Boundary

by Heather Terrell

  “When was the Site last excavated? The one to which I’ll be traveling?” I ask.

  “In Year 98, after the Healing, It was a Testing excavation,” he says as he leads me up the stairs.

  Interesting, I think, and for all kinds of reasons. I know that Testing year. It was the year that one of only two other females besides me Tested. It was the year of Madeline.

  VI.

  Junius 24

  Year 242, A.H.

  I excuse myself before the Attendants serve the final course of sweets—dried figs, cheese, and honey cakes, which used to be my favorite. But I haven’t craved sweets since the Testing; they taste too cloying, too intense. Even though my parents and Jasper offer their understanding when I say I am exhausted, I know they are disappointed. They hunger for details about my first day as Archon. I am in no mood to share, nor do I have to—everyone here knows that much of what goes on inside the Hall belong to Archons alone.

  Mostly, though, I want to avoid any mention of Archon Laurence’s abandonment of me to Archon Theo. I can’t stand another tick of the contrivance.

  My parents stand by the arched doorway to the dining hall as Jasper and I part, chaperones as The Lex commands. Only after our Union can we be alone.

  “I’m just happy that you’ll be in the Aerie for at least two more weeks,” Jasper whispers as he bows and kisses my outstretched hand.

  “Me, too,” I whisper back.

  “Our Union cannot happen soon enough,” he says and looks into my eyes. I see such longing in them that I blush.

  He releases my hand. As the Attendant pulls open the weighty wooden door, Jasper turns back and waves. I raise my hand in farewell. A mixture of sadness and guilt rises within me, and I lower my eyes.

  The stairs feel as though they’ve multiplied since I walked up them this morning after the Basilika services. As I drag my feet up step by step, I tell myself that I’m simply tired from the early rising and the long day. That it isn’t the heaviness of my secret burden weighing me down. That I can handle it.

  I reach the last stair and hear my father mutter, “It was hard, Margret, seeing her in the Hall.”

  “I’m sure it was, Jon,” my mother answers, her voice a Lady-whisper. “To see your daughter among all those male faces.” I can almost picture her leaning across the wide Feasting table to touch my father’s hand in a gentle show of reassurance and solidarity. My mother’s defining feature is her fierce, unwavering loyalty to our family. Her vision of our family, that is. But she has a genuine and Lady-like love of my father, I think. That is her saving grace.

  “That is not the reason, Margret.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He makes a sound sort of like choking. “I kept looking at Eva’s face and seeing Eamon there instead. I know he’s gone, but I’ve imagined his face in the Hall for so many years—”

  His voice breaks off, and I freeze. He’s crying. I’ve only ever heard my father cry once before, the day the Ring-Guards brought my brother’s body home.

  Katja sees me frozen on the top stair. She rushes to my side. “Come—” She pauses, still unsure what to call me, but wanting to please. “Eva, you are exhausted. Let me draw a bath for you.”

  “No, Katja. I’ll be fine.” I wave off her efforts and enter my bedroom alone. After shutting the door behind me, I lean against it and slide down to sit my haunches, sobbing.

  I’m not the only one playacting. My poor father—seemingly the essence of excitement and support today—is suffering along with me. The loss of Eamon haunts us all. I try to calm down, to steady my breathing. I must put aside my own worries about straddling two worlds—Maiden and Testor, Betrothed and Archon, and most of all … whatever the Aerie thinks I am and whatever I am truly to become. This daily role-shifting must become instinctive and hidden.

  I remind myself that in the end, there is only one purpose above all: to uncover the truth of Eamon’s death. Perhaps the truth about New North is another knot that may be untangled at the same time. But for now, I must compartmentalize.

  It’s not going to be as simple as I’d hoped to be that quiet little mouse.

  VII.

  Junius 24

  Year 242, A.H.

  The tears will not stop. I try to stifle the sobs—I don’t want my poor parents to hear me—but I feel like I can’t breathe unless I let them out. All the grief that I’ve kept trapped inside me since Eamon died pours out in convulsive gasps. For months now, I’ve stuffed my sorrow into the darkest reaches of my spirit, thinking only of winning the Archon Laurels in his name, but finally, I must acknowledge the victory is empty. It will never bring my dead brother back to life.

  As if watching someone else, I sink to my knees. Not in front of the diptych where I used to pray to the Gods, but right in the middle of my bedroom. I’m not sure to whom I’m praying anymore—what Gods exist, if any. But I must try.

  “Whatever you are, whoever you are, please help me,” I beg in a whisper.

  The praying just makes me cry harder. The enormity and futility of what’s ahead threatens to overwhelm me, and my chest heaves. Why did I ever think I could do this? I crumple, my head resting upon my knees. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I guess that no matter how hard I tried to keep quiet, Katja heard my sobs. Or worse, my parents.

  I look up to see near-black eyes staring into mine. It’s Lukas.

  Even enveloped by sadness, I am still afraid—for the both of us, if anyone catches him here. In his eyes, I see that he understands; he’s straddling two worlds, too. The Aerie where he serves those who believe Tech is evil—and his real home of the Boundary where his people know that Tech is only as evil as the hand that wields it. Lukas has been wrestling with these two worlds for a long time, probably his whole life.

  He wipes a tear from my cheek. His gentle gesture make me cry harder; he was never one for softness. He wraps his arms around me, and whatever stones were left in my interior wall crumble. Yet the tears stop flowing. For the briefest of ticks, I feel safe.

  “I’ve missed you, Eva,” he says into the top of my head.

  “And I you,” I murmur into his shoulder. I wonder if we’d make these confessions if we were looking each other in the eye. Our relationship was built more on action than professed emotion.

  “I wanted t-to see you—” he stammers, “to make sure you were okay.”

  “All this pretending …” I feel the tears coming again, so I take a deep breath. I’m afraid to say more, as if words might unlock the tears.

  “I know this is hard. Your training has started.”

  Did I imagine the understanding in his eyes? “It’s not just becoming an Archon that’s tough, Lukas.”

  “Of course not, Eva. So much is being asked of you. As Angakkuq.”

  I laugh a little. In the midst of all this grief and helplessness, the thought of me as some sort of shaman leader strikes me as funny. Or maybe just absurd. “I’m no Angakkuq.”

  “Yes, you are.” His voice is firm.

  He needs to understand. I pull back a little, but we are still seated, sort of tangled up in each other. “No, Lukas. I’m just a Maiden searching for answers—about my brother and about New North.”

  “The answers you seek are the exact ones the Angakkuq needs, too.” He is insistent. “Eva the Maiden and Eva the Angakkuq are one and the same.”

  “No, they’re not. Anyway, what does it matter if I’m the Angakkuq if we are both searching for the same things? Now that I’m an Archon—an insider like you wanted—I can find out the information we need. Whether I’m an Archon or Maiden or Angakkuq … it seems like semantics.” I shrug.

  “Semantics?”

  Although he’s not yelling, I can hear the anger in Lukas’s voice. I pull farther back from him. “Yes.” I stay resolute.

  “It matters, Eva. So much has been sacrificed so that you can lead New North to the truth.”

  I recoil a little at the word. “Sacrifice? What do you mean by sacrifice?”

&n
bsp; He sees my reaction and sighs. “Sacrifice is too strong. I mean we’ve been suffering in our ignorance for too long. And you alone in all of New North’s history are unique. You alone can lead us from the darkness of past lies into the light of honesty.”

  I shake my head. “Listen to me, Lukas. I just want to find Eamon’s killer and have him punished. And if that means I have to learn some unpleasant truths about New North in the process—truths that maybe got him killed—then so be it.”

  His eyes grow darker, sadder. “I wish you could understand how important you are, Eva.”

  I see myself reflected in his inky eyes, and I realize something. No matter how close I feel to Jasper these days, the only one who really knows me is Lukas. How can I have real feelings for Jasper when he only knows the public me? True, he knows more than most, but still only knows the construct I fashion—whether it’s Maiden or Archon—whenever I face the world. Only with Lukas do I not wear any costume or mask or assume any role. I act the same way with him that I acted with Eamon. Although I feel very differently about Lukas than I felt about my brother.

  Lukas runs his fingers along my cheek. Now that it’s free of tears, I feel the roughness of his skin. I hold his hand and glance at it, if only to avoid staring into those stubborn, demanding black eyes. His hand is coarse and dry and heavily scarred. But very, very warm. I clasp it tightly.

  “When will I see you next?” I ask.

  “I’ll come to you when I can.”

  “Are you still in the Boundary?”

  “For now. I’m sure my next Aerie placement will come in soon.” His voice is heavy; he sounds older than his years. I realize that I have no idea how old Lukas is. I always assumed he was the same age as me because he was Eamon’s Companion. Even though he knows me better than anyone else, there’s so much about him that I don’t know. Questions I never asked.

  “I’ll try to wait,” I tell him.

  “No. You must wait for me to come to you. You don’t realize how many eyes are upon you. We must keep you safe.”

  He releases my hand, and without glancing back, climbs out the window and into the night.

  VIII.

  Junius 25

  Year 242, A.H.

  “Again, Archon Eva,” the masked Archon calls out. He wants me to scale the hundred-foot ice wall that dominates the Yard. This will be my sixth attempt.

  “Yes—” I stop.

  It feels wrong and disrespectful not to address him by his Lex-given title, but I don’t know what to call him. He didn’t bother to introduce himself, and since I can’t see his face underneath his sealskin mask, I don’t know who he is. The mask is an oddity. The Aerie people are well-accustomed to the cold—we know nothing else—and generally only wear such masks in the dead of winter. In blizzards. Not on relatively warm spring days such as this.

  I stare up at the man-made sheet of ice, which doubles as a cliff and a crevasse for training purposes. In my preparations for the Testing, Lukas had me scale much higher walls. During the Testing itself, I descended down a slick crevasse that had no bottom I could discern. I grew comfortable in even the most dangerous climbing conditions. Yet this artificial peak is defeating me. I can almost hear Lukas chuckling at my efforts, pushing me along with his taunts. His visit last night seems like a dream compared to the many vivid memories I have of our days training together.

  It isn’t the outcroppings or the soft patches or the hidden trenches—all carefully crafted by the Archons to hone our skills. Oh, no, I can handle those. It’s the things on my feet, what the masked Archon calls “mountaineering boots.”

  For some reason he insists that we climb this faux glacier in this bizarre footgear instead of the bear claws which every Gallant—and one Maiden—knows how to use. Instead of claws for gripping, they have hard metal tips that slide off the ice. Instead of the insulated hide that molds to your foot and ankle, they are made of some stiff material that I’ve never seen before. It chafes my skin. Where did he get these unwieldy things, anyway?

  Suddenly I think about the oblong tube I found in Elizabet’s bag, the one that gave off that bright bluish light. The same kind that the Ring-Guards used to find me and Jasper in the dead of night. Is the Triad using some of their Relics instead of studying and Chronicling them? Do the boots date from the Healing? If so, why aren’t they on a display shelf in the Hall of Archons or on a table in the Conservation Chamber rather than on my feet, where they don’t belong?

  But I can’t ask any of this. Not without tipping my hand. And not without breaking the unquestioning authority that all Archons must vow to obey.

  I glance over at the two other Archons training with me. I recognize them both—Henrik and Alexei. They won the two Testing years before mine. They nod in my direction, but don’t acknowledge me otherwise. Maybe they’re as stumped as everyone else as to how to greet a fellow Archon who a few short months ago was just another Maiden. Or maybe they don’t care at all. After all, they are struggling with the boots, too. The masked Archon has ordered them up the ice wall more times than he has ordered me.

  It seems that we will have to repeat the exercise until we get the hang of these boots.

  “Give me my bear claws any day,” I overhear Henrik hiss at Alexei.

  “I know,” Alexei whispers. “Why are they making us try these—”

  “Do I hear talking?” the masked Archon shouts from his watching post.

  “No, Archon Valteri,” they yell back, almost in unison.

  Valteri. It sounds familiar, but I don’t know why. I can’t link the name to a face or a particular story from my father.

  The snow crunches under the Archon’s feet as he marches over to the two boys. “Do you think this is a joke?”

  “No, Archon Valteri,” they answer together.

  “Because I assure you that I am not kidding.” He circles them like a hawk. “I want you both to climb to the summit. No ropes. No axes. Just those boots. And stay there until the Midday Bell. That’ll stop your grumbling.”

  They are silent in response. I can feel their fear of the Archon and of his punishment.

  “What, no smart remarks now? The vow of the Archon requires complete pareo. I expect that in the future, you will submit to your superiors’ will without hesitation and without comment. Or I will mete out far worse.”

  “Yes, Archon Valteri,” they respond, their voices one yet again.

  He stares at them. “What are you waiting for? Get up there!”

  Henrik and Alexei scramble to the base of the ice wall and start their ascent. For a tick, I am mesmerized by their clumsy efforts to climb without the usual tools. I can’t imagine making it to the top without my axes, ropes, and ice screws; in fact, I might not even be able to reach the crest. Then I realize Valteri is staring at me, and I start climbing as well.

  “What are you doing, Archon Eva?”

  “You told me to scale the wall again, Archon Valteri.”

  “True.” He pauses. “I’m glad that at least one of my trainees is listening. But we will leave the other two to their penance.”

  “Yes, Archon Valteri.” What shall I do instead? The Yard contains other training exercises—trenches with frozenin artifacts for excavations and tunnels to practice fortification-building—but Valteri has not ordered me to those works. If nothing else today, I’ve learned the lesson about obedience. So I stay where I am.

  “Come on. It is nearly the Terce Bell, in any event. Archon Theo awaits.”

  He starts walking toward the Yard’s only entry point. His stride is quick, and I must run to keep pace. I hear him muttering under his breath. “The hubris …”

  Inside the entryway, Theo does indeed await. After the men half-bow to each other, Valteri reaches up to pull off his mask. I stifle a gasp. Half of Valteri’s face is sheared off. He wears a mask not because he is unusually sensitive to the cold, but to protect what’s left of his face. That’s why I know his name, though I’ve never seen him before. My father has mentione
d him. He’s mysterious, rumored never to leave the Hall. His entire existence is devoted solely to training new Archons.

  “I’ll expect you after the Prime Bell tomorrow, Archon Eva,” Valteri says. He vanishes into the warren of hallways surrounding the Yard.

  “You were staring at his face,” Theo comments as he leads me down another corridor.

  “No, Archon Theo. I was just—”

  “Please don’t give me excuses. I saw you.”

  Theo’s voice is stern, almost condemning, and my stomach lurches. Is he going to punish me as Valteri punished Henrik and Alexei? “I’m sorry, Arch—”

  “I’m not chastising you, Archon Eva. It’s normal to gawk. There’s no one else like him in the Aerie, and not many have seen his face since he stays in the Hall. Thank the Gods. Do you know what happened to him?”

  “No.” I’d heard stories about an accident—not from Father—so I am interested in Theo’s version of the truth.

  “On his first excavation after the Testing, his rope gave out. He fell over a hundred feet down the base of a glacier. He slid past an icy outcropping imbedded with rock, and it sliced off his ear, cheek, eye, and half his nose. As you saw.”

  “By the Gods.” The phrase just slips out. A similar accident could’ve easily happened to me. Or any other Testor.

  “Feel no pity for Archon Valteri. The Gods gave him a new calling when They took away his face. They gifted him with the purpose of training new Archons in the nuances of climbing so that the tragedy that befell him does not befall them. The harshness you see from him toward the trainees stems from the motives of a zealot.”

  I nod guiltily. I feel sorry that I recoiled from Valteri. How strong he must be to devote his life to keeping other Testors safe, and how comforting for him to believe that the Gods are the architects of his fate. I wish my own faith was so certain.

  Instead, I am left questioning my own convictions while at the same time having to believe in my own ability to control the future. I can’t help thinking that Lukas would admire Valteri, too. They have much in common. It would be so much easier to be a zealot.