by S. S. Segran
“Good afternoon,” he announced. “You must be wondering why I—we. Why we gathered you in front of the temple today.”
He picked Reyor out from the crowd. Fittingly, she stood right in the center, her hair pulled back in a bun. Her eyes were glued on him. He stared back, chest hurting, then said, “It will all become clear in a few minutes. But first, I would like to call for Reyor to join the Elders.”
The gathering turned to look at her, equal parts perplexed and surprised. Reyor’s face darkened into suspicion momentarily before she collected herself. The villagers separated, opening up a path for her. She strolled through, head held high, and when she reached the Elders, she smiled disarmingly.
“Please, face the people,” Nageau said. Reyor obliged. He opened his mouth to continue his speech, but no sound came out. He tried again but choked on nothing.
Tayoka glanced at him worriedly, then jumped in. “As some of you may know,” he said, “curious rashes were found on Elder Vonak’s body. Rashes that normally are seen when the poison root from Boro-Ki is ingested.”
Nageau, starting to feel dizzy from the events, found himself tuning out. Are we doing the right thing? We have never had to deal with murder in this sanctuary. Is this the appropriate course of action?
He watched with a sense of detachment as the gathering before him went from perplexed to shock, to outrage as Tayoka laid bare their findings. Reyor herself had not moved an inch. Nageau tuned back into the moment. The villagers shouted and pointed fingers at Reyor, but a few of them remained silent. Nageau recognized them as the ones who’d been gathered around her the day before.
Finally, Tikina turned to Reyor. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“This is a baseless accusation,” she replied evenly. “And to stake such a horrendous claim on one of your own without evidence is vile and abhorrent. I expected better from the people who are supposed to guide us.”
“That is not—” one of the other Elders started, but Reyor raised her voice over his and addressed the crowd.
“Ask yourself: why am I the primary, and seemingly only, suspect? Because I was seen in Boro-Ki? Yes, I was there, but according to the Elders themselves, the witnesses admitted that they did not see me take the roots. But could I not have been their scapegoat? Should I not be permitted to face my accusers? Perhaps my rights are violable because the views I advocate about our role in this world and the prophecy differ from the Elders. They fear it, and they fear that others agree with it. What do they get from crucifying me like this? Their power. They get to keep their power, and they get to keep the so-called peace through order.”
“That is enough, Reyor,” Nageau growled.
She turned to him, mauve eyes flickering with the same fire he saw just the previous afternoon. “You have no evidence,” she seethed.
“We do. Elder Tikina scented the poison on your workbench in Magèo’s laboratory, and we have since had other capable and reliable assayers independently verify it. Ah, thank you all for stepping forward so we may identify you. In addition to this, we found the same scent, very faintly, on certain articles of clothing you own.”
Reyor stared at him in stony silence.
“But how did she poison him?” a man called. “By putting it in his food? Elder Vonak prepares all his own meals.”
“The roots were likely processed at the laboratory,” Nageau said. “On a hunch, we checked Elder Vonak’s water supply, and Magèo can confirm that after thorough testing, the poison had been subtly infused into it.”
Reyor’s exterior remained as ice.
I do not understand, Nageau thought. If she really is innocent, why is she not fighting harder to prove it? If she is guilty and will not admit it, then again, why is she not fighting harder to cast doubts on the accusation?
“The Council convened during the night and deliberated straight through the morning,” Tikina said, both to Reyor and the crowd. “This is a difficult situation, and one that we have never had to deal as far as we can recall. Murder is . . . the most despicable of acts. Short of punishment by death, which we abhor, the only other sentence we believe to be fitting is—”
“Banishment,” Nageau finished.
The crowd shifted, muttering amongst themselves. Some seemed to agree with the sentence, while others clearly would have preferred the other option. Reyor stepped up to Nageau.
“I know a vote had to be held for this decision to be made,” she said, voice low. “I know the Council well enough to say it was not unanimous. Who do I have to thank for getting me exiled from my home instead of dying with my dignity here?”
Nageau searched her face, trying to read her state of mind, but she was inscrutable. “I was the deciding vote,” he said finally.
She smirked, but there was no humor in it. “You can rot in the pits of the underworld, brother. I looked up to you once, but no more. You let me down.”
“You have until sunset to gather your belongings in one bag.”
As Reyor turned to leave, Nageau added, “One more thing.” He reached out and ripped the crystal off her bracelet. “There. We will have a few of the villagers keep an eye on you while you pack your things and vacate this sanctuary. Go.”
As she walked past the gathering and down the hill, the crowd and the Elders watched her. There was a strange feeling in the air, as though no one knew the proper way to react to the situation. Nageau flimsily called the gathering to a close, and once the people had left, he fell onto his knees, head buried in a hand.
“That was awful.” He looked up at Tayoka as the flame-haired Elder approached. “Thank you for stepping in. I do not know why I was at a loss of words.”
Tayoka crouched beside him. “Make no more mention of it. It is as you said when I was inducted—we support each other. This is not easy but we have a sacred trust to uphold, and we are only human, after all.”
The Elders remained together through the rest of the afternoon. With their lack of appetite, they opted to instead stay on the hill in meditative muteness. Only when the sky began to change colors did they begin to make their way eastward, down to the open end of the valley. Most of the villagers were already there, with some trickling in from different places.
“Where is she?” someone called. “Where is the monster?”
“Here,” someone else declared.
Six villagers made their way through the crowd, flanking Reyor. She had a single burlap bag over her shoulders along with a bow and a quiver full of arrows, as well as a hunting knife sheathed to her thigh. She completely ignored Nageau as she brushed past the Elders to stand on the lip of the incline leading to the forest below.
“Reyor,” Nageau said.
She didn’t acknowledge him.
“Look at us.”
She slowly inclined her head toward him.
“You are hereby sentenced to life in exile,” he said. “Should you make any attempt to return, or contact any of the villagers, you will be—”
“Do not waste your breath,” she said.
Nageau pushed his tongue into his cheek. “Fine. Then it is time for you to leave.”
She glowered. Then, for just a split second, she smiled at him before turning around and striding out of Dema-Ki.
It wasn’t until fourteen days later that he discovered why she had smiled.
Nageau burst into the Elders’ assembly neyra where the others were waiting for him to begin their daily meeting. They jumped at his sudden entrance.
“She stole some of the crystals,” he snarled. “Straight from the temple! How could she have? She was under surveillance from the moment we sentenced her!”
“Slow down, slow down,” the white-haired Elder urged. “Who, what, when, where, and why?”
“Reyor. Crystals. Most likely before she was sentenced. Probably kept them in her home. And it could be any number of reasons why.”
Tikina made room for him to sit on the low bench beside her. The small fire pit at the center of the neyra, u
sually lit on cooler days, was cold. He prodded some of the ember flakes within it with the toe of his boot.
“I was wrapping up my meditation at the temple,” he said, “and passed by the altar that holds the goblet of crystals. I thought it seemed a little shallower than I last remembered. I did a full count and was right. Seven are missing.”
“What are you saying?” Tayoka asked. “That she knew we were onto her, so she took measures to appropriate additional crystals in the likelihood hers would be confiscated?”
“Exactly. She is devious, but I never thought she would go so far with her scheming . . .” Nageau trailed off. “Does everyone have their lathe’ad?”
One by one, the Elders produced palm-sized violet spheres from their person—except Tayoka. The youngest Elder popped open one of the two small leather pouches at his hip and peered in. He paused for a long moment, then slowly pulled out a smooth stone. He looked at Nageau with rising panic. Without a word, he sped out of the neyra. A few minutes later he returned, sending a blast of air that blew everyone’s hair and garments back.
“I cannot find mine,” he panted; for him to have been out of breath, he must have spent his ability’s entire energy reserve.
“You are supposed to always have it with you,” Tikina said, horrorstruck.
“I know! And I give you my word, it always is. I do not know what happened.”
“That is the one ancestral artifact that should never be lost,” the white-haired Elder barked. She stood up, pacing to and fro. “Does Reyor really have that, too?”
“Where else would it be?” the last Elder demanded, putting his head between his knees.
“But it does not make sense,” Tayoka insisted. “I have not been around her in ages, and I know I had my lathe’ad . . . well . . .”
“When was the last time you saw it?” Tikina asked.
Tayoka flushed. “It was . . . see, I always keep it in this special pouch. I do not always take it out, but I pat it to make sure I can still feel it. I suppose once I grew used to it always being there, I stopped checking. I . . . I grew complacent. But I do not understand how adept one must be to have such sleight of hand! There are really no words to express how sorry I am. And . . . and I understand if you think it best to replace me with someone better suited to be an Elder.”
The rest of the Council swapped glances. Then Nageau said, “Do not be daft. Yes, it is devastating to learn that you no longer possess what is possibly the most powerful device this planet has ever possessed. But this . . . I do not think anyone could have been prepared for this.”
“I would like to point out that this is all speculation,” the white-haired Elder said. “It could be that some children have decided to fool around and swipe the crystals. They do sometimes muck things up, especially if it is important or sacred. As for the lathe’ad, universe willing, it simply fell out of Tayoka’s tunic and is still around here somewhere.”
“Perhaps we should reach out to Reyor, just to be sure,” Tikina suggested.
“She will never open her mind to us again,” Nageau said heavily. “And even if she does, do you believe she would tell the truth? But, yes, I will try.”
The Elders took their places around the unlit fire pit once more, but no one spoke. Nageau combed his fingers through his hair.
Some leading Elder I am, he thought. Missing crystals, missing lathe’ad, murder, and a suspected killer banished instead of being helped. Is this a sign of more troubles to come? I keep feeling like I have failed this test. The others seem to think this is the right path, but . . .
He shook his head.
I cannot see the future, but something tells me this event will haunt me for the rest of my life.
The sound of his bare feet slapping against the tiled hallway was all that filled Jag’s ears. He turned the corner, not daring to look behind. The stairs ahead grew closer. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the lack of guards outside his room and went to investigate.
C’mon, c’mon. The helmet’s off. Why aren’t my powers kicking in?
He reached for the pendant around his neck but grasped only air. He grimaced. Right. It had been ripped from him the moment he was first wheeled into this chamber.
Taking the steps three at a time, he burst through the door at the top and came to a jarring halt. All around him, teenagers in different uniforms bustled about their work in an enormous cavern. SONEs, he realized. Reyor’s Stewards of New Earth.
Who, he now saw, had all turned to stare as he burst from the door with the vengeance of a raging bull. He stared back, then took off at a sprint. His legs trembled from lack of exercise; how long he’d been held captive, he didn’t know.
He bulldozed through a few SONEs making a grab for him, deftly twisting and ducking away as they bellowed. Small, odd-shaped buildings and other structures blurred on either side of him as he ran. He barely paid attention to his surroundings but did note the stone walls. Guess they threw me in a Sanctuary after all. Man, this place is huge. Where’s the exit?
His answer came in the form of a truck barreling past him, horn blaring through the cavern. He swung out of the way in time and looked to his left. A sloping tunnel gaped about a thousand feet away. He made a break for it, willing his abilities to activate to no effect. His attempt to project his consciousness into the novasphere produced the same results; where the higher dimension should have been teeming with the sparks of other minds, it was now just an enormous black void. He was not going to find help there.
As Jag crossed the halfway point of the immense subterranean enclave, alarms shrieked, ricocheting off the buildings and walls. He was surprised at how far he’d managed to get before the warning systems went off and gave himself a little pat on the back.
Another truck emerged from the tunnel and he sidestepped it easily. Even without his abilities, his training in Dema-Ki had sharpened his already finely-tuned reflexes and he was grateful for it.
The driver brought his vehicle to a screeching halt, then changed gears and sped backward to give chase. Jag pushed on, but when he crested the slope, his heart dropped to his stomach. An enormous metal door blocked his only route to freedom.
Roaring, he threw himself at it over and over, the boom of each impact reverberating back into him. If he had his strength, maybe he could have smashed through the door.
No, he thought, gritting his teeth, that won’t work. Enhanced strength doesn’t mean having a body of steel.
The truck closed on Jag with brutal speed, its taillights bathing him in a red glow as he turned to meet it, ready to jump onto the cargo bed.
Then the door behind him slid open with a heavy groan. He spun around, coming face-to-face with a startled driver behind the wheel of a van. Without a second thought, he vaulted onto the hood. Outside the Sanctuary door, two armed guards scrambled for their weapons.
“The hell?” one of them yelled.
“Tranq!” the other barked. “Tranq him before he—”
But Jag was already over the van’s roof. He leapt to the ground and plowed forward to emerge from an overhang into darkness and pouring rain.
Great, he thought. This brings back memories.
He tore through a grove of trees and found himself on top of a grassy hill. Through the mist and rain, he was just barely able make out an expansive golf course below.
A sudden roar erupted behind him. Several lights refracted through the trees toward him as ATVs and motorcycles materialized like beasts on a hunt.
Jag bolted.
The wet ground squelched beneath his feet and his toes dug into the mud for traction. Rain whipped against his face and drenched him completely, constraining his view.
As he sped through the thick grass of the rough, a spark of energy buzzed through his body as though lightning had fired up every fiber of his muscles. A wolfish grin broke across his face. Welcome back.
Within seconds he was rocketing over the fairway. He howled with laughter and, maintaining his speed, turn
ed to taunt his pursuers as they reached the bottom of the hill. He’d only gotten a few yards when his body jerked and he tripped, falling face-first to the ground. Stunned, he jumped to his feet, spitting out grass as he ran. That’s not supposed to happen!
Another shot of energy surged through him, and he was back at blurred speed. What the—
Floodlights around the golf course switched on with a loud hum, cutting through the downpour. Jag threw up his arm to shield his eyes. The sound of men’s voices crackling from radios grew louder, as did their vehicles. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. An ATV and a motorcycle converged not fifty feet behind him. The biker leaned on the throttle, overtaking his companion. Jag, refusing to be outdone, put on a sudden burst of speed to cover more ground.
Then his abilities were pulled out from under him once more. He tumbled with a yelped curse. The motorcyclist overtook him before skidding his machine into a half-turn to face the fallen boy, gun leveled. Jag, covered in dirt and mud, pushed himself up in time to see the tranquilizer dart leaving the weapon.
A third rush of electric energy passed through Jag, kicking his senses into overdrive. The world slowed enough for him to track the projectile. He plucked the dart out of the air and sent it careering back toward the biker. As the world edged into normal speed again, Jag saw the man slump off his motorcycle, unconscious.
This whole thing is a bunch of déjà vu moments, Jag thought as he turned to face the oncoming ATV. Alright, still got my abilities. Let’s see how much damage I can do.
He hurtled toward the pursuer. Before the man could react, Jag grasped the ATV by its grill guard and hoisted it above his head. The rider screamed as the quad was launched into a series of summersaults. He fell off after the first spin and landed on his stomach, winded. The vehicle landed a few yards away, crumpled and smoking.
Jag clenched and unclenched his hands. Looks like my abilities are staying. Good. He lowered his head and charged at breakneck speed toward two other fast-approaching ATVs. He only got a few paces when his abilities left him without warning. His feet caught on broken momentum, propelling him into a violent lurch. He fell, crying out as his temple struck a rock. The world blurred out of focus as he lay in the thickening downpour. Each fast-falling drop stung like knifepoints.
