Boundary

by Heather Terrell

  I bow my head in acceptance of his praise, a Maidenly gesture I can’t seem to shake. “Thank you for your kind compliments, Archon Theo. But I’m wondering whether Archon Laurence approves of this selection. I don’t want to challenge your authority, but he is in charge of the Genesis excavation, and his dislike of me is ill-concealed.”

  Theo smiles again. It’s warmer, more open, somehow disconcerting. “I don’t tell my brother everything, Archon Eva. We all have our secrets regardless of The Lex, don’t we?”

  I freeze. Secrets again. He’s pretty much repeated verbatim what I can only construe as a veiled threat. Or am I misreading him? Just when I’d stopped waiting for him to accuse me of breaking into the Conservation Chamber that night, he speaks again of secrets.

  He stands there, anticipating some sort of response from me. I’m debating whether he’s awaiting my acceptance of his assignment or my reaction to his cryptic reference when he says, “Your answer?”

  “I’d be honored. Just as long as Archon Laurence won’t be”—I struggle to find a word to describe the breadth of his unpleasantness and settle on—“unhappy when he finds out?”

  “Why don’t you leave the details of that up to me, Archon Eva. You keep your focus on the Gods-given task of writing the Chronicle, all right?”

  “Yes, Archon Theo. Thank you for the privilege.” I bow once more. “Would you like to discuss it before I begin?”

  “I leave the writing to you.” He pauses for a tick, then says, “But I will share with you what I felt when I first saw the main deck of the Genesis and all that Tech, in case it bears on your decision about how to frame your work. I felt gratitude. Gratitude that our Founders were brave enough to reject the only deity they’d ever known—Apple—and to embrace the true Gods. If they hadn’t been so courageous, mankind would not have been granted a second chance. We wouldn’t be standing here today.”

  Admiring Theo as I do, even liking him, it’s hard for me to listen to him without wanting to scream the truth at the tops of my lungs. But I must remain silent if I am to do my duty. So I lock up the real story of New North and its Gods deep inside, knowing that I can only reveal the truth to Theo at the same time I share it with the rest of our island.

  THIS LIBERTY I’M BEING granted is unusual; only in the Testing do young people write Chronicles. Possibilities drift through my mind as we walk through the labyrinthine corridors to the Scriptorium. Only when we arrive, when I see the tools I need to write, does one particular idea take hold. One that may make Theo lament his decision when he hears it read aloud. The truth can be bitter. But empty lies are far worse.

  I will draft a Chronicle that honors Madeline’s discovery in the hull of the Genesis and vindicates her quashed suspicions. One that honors Elizabet and all the voices silenced by history, and one that resurrects them. One that will cause a furor in those who know the truth—and serve as a trap for the one who killed my brother.

  XXXVI.

  Augustus 11

  Year 242, A.H.

  Once again, I find myself sneaking out of my home, in violation of The Lex. But am I really? I am an Archon. I have the right to move about in ways that other Maidens, or even Gallants and Ladies, do not. Even though bells have passed since the Vespers Bell sounded, and the doors of the Aerie have all closed for the night, I feel an urge to walk right out the front door and stroll down the streets, as is my Gods-given right as a member of the Triad.

  But I’d be lying if I did so. I’m not venturing out of my home in my capacity as an Archon, and so I cannot tempt the Gods, or whoever oversees our world. I cannot lie in that regard if I am to serve the truth. No, I must lie in other ways.

  I must arrive at the Hall of Archons when the moon stands at its peak, so I slip out of my house by way of the icy turret walls once again. Funny how a route that once felt dangerous now seems commonplace.

  Devoid of people, the streets glisten in the moonlight like the sleeping castle in a forbidden tale told to me once by my Nurse Aga. For the second time since my return from the Testing, I am alone wandering down the ghostly white streets, enjoying my solitude. I pass the tower I stood upon with Jasper and pause to look at it from the outside, thinking again about the Northern Lights festival—

  Foolish.

  The light from the Guards’ torches creeps around the corner just before it hits the toe of my kamiks. How could I be so stupid to forget for one tick to keep watch for the rounds of the Ring-Guards? Crouched down low, I wait for any sight or sound of the Guards to pass.

  Once I’m certain that they’ve moved on, I race down the street and across the square to the Hall of Archons. At least I’m no longer daydreaming. Near the back wall, Lukas is waiting, a dark shadow against the endless whiteness of the Aerie.

  “Where have you been?” he demands. His black eyes betray a mixture of concern and irritation. Even though Lukas can sit for an entire sinik over a seal hole waiting for the perfect moment to harpoon a surfacing seal, he never shows patience with me. Not that I can blame him in this instance.

  “I had to wait out the Ring-Guards’ rounds.” I don’t want to tell him that I almost got spotted. Confessing would give voice to the reason why: I lost focus because I was thinking about Jasper. He nods, though his face is cloudy and uncertain. Without speaking, we get out our equipment. I hand Lukas a sealskin rope, and he shoots the line over the wall. We strap on our bear-claw boots and hook onto it. Raking over the slick wall to give it a rougher texture, we begin to climb. We act in unison as though we are one instead of two, the way we were right after Eamon’s death. For a brief instant, I am almost comforted.

  The moment we crest the wall, I take the lead. Since Lukas’s fall through the intentionally thin section of the roof—a booby trap, no doubt—I’ve been studying the ceiling, marking possible pitfalls. The study has paid off. Mere ticks later we are lowering our lines down the interior wall and dropping into the Yard. After we hide all evidence of our presence, I take Lukas by the hand, wordlessly leading him through the warren of corridors to the Conservation Chamber. I light my naneq, and a silvery glow fills the room. There all the Tech awaits.

  Lukas jumps to rush to it, but I place a hand on his shoulder. With my other hand, I motion for him to pause. Reaching into my pack, I slide out a piece of fabric and place it next to the Tech. I want no sign of Lukas’s charger left for Theo to find in the morning.

  The rooms brightens further as Lukas powers up the first Relic. Over his shoulder, I see a dizzying array of small squares appear on the screen. It’s clear that he knows precisely which one to examine; he returns to the Manifest we’d been examining last time.

  As he scrolls down the pages of the document, I ask him questions about the entries. My inquiries must be annoying him, because he whispers, “Why don’t you do some investigation in one of the other rooms? I’ll come to get you if I find anything new.”

  “Lukas, this is what we came to find. I want to be here for any discoveries.”

  “Eva, you are losing out on the chance to uncover something else that might be important. Remember how I told you that some of the answers we seek might be in archives? In the oldest documents, not the Tech? Why don’t you look there?”

  I don’t like being dismissed, but he makes a point. The Vault is nearby, and I’ve always wanted access without the unblinking stare of the Scribe. “All right. But the tick you find—”

  “I’ll come for you. I promise. Just tell me how to get there.”

  I acquiesce in as few words as possible, then pad down the hallway and up the stairs. Passing by the open doorway to my father’s office, however, I hesitate. I’ve never been inside. Our paths rarely cross in the Hall of Archons after the morning prayer. I certainly have no official reason to be in the Chief Archon’s office.

  I peek through the doorway. A large wooden desk and chair preside over the room with cold authority. A diptych bearing emblems of the Gods sits in the corner, a prayer mat humbly set before it. Scrolls are strewn on
the desk and work table, and on the wall hangs a document. It’s not part of The Lex; it’s something I’ve never seen.

  Curious, I draw closer and hold my naneq to it.

  It is my father’s Chronicle—the very one that won him the Chief Archon seat. Usually, Chronicles are stored in the vault after each Testing year, but he must have received permission to hang his on the wall once his term began. My eyes narrow and my heart begins to pound. I’ve heard stories about his excavation of the mirror Relic, but I’ve never seen the actual Chronicle or heard it read aloud before.

  THE CHRONICLE OF TESTOR JON

  Year 218, A.H.

  On first glance, the artifact seems ordinary, unworthy of the Relic title. Consisting of a large oval attached to a narrow rectangle, the simple black object is unadorned, made only of that artificial pre-Healing material called Plastic. As its function and purpose are unknown but seemingly plebeian, most Testors would pass it over in favor of some more worthy artifact.

  Why did I linger? What called me to lift this artifact from its icy grave and turn it over? The Gods.

  The Gods Themselves whispered that I should pause. They murmured for me to remove my chisel from my belt and unearth this item They breathed that I should take care. Of course, I listened.

  I knelt over the object. Bit by bit, I loosened the artifact from the ice’s hold. When I sensed that I could remove the item without harming it, I raised it from the floor of the cave. As I stared at the black Plastic artifact, I wondered why the Gods called me to excavate it, so uninteresting it appeared.

  And then I turned it over.

  A face stared back at me. Frightened beyond words at this spawn of Apple, I confess that I screamed and dropped the item on the cave floor. I retreated to the far reaches of the cave, terrified beyond reason. What should I do?

  “Be brave, for We are with you.” I heard the words of The Lex aloud as if the Gods were in the cave alongside me, answering my question.

  I dared to move close to the object again. Hand shaking, I lifted the artifact from the floor. The face gazed back at me. Steeling myself against Apple’s wiles, I examined it. The face was not static, like the paintings and other depictions we see on the walls of the Basilika or in the weavings of our Maidens and Gentlewomen and Ladies. It moved of its own accord, eyes blinked, eyebrows lifted, mouth opened and closed, nostrils flared. What evil trick was this? I wondered.

  I breathed deeply, reminding myself of the Archons’ teachings and the Gods’ presence. Extending a finger, I reached out to touch the artifact. To my amazement, it touched me back. Each motion I made, by face or hand, the being within the artifact imitated.

  At that tick, I realized that the face and the hands were not a creation of Apple. They were my own.

  And I understood then that this was no ordinary artifact, but a Relic indeed. The only one of its kind that exists in the world after the Healing. This was a Relic of legend: a Mirror.

  This Relic is so emblematic of the depravity and self-centeredness of the pre-Healing people that it merits a mention in The Lex itself. All New Northerners are familiar with The Lex’s explicit ban on Mirrors: “Make no Mirrors and let none pass before your eyes, as they are the embodiment of Vanity.” All New Northerners have heard the Basilikons sermonize on the way in which Vanity led to the downfall of the pre-Healing people, their women in particular. So obsessed did the females become with their appearance, they began to worship their so-called beauty above all else; they even created businesses and industries dedicated to fashioning and preserving it. Women’s attractiveness became a false deity unto itself, a minion of Apple.

  Even in our own time, the world after the Healing, we have seen evidence of the evil power of Vanity. The first and only female Testor, Madeline, became so enamored of her own image that she fabricated her Chronicle. In her desperate attempts to win the Archon Laurels and heap honors upon herself, she claimed that she found her Apple alter on the deck of the Genesis.

  If her claims were true, where was the famed ship that brought the first Founders to New North? When Archons returned to the Testing Site to investigate her allegations, the Genesis was nowhere to be found. Only a gaping hole. This vanity, inherent in all women, is only one reason that females should never be permitted to become Testors. They are too easily swayed by the whispers of Apple to be trusted with this sacred duty; they are too weak of mind, body, and spirit to Test.

  It is this exact Vanity that the Gods caution us against in The Lex. It is this same sin that They warn us against now with this unearthing of the Mirror Relic. Let us heed the warnings of the Gods and remember the importance of our commitment to this Lex-life of New North. This is our second, and only, chance.

  Praise be to the Gods and the Testing.

  I shrink back from the wall. At first I rub my eyes, half-expecting to wake up in my bed at home. Everything has a dreamlike quality in the dim light of the naneq: this parchment, this chamber, this moment. I can’t believe that these are the words of my father. How could the same man who wrote those words about Madeline—about all women, really—be the same encouraging, loving, and supportive father that I know? No wonder it was so hard for him to watch me walk through the Hall of Archons on that very first day; he doesn’t believe women should be here in the first place. He has much in common with my mother. But at least she makes her motives known, even when she’s trying to conceal them.

  Do I really know my father at all? Where does the truth lie?

  I want to fold myself into a corner of my father’s office and cry. No one is what or who they seem. Not my father, not the Triad, not the Founders, not even New North itself. In what—or whom—can I believe?

  It doesn’t matter. I remind myself of my mission to find out who killed my brother. Eamon’s death has brought me here. I can’t look back now. I owe it to him to deliver the truth. I summon my courage and anger and hurry from the office down the hallway to the Vault.

  The naneq seems brighter in this dark place. Maybe it’s just my imagination. But the shelves feel as if they open themselves, spreading out before me, offering their wares like Keepers on Market Day. I try to focus on making a fruitful selection.

  The oldest documents are stored in the far back corner.

  I pass the empty perch of the Scribe and traverse the long length of the Vault. Since no window cutouts dot the walls, no moonlight can reach here. The corner is very dark, nearly the pitch-black of Lukas’s eyes, and I have to turn up my naneq to an uncomfortably bright level to see anything.

  At first, all I can make out are shelves of colorful book spines. Bright blue, deep red, even a vivid green. The very presence of these books is an oddity in New North. Most Archon documents take the form of tiny bird-delivered scrolls or newly bound papers reused from pre-Healing books. Scarcity of paper necessitates this destruction. Books like these certainly date from before the Healing and in the normal course of things would have been utilized many times over.

  What is so special about these? So critical that someone powerful would have ordered their preservation for centuries?

  Lettering decorates several of the spines, and I bring my naneq near. Strange names adorn them: Pali Canon, The Book of the Dead, Njáls Saga, A Compendium of Greek and Roman Mythology, The Gnostic Gospels, Folktales of Celtic Ireland among them. I will ask Lukas if he is familiar with any of them; the names hold no meaning for me.

  Because so many bear the title Pali Canon, I slide out one of these first, and decades of dust slide out along with it. Blowing the dust away and delicately opening the ancient text, I find a script I’ve never encountered. Poor first choice. Reaching for another volume, this one entitled The Odyssey, I am pleased to find English words in the pages. I open to a part of the story in which a raft someone named Odysseus has built to sail home is destroyed by a sea god named Poseidon. Interesting, but the tale is long, and I need to assess the other texts. I return it to the shelves.

  I turn my attention to an entire shelf of animal
hide–bound books that bear no name at all. Pulling out the first one, I find familiar language on the first page; it is nearly verbatim the opening lines from the Biblical story Genesis. A thought occurs to me, and one after the other, I take these unnamed books from the shelf.

  They are all versions of the Bible.

  Now I understand this protected corner of the Vault. It houses a collection of epic fictions—and perhaps epic truths—of stories and legends from people who lived before the Healing … from all people. Were these tales used like the Genesis story had been? Considered for inclusion in some form in The Lex, and then ultimately rejected?

  So many of them, their details lost to time. Buried like Relics by the Archons. And then excavated and retold in new forms, over and over again. My mind spins. But just as I’m about to page through yet another version of the Bible, I hear footsteps reverberate down the hall.

  XXXVII.

  Augustus 11

  Year 242, A.H.

  I pad down the stairs as quickly and quietly as my kamiks will allow. I’ve got to get to Lukas before the guards do. It’s one thing if I’m found here after the None Bell, and quite another if Lukas is discovered. I think of when Jasper and I were caught and almost laugh. The claim that Lukas is my Betrothed won’t work. A Boundary and Betrothed Maiden, conspiring together, trespassing on sacred ground? We’d both get the gallows. Terror melts the brief smile off my face.

  The footsteps get louder. I crouch behind a doorway to the Restoration Chamber, praying that the Guards don’t peek inside. The footsteps pause just outside, but then continue on toward the kitchens. Was I really quiet enough? Or were they so tempted by a late evening meal that they would forgo a thorough examination of their rounds? It seems too easy.