Free A Broken Paradise (The Windows of Heaven Book 3) by K.G. Powderly Jr. Page A

descent of the Seed Line, up until Archon Iyared. Multiple lines of prophecy establish it up to that point. No Orthodox sage would even entertain an alternate genealogy. Then there’s the dispute over whether or not Iyared really had the authority to split the Archonate from the Seed Line the way he did. Some hold that he had such power. Others, like me, hold that he didn’t.”
    She had kissed his neck and said, “But it’s all so confusing. With Psydonu’s claim, you could simplify things and show yourself able to rise above the partisan bickering with a bold, unifying third option. Simplicity and the perception of having the moral high ground—people love leaders like that! It’s a win/win for everyone!”
    “I wish you were right about my people. Unfortunately, most would not see your option as ‘unifying.’ A growing number believe that the Seed Line actually stayed with the Archonate, despite Iyared’s dying wishes, thus putting me next on that tree. I know I’m hardly a Monster Killer. But my grandfather strengthened this position when he excommunicated the line of Q’Enukki—the other contender—altogether. Yet even many who reject Q’Enukki’s hokum prophecies object that my grandfather overstepped his archonic authority in an even more egregious way than Iyared, by excommunicating his descendants.”
    “But wouldn’t the Psydonu Option avoid such conflicts altogether?”
    Tarbet had shrugged. “If it were just about politics, maybe; but there’s the academic question of how to understand prophetic language. Even if we put aside the current disputes over the true line of the Woman’s Seed, your Psydonu still has the problem of being descended from a branch of Seti’s family that never had any claim whatsoever to either the Archonate or the Promised Line. Frankly, I don’t put that much stock in the jangling mouths of sacred scholars and historians, but many of my people still do.”
    Pandura had seemed to take it in stride. “That’s too bad. It’ll make both our jobs more difficult in the long run. History should serve the Now.”
    “I agree with you there.”
    They had parted again as rather more than just friends.
    How I do love the subtle arts of diplomacy! Tarbet smiled, as he remembered their last night together.
    The rancid croaking of his wife grew shrill.
    “…Are you even listening to me?”
    “Of course I am, dear.”
     

T
    arbet arrived home to a mountain of report scrolls he needed catch up on. The one he read now—authored by an old Sacred Academy friend of his—had some disturbing implications. Unfortunately, P’Tah was now Master Sage of that same academy; effectively Tarbet’s appointee, in that Archon Rakhau left all but High Council appointments to his son. It would be impossible to rein in the sage completely.
    The study was relatively obscure—an examination of the long-term effectiveness of certain religious and social reforms put in place by the archonate of Tarbet’s grandfather. According to P’Tah’s statistical analysis, the reforms had actually contributed to a noticeable rise in violent crime and to a general decline in functional literacy among the younger generations, all in unforeseen ways, of course.
    Tarbet’s problem was that he knew his old friend well enough to be sure that P’Tah hadn’t fallen astray into the pocket of some hyper-orthodox political adversary. Following the evidence wherever it happened to lead had always been a sacred pilgrimage for the Master Sage. Fortunately, it was a low-level study ; one that—as P’Tah boldly admitted in his conclusion—further research could still falsify.
    The irony was that it reminded Tarbet how there had been a time , long ago, when he would have welcomed such unexpected findings. Perhaps his recent encounter with Pandura had been as disturbing on one level as it had been satisfying on another. His conscience still struggled with the moral dichotomy at times—though not as much as it used