Maia and the Xifarian Conspiracy (The Lightbound Saga Book 1) (5 page)

Maia stood seething in silent fury, unable to speak a word as he turned and walked down the steps. After what seemed like ages, she slammed the door shut and ran up to her room, hating herself for not answering back, and hating the Xifarians.

8: Choices

Warm sunshine seeped through the curtains and nudged Maia into wakefulness the following morning. As she reached to part the drapes and let the light flood in, the distressing memories of the previous night came pouring through. Along with the memories came anger, and it coursed like fire through her.

How could they force me into some stupid Initiative? How could they treat me like I am their property? I am not going to give in; I will run away from home if need be.

Maia’s mind raced, and she wondered if she could really pull off an escape.

Maybe I could find refuge among the Resistance, if only I knew who they were. Perhaps Herc would know?

Then she remembered something else.

What had that boy said? He had almost threatened Dada, hadn’t he? They wouldn’t take their revenge on poor old Dada if they found me missing, would they? Of course they would; the Xifarians could do anything.

No . . . she could not let that happen. She could not risk the safety of the only family she had; she could not let them face the Xifarians’ wrath. She had to confront whatever her future was going to bring. She had to, for Dada’s sake. And Herc’s. And Emmy’s.

Maia closed her eyes and lay quietly, waiting for the hurt to ease a bit. She knew there was no escape, not anymore. If only she could have them refuse her.

What if . . . what if I made certain to fail every test they put me through? How would they keep me in Xif if I kept messing up? They would have to throw me out. I just had to make sure no one found out that I was sabotaging the tests.

Her heart suddenly felt lighter; perhaps there was some hope left after all.

***

By the time Maia stepped into the kitchen, looking for breakfast, she felt utterly miserable again. Dada had just left for his usual morning walk around the village, so Maia resorted to prodding Emmy for information about what had happened the previous night after she had retired to her room. To her frustration, the housekeeper could not provide any worthwhile news except for a few obvious and uninteresting facts. The Xifarian intruders had left after the little man finished his tea. Emmy had clearly taken a liking to Principal Pomewege, whom she repeatedly identified as the “kind man who knows his etiquette.” Maia was in no mood to share Emmy’s enthusiasm, so she chewed through her bread quickly, pocketed an apple, and slunk back to her room. She puttered around behind closed doors, fiddled with some books, unable to concentrate on anything for very long. Every now and then she peeked out of the windows looking for her grandfather to return from his walk even though she knew it was not yet time for him to get back.

Maia was soon tired of fighting the nervousness and decided to head outside. She pulled Bellator off its mount and gave it a practiced twirl. Tucking the sword into its case, she strolled toward the south side of the farm, where the hill broke its soft rolling stretch and rose steeply toward the summit. Her favorite spot was the small pond surrounded by a bright yellow patch of flowers that lay in front of the rocky wall. The blooming flowers bobbed merrily in the passing breeze, their seed pods full and bursting at the seams. Maia placed herself behind the strip of gold and pulled Bellator out. As she pressed the obscure oval notch embedded in its contoured grip, it transformed—a long, svelte, double-edged sword of glistening white metal emerged from the tip of the staff. Maia’s thumb traced the tiny inscription etched into the hilt just below the grip. “BELLATOR,” it said, followed by more words in an unknown script, a quiet reminder of its otherworldly roots. Bellator was a gift from Dada on her ninth birthday, her first one in Appian, and the one that brought her Keeper’s Honor. It had been a custom on Tansi for centuries—a child was bestowed with keeper’s rights of a personal protection device at the age of ten, a ritual that signified the first step a child took toward adulthood. The second step was Undertaking, when the child left home to embark on a voyage of learning. While Maia had waited long for the consent of Undertaking, her Keeper’s Honor had come a year early and she was forever grateful to Dada for it.

A smile formed on Maia’s face as she assumed her stance in front of the flowers. With Bellator ready in her hands, she awaited the first gust of wind to set the seeds free. She had concocted this method after moving to Appian, initially to kill the long, lonely hours, but in the end it had helped improve her concentration and agility. Now, Maia found it practically effortless to calculate and execute the moves that would obliterate her fast-moving targets.

A strong draft soon came her way. The large seed heads, awakened from their slumber, gently swayed in the breeze and then erupted into a zillion silky stars. As the glittering wave came surging forward, Maia saw the strokes in her mind’s eye: the precise sweeps that would tackle most of the swell. She swiped back and forth, cutting calculated paths though the white cloud, accurately clearing more than half of the flitting seeds.

She continued to practice, occasionally stopping to wait for the next surge. The exercise, while sweaty and tiring, was the perfect antidote to the persistent worries from the previous night. About twenty gusts had come and gone when Maia noticed her grandfather walking toward her.

“Did you have a good night’s sleep?” Dada asked when he was close, his face rigid with concern.

Maia nodded. She did not want to tell him how wretched she felt at the moment.

“How about a walk?” Dada asked.

Maia nodded again. While she itched inside to know more of what had happened last night after she had left, she also dreaded this conversation; it meant that she now had to come to terms with that reality.

“I truly wish I could make it all go away,” Dada said as they walked. “Then again, maybe this was meant to be, maybe this is your destiny.”

His words made Maia twitch. She resented them, not understanding how Dada could suddenly come around to talking like the Xifarian principal. Perhaps it was simply Dada’s way of consoling, of helping her come to terms with the situation, but it annoyed her to no end. This could not be her destiny, she told herself. Her destiny, spectacular or not, lay in ThulaSu.

“So, it’s final? I have to go to . . . Xif?” Maia asked.

“Yes,” Dada said with a sigh, “unless . . .”

“What?”

“Unless I can . . . we can hide you somehow.”

Maia slowly shook her head. “No, that won’t work,” she said, steeling herself. “They will find me. And even if they don’t find me, they will surely find you. Can’t have them hurt you. I shall go.”

Moments trickled past, and neither spoke a word. A pang of hurt and anger formed an uneasy knot in Maia’s stomach.

“It’s just . . .” Words stumbled in Maia’s mouth, and she struggled to string together her thoughts and feelings. “I can't stand talking about Xif, let alone think of going there. You know how Sophie . . . changed. I don’t even want to see the things that lured her away and made her turn against us.”

She paused to take a breath. “And I don’t want to know the people who hold us prisoners, I just don’t. Those people . . . so arrogant and rude . . . and they hate us.”

Her grandfather smiled with sympathy, but then turned grave. “Maybe this is a good opportunity, Maia. I know you worry about your family, about Alasdair and about me. If you really want to bring us together, you need to try to find out what your mother really wanted when she let go of the brother she loved so much. I believe there was more to it than we know. My Sophie could never be dishonorable.

“And, Maia, you need to face your past, not run away from it. Stop a moment and look back with unbiased eyes, judge it for what it is, and decide if or how your life needs to be driven by it. Only then will you be truly free to embrace the future.”

Maia winced. She had heard this a hundred times before, but since that cruel evening in Miorie, she had resigned to the idea that her mother was a traitor. She had a choice of clinging to hopes like Dada did, the choice of doubting Uncle Alasdair’s words, but that meant leaving herself open to another agonizing heartbreak. Maia was not willing to take that chance.

Dada continued in a soft, sad voice. “I tried to find out as much as I could. I wanted to learn the truth, to vindicate Sophie’s stand, but Xifarian protocols wouldn’t allow me to set foot on that planet. This is our only chance, Maia, to see the world your mother loved. And, maybe, understand her a little.”

Maia felt a familiar sting in her eyes as they walked over the highest point on the road. It hurt to realize that while Dada was concerned about how she felt, he still saw this as a chance to absolve Sophie of any wrongdoing. The eerie, mournful cry of some unseen bird drifted through the cool morning air, making Maia tremble. Even while she stood next to her grandfather, bathed in the warm sunlight, Maia suddenly felt cold and utterly lonely.

“But what if Uncle Alasdair is right? What if the truth is not what you want it to be? What if she really was . . . dishonorable?” Maia asked, tensely poking at the dull-brown dust that covered the road with her toe.

“We’ll learn to face the truth when we find it, Maia” was his solemn reply.

“I won’t promise you anything, Dada,” Maia said in a voice as determined and as somber as her grandfather’s. “I shall not go looking for Sophie’s footprints.”

He shook his head and looked away. Then he turned back with a smile. “Principal Pomewege told me of the prize they are offering to the winners—an enormous sum, enough to rebuild the entire power grid from Shiloh to Appian. At least we could build a dozen more wind turbines for our village. If there is any truth in the rumors of the new energy curfews, can you imagine how much that will help Appian?”

“Yes.” Maia forced a slow nod. Just in case she failed to sabotage the Initiative, this could be a reason good enough to keep her going. Maybe that would be a way to atone for Sophie’s deeds, a way of giving something back to the people her mother had betrayed.

A lingering doubt still persisted in one corner of her mind. “You really believe they’ll let me go after that and not ship me off to Ti?”

Dada pursed his lips, focusing his eyes far beyond the dusty wastelands. “The principal gave me his word that you will come back.”

“When do I have to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. The pickup point is at the Troughs; that’s where the Holding Pod will land.” Dada fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a small metal cube. “This is what you’ll need to present to the guards to identify yourself.”

“So, tomorrow it is?” Maia whispered, studying the shiny cube for a moment before slipping it into the pocket of her coat. “Then again, it’s only six months.”

A small smile crept onto her grandfather’s face. “Yes, then you’ll be free to come back and go to ThulaSu like you’ve always wanted. And who knows, maybe first impressions are not always the right ones. Maybe you’ll make some good friends while you’re up there.”

Maia sighed. She was not about to start nurturing any unrealistic hopes like her Dada. She was clear about her goals: she had to make sure she was thrown out of the Initiative soon because that was the only path to her freedom.

9: At the Troughs

The moon was still bright in the northern sky when Emmy woke Maia. A gnarled knot of clouds had gathered on the southern horizon like a brood of mourners and the colossal, blood-red crescent of Xif loomed like a threat amidst their dark sullen mass. A new dawn was still hours away, and the night was holding on to its last moments, just as dearly as Maia wanted to cling to everything around her. She said her good-byes quickly, trying her best to ignore the bristling pain in her throat. Hard as Maia struggled to make the parting short and simple, the hushed farewells and the teary eyes made the air dismal and gloomy.

“I’ll be back soon,” Maia whispered to herself as she walked down the porch steps, her grip over Bellator’s hilt tightening as she pledged.

A numbing sadness settled on Maia’s heart as she took her seat atop the carriage and let her eyes sweep across the moonlit valley of Appian. Herc set off shortly, taking the ring-road around Shiloh to reach the Troughs of Anubi—a large area speckled with mysterious mossy depressions just where the road circled past the city and turned toward the Dorgashian Folds in the North, an area held sacred by the Solianese since olden times. Myths spoke of the Troughs as the final resting place of spirits from an ancient past, an abode that was not to be disturbed by the presence of ordinary mortals. Such was Herc’s veneration of the legends that, in spite of Maia’s persistent begging to see the Troughs ever since they had moved to Appian, he steadfastly avoided the area. That was one benefit of going to Xif, Maia thought, in that she would finally be able to see the Troughs.

The sun was barely up when they reached the pockmarked fields. The pale light made the damp green of the moss look velveteen. There was an ethereal feel to the scene that stretched before them, and a wave of respect swept through Maia at the sight of the countless, perfectly-formed circles that surrounded them. Herc pointed toward the southeastern corner. In the distance where the green expanse disappeared in a shroud of rising mist, something shimmered. Squinting hard, Maia detected the glistening surface of a glass orb that hunkered in one of the depressions; it looked oddly comfortable in the eerie landscape. Maia wondered why the Xifarians chose this particular place. Was it because of its quiet and secluded location, or a deliberate disregard for the beliefs of the Solianese?

“There’s no road to there, miss,” Herc whispered.

“Maybe we should walk across the field?”

“Walk ’cross the Troughs?” Herc exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief at the absurdity of the idea.

“Yes, Herc,” Maia replied. She did not have the luxury of choice; she had to cross the grounds whether she liked it or not. “Why don’t you wait here while I go and take a peek?”

“No, I’m comin’ with yeh,” Herc replied in haste.

Soon Herc had stationed the carriage at the side of the road. Maia stopped to pat the horses good-bye. Bander whinnied softly and pressed his muzzle against Maia’s palm while the shy Jolt simply shook his head and stared with doleful eyes. Maia suppressed another sigh as she stepped onto the mossy fields with Herc. The ground was soft and wet, and by the time Maia reached the vicinity of the orb, her toes tickled from the moisture that had soaked through her shoes.

The sphere that looked small from the distance was actually large enough to hold an entire house. Silvery bands encircled its body in a tight mesh; a small flight of stairs ran upwards into its belly. Maia had only taken a few hesitant steps toward the small white tent that stood next to the orb when a person emerged from it and strode toward them. He wore a dotted white smock with very short sleeves and drummed his thick, stubby fingers incessantly while studying Maia.

“You want?” he spoke in a high-pitched tone and eyed Herc suspiciously, who glared back at him with equal distrust.

“We . . . I was asked to come here for my passage to Xif,” Maia explained.

“Pass-key?” he inquired curtly, pulling a pronged rod out of his robe.

“Pass-key . . . yes,” Maia reached into her coat for the cube Dada had given her and held it out for him.

The small piece of metal came to life as soon as she opened her palm. For a brief moment it shuddered, then gave out a low whine and sped off her outstretched hand toward the pronged rod, which now glowed with a peculiar green light. As Maia and Herc continued to stare in amazement, the pass-key suspended itself in the space between the luminous prongs, gradually assuming a similar green sheen, all the while spinning in an intricate motion. Then it started to morph, slowly, until it flattened itself into a transparent oval plate. Maia stumbled backward in surprise when the plate flew back and attached itself to the lapel of her coat. V87243M was etched on it, which Maia assumed was some form of identification.

“You shall keep apparel on you until you receive regulation uniform. Now, enter Holding Pod and wait. We take off momentarily.”

“I’ll get her belongin’s from the carriage.” Herc turned, heading back toward the road where the wagon was parked.

“Halt! No personal belongings other than protection device,” the man said, pointing at Bellator. “All supplies provided by the Xifarian Defense Academy.” He paused, dispassionately scanning the puzzled faces in front of him.

“Continue,” he commanded, pointing an impatient finger at the Holding Pod.

This is it.
Maia took a slow breath, struggling to steady herself. Within moments she would be taken away from everything she knew and flung into a world she despised. One link still remained—the befuddled Herc, the friend who believed in her dreams more than she did herself. There was no cutting it short this time around, no pretending to be strong when she was tearing up inside. Maia threw her arms around Herc and clung to him for as long as she could. Then she bade the bleary-eyed man good-bye, walked cautiously up the stairs, and stepped into a brightly lit circular enclosure with white metallic walls.