Trion Rising, page 24
Either way, she wasn’t sure what was right anymore— though Jesmet certainly would not have wanted her to act like a quivering wreck, crying her eyes out. She’d left her strong will behind, somewhere over on Shadowside— if she’d ever had it. The same way she’d probably lost her earbud back over there somewhere. She felt her pocket again, just to be sure. If she had it now she would have thrown it away.
And how could she let Mentor Jesmet take care of the rest now? If he was still alive, he was lying unconscious, probably still under a security’s cruel boot. She stared over the railing of their speeding lev-sled, skimming over greening treetops. Even the view didn’t stir her the way it once had. All the greens looked gray, the brightness just … too bright.
And as they neared Corista, she looked up to see the Trion shining at them, rising higher in the sky. The symbol of Jesmet, so familiar to the Owlings. Why didn’t anyone on her side of the planet know about it? She squinted and turned away, since she couldn’t hold a hand to her face.
Seeing the Trion again did make her think of how Wist was doing, though, and if she was safe. Had the Coristan ship been given permission to return and finish the job it had started? Maybe she should have stayed there with her friends after all, for just a little while longer. If she had, none of this would ever have happened. It would never have turned so horribly wrong.
But no. Jesmet had told them to go.
She took a deep, ragged breath. Even with Margus the Traitor sitting next to her she couldn’t help it. She lowered her chin and let the tears fall.
“Almost there,” he told her, the way her dad used to do.
“And then what?” she snapped, wiping her face on her sleeve. “You collect your fee for bringing back the prize?”
“Oriannon, you’ve got to believe me. This isn’t the way I wanted it.”
“Why should I believe you this time? I’ll bet you made a deal with the Assembly to bring back Jesmet just so they could kill him.”
“That’s not true! After all we went through, you can’t really believe I’d do that!”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore, or what’s an act. All I know is what I saw happen— and that I don’t want to speak to you again.”
She ignored the rich smells of cerise bushes and lonicera vines as they flew over forest and clearing, farms and homes. What did it matter now?
“Look, Oriannon, I am so sorry. The whole thing got out of hand.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t look at him.
“I was only trying to help you,” he said, barely audible above the sound of the wind. “Don’t you see that?”
She set her jaw and still said nothing.
“All right, then,” he sighed. “But what do you really think you can do now, all by yourself? You think you’re going to be able to go back and change things? Save your friends?”
“I don’t know.” She glared at him. “I have to try.”
But already Shadowside seemed so far away, much like the fairy tale it had always been before. As if it had never existed. And if it seemed that way to her now, how would it seem to others when she tried to tell them of the danger it faced?
“No one’s going to believe me anyway,” she sighed and sniffled. Enough crying.
“Maybe they will.” His hair blew into his face, and for a moment he looked as scared as Oriannon felt.
Neither spoke for the next hour, and she let her mind spin in circles between her trek to Shadowside, Jesmet’s miracles, the darkness of his arrest— and the part Margus played in all of it. But as they finally closed on the city, she could make out a huge crowd of people milling around the central landing port, near the Temple Square and Court of Justice where Jesmet had been condemned and where they had probably taken him again. The lev-sled shook as they descended.
“Once we land,” their pilot told them over the whine of braking thrusters, “you’ll walk between me and twenty-two.”
That would be the security with the “5022” stenciled on the front of his helmet, as opposed to the “5067” on his own. Their pilot added a word of warning.
“The reporters are going to mob you, but I don’t want you talking to any of them. Understand?”
Margus just frowned and looked over the railing down at the crowds on the grassy Temple square. Even from this height Oriannon recognized people from school. Several others carried handcams, pointed at network reporters or even up at them.
“Looks as if the whole city knows we’re coming,” mumbled Margus.
“Where are you taking us?” Oriannon asked him. Not that she expected an answer. The pilot ignored her as he worked the controls and brought them to a gentle touchdown.
Of course, that really set off the excitement, as the expected mob crushed in on them. Oriannon assumed most were reporters, the kind of talking heads featured on news feeds and screens all over Corista. And sure enough, even over the winding down of the lev-sled’s engine, the questions came at them like a hailstorm:
“Miss Hightower, tell us what happened!”
“What about your arrest?”
“Why did you run away?”
“Give us some details about how you survived!”
“Did you know your disappearance has headlined all the news programs?”
“Miss Hightower, how did you escape and get back home?”
“Oriannon— over here! Have you spoken yet with your family? What’s your reaction to your father’s comments?”
Only the last question stopped her, and she stared straight at the man who had asked her. What did he know?
“My father,” Oriannon repeated over the din. “What did my father say? Tell me!”
“Oh. Just about Jesmet ben Saius, you know, and the death penalty. I assumed you knew.”
“No,” she gulped. “But I need to tell you all—”
“Sorry, everybody.” Security 67 faced the mob and raised his hands. “But we’ll need to have this conversation later. No more questions.”
With his visor down he probably looked just as scary to the reporters as he had to Oriannon and Margus, especially towering above them all in his lev-sled. He pointed at the steps now lowering to the ground, and the reporter backed away as Security 67 motioned him aside.
“Because we’re going to walk down this way,” continued the security, “and you’re all going to pull aside so we can get by. Right now.”
None of the reporters moved, until the distinct hum of a stun baton let them know how serious this security really was. Under protest the sea of reporters parted.
“Miss Hightower!” The yelling started all over again.
“Oriannon!” cried another, pushing to the front. “Just one more question!”
“I said you’ll have a chance later to ask your questions,” Security 67 told them in his booming voice, “but Miss Hightower isn’t going to say a word until she’s been de-briefed by the Assembly.”
In other words, they would make sure Oriannon didn’t tell them the truth about what was really happening on the other side of the planet. And even though the reporters would not give up their wild questioning, Security 67 motioned for Oriannon to follow as he stepped off the lev-sled first. She glanced at Margus, who nodded at her to go ahead. Security 22— a clone of Security 67 except for the number on his helmet— would bring up the rear.
“Guess he wasn’t kidding,” shouted Margus as they waded into the sea of reporters, and Oriannon could feel the eyes on them and on their handcuffs. She stopped short in front of the reporter who had asked her about her dad.
“We’re glad you’re safely home,” he said as Margus bumped into Oriannon from behind. She nodded her thanks. “But can’t you tell us more about your role in bringing Jesmet ben Saius back to ultimate judgment?”
“Hey!” Security 22 could shout almost as loudly as Security 67. “Let’s not be stopping.”
“I’m sorry.” Oriannon stumbled and hurried to keep up, as the reporters continued shouting and clicking their compact cameras— everyone focused on her and Margus.
32
Oriannon!” Her father approached her from the Temple complex at a half-run, arms outstretched but with a look of panic on his face. No, this wasn’t the way Oriannon had imagined it would be, coming home to Daddy. With her wrists bound she could not return his hug, so all she could do was dissolve once more into tears and rest her chin on his shoulder.
“We’ll get this cleared up right away,” he told her, patting her back. He didn’t seem to care that everyone on Corista would be watching this little family reunion, didn’t seem to care that the entire planet would see an elder cry. “I’m just glad you’re safe. But I’ll have a talk with whoever put those things on your hands.”
“Please, Daddy.” She tried to swallow back the sobs. “There’s something you need to know.”
“What did they do to you?” His face clouded over. “Because if anyone hurt you, I swear I’ll—”
“No, that’s not it. I’m fine. Nobody hurt me. It’s what I found out, something that’s happening on Shadowside. It’s life and death.”
“I see.” He straightened out and held up his hand to silence her. He no longer listened, if he ever had. “Well first we have to meet with the Assembly for a few minutes. Then I’ll take you home, I promise. We can talk all you want, later.”
“No, Daddy. Please listen to me!”
But her father had already turned aside to argue with Security 67 about her power cuffs. Margus had disappeared too— not that she cared anymore. If Margus had betrayed her and Jesmet was arrested and her father wouldn’t listen, who was left to help? Angry tears now welled up, and she let them.
“Look, can’t you see how ridiculous it is to put those things on her?” Her father nosed up a lot closer to the security’s unblinking faceguard than she ever would have. “Just take them off for now.”
But 67 only folded his arms and held his ground.
“You know the protocol as well as I do, sir. Not until the Assembly—”
“But I am the Assembly!” Even when he puffed up his chest and stood on his toes he barely reached the security’s shoulders.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but there are eleven other members, are there not?”
So the security wasn’t going to budge from the letter of the law, and Oriannon could see her father’s jaw working, the vein in the side of his neck pumping. Finally he pulled back a step in surrender and his eyes narrowed as he sighed in frustration.
“You’ll leave her to my custody then.”
The security shook his head no.
“We’ll accompany you both to the chambers, sir. Please follow me.”
“I know the way, obviously,” huffed her father.
With securities on both sides now, all she could do now was follow her father down the hall to the gilded double doors leading into the high-ceilinged chambers of Corista’s Ruling Assembly— one of the many halls and rooms of the outer Temple. She’d only been here once before, as a little girl, for the ceremony when her father was sworn in as an elder.
“Just listen to what the Regent tells you, Oriannon,” her father whispered in her ear as they paused in the doorway. “And if he asks you a question, answer with only a few words, nothing more. Don’t volunteer. Understand?”
She nodded weakly. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could get help.
“Step inside, Hightower!” boomed a white-haired man seated at the head of a large, U-shaped table. The setting commanded much of the conference chambers, where the twelve-member Assembly convened for all those meetings her father spent so many hours attending, but never told her about. She craned her neck to take it all in.
Though the large official room had no outside windows, golden shafts of light flooded in through a crystalline ceiling, brightening through clouds of nose-prickling incense. Oriannon stifled a sneeze. Behind and all around, floor-to-ceiling tapestries told the story of Corista, from the First Parents to the Great Uprising and right up to the Now. Pictures of the Trion shed a filmy light on every panel. Oriannon clutched her own Trion necklace, the symbol of Jesmet. And she wondered:
Do these people even know what the stars really mean?
She didn’t notice any probes floating around the room. But now three securities took up stations at each of three doors— two smaller side doors and the main entry. Security 67 pointed for Oriannon to approach and stand at her place on the polished marble floor in front of the Regent and the rest of the Assembly. Her father remained a half step behind her.
“Oriannon Hightower of Nyssa.” Regent Jib Ossek used her full family name as he leaned his arms on the polished ebony table and gazed straight at her with a kind of look that froze the blood in her veins. He tugged at his beard but it did little to straighten his permanently crooked expression, one eye open and the other squinted.
Was that a question? After a long silence she understood she would not be officially introduced to him or to any of the other ten, seated five on either side, all decked in their sky-purple robes. Only her father’s place at the end of the row closest to her sat empty. He would not take part in this inquisition for obvious reasons. He did prod her in the back.
But what was she supposed to say? She settled for a polite bob and a bow of the head, which seemed to satisfy the Assembly leader.
“I’m so sorry about the cuffs, Miss Hightower.”
Probably the same way you’re so sorry you recaptured Mentor Jesmet, she thought.
Meanwhile the Regent’s deadpan expression didn’t change any more than his voice. “But as an elder’s daughter, I assume you’re quite aware of protocol, are you not?”
She nodded and another Assembly member added his carefully- crafted, conditional apology.
“We do regret that you experienced a certain degree of … difficulties.” This elder looked a little older than the others, his beard a little longer and fully white. His expression, however, matched everyone else’s— a tight-lipped, narrow-eyed impatient look that made her squirm. “Though you seem to have brought the majority of them on yourself.”
His eyes narrowed even more when he said that last part, and Oriannon’s throat tightened until she almost couldn’t breathe. A couple of other elders clucked their tongues in agreement as he waited for her to respond. Or perhaps he just paused for effect. She would follow her father’s advice and stay silent— for now. He went on.
“In any case, we want you to know— for your father’s sake as much as for anything else— that we are mindful of the trauma you experienced beyond our borders, on Shadowside.”
How did he know? Perhaps there was more that Margus had not told her.
“Nevertheless,” he continued, “it is not our purpose to reward blatant disregard for the Assembly’s authority, as we have established travel restrictions for the sole purpose of public safety. Nor, I might add, is it our desire to condone any form of reckless behavior, regardless of—”
“Sir.” Oriannon couldn’t just let this go. “I wouldn’t call it reckless. Reckless was when securities came to my school and forced me to take a brain scan. Reckless was when you accused our mentor—”
“I did not ask you a question yet, Miss Hightower.” He furrowed his off-kilter eyebrows at her and leaned forward in his chair. “Although I find it highly troubling that you were apprehended at precisely the same location as this … mentor.”
Her father poked her in the back and once more whispered in her ear.
“Ori! Remember what I told you.”
She nodded as the Regent unloaded the rest of his speech on her.
“Until we can clear up the connection between you and this outlaw, you will be given a supervised opportunity to recover from your … adventure. I believe this is more than charitable, given the circumstances. But in the meantime, tell me …”
He cocked his head to one side, as a terramole lizard would stare down a bug for dinner.
“Tell me,” he continued, “what exactly now is your connection to the condemned?”
“He was my mentor. And then—”
“She has no current connection with the man, of course.” Oriannon’s dad interrupted as he stepped forward to answer for her. “None whatever. I can vouch for that.”
“Hightower!” The Regent slammed his palm down on the table and glowered at Oriannon’s father. “I don’t need you to vouch. You’re not the one who’s been missing all this time. I only require a simple explanation from the young lady.”
“Pardon, Regent.” Her father backed down again, just as he’d been forced to do with the security. Oriannon was getting a quick lesson in who bowed to whom around here. Unfortunately her father didn’t look as if he was as high up in the order as she’d once believed.
“Keeping in mind,” added another trustee in a lower voice, “that this is a preliminary debriefing, not a trial. We simply desire to learn what’s actually happened. The truth.”
The Regent didn’t take his eyes off her, just nodded slowly and pressed the tips of his fingers into a tent. She searched for the best answer to make him go away, and was about to answer when her father interrupted once more.
“Regent,” said her father, “forgive me. She’s clearly been through some sort of mind control process with this character, against her will. I suggest, with your indulgence, that we postpone this line of questioning. Then I assure you she will be happy to return in a few days after this entire situation with the mentor has settled down.”
In other words, after Jesmet had been executed. When it would no longer matter who followed this man’s teachings, or not. She cleared her throat.
“I’d like to answer your question, sir.”
But as a heavy silence hung over the room, Oriannon knew too well what her father was trying to say. Apparently so did the Regent, and this time he chewed on his words as if he would never swallow them fully. Finally he nodded.
“You’ll have your chance.” He narrowed his eyes at Oriannon’s father. “But for now the Assembly remands Oriannon Hightower of Nyssa to the custody of her father, under the full-time supervision of Security. She is prohibited from leaving the city, and she will return to this room in three days from this hour to explain fully her actions since leaving Corista.”
