True Son (8 page)

How long had it been since he’d slept? Sleep itself seemed like a dream, a thing he used to do in another life, a luxury of days long past. Now he lived in a fog of pain and confusion. A foggy confusion of pain. A confogging fusion of pain.

Fog.

White fog.

Swirling over the brittle stubs of a wheat field.

Where? Where were the soldiers who wanted to shoot him?

Where were the archons? He had to find them. He had to protect them.

Out of the swirling fog stepped Taemon. He held a gun. A bullet hurtled toward Gevri’s face. It moved slowly. There was plenty of time to move out of the way. If only he could move. But the fog. The fog was like snow clinging to his legs and freezing him in place.
Can’t move. So tired
.

The bullet struck Gevri’s gas mask and he flinched.

Pain. Pain shooting through his shoulders.

Then he remembered. He was chained to a chair. His arms were tightly bound behind him. If he let his head drop, the pain was unbearable.

He lifted his head. Tried to balance his head perfectly on his neck so he could relax his muscles a little. There. One tick above unbearable.

His mind drifted into the fog again.

There was something urgent he must do. What was it? He searched his brain. Everything was jumbled. Something to do with the archons . . .

“They depend on you,” his father’s voice whispered through the fog. “The responsibility falls on you.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Gevri answered. Had he spoken aloud? Was that croaking sound his own voice?

“Gevri? Can you hear me?” said his father. But his voice was also strange. Higher. More nasal. “Are you ready to resume our discussion?”

Gevri opened his eyes. The voice was not his father’s. A Nau soldier sat in the chair across from him. Fancy uniform. Dark maroon. Shiny buttons. Blue-black stripe on the sleeve.

That stripe, it meant something. He used to know. Couldn’t remember.

“Begin recording,” said the soldier. “Military Inspector U. Felmark Puster interrogating prisoner number six-naught-nine-dash-one-one-naught. Let it be noted that the prisoner has been forced to stay awake for five days and three hours. All indications are that he is unable to use any variety of psychic ability. The prisoner will now state his name.”

Gevri grunted.

“Let it be noted that the prisoner refuses to identify himself,” said Inspector Puster. “First question: By what means were you able to disarm the Nau soldiers?”

Questions. More questions. How many times had the inspector questioned him? Gevri had lost count. Or lost the ability to count. He sighed. It made his shoulders hurt again.

He could answer with one word: dominion. But they were all counting on him. His father, the archons, the whole military. His father had developed dominion as a secret weapon. Finally the Republik had an advantage that would win them independence from the Nau for good. Only a weak, ugsome coward would give in to this torture and tell them what they wanted to know. He kept silent.

“Let it be noted that the prisoner is uncooperative,” said the inspector.

Strobe lights splattered across the floor, the walls, everywhere. Colors, blinding white spots, rotating around the room, then reversing, then spinning again. Gevri scrunched his eyes tight, but the lights were impossible to block out completely.

“Question number two: Where does this ability come from?”

They’re counting on me. Ending the war is more important than a few minutes of torture
. A distant part of his brain tried to remind him that it had been days, not minutes, but he told himself to shut up.

“Revised question number two: How is this power wielded? That is, what triggers it?”

Gevri imagined himself as a statue cut out of stone. He could not see. He could not hear. He could not speak. He could not feel. He was nothing.

“Turn off the strobe lights,” said the inspector. “Perhaps the sleep deprivation is preventing you from forming coherent thoughts. Perhaps I should recommend a short nap. Fifteen minutes, shall we say? If you answer one question, just one, you may sleep for fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes of sleep! Paradise!

No. He did not need sleep. He was nothing.

“Let me make this a bit easier for you,” the inspector said. “I will tell you what we have already learned from your young friends, the underage soldiers that were captured at the same time you were.”

Gevri’s stomach clenched. This was the first time the inspector had mentioned the other archons. “My unit? Where are they? What have you done to them? If you hurt them, I swear to you, I will —” He struggled against the cords that bound his wrists. The pain nearly ripped his spine from his flesh, but this time he welcomed it. He deserved it. He was a failure.

U. Felmark Puster laughed. “Oh, my. Let the record show a strong emotional response. Your friends are very near, I assure you. Would you care to visit them? I can authorize that, but only if you cooperate. Now, we are aware that this aberrant ability takes different forms. Here is question three: How many forms of the ability known as dominion are there? Please explain each of its forms in detail.”

And Gevri did. Gods save his grimy soul, he answered question three. And question four. And five through eighteen.

He never did get to visit the archons, but he was allowed to sleep for fifteen minutes.

Paradise, just as he’d imagined.

Taemon sat in the living room of Amma’s new house. She’d given him the most comfortable seat in the room, a low-slung chair with leather straps woven together to make the seat and a soft cushion on top of that. But he had never felt more uncomfortable. Amma was explaining to her da why she should be allowed to join the delegation. Mr. Parvel didn’t seem to be listening.

“What can I do, Da? What can I do to prove to you that I can do this? I went back to the city with Taemon to confront Naseph. I’ve traveled across the mountain to Kanjai. I helped Taemon during the battle with the archons. . . .”

“I couldn’t have done any of that without her,” Taemon added.

Mr. Parvel glared at him.

“Doesn’t that prove that I can handle myself? That I’m capable?”

“You also revealed the location of the library,” Mr. Parvel said, “which led to the loss of every single book —”

Taemon raised one finger. “Actually, sir, that was me.” No one listened.

Mr. Parvel continued his rant. “You left home without permission to go traipsing over the mountain. That doesn’t spell out ‘responsible’ to me.”

“Traipsing?” Amma sputtered. “We were trying to save Taemon’s da! He would have done the same for me if it had been you captured by the Republik.”

Taemon nodded emphatically, but Mr. Parvel wasn’t even looking at him.

A pause hung in the room between daughter and father.

“Please, Da,” Amma whispered. “I need to go to Kanjai to find a way to bring home the books. I’ve brought one back already, and I swear to you I will hunt down the others.”

Mr. Parvel shook his head sadly. “What do we have to bargain with, Amma? How are we going to ask about books? We’ll be lucky enough if we leave the meeting unscathed; the very best we can hope for is a tremulous peace agreement. There’s no place for further demands.”

Taemon would never admit it, but Mr. Parvel had a point. What could they offer to trade for the books? Somehow Taemon didn’t think a simple “please” would do the trick.

But this didn’t seem to bother Amma. “I don’t know what will happen, Da. But neither do you. None of us knows because none of us has ever been in this situation before. What I do know is that I can’t just sit here in Deliverance when there’s even the slightest breath of a chance that my going to Kanjai might result in our getting the books back. I need to go. I
will
go.”

Mr. Parvel sighed, stepped over to the window, and stared into the evening haze. “Everything is changing so fast. Two short years, and our lives are completely different from how they used to be. How could we have prepared for this?”

Amma looked at Taemon, as though expecting him to say something here. But what?

“You’re right, Mr. Parvel. Everything is changing.”

Mr. Parvel turned from the window to look at him. Taemon wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but he could hardly stop now.

“Amma . . . Amma has played a role in all this change — a big role. And she herself has changed, too. She’s no longer a little girl.” Here Taemon felt himself blushing, all too aware that he was talking to Amma’s da. “But change can be a good thing, even if it makes us uncomfortable at times. Don’t you think our society is better off now that we’re not divided into those who have psi and those who don’t? People from the city and the colony have come together and bonded over all they have in common — which was always more than what separated them, though they didn’t always see that. And Amma helped make that happen.

“What we’re about to do with the peace delegation will have lasting effects on generations to come. Amma should be a part of that. Who better than a Water girl to shape the landscape of the new world?”

Mr. Parvel was quiet for a moment, and Taemon let the silence work on him for a bit.

“I just . . .” Mr. Parvel said softly. “I don’t know how this is going to end.”

“None of us does, sir,” Taemon said. “We have to create the ending. Together.”

Mr. Parvel pressed his lips together and nodded. He turned to face Amma, his expression softer now. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

She smiled and hugged her da. “A Water girl is always ready.”

A few moments later, Amma walked Taemon to the door. “Thank you,” she said. “You were wonderful, Mr. Knife. Mr. Cut-to-the-Quick.”

Taemon scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rolled her eyes at him, then opened the door and pushed him out. “Now get out of here. I have a million things to do to get ready.”

The next day, Taemon went in search of Mam. Even though this trip wouldn’t be nearly as arduous as his first foray into the Republik — for one thing, the weather would be much nicer, and Hannova would be providing plenty of food for the delegation — he still felt he should say good-bye before leaving. He headed over to Challis’s house, where Mam had lived since he’d rescued her from the asylum. Da lived there, too, when he was in the colony, but he spent a lot of time in the woods with the men of Free Will, the group of rebels he’d led since The Fall. Hannova had invited them to live in the colony, but they clung to their independence and neutrality.

Nearing Challis’s house, he could hear Mam’s voice. The two sisters were sitting on the porch, talking. Mam was telling Challis a story, and she sounded happier than she had in a long time. Taemon lingered near the bushes on the side of the porch. They hadn’t seen him yet, and he wanted to listen to Mam’s story before he interrupted.

“Even back then, he was different, not like the other boys,” Mam said.

Was she talking about him? Or Yens?

“I’m surprised you didn’t fall for Darling Houser,” Challis said. “He was quite the catch back in those days.”

“Fierre? My stars, no. Fierre had such an ego. Wiljamen was much more fascinating.”

Da? She was talking about Da?

“Even as a young man, his thoughts were deeper and more . . . earnest. He studied all the time. He was going to be a priest, you know. He and Naseph talked about it all the time. They were going to stick together.”

Challis huffed. “Good thing they parted ways.”

Had he heard that right? Da had been friends with Naseph as a boy? How was it he’d never heard that?

He must have made some sort of sound, because Mam stood up and saw him. “Taemon?”

“Just thought I’d stop by and spend a little time with you before I have to leave,” Taemon said.

“Come and sit,” Challis said. “I’ll get you something cold to drink.”

Challis went inside, and Taemon dragged another chair beside Mam. She picked up the cloth on her lap and started sewing.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better every day,” Mam said. “Staying here with Challis has been just what I needed. She keeps me busy.” Mam waved at the basket beside her.

Taemon lifted it into his lap and started looking through it. Shirts, dresses, hats, blankets. Mam had always been good with sewing. And cooking. That’s what women did in the city — though not by hand, of course. But here in the colony, they did all sorts of jobs. It made Taemon wonder.

“Mam, if you could have any job you wanted, what would it be?”

“Oh, heavens. Such a question.”

“No, really, Mam. What would you like to do?”

“I’ve always liked working with animals,” she said.

“Maybe you should. I could talk to Bynon, out at the farm.”

Mam laughed. “No, Tae. This is the perfect place for me. Challis lets me talk when I need to and hush when I need to. We’re catching up on all the time we missed. And I keep my hands busy. I never would have guessed how good it feels to keep your hands busy.” She knotted her thread and switched to a different color.

Challis came back and handed Taemon a cup. He took a small sip of the citrusy drink. Her odd-tasting drinks were usually steeped with herbs, and he was always a little leery of them. This one was surprisingly tasty.