True Son (3 page)

One cannot possibly anticipate all outcomes
, the Heart of the Earth replied.
You chose what was needed at the time
.

Taemon closed his eyes and let his awareness sink into the earth below him, the tree next to him, the birds above him, the air that surrounded him. He was a part of this earth. He’d been given the gift of power and authority over it. He’d made one decision; now he would make another.

He began gathering psi, felt it swell and multiply within him. He was no longer bound by the limitations of his body. He was as large as a mountain, as deep as the sea, as vast as the sky. It pulsed and rippled and crashed through him. It was time. Time to form the words.

Let all psi be done away with. Not only in Deliverance, but in all countries, lands, and peoples of this earth. Let all power to direct creation be returned to the Heart of the Earth. Let every man, woman, and child learn to trust the earth and live by her grace and goodness. Be it so!

The swell of psi left him, and yet he was not at peace. Something was not right. He felt an emptiness, a great void. The Heart of the Earth had not granted his request.

The emptiness that filled him prevented any anguish or tears over this failure.

Am I not the True Son?
Taemon asked.
Is that over, and am I just me again?
Part of him hoped that was true.

You are the True Son for the People of Deliverance
, said the Heart of the Earth.
You were chosen to act on their behalf. Your authority does not include the right to dictate the fate of those outside of Deliverance
.

In that case, Deliverance is doomed
, Taemon thought.

Your work is not finished. You will yet act on behalf of the people of Deliverance
.

Taemon wanted to groan. How was he supposed to save his people when he was the only one with psi? His life had become a never-ending series of impossible tasks.

More is possible than you know
, were the Heart of the Earth’s parting words.

That much was true. Two years ago, would Taemon ever have imagined he could turn Deliverance into a powerless city? Or travel to the Republik? Or turn back an army of archons? None of those things had seemed possible, either.

But still, save the people of Deliverance? It was too much to ask. After all that had happened, it was too much. He lay still for a while longer, lingering under the protection of the ancient tree, staring into the green canopy and thinking about anything other than his latest impossible duty.

Gevri’s face came to his mind again. He’d first met Gevri on the Republik side of this very mountain. Taemon and Amma had crossed through the mountain to rescue Taemon’s da, and Gevri had been running away from his own father, General Sarin. He and Gevri had started off as friends. Well, maybe not friends, exactly, but allies. Now they were enemies, at least in Gevri’s mind.

Taemon thought about all the choices, large and small, he’d made on that journey. What should he have done differently? Should he have trusted Gevri from the start, confided in him about Deliverance’s powerlessness? Amma had urged him to be open with Gevri, but Taemon had insisted that they keep the truth from him. It was too big a secret to entrust to a stranger — especially one from the Republik. But if Taemon had leveled with Gevri, they might have avoided the huge blowup when Gevri finally learned that Taemon had lied. And Gevri might still be their ally — rather than a leader in the enemy army.

And then there were the archons he’d met and trained in the Republik: Saunch, Pik, Berliott, Wendomer, Cindahad, Mirtala, and Neeza. They had been a group of castoffs when he’d met them. The archon army had all but given up on them. Taemon had showed them the value of their unusual powers, and they had helped him escape. They had begged to come with him, but Taemon had refused. The trip had been too dangerous even for children with their skills — and he couldn’t guarantee a welcome reception by the people of Deliverance, who would likely feel threatened by a group of Republikite children with dominion. But what had happened to these young archons? Had Gevri and General Sarin punished them for the roles they played in his escape?

Perhaps Taemon should never have gone to the Republik in the first place. Skies, enough people had tried to talk him out of it before he left. But someone had to rescue Da (or, as it turned out, Uncle Fierre). Taemon was certain that his uncle would be dead by now if not for Taemon and Amma’s trip across the mountain. In spite of its consequences, he refused to think of the journey as a mistake.

When the dappled sunlight began to dim, Taemon knew he had to go. Lying here any longer would solve nothing. It was time to go back to Deliverance and figure out how to save his people — again.

By the time he reached the west gate that led to the city, the sun had nearly set. The guards knew him by now and let him through without a fuss.

Only a few steps past the gate, Amma rushed toward him and grabbed his arm. “Thank the Skies you’re back,” she said. “Hurry! There’s something you have to see.”

Gevri fumbled with the communications device. He had to press it three times before he hit the right knob. Telepathy was so much quicker, but two-way communication only worked with other telepaths.

“Lieutenant Sarin to Commander Vichan. Send reinforcements to the generator immediately! Imminent attack!”

The handheld device crackled with static before the response came. “Commander Vichan to Lieutenant Sarin. Acknowledged.”

Gevri was not about to count on the commander’s forces to protect Cindahad. They were stretched thin as it was, with a slim chance of getting additional soldiers to the generator in time to defend it. Could the few soldiers already at the generator handle a Nau attack? As powerful as Cindahad’s remote viewing was, it was not a useful skill in close combat. That, and she was only nine years old.

Cindahad was in trouble, and Gevri wasn’t going to let her down.

“Wendomer, you’re coming with me. Neeza, you stay here with Mirtala. Keep your mind open for my messages.” Gevri turned and bolted for the stairway, catching Neeza’s “Yes, sir” over his shoulder. Wendomer was right behind him.

On the way down the stairs, Gevri sent a message to Saunch.
The Nau are going to attack the generator. Cindahad is there, but Wendomer and I are on the way. I need Berliott to locate the Nau. Then you relay that information to me
.

Yes, sir
.

Gevri burst out of the door at the bottom of the tower and pulled up short. Wendomer rammed into him from behind, shoving Gevri within three inches of colliding with a Nau probot. About the size of a barstool, these little nasties were sent in to collect images of enemy territory. They could defend themselves, too, but they were only accurate within a short range. And three inches definitely qualified as short range.

Gevri reacted quickly by using dominion to slice the probot in two. Then, when the transmission light on the top half of the probot continued to glow, he brought a handy rain barrel down to smash it. Twice.

“It’s destroyed, sir,” Wendomer said. “Thoroughly.”

Gevri nodded. Where were the soldiers stationed at this door? No time to look for them. He ran on.

He pulled up short again when he came to a blind corner and stretched an arm behind him to stop Wendomer. Side by side, they pressed against the cold concrete wall. He could hear gunfire ahead. Gunfire and grinding engine sounds.

“Sounds like a fat pig,” he whispered to Wendomer. The small, agile fighting vehicles had earned the name fat pigs from their front gun barrel, which resembled a pig’s snout.

“Confirmed,” whispered Wendomer. “One fat pig, two soldiers inside.”

How had the Nau managed to get a fat pig inside the compound? Gods, this was bad.

Sir, Berliott’s found them
. It was Saunch. And not a nick too soon.

Where?
Gevri asked.

There are fourteen Nau soldiers in the compound. Seven of them are in the anteroom to the generator, preparing explosives. Three are trying to break into the armory. Two are in the warehouse. And two are inside a fat pig just outside the generator building
. He could feel the anxiety in Saunch’s message.

Gevri radioed the commander and relayed the locations.

“Lieutenant Sarin,” the commander responded, “twelve soldiers are on their way to the generator. They are not equipped, I repeat,
not equipped
, to go up against a fat pig.”

“My team’ll take care of the pig,” Gevri said. “You send those soldiers to the armory and the warehouse.”

“What about the seven inside the generator room? And the explosives?”

“We’ve got those, too,” Gevri said.
I hope
.

Jix, where are you?

No response came, but Jix played by her own rules sometimes. Gevri couldn’t afford to wait. He whispered the plan to Wendomer. “I’ll take out the fat pig, then you and I have to take back the generator building. Where’s Cindahad? Can you sense her?”

Wendomer nodded. “She’s hiding in the generator room, sir. The seven are still working on the explosives in the anteroom.”

“First things first,” Gevri said. “We’ve got a pig to roast.” Leaning around the corner just far enough to spot the fat pig, he stared at the fighting vehicle. It pivoted in front of the generator entrance, its tracks grinding on the concrete and its snout spitting bullets at anything that moved. Gevri focused on the bottom of the fighting vehicle, the floor of the compartment where the two soldiers sat. He began heating the metal, pouring more and more dominion into it until he heard a shrill, metallic
skreeeek
.

Wendomer chuckled. “The fat pig is squealing.”

“Those Nau soldiers can’t last much longer,” Gevri said.

Sure enough, the hatch on top of the pig flew open and the two soldiers jumped out, running for cover. They didn’t get far; Gevri used dominion to yank their boots and send the soldiers sprawling. Once on the ground, he restricted their air flow until they passed out, then used their own bootlaces to truss their hands and feet.

“Let’s move,” Gevri said. He and Wendomer ran past the fat pig, now idle, and stopped beside the door of the generator building. He pressed himself as flat as possible against the front wall, staying a few feet away from the door, and motioned for Wendomer to do the same.

As soon as Gevri opened the door with dominion, bullets exploded out of the doorway. As expected, someone was covering the door. He signaled Wendomer to scoot away from the door, and they shuffled around the corner until they were against the side wall.

“Ready?” Gevri whispered.

Wendomer replied with a solemn nod.

Gevri blasted dominion into the concrete wall, creating a gaping hole and a plume of dust. At the same time, a surge of energy came to his mind: the feel of wind and the blur of speed.

Jix hurtled past them, through the hole and into the generator anteroom.

Gevri and Wendomer ran in after her.

Jix already had one soldier pinned on the ground. Through the chalky mist, Gevri targeted the guns and took them apart with dominion. Metal pieces rang and rattled as they bounced on the stone floor. Jix let out a terrifying roar.

Gevri counted five men cowering before Jix. That meant that two of them had gotten into the generator room. The black powder marks around the door to the generator confirmed it. They must have blown open the door while Gevri had been roasting the fat pig.

“Take out this trash, Jix,” Gevri said, nodding at the Nau soldiers. “Wendomer, you’re with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wendomer didn’t have telepathy, which meant she couldn’t use dominion to send psychic messages, but she could still receive messages. Gevri explained the plan as they crept toward the generator room.
I need you to find where they’ve planted the explosives. Once you do, picture it clearly in your head, and hold on to that image no matter what happens. Understand?

Wendomer nodded. She was conscientious for a girl so young, and Gevri had no doubt she would follow orders.

Now, follow my lead
, Gevri added as he slipped through the door.

The first order of business was to get those last two Nau soldiers out in the open. “I know you’re in here!” Gevri called.

As if on cue, two soldiers stepped out from behind a cooling tank about thirty yards ahead. “Stop right there,” one of them said, both soldiers aiming their handguns at Gevri and Wendomer.

Gevri raised his hands slowly; Wendomer did the same. But Gevri knew that Wendomer was using clairvoyance to search for the explosives, even with a handgun pointed at her head. She had been trained well.

“Don’t move a muscle, or we’ll blow the whole place to splinters,” the soldier said.

“Okay, now,” Gevri said, getting a good look at their guns. Gevri had studied Nau weaponry, but these looked like new models. They were similar to the GS-98, with some extra thing-a-whizzies that Gevri’d never seen before. That was a problem, because if he didn’t know exactly what the gun looked like inside, it was hard to take it apart without firing it accidentally. These were the times he wished he had clairvoyance, which would allow him to look inside the guns.