Chronicle: Before The Books of Eva Read online

  I hurl my axe into the ice with all my strength, and a huge chunk flies off. A few more swings, and my efforts and patience are rewarded. A gaping hole opens in the wall.

  My lamp in hand, I crawl inside. There’s a gleam in the farthest reaches. I pull my chisel out of my belt and start chipping away at the crystalline sheath that obscures it. Without a scaffold to hold up the frozen ceiling, this work is dangerous, but I am powerless to stop. I must know what lies within this ice. The ticks pass by, then the bells. I know that the final horn will sound soon, and that I must surface or spend the black night in this chasm. But how can I rise empty-handed?

  My chisel clangs as I finally hit metal. I worry that the sound might echo through the chasm, alerting Pierre and every other Testor to my find. But I am too deep. I get down on all fours, chisel and pick in hand, furiously scraping away the final frost. In a single tick—a rush like the thunder of a summer storm—I understand what I’ve unearthed. I sit on my haunches and laugh, for this Relic is far more momentous than I ever imagined. Than any Archon could ever envision.

  I am kneeling on the deck of a ship. Not just any ship. The clang of metal has revealed a plate carved with a single gleaming word: genesis. The vessel of the Founders. The vessel made holy by The Lex.

  Aprilus 24

  Year 98, A.H.

  I thought I would feel that initial elation forever. For the first few days, I carried around the weight of my secret discovery like a precious talisman. I was delirious with the thought of my finding. When the unearthing began, my Relic revealed itself in satisfying stages, by tick and bell and day. But I remained silent. The calls of “Relic!” from other Testors sounded out, and still I bit my tongue, so convinced I was of its import. I felt invincible. I had uncovered part of the Genesis; what could possibly stop me?

  When I pried open the door from the Genesis deck, I found it packed with Tech. At first I shrugged it off; perhaps the Founders had commandeered an ancient vessel for their holy purpose. But as I dug into the small chamber, the ice felt soft and fell away quickly under the force of my pick. Much too quickly for a hundred-year-old freeze. Still, I held my disquiet at bay and entered the Tech-packed room with hope. What treasure might I find? This was hallowed ground, the very place where the Gods visited the first Founders and gave them The Lex. The place from which the Gods led us to the New North.

  The sacred place looked ordinary on first glance. The room was lined with simple tables, anchored firmly into the metal hull of the ship. The ship’s wheel—used for direction and control—stood proudly in the room’s center. A few toppled chairs were still frozen to the floor underfoot. No particular Relic for me to bring to the top, even though a Chronicle of the Genesis itself would be enough for my Archon Laurels.

  At that moment, I saw them. Sitting on a tabletop in the back corner were a portable Apple altar and a book bearing a clear symbol of The Lex. I drew closer. The bitten Apple rune on the altar was defaced, almost entirely scratched out.

  Was this evidence of the very beginning of mankind’s rejection of Apple? Proof of our Founders’ acceptance of the true Gods‘ salvation? My heart started to beat fast, and I clasped my hands for a short prayer.

  I dared not touch the Relics, they were so delicate and priceless. I drew my lamp over them for a closer look. The awe-inspiring artifacts were alone on the table. At that tick, I noticed something, a fact that had been hovering at the edge of my consciousness but which I had been repressing. The altar and the book were not sealed in ice and bore no signs of long ice-locking. No dissolving of The Lex pages, no rusting of the metallic cover of the altar.

  I could no longer hold my suspicions at bay.

  Someone had placed these artifacts here recently.

  It was the only possible explanation for their fresh condition, for the ease with which I removed the ice and snow from this chamber. The longer I stared at them, the more the Relics reminded me of a flight of fancy, of what mankind called “fiction,” the sort long-banned by The Lex and the Triad. It was as if they had been placed here by someone who wanted me to tell a particular story to the people of New North. Had Apple himself come here to trick me? At that tick, as I stood full height in the control room on the deck of the Genesis, I was consumed with worry and fear. The Testing had been aptly named. This was a Test of the gravest kind.

  What in the Gods should I do? Who would I be accusing of this awful deed? Only Archons were permitted on the Frozen Shores, and to blame them of tampering with this holy Site would be tantamount to treason. Anyway, what proof did I have, other than my gift for reading the ice and snow? If I wrote a Chronicle that shared my misgivings, I could suffer punishment under The Lex, along with my family. Banishment to the Boundary lands would be the least of the possible sentences; I had seen people swing from nooses for much less. Anyway, what purpose would this sacrifice serve? To undermine The Lex? To mock the Gods? To destroy the New North? But how could I chronicle what I found?

  This had to be a test of my faith and loyalty. I was alone. I wish my papa or one of my Teachers or a Basilikon were here. In my hesitation, Father Earth shifted the ground under my feet. I lurched, crashing into a corner of one of the stationary tables. Warmth trickled down my cheek, and touching my glove to it, I realized it was blood. The air filled with a deafening shriek that could only be the Genesis breaking free from her ice casing. Every ice warning ever issued by every Archon flashed through my mind. With only enough time to retrieve one Relic, I grabbed the Apple altar and dove through the opening into the chasm.

  Suspended on my sealskin rope, which mercifully I had kept tied around my waist, I swung like a pendulum. As I pulled myself to the surface hand over hand up the rope, trying to block out the awful cracking below, I had no choice but to conclude that this event was a message from the Gods themselves. An answer to my quandary. Think on The Lex, the Gods seemed to say with each deafening wrench of the ice. The Lex commands that Testors write Chronicles about the Gods’ redemption of mankind. Not Chronicles that challenge everything we believe.

  As I furiously climbed out of the chasm, I made a promise to the Gods in exchange for my life: If I survive, I will hew to Your message. I will follow Your commands. I will write a Chronicle about my Relic worthy of The Lex and worthy of mankind’s second chance. No matter my misgivings. I inscribe again from memory the words of The Lex:

  Mankind is only as sinful as his darkest secrets. For it is in this darkness that the false god Apple worms his way into the hearts and spirits of mankind. Man must close off this opening to darkness. No whispering of confidences may pass, no clandestine writing of private affairs may take place, no secret thoughts may fester. If mankind rejects this admonition, he rejects the salvation of the Gods on Earth and beyond. Mankind must shine the light of the Gods into the darkness to secure this, his second—and last—chance at redemption.—The Lex, 214:78

  The Sacred Words of The Lex

  Once every ten years, a vote among Gallants shall determine the Truest Chronicle. That vote shall earn the Testor who composed the Truest Chronicle the title of Chief Archon for the following ten years, and all the attendant privileges therefrom. Only death shall shorten a Chief Archon’s term.—The Lex, 42:57

  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. Its function and purpose are unknown but seemingly plebeian. Most Testors would rightfully pass it over in favor of some more meritorious 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 to pause. They murmured for me to remove my chisel from my belt and unearth this item. They breathed that I should take c
are.

  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 causing injury, I raised it from the floor of the glacial cave. Why this? Why had the Gods called me to excavate this spoon-like object, little more than a hand in width? 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 hard 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 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; whole civilizations were dedicated to fashioning it 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 altar 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. I pray that, should the Gods ever deliver my daughter into my care, she will not succumb to Vanity as did Madeline.

  It is this 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 last—chance.

  Thanks to the Gods, and thanks to the Testing.

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  relic

  THE BOOKS OF EVA

  Prologue

  Eamon throws his axe into the ice above his head. He hits a perfect depression in the wall. Pulling up hard, he kicks the bear-claw toes of his climbing boots into the wall. He repeats the practiced motion, over and over. Like some kind of arctic cat, he scales the frozen Ring.

  Each time he moves, he makes sure to insert an ice screw level with his waist and secure his rope to it. Just a precaution should he fall. Not that he ever has.

  Bit by painstaking bit, the top of the Ring nears. Although he knows he shouldn’t, that it goes against the primary rule of ice climbing, Eamon can’t resist: he looks down at the hundreds of feet of sheer ice below.

  Even in the dim moonlight, the vista makes him dizzy. The Ring, a near-perfect, mountainous circle of ice, stands at the center of this last remaining land above the seas, his home: New North. It makes the risk of climbing—punishable by exile into the Boundary lands—worthwhile. That, and the edge it will give him for the Testing.

  He looks back up. Despite the cramps in his hands and calves, he smiles a little. Only a few feet left to the summit. Just one more swing of his axe, and he’ll be standing on the peak.

  He drives his axe hard into a hollow. But he is too hasty. For the first time ever, he misreads the ice. The axe doesn’t hold. It slips out of the giant, slick wall.

  Sliding backward, he plummets twelve feet. He bounces off sharp outcroppings that lacerate his skin. His descent is stopped only by a screw, his rope, and his harness. Dangling upside down in the frigid midnight air, hundreds of feet from the ground, he starts to pull himself up.

  As he manages to right himself, he sees that his rope is frayed.

  How, Eamon can’t imagine. He had made the rope himself with sealskin. He was certain of its strength. But the reason doesn’t matter. All that matters is how he’ll climb the remaining twenty feet with an injured body and a worthless rope.

  He begins to unhook himself from his harness, and the slight pressure makes the rope unravel farther. Just before it snaps and yanks him down with it, he swings his axe into the ice. Shaking and bleeding, he clings to the face of the ice wall with only his axe and his bear-claw boots. He has no choice but to climb back up, this time creeping inch by inch.

  Stupid. He should never have risked the Ring, no matter the possible advantage. He needs to win the Archon spot, to make sure he can act on what he’s learned, but he didn’t need to try the Ring. Pride and thirst for glory brought him to this place. He’d assumed the Testing would be the easy part, given his training and sure footing. The difficult part was to make sure that his Testing Chronicle secured him not only the Archon Laurels, but also the Chief Archon spot when his father’s term ends. But he forgot the rule drilled into him from infancy: don’t presume to know the ice and snow. Now he stands to die. That price is not worth what it will do to Eva; he won’t be around any longer to protect her. The only consolation is that, even if he lives, sharing the truth with New North might get him killed anyway.

  He sees the summit. As he plans how he’ll hoist his damaged body over the lip, a silhouette of a figure appears against the backdrop of the moon. Instinct tells him to scale back down. The Ring-Guards and certain exile await him at the top. But he knows his only chance of survival is surrender.

  “Over here,” he calls out.

  The figure moves toward him, leans toward the edge, and stretches out a hand.

  Eamon leaves his axe in the ice so he can reach. “Thank the Gods, you’re here.”

  A hand clasps Eamon’s, and the figure’s face becomes clear.

  “What are you doing out here?” Eamon asks, too confused to be frightened.

  “I’m so sorry, Eamon. You were never meant to make it this far.”

  The figure lets go. And Eamon falls from the Ring into the darkness.

  I

  Martius 31

  Year 242, A.H.

  I stand on the turret, watching the night fall. The Ring looms large in the darkening horizon, and I can’t avoid looking at it any longer. Not if I want to say a proper goodbye to my dead brother before I set off for the Testing. I gaze at its steep, jagged ice-cliffs, but it’s not enough. I need to get a closer look—as eye-level as possible—and stare straight at the place that killed my brother.

  Eamon, my twin. I can barely even think his name. I’m not ready yet, but I have no choice.

  Lif
ting up my heavy fur cloak and my long Feast-day skirts, I step up onto the ledge of the turret. I’ve been up here hundreds of times before with Eamon—the turret was our special place—but it takes me a tick to get my footing. My delicate ceremonial shoes don’t have the same grip as my kamiks.

  I steady myself, and try to relax. My breath forms an icy cloud in the encroaching polar darkness, and I start to shiver. Not just from the cold. Fear of getting caught out here has got me shaking. The punishment for disobeying The Lex by being here after the None Bell—especially tonight, on the Feast of the Testing—is severe.

  But here I stand. I must.

  The Moon is generous with Her light, and I can see clearly. The glistening Aerie spreads out before me, like a diamond encircled by the mountainous icy Ring. The Aerie fortress of ice and stone is the place where all the Founding Families live and work and learn and worship. It is home.

  I stare out at the frozen land. Just over the turret’s edge, I see the ice walls of the School with its fancifully carved ice windows gleaming in the low moonlight. I spot the imposing ice-spires of the Basilika, the place for worship and instruction on The Lex. Only a glimpse of the Ark in the far distance coaxes a brief, sad smile. The only metal and glass structure in New North, the Ark is our most precious place, where most of the island’s food is grown. Within its warm, humid walls, I had hoped to find my calling.