by Lynette Noni
“Three more and then we’ll stop for the night.”
I shake my head, wanting to argue with him but unwilling to waste the words.
“I need a break,” I semi-repeat, and embarrassingly, my request comes out sounding like a hoarse whine.
“Three more,” is his unwavering response. “Cat!”
After so many days of this, I act on autopilot and open my mouth, ready to repeat the word. But as Ward has slowly disciplined me into doing over the past few weeks, instead of conjuring a feline, my true task is to create something different. In this case, in the microsecond before I Speak, I let my weary imagination run wild as I picture a king-sized bed, complete with feather-down quilt and fluffy pillows. And when I finally rasp out, “Cat,” it’s not a four-legged creature that appears but, rather, the most comfortable-looking bed I’ve ever seen.
Ward sends me a dry look. “I know you’re tired, Jane, but really?”
I just shrug, too exhausted to respond.
After my failure when Ward wanted me to create nostalgic items, we went back to animals, but with him teaching me to separate my words from my thoughts. It was only when he decided I wasn’t learning fast enough that he chose a new way of motivating me — and that was by calling out the names of deadly creatures. After a close encounter with a saltwater crocodile, a polar bear and a rabid wolf, I finally managed to Speak the word “lion” while imagining something harmless — a fluffy white bunny. A hint of approval had lit Ward’s eyes, there and gone in an instant.
We’ve now moved on from animals, but that’s because last week Ward barked out “honeycomb” and I accidentally summoned a swarm of bees. The two of us were stung multiple times, and when I pointed out that Ward was partially to blame for not protecting my words, his response was so biting that I almost called the bees back into the room.
Fortunately, Cami stopped by around mid-afternoon that day to check on our progress, and after stifling her laughter at the sight of our swollen, stung selves, she quickly used her gift to heal us.
Since then, I’ve been very careful to create only inanimate objects. And while I’m making progress with my training, I’m still a danger to myself and others — something that became clear when Ward decided to test my boundaries.
At least he’d had the insight to experiment while all the other Speakers were off at lunch, so the huge, non-Karoel-lined training cavern had been empty. But catastrophe had struck when my innocent statement, “It’s as hot as hell down here, don’t you think?” ended up sparking a raging inferno that roared to life. My higher functions had dissolved at the sight of the flames, so the best I had managed was to scream, “Water!” which brought a torrent the size of a small ocean rushing into the underground cavern.
While no longer at risk of burning to death, Ward and I had struggled against drowning from the tsunami that enveloped us. It was only when my head was above water long enough to splutter out a nonsensical, “Freeze!” that our situation improved — slightly. The new problem was, while the water had indeed stopped pummeling us from all sides, that was only because we were encased in ice.
Had we not been frozen solid, the look on Ward’s face would have been enough to start a fire again.
“I panicked, okay?” I said by way of apology.
Fortunately, those three words had been tightly under my control, so they had prompted nothing more than a clenched jaw and glower of frustration from Ward, along with some terse instructions from him for getting us out of our predicament. I then had to erase all evidence of the natural disasters so that when the other recruits returned to the training room, they had no idea what had happened.
In my defense, I had warned Ward that I wasn’t ready to be tested. It wasn’t my fault he’d chosen not to listen, just as it wasn’t my fault he’d chosen not to use his protection power on my words.
Natural disasters aside, the last three weeks have been a mind-numbing repetition of Ward drilling control, control, control into my head during every waking moment. And the results are there — as witnessed by the king-sized bed in front of me — but my consistency is unreliable. Sometimes I can keep hold of my mental images and my intent, but other times I become distracted and am incapable of controlling my thoughts. Because of that, I’m still not safe to speak freely like a normal person — or even just like the other recruits, all of whom are able to carry on casual conversations. They have the opposite problem in that they struggle to infuse power into their words, so they have to actively practice to make their Spoken words work.
This little room is still the only place I can talk without consequences — unless Ward is with me. But he avoids me when we’re not working — especially since that night I found him sitting in the darkness of my suite — so I still spend plenty of time in silence, longing for the day when I won’t have to fear opening my mouth.
“Twice more, Jane,” he says, pulling me back to the present. “Then we’re done. Pillow.”
I sigh loudly and force myself to move beyond my exhaustion. Obediently, I rasp out, “Pillow.”
A boulder the size of a basketball appears, thunking onto the floor in front of me.
“Good,” Ward says. “Last one. Chocolate.”
That was cruel of him, because now all I want is chocolate. And that makes it harder for me to picture anything else. But I know if I don’t get this right, he’ll make me do it again. So I take a breath, scrunch my forehead in concentration, imagine a piano — because, hey, why not? — and call it forth by saying, “Chocolate.” All that is done in a matter of microseconds, barely enough time for Ward to scold me for taking too long, which he has done a number of times in our sessions.
“A baby grand?” Ward looks equal parts amused and dubious. “High aspirations, Jane. You play?”
I shake my head, not wanting to aggravate my throat further by answering verbally.
“Interesting,” Ward says. “Well, you never know. Perhaps one day.”
Something I’ve noticed about Ward is that right at the end of our sessions together, after the training is complete for the day, a hint of his old self shines through. He’s a little more pleasant, a little more talkative. A little friendlier. I don’t understand why. But on days like today, I don’t have the patience for his mood swings, not when all I want is to get back to my suite, take a hot shower and have Cami heal away my aches and pains.
Already eager to leave, I release a groan when the door opens and Crew walks in, followed closely by Keeda, Enzo and Cami. I also see a slight distortion of a blurred body, telling me that Sneak has joined us, as well.
In the last three weeks, Crew, Keeda and Sneak have dropped in to see me almost as often as Enzo and Cami, the three of them unendingly curious about what Ward and I do in here each day. They don’t know I’m a Creator — we’ve managed to keep that secret from everyone but Enzo and Cami — but they don’t seem to mind the mystery. I’d even go as far as to consider them friends now: Crew and his abrasive personality, Keeda and her snarky attitude, and Sneak and his shy vulnerability.
“What’s up, JD?” Enzo asks, walking straight over to me.
I send him a quick smile, again trying to save my throat. But all it takes is one pleading glance for Cami to dance over to my side, curl her cool fingers around my neck and whisper a quick, “Relieve,” before I’m as good as new.
“Sorry I didn’t come earlier.” Her tone is apologetic. “They had a mock Genesis-versus-Exodus battle and some of the Speakers —” she shoots Crew an irritated glance “— were a little overenthusiastic with their intentions.”
“Those Genesis Speakers bleed a lot,” Enzo says, flexing his arm muscles. “It’s unnatural.”
“Or maybe Crew just hacked into them more than was necessary,” Keeda counters around a mouthful of chewing gum. “He practically aimed straight for their arteries.”
“No pain, no gain,” Crew says. “We were told to win at all costs. I was just following orders.” He lowers his voice to a mutter. “
Like the good little puppet I am.”
My interest is snared by his bitter-sounding words, but before I can ponder his attitude further, Cami intercedes.
“Maybe so, but I was the one who had to clean up the mess you made.” She shudders dramatically. “I can’t count on both hands how many injuries I healed today, mostly thanks to you. It was icky. People are gross.”
Good thing Cami doesn’t have her heart set on becoming a doctor. Her bedside manner leaves much to be desired.
“I take it you’ve finished for the day?” Ward says to them, moving to stand beside me.
“All done,” Enzo confirms. “We wanted to check in and make sure JD was still alive. I’ve gotta ask, though, do you two need more time alone?”
I frown a little, not sure what he means. But when he sends a look over my shoulder, I follow his gaze and see the king-sized monstrosity of a bed that I called forth.
“I was just practicing.” I frown even more at how that could be interpreted, so I quickly add, “Control. I was just practicing my control. My Speaking control. You know, like every other day.” When not just Enzo but all of them look at me with amusement, I blurt out, “It’s a cat.”
Cami gasps. “You turned Schrödinger into a bed?”
Understandably, my roommate has come to love my adorable kitten, so I can appreciate her horror at the idea of my having turned him into an inanimate object.
“No!” I promise. “I mean, it’s meant to be a cat. But it’s not — it’s a bed. Which is good, since it wasn’t supposed to be a cat at all, really.”
There’s silence for a moment, until Keeda says, “Did you mess with her brain when you healed her, Cam? ’Cause something’s not right in there.”
Considering the nonsensical babble that just came out of my mouth, I can’t blame her for wondering. “Never mind,” I mumble. “It doesn’t even matter.”
“Whatevs,” Keeda says, blowing her gum into a bubble large enough for it to burst with a pop. “None of us have any idea what you do down here all day, and I for one am good to keep it that way.” She eyes the bed as she says this, then turns her gaze to Ward, before settling it back on me with a sly wink.
“This sure is one comfy bed,” comes Sneak’s timid voice.
I hear a rustle of material and watch as the feather doona indents with the weight of what I’m guessing is his body.
“Hey, Ward, can I sleep in here tonight?” he asks. “This is way better than having to listen to Crew’s snoring.”
The glare Crew shoots toward the indented quilt is powerful enough to make me want to back up a step. At the same time, I feel the inexplicable urge to jump in and take the Slayer’s attention from the innocent younger boy, so I blurt out, “I had a sinus problem as a kid, and my dad used to joke that I snored like a congested walrus.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, I want to snatch them back. But for all that I can do with my Creator ability, for all the lack of limits I supposedly have, there are still things I can’t do. Anything that goes against the natural order of the world is impossible for me — things such as bringing people back from the dead or creating something that doesn’t belong, like a dragon. I’m also incapable of reversing time, which is unfortunate, since I would very much like to go back a few minutes and seal my lips. But no Speaking ability, Creator or otherwise, will allow me to do so.
I don’t meet anyone’s eyes, and I pray they will let my comment slide. I haven’t spent enough time with Crew, Keeda and Sneak yet for them to realize the importance of what I just gave away, but Ward, Cami and Enzo all know by now that there are certain things I don’t mention. Things like my past. Things like my parents.
A loaded silence falls upon us, until Sneak — God bless him — says, “That’s really gross, Jane.”
A breath of laughter leaves me, and suddenly everything is all right again. Ward is watching me, but Cami and Enzo are giving me space. I love them both a little more for that. They must know there is a reason I refuse to talk about anything before Lengard, yet they have never once pressed me. Not even Ward has tried to make me talk about the past, for which I am grateful.
“Does one of you want to share the reason for your visit?” Ward asks, bringing the conversation back to where it started. If I didn’t resent him so much for all he has put me through, I would be grateful for that, as well.
“Aunt Esther dropped by earlier,” Cami says. “She’s booked the kids in for a special night-safari event at the zoo but forgot that she and Uncle Rick have dinner plans, so she asked if we can take them. These guys —” she indicates Enzo, Crew, Keeda and the invisible Sneak “— invited themselves along, so I figured it might be fun if we all go. Jane’s training is going so well — she deserves to be rewarded with a night out.”
Topside again. I experience a flare of envy at the freedom these other Speakers enjoy, yet I also revel in the idea of leaving Lengard once more.
Until Ward says, “Out of the question.”
Cami’s brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because I already have plans. A group of Genesis Speakers are briefing me on their recently failed mission to collect a new Exodus recruit.”
“What does that have to do with Jane?”
Ward leans forward slightly. “If I don’t go, she doesn’t go.”
His declaration doesn’t surprise me, but it still leaves me feeling hollow.
“That’s stupid,” Cami argues. “Why do you have to be there for her to come?”
“You know why.” His glance at the others reminds Cami not to mention — but also not to forget — my Creator ability. Yet again I am reminded that, friendship or no, they would consider me a monster if they knew the truth.
Cami doesn’t back down. “You told me yourself, she’s developing control way faster than you anticipated —”
This is news to me.
“— but even if she wasn’t, she doesn’t even talk unless she’s down here. She knows it’s not worth the risk. Right, Jane? If we take you out with the kids, you’ll be a walking mute?”
I nod quickly, even if I’m not thrilled about the way she describes me.
“We’re all gonna be there, Lando,” Enzo says.
His tone is encouraging, enough for me to wonder if he’s infusing a slight amount of Speaking power into his words.
“Nothing will happen that we can’t handle,” Enzo adds. “She’ll be safe with us.”
“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Ward mutters, too low for anyone but me to hear.
“Cuff me if you want,” I tell him, even though I hate the idea of being bound after not having seen the metallic restraints since I was officially accepted into the Exodus Project. “Gag me, too, if it’ll make you feel better. And if I so much as sneeze wrongly, have Crew on standby to take me down.”
Ward looks so repulsed that something inside me loosens.
“Seriously, Lando,” Enzo says. “She’ll be fine with us.”
Soft waves of light tell me he’s definitely using his Speaking ability now.
Ward sighs and rubs his temples, fending off Enzo’s words. “Give us a minute,” he says, and leads me to the other side of the room. When we’re far enough away to not be overheard, he quietly asks, “How confident are you that if something like Market Street happens again, you’ll be able to handle the cleanup without me?”
I’m shocked that he’s asking me, shocked that he’s willing to consider my opinion, shocked that he seems he might trust me. I know I have to give him the whole truth.
“I’m not sure. I want to say I’ll be fine, but honestly, I don’t know.”
He looks into my eyes for a long moment and then nods. “That’s good enough for me. You can go, but please try to keep your mouth shut unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’re still new to this, remember.”
“Wait — I can go?” When he nods again, I have to ask, “Why?”
“Because you’re not confident,” he says. “That means you’ll be extr
a careful. If you were overconfident of your control, you’d be more likely to test it out. And I don’t want you testing it anywhere if I’m not around. Let’s not forget the fire-water-ice disaster, yeah?”
I look forward to the day we can move past using that as a reminder.
When we walk back and share the news with the others, they respond with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. I feel like a kid being allowed out for a sleepover for the first time.
“Don’t worry, Ward. We’ll look after her,” Sneak promises quietly, slightly more visible now.
Ward looks at the younger boy and his expression softens. “Sorry, buddy, but you can’t go with them. You know that.”
Sneak’s face falls.
“What’s the harm in the kid coming?” Crew asks, smoothing his red Mohawk. “It’s not like anyone will see him, especially if he turns his ghost-o-meter up to full.”
“Even invisible, he could still bump someone in the crowd,” Ward points out. “And with Abby, Ethan and Isaac there, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with any of you. Can you imagine the kind of chaos that could come from someone hearing a disembodied voice?”
I recently learned that while Falon’s kids will one day embrace their own Speaking abilities, they’re not yet old enough to fully understand what happens at Lengard. Other than the actual initiated recruits, no one aside from the military higher-ups and the gray-uniformed, non-Speaker guards who once manhandled me through the corridors knows the truth about us and our under-underground training area. That’s why Esther is a medic on-site, even though Cami can heal people with just a word. Visiting militia and other nonessential personnel have to be treated without the slightest hint of the supernatural.
“But, Ward —”
“I’m sorry, Sneak,” Ward interrupts, his tone unwavering. “But there’s something I need you to do for me while they’re gone. It’s really important, and you’d be doing me a huge favor.”
Downcast, Sneak shuffles his feet and fails to make eye contact, but he still answers, “Sure.”
“Good man.” Ward claps him on his semivisible shoulder. “We’ll talk while the others get ready to leave.”
