball of flames rolled right into the trail and stopped there. Taemon had to go around. The hem of his pants caught on fire, and he had to stop to beat it out. The heat was sweltering.

He couldn’t die now, not when he knew how to lead the people to safety!

He kept running, but he was losing the race against the fire. The flames overtook him. He tried to think of how he could use psi to save himself, but it was hard to think and run and cough and see through the smoke
and
use psi. He drew in a deep breath, and this time he didn’t cough. The air was sweet and clean. Smoke billowed and flames leaped all around him, but he could breathe just fine now. And he wasn’t burning. He hadn’t used any psi at all, but he was safe from the fire. He kept running until the flames ended abruptly. One moment he was surrounded by fire, and the next, he was stepping onto safe ground.

Thank you
, he said to the Heart of the Earth.

He looked behind him, still taking deep, clean breaths, and saw where the fire ended. So strange, that it would just stop there. Must be some kind of weird wind pattern on the mountain. Or maybe the colonists had done something to the land that prevented the fire from spreading too far. He would have to ask Hannova about that.

He turned back toward the colony and took slow steps, wishing he still had his water bottle.

As he came closer to the colony, he saw a few people standing on the trail, staring at the fire.

“Don’t worry — it’s not the Republik,” Taemon said.

They turned to him, their eyes wide. Some of them had a hand over their mouth.

Taemon looked down at himself. He must look frightful. His clothes were singed, dotted with little holes in some places. He had streaks of black soot on his arms and probably his face, too.

As he got closer to home, there were more people standing in the trail. They moved out of the way to let Taemon pass, but none of them spoke to him. Had all of these people come to look at the fire? They must have been staying up late, packing their things, and noticed the flames.

Taemon walked a little more quickly. It made him self-conscious, the way everyone was staring at him. He needed to get home, wash up, and change his clothes.

“Taemon!” Someone grabbed him from one side, and he was relieved to see it was Amma. “Are you okay?”

Taemon nodded. “I’m fine. My clothes didn’t fare so well, though.”

“Oh, thank the Earth, Sea, and Sky. When I saw the flames, I was so scared.”

“Cha, I was a little scared myself.”

“But now . . .” Amma raised her fist to her mouth. “Taemon, this is exactly what we needed.”

“We needed a fire?” Taemon said.

“It’s not just a fire; it’s a sign.” She took his arm again and turned him around. Taemon looked at the flames glowing on the mountainside. Earlier he’d seen only a wall of fire; now he saw the perfect shape of a knife.

Knife. His birth sign.

The next morning, Taemon did his own packing. It took all of twenty minutes. He’d never had many things he could call his own, especially not since he had come to live in the colony: a few clothes, the book Amma had lent him — he wrapped that carefully in a waterproof cloth — a flashlight, a water bottle, a toothbrush, and his scarf. Taemon stood for a moment and tried to think of anything he was forgetting. Drigg had already packed all the food in the house and the camping gear. No use leaving the hauler for the Republik, he’d said.

Taemon looked over his meager possessions. There truly was nothing else he owned, nothing else he needed. He shoved everything in a backpack, swung it over his shoulders, and went to check on Challis and Mam.

As Taemon made his way through the streets, the scene in the colony was chaotic. People everywhere, all of them in a rush. Carts and wagons of every size and shape were scattered about. Some of them had a cow or a mule attached. Parents were trying to keep track of children, children were trying to keep track of dogs, and everyone seemed to be trying to find someone or something before it was time to go.

The confusion and noise nearly overwhelmed him, but the fact that people were actually preparing to leave, that the argument about whether to go or stay had ended, that part was a relief. And the biggest relief of all was that he now knew where to go. They would head south, following the river as it curved toward the shore. Taemon would lead the people from the colony first, beginning at noon, then Solovar would bring the people from the city behind them.

Taemon tried not to look at the blackened shape of the Knife that smoldered on the mountainside, but his eyes returned to it again and again. Little tendrils of smoke still rose from the symbol, emblazoned like a tattoo on the mountainside for all to see. The sharp edges and the precision of the shape made it thoroughly unnatural. And if the eyes somehow missed it, the smoky smells lingering in the thick summer air would alert the nose.

Most people were preoccupied with their work, but when someone would look up long enough to notice Taemon, they would quickly avert their eyes. They moved away to let him pass, giving him plenty of space, even though the streets were crowded. No one spoke to him, but Taemon caught snatches of their whispers.

“ . . . only the True Son could do such a thing.”

“ . . . just like Nathan . . .”

“ . . . going to lead us to safety . . .”

“ . . . walked straight through the fire . . .”

There were old stories of how Nathan had walked through flames. Taemon was not quite comfortable with people comparing him to a prophet, but if that’s what it took to persuade them to follow him, he wouldn’t argue.

At Challis’s house, Taemon saw about a dozen large bags piled on the porch. Just as he was about to knock, Challis came out with a box in her arms. Taemon took it from her.

“Just set it down next to the yarn,” Challis said.

“All this is yarn?” Taemon said, looking at the bags that were nearly bursting.

Challis nodded, hands on her hips. “People need soft fuzzy things when they get kicked out of their homes. Good for the spirit. And it’s good for your mam to knit, to keep her hands busy.”

Taemon set the box on the porch. “I came to see if you needed help.”

“That’s good of you,” Challis said, “but we started packing a few days ago. We’re ready.”

“You did?” Challis used to see things before they happened, but that was a long time ago. “Did you know this was going to happen? Did you know all along that we would be leaving the colony?”

Challis laughed. “Drigg told me. A few days ago, he came over and told me we’d be leaving. Told me that your mam and I could ride in the hauler with him, told me to pack as much as I could.”

“Drigg,” Taemon said.

“No precognition. Just good ol’ Drigg.”

“How’s Mam?” Taemon asked. “What can I do to help?”

“She’s fine.” Challis opened the door and called inside. “Renda?”

Mam joined them on the porch. “Taemon!” she said, and hugged him. Hugged him! Mam was still new to the powerless ways, and this was his first hug from her. The best hug in the history of hugs.

“I was worried about you!” she said. “We heard about the fire last night. Are you sure you’re all right?” She pulled away from him, looked into his eyes, and tried to smooth his hair. He used to hate it when she did that with psi, but now he didn’t mind.

Three loud honks made them turn toward the people gathered in the street. A byrider was trying to make its way through the crowd. “Move aside! Let me through!”

Challis humphed. “A bit of patience would go a long way.”

“And common sense,” Mam said. “A byrider? With all these people around?”

The driver honked and revved his engine and wove a path through the carts and people. It was a man Taemon recognized, someone who worked for Solovar. He stopped directly in front of Challis’s house.

“Taemon Houser! Solovar needs you to come to the city right away.”

Taemon stepped forward. “What? He knows I can’t come right now.”

The driver turned the engine off and stood next to his bike. “It’s Yens. He refuses to go.”

Mam gasped quietly and raised a hand to her mouth.

The driver continued. “He’s gathered a large group of people at the temple. They’ve been praying all night and they’re not going to leave. Solovar is desperate. He needs you to come and talk to Yens. You have to convince him to go.”

Mam clutched Taemon’s arm. “I’ll go with you. We have to talk to Yens.”

“We’re leaving at noon,” Taemon said. “I’m supposed to lead the way. It takes two hours to get to the city. That’s not enough time to go and come back.”

“We can’t just leave him,” Mam said.

Taemon knew she was right, but how could he be in two places at once? “Where’s Da? Can Da go?”

Ma shook her head. “He’s with all the Free Will people. They’re on the way here right now. We can’t get to him in time.”

Taemon turned to the driver. “Wait here for just a minute.” He beckoned for Mam and Challis to follow him into the house.

Challis’s living room was much the same, except the rug was gone. Taemon sat in an ugly green chair with an even uglier brown doily draped over the back. “I can’t be two places at once, and if I go to the city now, it’ll mean delaying the departure for everyone. But maybe I can get a message to Yens all the same. Can I have a paper and pencil?” he asked Challis.