The Last Archon

by Richard Watts

  Chains smiled. “So you hearda’ me.”

  Hayden smiled back. “Everybody’s heard of you, Noah. Keep doing this to your guests, and they’re gonna call you ‘Defenestrator.’” Chains tilted his head and blinked.

  Hayden shrugged one shoulder. “Eh, it’s okay. Pretty sure English 201 isn’t a pre-rec for ‘drug dealer.’”

  Chains closed the distance slowly. “Who sent you? Was it one of those Royal punks?”

  “Actually, it was your mom. She couldn’t wait to share the news.” Hayden smiled wide and spread his hands. “I’m your new step-dad!”

  Chains roared, and a whip of steel links whistled toward Hayden’s left leg. Hayden hopped over it, calling up a short spike of crystalline energy as he did so. He landed and thrust down, slamming the spike into the circle of one link and shoving it into the asphalt.

  The second chain clipped him on the shoulder. He rolled with the blow, letting it slide off the pauldron of his armor, but the move pushed him away from the pinned whip.

  He came out of his roll and tried to keep circling, but Chains brought his free weapon around too quickly, reeling it in and launching it back out again. Hayden sidestepped, the breeze of the swing still hitting his face and sprinted inside the arc of the whip. If he could get to Chains while one arm was still pinned, this fight was over.

  Chains grunted. The sidestepped chain froze in midair, rippling, and flung itself back at Hayden. He threw his left arm up to shield himself and tried to twist away, but he was too slow. The chain bent around his left arm and wrapped around his back and chest, pinning the limb to his side.

  The steel tentacle flexed, crushing the air from him. Before he could react, Chains lifted him off his feet. The world tilted and he slammed into the ground. Dazed, Hayden couldn’t react as his bound arm pulled him up into a kneeling position. He shook his head to clear it as Chains ripped his staked appendage free. The released whip sailed at his face, and the best Hayden could manage was a clumsy block with his right forearm. The chain whirled around it, then pulled taut, jerking his arm forward and nearly toppling him to the street again.

  Stepping close, Chains reeled both lengths of steel in and dragged Hayden up to a half-standing position. The coils around his chest tightened like a python. Only the thin plating of his armor kept it from breaking his ribs. Chains loomed over him.

  “Now,” Chains growled. “We gonna have a talk with some respect. You tell me who sent you, or I squeeze the piss outta ya.”

  “Went before I left,” Hayden rasped. His right hand curled around the length of steel trapping that arm.

  Chains jerked both arms and rammed his knee into Hayden’s groin. Hayden groaned and staggered, held up by the chain ropes.

  “Last chance, ‘hero,’” Chains sneered. Hayden sucked in a shallow breath, gritted his teeth, and braced for the pain.

  “You got that right.” Hayden called up the Axiom directly into his body. Nerves screamed as the flaming energy poured in. Strength and energy flooded his limbs, along with pain. He screamed and spun, pulling with all his enhanced might. Chains' own steel limbs jerked him bodily off his feet, and he whirled into the brick wall of the apartment. He hit sideways with the crunch of breaking bones and dropped limply to the dirt.

  The chains holding Hayden went slack. He let go of the Axiom, and the strength left him in a rush. The pain remained. Clutching at his head, he stumbled to his knees as images rushed through his mind so fast it looked like static.

  Hayden came back to himself, panting. Chains still lay on the ground. He’d only missed a few seconds this time. Head pounding, Hayden staggered to his feet, disentangled himself, and set about securing the drug dealer.

  Chapter Three

  Hayden left Chains wrapped up straight jacket style in his own coils, which he’d staked down with spikes of energy. Even if the thug came to quickly, it would take him a bit to work his way free.

  Standing up and looking around, people looked his way and talked excitedly into phones. Sirens approached in the distance. He had to get what he came for.

  Hayden raced back inside, up the stairs, and through the now crowded hallways of the apartment building. People stepped back out of his way, pressing themselves to the walls or shutting the door as he passed. Hayden saw their point. It would probably be intimidating to see a helmeted soldier in Atlantean battle armor lay out the baddest dude on the block and then stalk into your house.

  He made his way back to Chains’ apartment. “Chains.” Real name Noah Wilson, he was a small-time pusher before he somehow leaped up about three rungs in the hierarchy.

  Hayden stepped through the busted door frame onto the busted door. Chains’ friend still napped in the little kitchen. The dent in the fridge door would, upon close inspection, match the exact dimensions of the top of Napping Man’s head. Hayden smirked to himself.

  The living room was in disarray. Aside from the shattered window, the box-like coffee table lay overturned, the ceiling had a bullet hole in it, and the single lit stand lamp had been knocked over. Greasy paper plates and an empty pizza box littered the carpet, and the giant flat screen tv had fallen sideways and cracked, though the Georgia/Duke game still played fuzzily on mute. Napping Man’s pistol lay on the living room floor in two neatly severed pieces.

  Archon would undoubtedly have some clever sorcery for finding traces of drug particles in this mess. Hayden would have to do this the hard way.

  He scoured the bedroom first. Dirty underpants, weights with dust on them, and a pair of women’s lace panties stuck behind the headboard.

  Then the bathroom. Oddly clean, apart from some mildew in the tiny shower. Maybe holes in your arms motivated good sanitation.

  Back to the living room. Hayden looked under seat cushions, behind the couch, even stepped over Napping Man to check the oven. Nothing.

  He turned to make one last pass through the living room when the light bulb in the stand lamp blew out. The room went dark. Hayden summoned a softly glowing sword to serve as a light source and made his way to the light switch. He flicked it to “ON” and the light blazed up, casting an odd square of shadow onto the room. Squinting his eyes at the ceiling light, a shadow revealed a dense shape caught in the bowl of frosted glass covering the bulb.

  Hayden dismissed his sword and flipped the coffee table back upright, situating it under the lamp. He clambered atop it and reached into the bowl. His fingers brushed something hard. Straining on tiptoe, he had just managed to slide it up the curve of the bowl into his palm, when the sound of booted feet reached his ears from the corridor outside.

  Hayden spun to see an APD officer step warily through the door, weapon drawn. She was short, maybe a touch over 5 feet, and looked even smaller from the extra foot the coffee table added to his own height.

  “Atlanta PD!” she shouted. “Hold it, Arclite! Don’t move an inch!”

  Hayden sighed and put his hands up, one still holding the box. “Officer, I really don’t have time right now.”

  “Shut it. Step down slowly.” She trained her gun on him, center mass. He complied, stepping backward so the coffee table was between them. Outside, he could hear more patrol cars arriving. A call came over the radio and she answered using the mic strapped to her shoulder.

  “This is Officer Smythe, 10-David. I’m in unit 3-4-7, have one armed Prime, requesting backup. Over.”

  As she talked, Hayden called up a trickle of power from the Axiom and created a thin blade that extended slowly from the sole of his right foot. He shuffled in place, slipping the blade under the edge of the coffee table.

  “Alright, Arclite, on your knees.” Hayden stayed standing and tilted his head.

  “Why, Officer Smythe! You’ll make a hero blush!”

  Smythe’s mouth turned down. “Alright, ass-” Hayden kicked the table at her, launching it end over end.

  Two bullets hit the wood in half a second, sending splinters tumbling away as the rest of the table smacked Smythe in the vest.


  Hayden vaulted across the room and sailed through the broken window for the second time that night. This time he was ready for the drop, so when the whip of energy tightened he rode the pendulum into the brick feet first, angling his impact to let him half run down the rest of the wall.

  He fell into a roll for the last couple of feet, tumbled, and popped up sprinting. Two officers stood over Chains’ unconscious body, and they spun toward him. Hayden snapped a kick into the chest of the first officer before he could pull his gun from its holster, pushing straight through him. The lead cop staggered back and fell directly into his partner, knocking them both down. Hayden rode the falling patrolman down, pushed off the flattened pair, and resumed running.

  Shouts sounded behind him, and sirens wailed as officers rushed back into their squad cars and flicked on the blue lights. He hoofed it around the corner and passed a startled couple who stared at him in shock. He raced on, handfuls of passersby ducking out of his way. He’d made it two blocks north when the sirens caught up with him.

  He turned east at an intersection and sprinted across two lanes of traffic. Horns sounded and he slid across the hood of a breaking SUV. He waved to the boy sitting mouth agape in the passenger seat and bounded off the far side and into Fu’s, flinging the door open with a crash.

  Patrons leaped from their seats. A server shrieked and dropped the drink tray she carried. Hayden raced through into the kitchen, past a scowling Mr. Fu, nearly slipping on a small greasy patch, and kicked open the back door that led to the alley. He spun, shoving the door closed, summoned a wedge-shaped bar of energy, and jammed it into the doorframe in a makeshift doorstop.

  Panting, he glanced around the alley. No one in sight. He concentrated for a moment, and the enchanted battle armor dissipated in a cloud of glowing motes, leaving him back in his street clothes. The back door banged under someone’s shoulder.

  Hayden raced to the alley exit, slowed to a walk, and turned north onto a side street just as the restaurant’s back door burst open and a pair of uniformed officers rushed through. A third rounded the corner from the front of the buildings a second later.

  “Kid!” shouted the lead member of the pair, “You see anyone come through here?”

  Hayden shrugged and pasted on a confused look. He reached for his phone. The officers raced further into the alley. The third member lingered a moment, sizing Hayden up. Instead of an armored maniac, he just saw a blond-haired kid in jeans, sneakers, a vintage Braves T-shirt, and a grey sport coat. Hayden snapped a photo of the officer, who turned back to the front street and got on his radio.

  Hayden walked north toward the lights of the Georgia Dome, a smile on his face and the edges of a little wooden box digging softly into his hand.

  Chapter Four

  “...bystander captured this footage of the vigilante Arclite evading arrest by Atlanta police.” A grainy, bouncing phone camera showed Hayden sliding over the hood of an SUV, then swung around to catch a glimpse of patrol cars, blue lights flashing, as they rounded the intersection.

  “Arclite is wanted for questioning in the assault of two residents of the apartment. One of those residents, Noah Wilson, was transferred to Grady Memorial Hospital for treatment. Wilson is well known to Atlanta PD with multiple arrests for drug-related…”

  Hayden turned the television off, and Deckard heard the thump as he tossed the remote onto the leather couch. “You know, I really hate that name. It’s like, ‘Did you need half an Archon? Well, we’ve got the sidekick for you!’”

  Deckard barely glanced up from the dining room table where he studied the box. Made with polished wood and hidden silver hinges, it might have been big enough for a large, old-fashioned brooch. The interior held only black velvet cloth lining a circular depression. A tiny opening adorned the lid, with six prongs arranged in a manner to suggest a teardrop-shaped gem should reside there.

  “Must you take it in the worst possible light?”

  “Oh, you mean it’s more like, ‘All the Archon, half the calories!’?”

  Deckard sighed and stroked his goatee, black bristles starting to go iron grey, and tried to remember what he had felt as an apprentice so very long ago. He turned in the chair to look at Hayden, who grinned insolently at him. As near as two centuries ago, he would have blasted a student flat for that look. But time had finally worked its slow magic and worn away some of his old habits. Now he was merely angry.

  “Do you think now is the time to worry about marketing?” he growled. Hayden’s grin faded. Deckard scooped up the box and tossed it to his apprentice. Hayden snatched it out of the air, eyes going wide.

  “Tell me about the box.”

  Hayden blinked and looked at the container. “What am I looking for?”

  “Stop using your eyes and tell me about the box. Who made it? From what tree? How did it get here? Most importantly, what did it contain?”

  Hayden met Deckard’s eyes for a split second, then his gaze danced away. Deckard watched him grit his teeth, watched his muscles tense against remembered pain. “I can’t.”

  Deckard shook his head. “You won’t. These are killing people, Hayden. You’ve seen the reports. The young man I apprehended tonight nearly died from over-use of his own power.”

  Deckard stood and waved a hand. The living room and dining room shimmered into that alley. The boy lay on his side in the shadows, blood leaking from third-degree burns. Hayden sat on the unseen couch, his face slightly pale. “This is what shard does to Primes. Do you want to see what it does to normals?”

  An angry, curt gesture, and the room shimmered again, becoming a hospital room. A young girl lay unmoving in the bed. Her arms and legs were tied to the bed rails with padded restraints. A thin hospital gown covered her thin body. She stared up, unblinking, at the ceiling, her dark hair framing wide, frightened eyes. A quiet, continuous rasp of air came from her open mouth.

  “This is Cassandra Gates. Admitted last week. When I visited her, she had been screaming continuously for hours. The doctors put her into a medically induced coma to prevent her from damaging herself.”

  Hayden stared down at the girl and licked his lips. “I did…I didn’t know,” he stammered. “I mean, I knew shard was bad news, but I didn’t think…”

  “No, you didn’t.” Deckard withdrew the illusion, and the living room faded into view again as motes of energy swirled and winked out. He stepped closer until he was looming over Hayden. “You were thinking about what people call you.”

  Hayden snapped to his feet, grey eyes storming. “You don’t get to do that! I have done everything you ever asked me for ten years! You wanted the box? I got you the box. You wanted me to keep what I can do a secret? I kept it a secret.

  “Now you act like I don’t care about these people? That we’re not in this together? All because I don’t use abilities I may not even have?” Hayden shook his head. “No.”

  The boy tossed the box underhand. Deckard had to move quickly to catch it as it bounced off his chest.

  Deckard closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly. He took a seat on the couch, looking at the box in his hands. Silence reigned for a few seconds. Hayden began to gather his jacket from the arm of the sofa.

  “I’m old, Hayden.” Deckard saw the corner of his apprentice’s mouth quirk up, but no quip flowed out. There was hope for the boy yet. “I’ve lived long enough to wear a dozen titles, Archon among them. No one now living remembers more than one. Do you know what they remember? They remember the stranger who pulled them from the rubble on a clear September morning. They remember the cavalry who charged to their death to buy time for others. They remember three hundred men at the entrance to the Burning Gates.” Ribbons of time fluttered through his memory. Leather creaked as Hayden sat at the other end of the couch.

  “I remember…” Burning skies. Crashing waves. The horror of Setuklash-Toth’s multi-throated roar. Pain.

  Deckard cleared his throat.

  “I remember the faces of the
ones like Cassie. I remember the ones I lost.” He turned toward Hayden and placed a weathered hand on the boy’s shoulder. Hayden’s face tilted up from studying his shoes to look at Deckard.

  “You have more strength than I have seen in an apprentice in a very, very long time. But until you have the wisdom to match it, you risk filling your life with lost faces, Hayden. If that happens, it won’t matter what they call you. All you will see in the mirror is failure.“

  Hayden straightened up, pulling away. Deckard let his hand fall. “What do you want me to do? There is no way Chains was going to hand that over because I said ‘Please.’” He gestured at the prize in Deckard’s hand. “I can’t even use sorcery to examine the stupid box without passing out. How was I supposed to get any answers?”

  Frustration colored Deckard’s voice. “You always want the straight line. Sometimes, you have to think in circles. You could have slipped in while your quarry was asleep or away. You could have followed him to his supplier. You could have interrupted a sale.” He raised a hand to forestall Hayden’s retort.

  “Enough. We’ll discuss this in training.” Hayden frowned but said nothing. Deckard stood slowly, knees popping, and walked back to the dining room table. He placed the little box on it and turned to see Hayden putting on his coat.

  “Hayden?” The boy shook his head.

  “I know time doesn’t look the same to you, but it’s been a decade, Deckard. My mother brought me to you to make the nightmares go away. And you couldn’t.” Hayden looked at him from across the room, his short, lean frame confident. Deckard saw the ghosts of dozens of young men flickering behind him.

  “Instead, you taught me what you could. And I’m grateful. But, I’m not that helpless boy anymore. This is my last case with you. I’ll help you find whoever did this to the girl and the Primes, but I’m done.”

  Hayden turned to go. Deckard let him reach the front door before speaking.