Trion Rising, page 11
She heard a girl’s voice, not sure who it was. Brinnin, maybe. Or Nurse Anno. Didn’t matter. Get away.
She ran, stumbled, picked herself up. Voices buzzed around her head, voices she could not understand. And dizzy. So dizzy. She ran straight into a cluster of girls in the hall; they scattered with a little scream of surprise. Still she knew she had to—
Get away!
But her head would not let her, her eyes would not focus, her legs would not obey. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to. And she was really only sure of one fact:
She’d lost everything.
Not just a memory or two this time, and not just a little bit of annoying absentmindedness. This time it was much more. And the worst part was, she wasn’t even sure how much— only that it was a lot. She could hardly make her way through the fog this time as she leaned against the wall, panting.
Which way was the door? She couldn’t go back to her class like this. She did remember that much. Mentor … started with an N.
Only this time, she couldn’t go back to the nurse’s office. Why not? She worked it through for a moment, trying to recall everything that had just happened to her.
The securities. Of course she remembered it now, like a dream in the morning. And the blue light— the memory scan … A seventh-year girl hurried by her clutching an armload of books, passing by on the opposite side of the hall with a worried glance. Oriannon thought of saying “Boo!” but held back. Instead she put a hand to her hair, which now felt wild and windblown. No wonder.
Do I really look that scary? she wondered.
She hurried down the hall once more, but came up short. Something told her she’d been running the wrong direction, away from the exit. Would she trust the feeling? Right now she had nothing else to go on. If she turned around and slipped back through the halls, maybe she could still get out of here. Maybe, before Nurse Anno, or a probe, or a security caught up with her.
And then she heard footsteps running down the hallway, coming her way. Before she could make up her mind to run again, she turned to see … her father!
“There you are!” But his look wasn’t so different from the seventh-year girl’s. Of course Oriannon couldn’t run away, not now. She couldn’t say anything.
“I meant to be there, Oriannon.” He went on. “I’m sorry.”
She studied her father’s face, trying to decide if she still recognized him. Once again her memory washed in and out like a tide, coming and going. First it was here, then it faded.
“Can you walk?” he asked, and he sounded a little bit like the father she used to know. The one she remembered … vaguely. Something deep down told her to trust him and she let him lead her by the hand down the hall.
“I can’t believe that nurse let you go after the treatment.” Now his voice darkened to a growl. “Incompetent idiots. They’re going to hear from the Assembly after this is all over.”
She tried not to look back at the kids who now watched them from the windows of doors, from both sides of the halls. No one said a word to them, good thing. Not the mentors either, who just looked at her father with wide eyes.
And then the dizziness returned, the confusion. She wondered who she was, and where she was being taken. Her feet buckled, and she felt her father’s arms around her.
But that was all she remembered, and she could not hold back the heavy fog as it covered her.
“Oriannon?” Once again she heard her father’s voice beside her, felt his hand on her arm. And maybe it was a good thing she recognized her father’s voice. Maybe it was a good thing she actually knew who she was. But she groaned and held on to her head to try to keep it from throbbing.
“We’re almost home, Oriannon. That was a little too much for you.”
No kidding. She heard the hum of her father’s pod as it skimmed around a corner on a cushion of air, then jerked to a stop.
“Headache,” she explained, not letting go of her forehead. Even saying the words made it worse. But finally she opened her eyes to see where they were, and her father had already come around to open her door. Still the little pod hummed and shivered below her.
“I’ve got to get right back to the hearing,” he told her, “but I want you to rest here.”
“Hearing?” She squinted at him, let him pull her out of the pod, and made her way up the brick steps in front of their hillside home. Still she said nothing. She had no idea what he was talking about, anyway.
“Don’t worry about it. Everything was set up; all we needed was the testimony of an eidich.”
He smiled down at her.
“That’s you, and I’m proud of you. But listen, Mrs. Eraz and I will both be back in a few hours. We’ll talk.”
“Mmm.”
The front door slid to the side and she stumbled inside, waved at her father, fell into the sofa. Whatever. It didn’t matter now. Maybe nothing mattered. And still she held on to her throbbing headache as she pointed at the far wall, and the media screen came to life.
She didn’t know how long she dozed there on the sofa, in and out of sleep. Maybe a few hours; maybe five or six. Voices woke her up and she sat up straight.
Where am I? She wondered. Back in music class, with Mentor … what was his name? She heard his quiet voice, didn’t quite follow what he said, but still she recognized it for now, and knew what she was supposed to do. Never mind the pain that tried to collapse her head from both sides.
“Ready.” She looked for an instrument, the one she thought she played. Her fingers felt for the strings, the comforting feeling of polished pluqwood. She sat up straight in her music chair.
And then she realized where she was. By then his voice had faded, replaced by another.
“You’re watching continuing live coverage …”
Her eyes finally focused on the wall screen, the local community news feed, and the figures flickered, life-sized.
“… where startling new testimony just downloaded earlier today from an unidentified eidich witness is expected to help close the case against a local mentor accused of …”
Jesmet! She remembered his name again. And on the display now she saw him standing off to the side in the Court of Justice, flanked by two grim securities. Stern-faced men in sky-purple robes surrounded him, each at their place in a horseshoe-shaped table. Though she didn’t see his face yet, her father would be among this Assembly; she knew that too.
Oh yes, there— at the end of the table, one of the junior members, but looking as stern and grim as anyone.
Now she heard every word, every charge they brought against him: Speaking to animals. Abuse of power. Encouraging unlawful thoughts. Divination. All strictly forbidden in the Codex.
She heard a flutter of people and paper as the final and most serious charge came up. Worse yet, she saw her own thoughts played back like home movies for the whole world to see: the trip to the Glades and the ruckus in the dining hall, when all the food disappeared. And then the clearest pictures of all, and the ones she didn’t even remember firsthand: Brinnin laying dead and twisted, and Jesmet pulling her to her feet.
Almost against her will, Oriannon found herself rising to her feet as well, as everyone in the hearing room hushed and her father cleared his throat. She held her head in her hands. He ran a hand through his thinning hair and looked from side to side before finally facing the accused.
“I only have one …” He cleared his throat, started over. “Only one question for you, Jesmet. We know you’re a musician. But are you a faithbreaker?”
Jesmet almost smiled before answering. Didn’t he know how serious this was?
“You don’t recognize me, do you Tavlin?”
Oriannon’s father frowned back as the accused went on.
“You’ve heard my song, and you know the Codex better than anyone else in Corista— except for perhaps your daughter. So let me just ask you: Who do you say I am?”
Oriannon didn’t hear the answer, but jumped when someone pounded on the front door, long and hard. She couldn’t tear herself away from the drama happening on the screen.
Another thunk-thunk-thunk, and she heard a muffled yell from outside. Finally she sighed and turned to the door.
“Open!” she said, and a green light flickered on the wall before the door slipped open. A boy about her age nearly fell on their tiled entry floor, ready to knock a third time.
“Oriannon!” He sounded out of breath, desperate, his face red and blotchy. Almost as if he’d been … crying. “You see what’s happening?”
She didn’t answer, just turned back to the wall, filled corner to corner with the images from the trial. She still couldn’t make her mind work the way it should, couldn’t fight off the drifting fog that came across her, then lifted.
“Come on, then,” he said, stumbling inside and grabbing her arm. “You can’t just watch it here. We’ve got to be there, where it’s happening.”
“Why?” She dug in her heels. Who did he think he was? And what was he doing?
But he wouldn’t take no for an answer, or any other kind of answer, just pulled her toward the door. “You saw the evidence they’re using. It’s all your memories, right?”
“Stop it!” She yanked herself free from his grip. That much she knew. “I know what they’re using. But you think you can just march in here and take me along, whenever you want?”
“I’m the one who got you out of the nurse’s office today, don’t forget.”
She paused for a moment, rubbing her arms where he had squeezed them, and tiny pieces of the memory drifted just out of reach, while others fell back into place— for now.
“You did, didn’t you? Thanks. I think.”
“We really don’t have time for all this.” He started for the door. “And if you don’t come with me, I’ll just go myself.”
“What?” She crossed her arms. “You think we can march right in there and tell them to stop? What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I just know we have to be there.”
She studied his face for a moment before another flicker of memory played at the back of her mind. Something important.
“I’ll go with you,” she finally agreed. Maybe he could help her fill the holes in her memories that now threatened to erode away completely. “As long as you tell me one thing.”
He waited by the door with a frown as she went on, squeezing her memory for everything she could get.
“That time when Mentor Jesmet was playing his music in the Temple courtyard, right? You remember that? Before he was arrested.”
“Sure I remember. What about it?”
“You told me to get out before all the probes and the securities got there. So how did you know something bad was going to happen? You did know.”
He stiffened as he looked back at her, and now she noticed how red his eyes looked. It looked as if he was debating whether to tell her something. Finally he shrugged and sighed.
“I was just trying to do the right thing, Ori. Somebody’s got to look out for you.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
But he wouldn’t tell her any more, only motioned for her to follow.
“Are you coming?”
Once more she glanced at the wall screen, where the report showed one of the more long-winded elders giving his speech about cleansing the nation and following the precepts of the Codex. About the mentor’s evil music.
All right. If she followed him she might find out what was going on somehow. So finally she nodded and followed Margus out the door to his waiting lev-scooter.
“I should have walked!”
Minutes later Oriannon was white-knuckling the lev-scooter’s double saddle as Margus skidded around the last turn in front of the Court of Justice, the tall domed building that, aside from the nearby Temple, reached higher than any other in the city. Designed to impress, a row of tall marble columns topped a long flight of wide ivory steps, framing the imperial-looking white edifice with the kind of solemn dignity Seramine’s leaders held dear.
As Margus shut down the force field, they scraped the scooter’s foot, bounced twice, and came to a stop nose first in a hedge of cerise bushes. Here, some of the city’s oldest landmarks faced the plaza— stately, classic white stone buildings serving as homes to generations of judges and priests, solicitors and leading businessmen. Low black iron fences protected the front entries of most. None would appreciate scooters parked in their landscaping, but Margus didn’t seem to care.
“Are we in that much of a hurry?” she wondered aloud. Margus slapped the side of his scooter with the palm of his hand to silence the whining. He pointed to the side of his head.
“Maybe you should keep your earbud plugged in, just in case.” In case what? For a moment she honestly wasn’t sure. Because with the wild ride her head had started throbbing once more, and worse yet, the fog crept back in with it. In and out, here and gone. She rubbed her forehead and temples. Not again!
“Hey.” He glanced back as he pushed through the edge of the crowd, gathered ahead of them on the plaza. “You okay?”
She debated whether she should tell him about her headaches, about what had happened to her in the clinic. But of course now was not the time. Maybe later.
“Your driving, that’s all.”
“Oh. Well, I got you here, didn’t I?”
Sort of. Still Oriannon wrestled with the pain and the dizziness, doing everything she could to hold it back and stay on her feet, to stay and look normal. Margus elbowed his way past a sea of media crews and cameras, working toward the front, across the plaza and toward the Court of Justice steps.
I will not get dizzy, she told herself, trying not to step on people’s feet. I will not get dizzy.
Halfway across she reached out to grab the shoulder of a woman standing nearby; better that than falling to the ground. Margus didn’t seem to notice; he didn’t look back anymore, and she could hardly see him now for the people. The crowd surged forward as several securities appeared at the top of the front steps, leading Mentor Jesmet out of the tall, golden-domed Court of Justice.
Handcuffed.
“Is the trial …” Oriannon stumbled over the words, still taken aback by the horror of what she saw. “I mean, do you know what’s going on?”
The woman looked at her curiously, then down to where Oriannon gripped her for support.
“Are you well, dear?”
Oriannon tried to catch her breath as she felt another wave of confusion, coming and going. What was she doing here? What was happening? She fought it as best she could, but feared this forgetting sea would soon wash over her again, perhaps like the sea of people.
Even so, she had to know.
“I’m good.” She looked at the building again. The crowd looked on as more securities shoved the man in handcuffs into a transport. She knew him, yes, of course, but …
“Well, then you must have heard.” The woman patted her hand the way a grandmother would. “The Assembly found him guilty of divination. That was the least they could do, if you ask me.”
“Oh.” Oriannon gulped and nodded. “Yes, right.”
Divination. Claiming a holy link to the Maker. Assuming powers no normal Coristan should claim. Expressly forbidden in the … somewhere.
“But can you believe they’re not going to execute him?” The woman shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Imagine, divination in a school … the children!”
“Then what are they going to do?” Meaning the Assembly, of course, not the children.
“Banished to Shadowside, if he can survive over there, which I doubt. Serves him right, of course. No one survives over there.”
“Banished …” Oriannon repeated the word as people moved aside enough so they could see the gray Security transport. Even over the murmur of the crowd she heard a crackle as glowing green force fields engaged and lifted so the vehicle could skim over the fitted stones of the plaza.
“Instant death, of course, if he ever sets foot again in Corista.” The woman looked at her curiously. “Don’t they teach young people these things in Codex classes any more? The Principles? The Law?”
“I know the Principles …” All Oriannon could do was repeat the words, as if hearing them for the first time. She forced herself to focus, but her light was seriously slipping away this time, and she knew it. “The Law.”
Or perhaps she used to know them. And there was no fighting it this time. She jammed her hands in her pockets as they watched, felt something small. What was that? She pulled out a tiny earbud, wondered for a moment why she’d been carrying it around, plugged it into her right ear with a shrug. This, like so many things, seemed very important to her, though she could not immediately bring to mind the why.
If only she could remember. The tide of her memory ebbed once more, pulling back more than ever. Would it return? Up ahead someone was pushing through the crowd, yelling, moving toward the transport. It was someone about her age and very familiar, as if she’d known him in a dream.
“It’s not right!” The boy yelled, and people backed away from him as if he carried a virus. Oriannon struggled to focus on his face, but now the headache was taking over as it closed in more and more tightly. “You can’t do this!”
Strangely enough, Oriannon knew she was supposed to know who this was, but now she just couldn’t make the connection. By this time that’s all she clung to: knowing she was supposed to know. Still, even across the crowd she saw his tears, recognized the desperate look.
Oriannon! She heard the boy’s voice clearly in her earbud, and she jumped. A little help, huh?
And then everything happened so fast: the boy pressing his palms against the transport’s glassteel windows, crying. The securities jumping on him, tearing him away, searching him, pinning him to the ground. His pitiful sobs.
You’ve got to follow him, Oriannon! came the boy’s voice once more. Find out where they’re taking him!
What? Who was he talking about? And then the voice stopped as the transport glided away with its prisoner, metallic orange lights flashing. The crowd parted to let it advance, and it advanced straight at Oriannon, as if they would take her next.
