Chronicle: Before The Books of Eva

by Heather Terrell

“The turret? No need. I was just doing my job.”

  I am angry in spite of myself. “Is that all it is? Your job?”

  “Of course not, Eva. You know better than that.”

  We stare at each other, uncertain what to say next. The Lex explicitly bars the kind of friendship that sprung up between us and Eamon: let no familiarity pass with those of the Boundary; we are their caretakers, not their friends or families. Consequently, I sometimes struggle for the right way to speak to Lukas. For me, this kind of free talk, unburdened by The Lex, makes me awkward and blunt. Even bold.

  “Tell me about Nunassiaq again, will you?” I find myself blurting.

  “I thought you were the storyteller, Eva. Not me.” He’s trying to put me off, referencing the times when we three hid away on the turret listening to the tales I respun from Nurse Aga. But I won’t have it.

  “Come on, Lukas. Please.”

  He pauses, then shakes his head.

  “Eva, you leave the Aerie tomorrow as upernagdlit, not Inuit. When you make the Passage tomorrow, you’ll enter a land that isn’t Nunassiaq anymore. That place died when the floods came—excuse me, the Healing happened—and New North created the Boundary land for my people.”

  Now I truly don’t know what to say. My mother would call Lukas’s slip about the “floods” blasphemy, but I’m not offended that the Boundary people sometimes have different beliefs. Mostly, I feel sorry for them, that they don’t have the comfort of our faith in the Gods. Besides, I have too much respect for Lukas to lecture him about the Gods-blessed events that led to the creation of New North: the voyage taken by the Founders to the Arctic islands that became our home, the manner in which the Founders banded together to fashion a rightful society when the Healing submerged most of Father Earth, and New North’s sacred mission to avoid the mistakes of the pre-Healing world with The Lex and the Boundary and the Testing.

  “Well . . . thanks for coming to say goodbye,” I finally offer.

  “Eva, I came to bring you something. Something you might find helpful for the Testing,” he says softly.

  A smile creeps across my face. I rub my hands together. Another Boundary-tool. I am not so confident that I don’t appreciate the help. “So, what’s the treasure this time?”

  “A book.”

  I point at the bags all around the room. “I don’t think I can fit any more books. My mother just informed me—as if I didn’t know—that I’m limited by what I can carry on my back or on my sled.”

  “You might want to make room for this, Eva.”

  His tone has hardened. He pulls an unadorned leather-bound book out of the small bag hanging at his hip. It looks familiar, but then most do. Paper is a rarity, so books are reused and reused for Lex-sanctified purposes. As I stare at it, I realize why I know this one in particular.

  It is Eamon’s journal.

  V

  Martius 31

  Year 242, A.H.

  “Hand it to me,” I order Lukas.

  He flinches, and immediately I feel terrible. Even though I’m a Maiden of the Aerie and Lukas is just a Boundary Companion—making it within my rights to speak to him in whatever manner I see fit—I’m never so harsh with my friend. The hunger for my brother’s words has made me cruel, but that’s no excuse.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Lukas passes me the book but doesn’t respond to my apology. I’m not surprised. He told me once that the Boundary people never discuss regret; they offer tokens to the people they’ve hurt. Instead, as if he can read my thoughts, he answers the question I’m thinking but didn’t ask yet. “I just found the journal tonight, Eva.”

  “Where was it?” Since Eamon died, I’ve wondered what happened to the little book where he recorded all his strategies for the Testing and all Lukas‘s instructions. I’ve searched for it in all our secret places, but figured that he must have lost it on the Ring.

  “In the floorboards under his bed.”

  Odd, I didn’t know that Eamon stored things there. Clearly there were some things he kept for his eyes only. I palm the little book. Part of me wants to rip it open and gobble up my brother’s words, and part of me wants to savor his last thoughts. I split the difference. Slowly, I crack it open to a random page and gaze at the familiar handwriting without absorbing.

  “Have you read it?” I ask Lukas.

  “It’s in Latin.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” I almost forgot that Lukas can’t read Latin. He can outsmart nearly any Aerie dweller in the ways of survival, but his knowledge has limits. The only Latin words Boundary people are permitted to know are those spoken aloud in the Aerie. The Lex forbids teaching them to read our written language. I don’t like to be reminded that Lukas has any shortcomings.

  “Will you read it to me?” he asks.

  Of course, I say yes. Lukas never asks me for anything. I start with the first entry. It’s not dated, but from the very first line I know exactly when Eamon began to write.

  Today I made the Commitment. I’ve been talking about this day since I was four years old. At least that’s what Eva tells me. But it was weird to actually write my name in the Testing Book and place it before The Lexors and Basilikons. To say nothing of putting it before Father, the Chief Archon.

  Father always insisted that his role as Chief was fleeting, as it should be. Like time itself. He made me focus on what was important, not my privileged place in New North. Archaeology classes so I can properly excavate the artifacts from the ice. History classes so I can identify the Relics I find. Science and Basilika classes so I can understand how the Relics led to the Healing. And all this survival training with Lukas.

  But somehow, the Testing seems to have come too soon. Will I ever be ready? Can I do what Father did? Should I even be a Testor?

  I look up from the journal. “I didn’t know Eamon felt that way. He never mentioned feeling unsure to me. Did he ever say anything like that to you?”

  Typical Lukas, he doesn’t answer me directly. “He didn’t want you to worry, Eva. He wanted to protect you.”

  I shift on my feet, thinking of Eamon telling Lukas something so private, something he’d usually share only with me. I’d believed that Eamon and I told each other every secret thing. I was wrong. First the hiding place, and now this. I tuck the thought away and gaze back down at the journal. The next three entries focus on his training. The pages brim with all sorts of tips from Lukas on how to win the first Advantages: details about maintaining a dogsled, building an igloo, fishing through ice holes, hunting for rabbits and geese, climbing ice mountains and crevasses, and of course, reading the snow. Lukas had been relentless in his training exercises, and Eamon clearly wanted to remember every point. His life would have depended on it, if he had survived the Ring. Why did he even risk that foolish climb? Because he was unsure of his ability as a Testor? The journal poses more questions than it answers.

  “This sounds familiar,” I say, flipping ahead. “Do you remember that time you blindfolded me during a blizzard so that I could distinguish the snow from a pirta by touch alone?”

  I laugh a little at the memory, even though I certainly didn’t find it humorous at the time. With heavy storm clouds on the horizon—the kind that usually send New North dwellers into their homes and shelters—Lukas led me and Katja by sled to a remote corner of the Aerie. Then he hitched the dog team to a tree trunk, and waited. We watched as the winds mustered strength and the clouds darkened. Katja was terrified, and I was furious that Lukas had put us in harm’s way. No matter the entreaties, Lukas refused to move—or explain himself, other than saying this was necessary for my Testing—until the snow hit. Only then did he tie a piece of fabric around my eyes, peel off my glove, and place the very distinctive snow of a pirta on my palm. So began my education in how to survive outside the Aerie.

  Lukas’s eyes remain on the floor. “You need to be ab
le to identify every type of snow. Even in a blizzard when you can’t even see your fingers in front of your face.”

  “I couldn’t have just closed my eyes in that exercise? I really needed that blindfold?” I say, taunting him a little bit.

  He laughs. “I needed to make sure you wouldn’t cheat.”

  “Me, cheat? An upstanding Maiden of the Aerie? Never.”

  “You’re not like other Maidens of the Aerie, Eva,” he answers with a smile and a low tone. Then he looks up and with a stronger voice, he says, “Anyway, I wanted you to be as prepared as Eamon.”

  “Am I?” I suddenly need to know.

  He pauses for an almost imperceptible tick. “Yes. Just differently.”

  Before I have the chance to ask what he means, there’s a rustle in the corridor outside my bedroom. I see a flash of terror on Lukas‘s usually implacable face. It’s all well and good for him to train me, but if he were found alone in my bedroom, I can’t answer for my father’s reaction. The Lex would certainly support the use of the gallows. Aerie girls and Boundary boys are never, ever permitted to be alone.

  We nod at each other in shared understanding. Lukas climbs onto my window ledge, opens the sash, and then slips out of my bedroom into the night.

  VI

  Aprilus 1

  Year 242, A.H.

  Only a few sleepless bells later, I stand on the platform at the center of the Aerie town square, encircled by the enormous fiery torches lit for the Testing’s vale.

  I’ve stood on this platform dozens of times before, alongside my parents and Eamon. Every Testing Day for the past nine years, my father has spoken to the people of New North. But this is different. This time the lit torches and crowds are here for me.

  I feel unmoored up here without Eamon. Everyone I have ever known—Aerie or Boundary—watches. Not that they have any choice; The Lex mandates the entire population’s attendance. I see two of my former School girlfriends—Grace and Annika—both of whom turned their backs on me when I decided to Test. Their scorn hurt only a little. My best friend had always been Eamon. My mother always lamented that our closeness prevented me from having many Maiden friends. Now, standing up here on this platform, I see something new in Grace and Annika’s eyes—not only revulsion for my choice, but also fear for my fate. When they see me staring down at them, they turn away.

  For what little comfort can be offered, I turn to my family at the edge of the platform. As with everything in New North, the crowd is organized according to rank: Triad members in front, Keepers and their families right behind, with the regular Aerie folk like Stewards and Guards in back of them. And in the far rear, the Boundary people stand, a nearly uniform sea of black hair and dark eyes.

  Not surprisingly, my mother is decked out in her finest Feast dress, even though the Prime Bell hasn’t even rung yet. She is peeking to her left, assessing the dress of the Triad wife next to her. My father isn’t watching me either. He stares at the crowd instead. When he braves a glance up, I understand why. He can’t conceal his own fear for me. The Lex forbade him to participate in Eamon’s training, and he’d been confident for his son. Not so, for me. Maybe making eye contact wasn’t the best idea. I want to stay strong. Or, at least, look strong. I think of The Lex: let your children Test should they choose the Commitment, as Testing is a Sacred Honor granted only by the Gods . . .

  I turn my attention back to the platform. The eleven other Testors flank me. Gallants, all. Of course, there’s Jasper, but I know the others as well. You can’t attend the Aerie School and not be familiar with everyone your age, although we’re patently ignoring one another right now. We are all wearing the same black Testing uniform: tunics over pants topped by inky sealskin coats. Gone are my long Maiden gowns and fur cloaks, and I wonder if I look ridiculous up here, dressed like a Gallant. I really have no idea, as I’ve never seen myself at length. My father’s mirror Relic is the New North’s best and most stark reminder of that sacred law. The Lex bans the use of reflections, so we Aerie Ladies, Gentlewomen, and Maidens rely on the honesty of others to get a sense of our appearances. That, and the occasional peek at a window or smooth stretch of ice. And I didn’t get either honesty or ice today, other than a scornful look from my mother. Me: the would-be botanist, in my Testing uniform with my hair pinned up in the fishtail design favored by the Boundary women.

  What am I doing up here?

  The thought makes me self-conscious. I start to tremble. I have to fight to keep from losing my composure. I scan the crowds, desperate to catch sight of someone or something to stop the anxiety before it takes hold. At first, I notice only the tidy network of the Aerie town center—with its well-kept Keeps and interconnected, covered ice-bridges. Then, in the farthest reach of the town square, near the stone archway of the Housegoods Keep, I note some of our family Attendants, Katja among them. Her expression mirrors that of Grace and Annika; she looks both baffled and frightened. None of this helps my rattled nerves.

  Only when I spot Lukas do I realize I’ve been searching for him all along. He sees what is happening. He mouths one word, the one he had uttered over and over in our training: “Believe.”

  I can’t nod, but I blink hard and meet his eyes. I feel my feet on the ground again, solid. I stop shaking. When Father mounts the stage and begins speaking, I am composed enough to turn toward him and listen.

  “Today, we gather for the Vale, the farewell to our Testors. These young men—” He clears his throat, and I wonder if his slip was unintentional—or even a subtle encouragement, that he truly thinks the same of me as he thought of Eamon. “Excuse me, these young people will leave the safety of the Aerie and venture toward the most hazardous part of New North—the Frozen Shores.”

  Here, Jasper’s uncle Ian, the Chief Lexor, takes his ritual place beside my father. I can’t help but note that the deep lines carved into his face are once more dark and frozen. Gone is any trace of the celebratory Feast-goer I saw last night. In fact, if I allow my vision to blur, my father and Ian look very similar in their dark ritual garb, decorated only by the tiny Triad symbol above their hearts.

  “The Testors place themselves in the gravest danger for the benefit of the New North people, to become Archons,” Ian intones. “We of New North need Archons to show us the perils of our ways before the Healing—the abuse of our Father Earth that yielded the Healing floods. We need to learn again of the hunger for Tylenols that poisoned our minds; the thirst for Cokes that weakened our bodies; the greed for MasterCards that toppled our rulers. All this evil spawned from the worship of the false god Apple . . .”

  I find it hard to focus on Ian’s recitation of New North’s history and the creation of the Testing. I’ve heard it so often. The departure weighs heavily on me, and Eamon’s journal burns in my pocket. Certain phrases haunt me more than most: I can no longer ignore the truth of what I’ve learned—and—will they still love me when I do what I must . . . These passages are not at all like words my brother would have spoken aloud. The twin I thought I knew so well.

  “It is time for the final Vale,” Ian concludes.

  The Chief Basilikon steps onto the dais. He starts calling each of us forward to be anointed with symbolic Healing waters. When it’s my turn to approach the front of the platform, I swear I hear a quiet hiss throughout the crowd. I know that my participation in the Testing isn’t popular. Still, I’m shocked that anyone would be so audacious after the Triad approved my Commitment, especially since my father is the Chief Archon. I tell myself that I’ve imagined it.

  Under the hawkeyed watch of the Ring-Guards, the people start to depart. They move toward that great rift in the Ring called the Gate, the only opening in the Ring.

  There, all of New North will watch as we Testors gear up, mount our dogsleds, and ride off into the Boundary lands. I’ve witnessed the ritual every year of my life, but never imagined I’d be on one of those sleds.

 
As the people disperse, the three Chiefs give the Testors a final chance to say goodbye to their families.

  One by one, we march down the platform stairs. I enter the huddle of my kin, and they pass me from aunt to uncle to cousin until my parents have a turn for a last embrace.

  My mother, her face a mask of Lady-fortitude, goes first. Instead of hugging me like the rest of my family, she takes my shoulders in her hands. “Make us proud, Eva. This family has had enough grief.” I tell myself that there’s affection and concern underneath her façade, and I embrace her.

  My father steps up. He wraps me up in his arms, as if I were a toddler. Into my ear, he whispers, “Don’t worry about winning, Eva. Worry about coming home.” He pulls back slightly and looks into my eyes. “Promise me that you won’t risk your life to win. I couldn’t bear losing my only child,” he whispers.

  I can’t believe what he’s asking. It’s heresy to ask a Testor not to do their utmost: let your children Commit in full. Do not hold them back with sentiment. Not to mention that he’s Chief Archon, a Sacred Guardian of The Lex and Protector of The Praebulum.

  “I promise,” I whisper back.

  “Testors, it is time,” Ian tells us, once he’s loosened himself from the crowd surrounding his nephew Jasper.

  I break from my father’s embrace and enter the line of twelve. As we begin to walk toward the Ring, I’m thinking only one thing: I’m wishing that The Lex didn’t forbid me from walking over to Lukas and saying goodbye. If I survive, credit will be his alone. And since his Companion work is over, he may well be sent back to the Boundary lands by the time I return.

  We approach the Gate, and I see that the Gods have given me a chance. Lukas stands at the very tail end of the crowd. As our line passes close to where he stands, I break from tradition and wave farewell to the Aerie. But I look only at him.

  VII

  Aprilus 1

  Year 242, A.H.