Boundary (21 page)

As I navigate the dark streets of the Aerie, my thoughts are only half focused on the Ring-Guards’ patrol and steering around the walkways’ icy patches. My mind is brimming with certain terrible phrases from the reports: “presently within man’s reach is the ability to manipulate climate for long periods” and “strategic multi-megaton nuclear detonation to alter the course of ocean streams and global weather patterns.” The truth is more horrible than I could have ever imagined.

But I can’t speak it aloud or even really think about it just yet. Even though Lukas and I didn’t plan to rendezvous, I need to see him.

Not until I reach the relative safety of Lukas’s little room in the Clothing Keep do I allow myself to contemplate in full the horror of the truth. There in the relative warmth of his tiny chamber, in the flickering glow of its small fire—in the comfort of his arms—I can no longer stave off the inevitable.

I fall against him and gasp. “I can’t believe it.”

Lukas hugs me close and chokes out a “Neither can I.” Even in his wildest speculations about the true history of New North, he could have never imagined this atrocity. Who could have?

A memory flashes through my mind. I recall the tick from the Testing when I stood on the Frozen Shores for the
first time and fully comprehended the billions of people who died beneath the seas spread out before me. I think about Elizabet drowning in a flood engineered by her own parents, who were certainly Founders and part of the New North Corporation. The magnitude of that loss and horror of this truth melt my numbness, and I start to sob. “They killed billions of people. Not the Gods, the Founders. They killed their own children.”

“Yes.” Lukas’s voice is as cold as the night air. “They acted like the Gods themselves.”

I slide out of his arms, suddenly dizzy. I rush outside just before I start heaving. If I wasn’t so distraught, I’d be embarrassed.

Once I’m finished, Lukas leads me back inside. Gently, he takes off my sealskin cloak, seats me in his single chair, and wipes down my face with a cloth he dips in water warming over the fire. “Are you okay?” he asks, kneeling beside me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again, Lukas.” I take his hands in mine and ask a question I know he can’t answer. “Why? Why did they do it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine any rationale that would have made it seem reasonable. I can only guess that the Founders wanted to start over. Create a society that they thought was better than the pre-flood world—”

“At the expense of their children’s lives?” I interrupt, angry at his words. My voice is loud, too loud for this tiny space in the darkest hour of the night.

He flinches. “Eva, I’m not saying that I agree with their reasons. I’m just guessing that’s how they justified the floods to themselves. Sometimes people do awful things in the name of a greater good.”

I hold his hands tighter. “I’m sorry.”

He grips back. “I know. We are being asked to imagine the unimaginable.”

“I don’t think it was unimaginable to the Founders. In fact, they had been imagining it, planning it down to the tiniest detail, for years. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. It’s why they took such care in crafting The Lex. The Founders destroyed the old world so they could create the world
they
wanted. But they needed to make sure that the people would follow them. So they made the old world seem evil. They invented a fictional history so they could control New North. It’s why they borrowed from the Bible and these other pre-Healing myths. They truly
did
try to become Gods, just the way they claimed Apple did. They created a past, present, and future to which the survivors of the Healing would cling. It’s sickening.”

Lukas nods. “I know.” His voice is distant.

I stand up, leaving Lukas to kneel by my empty chair. I begin pacing the room. “Do you think that Eamon knew about this?”

“I don’t know. He never said anything. But I’m guessing he got close to this truth.”

“So somebody else out there knows the truth. And that person—or persons—are the ones that killed Eamon.”

“Maybe.” Lukas sounds distracted. “Eva, this is exactly the kind of answer the
Angakkuq
would seek. The kind of information that would set all the people of New North free to create a real society where we lived by our own rules instead of the falsehoods of The Lex.”

I stop pacing and glare at him. “Lukas, don’t make this into something it’s not. This is about finding Eamon’s killer. Not fulfilling your fantasies about the
Angakkuq
.”

“I know, Eva.” He bites his lip, then meets my gaze. “But can’t you see that they are one and the same? When you find out who knows the truth by telling the people of New North, you will also find Eamon’s killer.”

I know he is right on some level. But on another he is very wrong. This kind of belief at the expense of everything else was what led to the Healing in the first place. I don’t want my search for my brother’s killer to become intertwined with this role of
Angakkuq
he’s foisted on me and knows I’ve rejected. I want retribution. Rather, I want justice. Eamon was another victim of the Founders as well. And then I want this painful sojourn into the past to be over. To return to normal, whatever that looks like now. Though I can’t imagine returning to a world where the murdering Founders are toasted and praised and worshipped and quoted over and over again. Still, I’ll deal with the uncertainty of the future when the time comes.

So I say, “I don’t see how telling the truth to the people of New North would expose those who know it already.”

“The ones who know the truth will try to stop you on Founders’ Day.” His tone is suddenly very certain, and very cold.

I wonder where he’s hiding his concern for my well-being, or if he’s even hiding it at all. “Why wouldn’t they just let me speak and then sentence me to swing from the gallows?”

Lukas shakes his head. “Killing you would only make a martyr of you. It wouldn’t erase what you say from people’s minds. In fact, it would probably reinforce the possibility that you are speaking the truth.”

“This will never work,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

“Yes, it will. On Founders’ Day, you are scheduled to
march to the center of the town square dais and read your Chronicle of the
Genesis
dig, right?”

“How do you know that?”

He smiles a little. “Did you forget that we Boundary have ears everywhere? Anyway, it makes sense that the Archons would want you to read. You are the crowd favorite.”

I don’t return his smile. “I can’t promise that I’ll be allowed to read. I am writing it, but I doubt Archon Laurence will let me present it to the people. The
Genesis
is his big find. It’s his ticket to the Chief position when my father steps down.”

“That may be, but I know you, Eva. You are resourceful. You will find a way to make this happen. It is too perfect. On Founders’ Day, all of New North will be assembled in the Aerie Square. Instead of reading your Chronicle, you will read a statement of the truth. And before you get to the end—but not before the people begin to understand—someone will try to stop you.”

Lukas’s eyes look so steely and determined that he’s starting to scare me a little. “Aren’t you worried about me at all in this scheme of yours?” I ask. My voice sounds small in my ears.

Without warning, he rushes toward me. He grabs my hands and squeezes them tight. “I would never leave you exposed, Eva. My men will be on the Ring, watching everything. Protecting you.”

“Your men?” I pull my hands free. Now he has “men” and “ears everywhere.” Eamon’s Companion. My family’s servant. Since when? Suddenly I feel like a cog in a pre-Healing machine. Unaware of the greater workings and only important in a general sort of way. A replaceable sort of way.

“I am not the only seeker of the truth,” Lukas continues, seeing the doubt and suspicion in my eyes. “There are so many Boundary like me who want to see the Aerie structure topple and New North change into a new, free society. How do you think we Boundary felt when your Founders landed on our island—the land we’ve lived on for thousands of years—and tried to tell us how to lead our lives?”

I’d never thought about it quite that way before. Shame at the presumptuousness of my people courses through me. Shame at my own haughtiness. “I can’t imagine it,” I whisper.

“When my grandmother called you the
Angakkuq
and told you that we’ve been waiting for you for generations, she was serious, Eva. My people have been waiting for the
apiqsaq
—helping spirit—of the
Angakkuq
since the Founders’ ships landed on this shore. And we knew that this time was coming long before then, too.”

I still can’t bring myself to look at him directly. “You’ve never laid out the whole plan like this.”

“I don’t think I was ever really sure that we could uncover the truth. But you did it; you unearthed the buried secret.” He wraps his arms around me so tightly I can hardly breathe. “You are more than I could have ever hoped or prayed for. And for that, I thank
my
Gods.”

His words sound odd. But I let him pull me close again. I bury my head in his shoulder and squeeze my eyes closed. From within the depths of his arms, I ask, “Are you speaking to me as the
Angakkuq
or as Eva?”

He takes my head in his cold rough hands so that I have no choice but to stare into his black eyes. I feel a warmth spreading through me and am so conflicted. I want to be
near him, but Jasper’s face on the night of the Northern Lights festival keeps appearing in my mind.

Before placing his lips on mine, he says, “As everything.”

XXXIX
.

I am alone with quills, ink, even fresh, unused paper. Silence pervades the empty chamber; Archon Theo wants to ensure that my creative gifts remain undisturbed. The Scriptorium has every tool necessary for the crafting of a perfect Chronicle except inspiration.

Pacing around the cavernous room, I cringe as my footsteps echo against the icy walls. I pass quarter bells in a state of worry that I may never arrive at the proper Chronicle for the
Genesis
. Theo peeks in from time for time, but otherwise I am without company. And ideas.

It is frigid in here, colder even than in the Conservation Chamber, which requires lower-than-usual temperatures for preservation. I tell myself that the glacial air is stymieing my writing. I summon an Attendant to fetch my
sealskin cloak from the front hallway. Trying to stave off the bone chill, I walk in circles until the Attendant returns. I then wrap myself in the warmth of the cloak that kept me snug even in the Tundra.

Somewhat thawed, I fight to convince myself that I’m able to think again. I play with the idea of picking up where Madeline’s Chronicle left off, vindicating her theories about the suspicious placement of the Tech with all my newfound knowledge. I toy with a Chronicle told from the point of view of the Techs’ owners—the Founders—but I am repulsed by the thought of placing myself in their shoes. I even consider going the traditional route, uncovering the Relics as I found them in situ and disclosing my revelations about them as they came to me.

I reject them all. None will suffice. Because although I am writing something that will likely never be read on Founders’ Day, it still must pass muster of the Archons when I read it aloud to them beforehand.

Only then does the solution dawn on me.

What if I wrote a Chronicle that could test the listener? In other words, what if I wrote something that would only resonate with someone who was aware that The Lex was man-made and not Gods-made? If I tread carefully, I could reveal a knowledge of the falsity imbedded into the Triad and New North without actually disclosing the truth about the Founders’ intentional flooding of His Earth. And if I could read this Chronicle aloud to the Archons before Founders’ Day, thereby testing the knowledge of those most likely to know at least some of the truth, I might be able to avoid the public revelation planned by Lukas. An overhaul of New North, despite Lukas’s zealotry, has never been my objective. I must remind myself of that. In
the end, exposing my twin’s murderer is all that matters. Whatever greater good can come of that will be a blessing.

Besides, if I am honest with myself, I must admit certain truths, namely that there are so many wondrous elements of life in New North, and the Triad endeavors to provide for all of us survivors. None of us Aerie go without. Nor do the Boundary who depend on us. We have everything we need, except freedom.

So my decision is made. I will write the Chronicle in the style of the
Genesis
tale. Those Archons who know the truth about The Lex may well have been responsible for the death of Eamon. I am almost certain that they are. No other possible scenario makes sense.

I allow myself a bitter smile, thinking of the guilty parties, whoever they may be, walking directly into my trap. Archons, or any members of the Triad, really, consider themselves untouchable. Wrapping my cloak tightly around myself, my fingers brush up against the Triad symbol stitched on the front. Instead of the smooth embroidery of my Lady Mother, I feel a rent in the sealskin. I pull the cloak off my shoulders to examine it.