Read Online Freakling by Lana Krumwiede - Free Book Online

elders didn’t know he was powerless after all. Otherwise, why would Elder Naseph threaten him with the serum? If there was anyone who didn’t need the serum, it was Taemon.
    As soon as he felt the priest’s psi withdraw, Taemon ran out the front door with Moke. They didn’t stop running until they reached Moke’s backyard, where they collapsed on the grass.
    Moke’s panting turned into laughter. “Did you see his face? I didn’t know nostrils could flare that wide.”
    “He was mad, all right,” Taemon said. They were watching him. How? Were people spying on him? His teachers? His neighbors? Moke? Skies, he hoped it wasn’t Moke. His stomach turned at the thought. All these plots and secrets and suspicions. When had life gotten so complicated?
    Moke imitated the priest’s nasaly voice: “‘It’ll be the serum for you!’ It was like he was scared of something.”
    “I don’t know what
he
has to be afraid of,” Taemon said. “But you can bet I’m never going back to that place again.”
    “Everybody goes to the crematorium eventually,” Moke said darkly. “What I want to know is why does the high priest want cadavers all of a sudden? It must be connected to training the True Son. Have you heard anything about Yens?”
    Taemon shook his head. “Nothing for sure. We’re not allowed to talk to him, though Uncle Fierre saw him with the priests and a group of seven or eight other kids. No one we knew.” The True Son was the only thing anyone wanted to talk about. Rumors were flying, and Taemon didn’t know what to believe.
    Moke puffed up his chest. “Then maybe I still have a chance. I always thought he should pick me.”
    Taemon laughed and felt his tension ease. “Cha, right.”
    He could trust Moke. He had to.
    In the Sacred Cycle, Rain was a symbol of prosperity. It was prospering cats and dogs at the moment. Today was the Sabbath, and Taemon was going to church with his parents to bring an offering. Would the priests reveal what was going on at the temple? What would they say?
    When Taemon came downstairs, he saw Da carrying the offering box with his bare hands. Homegrown tomatoes, squash, peppers, and three generous measures of grain filled the box. He lugged it into the living room, set it by the door, stood up, and rubbed his back. “Feels good to do things without psi once in a while. Builds character, builds muscle, helps you remember that psi is a gift from the Heart of the Earth.”
    This was Da’s weekly speech about keeping the Sabbath. It used to be unlawful to use psi on the Sabbath day. But life without psi — even if just for a day — was inconvenient, difficult even, so everyone basically ignored that rule. Everyone except Da. His archaic Sabbath observance had always been a little embarrassing, but now it was the one bright day in each of Taemon’s dreary weeks, a short rest from the hard work of keeping up appearances.
    I don’t need that speech anymore,
thought Taemon.
I do without psi every day.
But he didn’t say it. Mam and Da were anxious this morning, and he had no wish to make it worse.
    “I can carry it if you want,” Taemon said.
    “Go ahead,” Da said. “Take a turn. This is how my father took his offering to church, and my grandfather before that. See the worn handles on the box? That represents the Houser family’s tradition of devotion.” Da’s voice held the same passion, the same resolve, even under the pressure from the elders. Taemon had to wonder if Da was acting brave or foolish.
    Into the room walked Mam, who used psi to place her embroidered tablecloth on top of the vegetables, then arrange it just so. Then she turned to inspect Taemon.
    “Wiljamen.” She spoke to Da but didn’t look at him. Instead she was using psi to smooth Taemon’s jacket and straighten his cuffs. “You’re not going to make a fuss today, are you? Remember what’s at stake.”
    “I’ll be fine,” Da said. “Let’s go.”
    Taemon picked up the offering box and