Eversummer: The Forerunner Archives Book 1

by J. Rock

  5.

  I leave work just after the eighteenth hour, the warmth of the Eversummer sun feeling like a cold draft on my skin after twelve hours in the Gardens. Usually, I would take Mainstreet across the bridge and cut through the business district to get home, but tonight I crisscross alleyways and parks in order to avoid prying eyes. It works, mostly, as I only run into a few people I know along the way. I can tell that they all want to talk to me, but I brush them off before our cursory small talk goes any further. I slip into our yard through the back wall door and stalk cautiously across the browning lawn to the wide double doors that open onto the patio. Yeah, we have a big house. A nice house. Two stories. But my Father's the High Deacon. The most powerful man in Krakelyn can't be seen living in squalor, can he?

  It's all a joke, in my opinion.

  Wealth never mattered to me; Jude's family lives in little better than a shack down by the docks. Everything about my house feels fake to me; like it was made to prove how much better we are than everybody else. I've never thought myself better than anyone in my life. Okay, well, maybe Rayanne, but she's annoying.

  Every window in the Manse is ablaze with fiery sparklights; it's cloudy at the moment, so the ever present sunlight is muted. Sparklights are another luxury we could do without, in my opinion. It's bright outside all the time. Why bother? Very few homes in Krakelyn have sparklights. They require specialized knowledge to operate. Copper cords run out of an oil fed machine spouting noxious fumes at the back of our property. I don't fully understand it myself, but I always thought candles worked just as well.

  I slip through the patio doors, open to permit fresh air into the building. One of the serving women, Ryonyx, greets me upon entering with a smile. "You're just in time," she says. "Dinner is about to be served."

  "I'll eat later," I reply curtly. "Is my Father home?"

  "He is," Ryonyx replies. "But he is in his study, and is not to be disturbed."

  "He'll want to see me,” I grin.

  Passing more servants, I come to the wide, balustraded main stairwell and head up to the second floor. Paintings, tapestries, and golden candelabras line the hall, but I hardly notice them anymore. As I said, it all feels fake to me. I pass Traylor's room. The door is wide open, my little brother passed out on his bed, already snoring softly. I smile and continue on to the door at the end of the hall. 

  My Father's study.

  I knock and a deep, intimidating baritone answers from the other side. 

  "Come." 

  I open the door, not wasting any time. My Father's study is a small room, compared with the rest of the Manse, but it feels positively claustrophobic to me. Relics of the Forerunners line shelves and hang from every wall, cluttering every square inch of available space. Many of the objects were discovered by me and Jude on the beach. Father doesn't like my being in here because I am so enthralled by the Forerunners, but I doubt that will matter to him today.

  "What are you doing here, Juno?" he asks bluntly, seated before an oversized sentinel pine desk. His tone doesn't catch me off guard exactly– Father has always been a blunt man–but it still isn't the greeting I was expecting. After today, and with all the rumors flying around, I thought for sure he'd be dying to see me. 

  "Well?" he asks, cold eyes boring into my own. I'm drawing a blank. I’d expected him to start grilling me immediately. Was he waiting for me to confess about the beach? That wouldn't be like him. Father never beats around the bush. My eyes dart around the room, finding the only object on the walls that even remotely catches my eye anymore. Something called a ‘foto’. It's like a painting, but not. Father says it’s a snapshot of real life, like a recorded memory put to paper. The foto is ancient, ripped and weathered, depicting a young family in front of a strange looking home. It's like something out of a child's fantasy. The family wears strange garments emblazoned with even more bizarre symbology.

  But they seem happy.

  "Juno? What's the matter with you?"

  I tear my eyes from the foto and back onto my Father. Even sitting down, he's an imposing figure, taller than most men and rail thin. A graying moustache droops in cascades from his upper lip, hanging to just below his chin. He's still wearing his High Deacon surcoat, but its wrinkled and dirty and... Is that a blood stain?

  I finally find my voice. "I... I just wanted to make sure you're alright, that's all. I heard about Thomas at work." I'm testing the waters here, seeing what my Father knows. He'd call me out right away if he knew I'd actually been at the Judgment.

  "Oh," he replies, his face melting from a scowl to a deep frown. "I suppose you would have. Listen, Juno, I already had this discussion with Traylor. I can't tell you everything, but know that what was done, was done for the good of Krakelyn. It was a regrettable thing, and the hardest Judgment I've had to make since your Mother."

  I wince at the mention of her but, again, I'm used to this type of forthrightness from my Father. He knows my feelings on the subject, but I've learned to look past it when we're together. It took a long time for me to do that though. "I'm sorry it had to happen," I tell him, genuine sympathy in my tone. "I, um, well, I've heard all the rumors flying around. A mutant in the city." My Father nods. "There isn't anything I should be concerned about, is there?"

  Without hesitation, my Father shakes his head. "No, Juno, it's been taken care of. Everything is alright." He pauses, meeting my eyes with a warmer glance and a hint of a smile. From his creaky old chair, he reaches out and takes my hand. "Do me a favor and go check on your brother for me. I know you weren't close to Thomas, but Traylor was in positive hysterics when I came home. I think he may have seen the Judgment this morning."

  I smirk, trying not to give away too much. "It would be like him to disobey your orders," I reply. I lean down and give the old man a kiss on the forehead. "Don't work yourself too hard," I say, "you need to grieve too." He squeezes my hand in thanks but says nothing, only nods and turns back to the stack of parchment on his desk. That's as much cue as I get that the conversation is over.

  I slip quietly out of the study, closing the door, stopping in the hallway and breathing hard in time to my hammering heart.

  Why hadn't he asked me about the beach? And Jude? 

  He must know that I have that strange metal Box from Everwinter hidden away. Thomas would have told him. So why didn't he call me out on it? Did Thomas Whiskeyjack die because of what we found? If so, why? Father had to have heard the rumor about me and Jude. So why didn't he ask me about it? Selfish hope rises in my chest. If my Father went to all these lengths to protect me, he may have instructed the Deacons to lay off us as well. And if that rash on Jude's cheek clears up quickly enough, all just might be well! Thomas Whiskeyjack's dying face flashes through my mind in that moment.

  Yeah, but at what cost?

  With these thoughts racing through my brain, I traverse the hall once more, pausing momentarily at the entrance to Traylor's room. He's moved around since I'd first come by, but he still appears to be out cold. I keep going, down to the other end of the Manse where my own room is situated. I open the door and slip inside, my large, down filled mattress calling to me immediately.

  There's nothing more I want to do in that moment than to flop down on the bed, but there's something else I have to do first. I head straight for the window, seeing with a smile that a new sunvisor has been installed. My old one broke a couple days ago. I took the blame for it, saying I had trouble getting it to roll back up. The truth was I'd accidentally kicked it loose climbing onto the roof. Father wouldn't let me cover the window for two days afterward as a lesson.

  Live and learn.

  Or not.

  I roll the visor up, going easy, pushing the shutters wide. I take a quick glance into the yard to be sure no servants are in the yard below and quickly hoist myself onto the sill. I look over and see that the window into Traylor's room is shut tight. He won't hear me. I grasp the eave with my hands and push off hard with my feet, propelling them onto
the rooftop. It's not a graceful act, but I've done it enough times that it hardly poses a problem anymore. It's a lot harder when I'm actually trying to bring something up here with me. 

  This is where I stash my stuff from the beach, after all.

  I'm up on the roof in seconds, my hands grimy from grasping the gutter. I wipe them on my pants and tread carefully up the pitch. Most houses in Krakelyn have roofs constructed of thatch, but ours, of course, is topped with a series of wooden tiles tucked up under one another in rows, the advantage being that the tiles have to be replaced a lot less often than thatch. But they're expensive as hell. I tiptoe across the tiles, using my hands for purchase as I clamber up the steep grade. I reach what remains of a square brick structure near the top. An old chimney. I don't even know where it ends up inside the house. The top of the chimney is covered by a wooden panel that I constructed myself. I lift it off, revealing a large cubby hidden within. Jude built a floor for me inside the chimney–he's really good at building stuff–and I climb inside, enveloped in shade.

  I'm inside my stash.

  I pull a filthy old blanket aside, revealing the wealth of Forerunner treasures I’ve managed to squirrel away over the past year. There's a piece of a reflecting glass; a ball made from a soft, yet durable material; books written in languages no one in Eversummer can understand; metal sheets that are neither rusted nor weakened by age; a female doll constructed of a similar material as the ball; a few containers, like cups, but again made of a hard yet pliable substance; a few fotos and images ripped from books; bizarre clothing fashioned of indefinite materials; and the shiny, metal Box.

  The Box we found on the beach yesterday.

  Unconsciously, I reach out to touch it just as Jude had, but stop myself when I realize what I'm doing. The memory of that bright flash of light is burned into my mind. Along with Jude's scream as the light seared the side of his face. Disgusted and fearful, I spit at the object and cover it back up quickly.

  I just wanted to check that it was still there, that’s all.

  The real problem is gonna be figuring out what to do with such a dangerous artifact. But that problem can wait 'til morning. I'll find Jude, and we'll decide if it's safe for him to come out of hiding. With a yawn, I crawl out of the chimney, replace the wooden cover, and stealthily retreat to my room.

  I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.