by J. N. Chaney
“Rest now,” Thorn said, but Drigo was already snoring softly.
“I have got to get me one of those,” Rodie said as they left.
“A cybernetic arm? Or those meds?” Freya asked.
Rodie’s smile was conspiracy itself. “Both.”
Everyone went back to their duties.
Except Thorn, who walked, eyes down as he processed what Kira told him about his abilities.
Lost in the abyss of conflicting emotions, Thorn had hardly looked two feet in front of him when he collided with Kira. He caught her just before she planted her rear end firmly in the mud, then stood to attention.
“Ma’am, my apologies.”
Kira dusted herself off. “Stellers.” She nodded to move past him, barely acknowledging his presence.
“Ma’am?” Her dismissal was cold to the point of rudeness, given their conversation and life before the ON.
She turned, but only halfway. “Sorry, Thorn. It’s time to think of yourself as an officer, because that’s the one thing we don’t have. Time.”
“I will. Ma’am.” His voice was steady, features neutral.
“I know. I wish there was some other way, but there isn’t. Get ready, Thorn. Sooner rather than later, we’re all going to battle.”
10
All he had left of home was the book.
The cover was tattered, and the bottom corner gone. Smeared with ash and grime, the title faded to a color so dull, it left no hint of the book’s former glory. Thorn knew every inch of it, and the cover, and even the torn page—259—and he touched that page like a talisman—which it was. The Hungry Trout and Other Stories could be felt, but not really seen, each letter more a memory than a shape on the seared paper cover.
Since the day the KEW took his home—his town, too, and his life along with it—the book was all he’d had. It was all he could salvage from the smoking hole of his former life, and now, under the alien light of twin moons, he opened to a random page and began to read. There was little comfort in his actions, but it was comfort, nonetheless.
I never should have stopped reading it.
Thorn tucked the book into his jacket pocket before reporting for training. He would read between instructions, or he’d never have time to read at all. Some touch of home was better than none, so he vowed to steal moments for reading while Drigo healed for another week. After that, Drigo could return to training, not as the same person, but as something more. Drigo would be a man with rare motivation.
And a perfect whetstone for Thorn’s magic. Again, he made a vow, but this time it was to be prepared for what Drigo might bring to the practice field. Anger, Thorn knew, could turn magic into a wild thing beyond the control of even a seasoned warrior, and the recruits were far from seasoned. They were, as Thorn and Drigo knew, dangerous.
But they could also be assets.
Even Burnitz seemed to take a softer approach with him. During stave training, Thorn sensed—not hesitation, but consideration on Burnitz’ part. Thorn was hit less often during stave training, though no one would consider Burnitz as being kind. If anything, the cynical part of Thorn’s mind said Burnitz was being prudent. An untrained—and lethal—element on the field was something to shape, not crush. The behavior made Thorn more receptive to quiet instruction. Where Burnitz had once bellowed, he now gave direct, practical advice on specific movements, each comment driving Thorn closer to an ideal combat form.
The new form of instruction took root.
Thorn was landing blows with regularity, and when the last session concluded, he was instructed to wait, as all soldiers did at one time or another, so he stood in the sun, reading his book and thinking of nothing at all.
“Stellers,” came Narvez’s voice, crackling with command.
“Ma’am?” He stowed the book, standing to attention. A second officer trailed Narvez, her bearing the polar opposite of anyone in command Thorn had seen thus far.
“This is Captain Leblanc. She’s here to begin your Clearance training, and if you want to succeed, you’d better pay close attention,” Narvez said.
“Ma’am,” Thorn said, accompanied with a crisp salute. Behind him, the other trainees rattled into formation, their uniforms making sounds of multiple salutes.
The captain had blonde hair pulled back so severely it gave her a look of mild surprise. Her cheekbones were high, her uniform black, and her pose one that verged into sleepiness.
Captain Leblanc did not stand at attention. She was the least militant officer that Thorn had ever laid eyes on, and for a moment, he felt a sense of disconnect. How did that person become a captain?
“Soldiers.” Leblanc stood with her legs hip width apart, knees slightly bent. For a moment, Thorn wondered if she was going to sit cross-legged on the ground. “I will lead you in your Clearance training today. Our individual sessions have given me the understanding necessary for this intensive training. Prepare for a deep psychological disruption.”
Thorn felt himself try to frown. He’d concluded, wrongly, that the individual sessions were Clearance training. The thought of his shared secrets being told to the entire squad left him with a pit in his guts. Fears, especially personal ones, were something Thorn kept to himself. To share them in the Home meant to be even more vulnerable to the other children. It was a lifelong habit born of hard lessons that Thorn kept his fears buried.
It was survival. It had always been about survival.
As if she sensed his unease, Leblanc continued with her instruction. “What you see before you will be your experience alone—an experience tailored to the weaknesses you carry. I am not your enemy. I am your ally. Your fears, however, are most certainly your enemy, because they can be used against you, or worse.”
Rodie raised a hesitant hand. “Ma’am?”
“Speak, please,” Leblanc said. Her tone was inviting, even if her facial expression remained one of shock.
“How? Our fears, that is, ma’am. How can they be used against us?” Rodie asked.
Leblanc began an easy walk along the front of their formation, her steps light. “A superb question. If fear has no tangible mass, then how does it manage to kill so many ON soldiers? The answer is quite simple. A weak mind, paralyzed by fear, becomes a weapon pointed not just at you, but the people around you. You can and will fail in the moment of truth because of fear.” She paused in front of Thorn. “Or childhood trauma.” She walked on, stopping in front of Rodie. “Or a sense of inadequacy. All of these are wedges, forced into the place where your power and discipline reside, and once they have a way in, you have no way out. Do you understand? This training is not about you. It’s about how your flaws will impact every single member of the battlespace, and how you plan on mastering that uncertainty. Starting right now.”
Narvez stepped forward and stood next to the captain. “This is the single most important training exercise we are able to give you to prepare for fighting the Nyctus.” The battle-hardened lieutenant dropped her mask and betrayed a plea for cooperation with her eyes. “If you are unfortunate enough to be within range of Nyctus mind control, this is the closest simulation to representing the horrors you will endure.” The willowy woman retreated, her face a scowl as she sifted memories of previous battles. Even the most tone-deaf recruit sensed her anger was born of experience, and Narvez scared the hell out of almost everyone.
That fact alone made every recruit stand a bit taller, and lean forward just that much more.
Thorn felt a pressure building inside his skull, and the world around him began a slow, dreamlike shift. In place of the blonde Captain and sharp Lieutenant, a little girl in a pink floral nightgown stood in front of him. Her sandy brown hair was braided into pigtails, and she held a floppy stuffed rabbit under one arm, a blue thread trailing from the hem of her dress.
“They’re coming, Thorn!” the girl cried, reaching back to him as she ran away, her feet a near blur. She pulled his hand toward a tall farmhouse, the roof glowing gold in the late day sun. �
�You have to save them,” the girl—no, not a girl, his sister, Bettani, piped at him in her child’s voice.
His heart clenched, his breath grew short, and he ran, his feet flying over rows of earth turned in the field that hemmed the south side of their farm. There was a low rise, then a ditch, filled with broken rock and the odd still pool, and then—
Home. He pelted forward, driven to see if they could be saved. If he could be saved.
In the sky above, an unholy noise grew from distant rumble to a roar, the massive rock splitting atmosphere in a boiling cloud of heat and light. The angle was sharp, the impact sharper, and Bettani vanished in a scalding blaze of white, only to reappear as he fell, faceup in the field. Thorn sensed the book in his pocket, and grass, and a small pebble digging into his shoulder. Bettani leaned over, her face twisting into hysteria.
“Why aren’t you doing anything, Thorn? They’re dying. Burning. All of them. Can you hear it?” Bettani asked, even as the roaring fire began to drown out all sounds except for the apocalypse brought down from the sky. Thorn’s chest bucked with a sob, but he ran his thumb over the book, now in his hand somehow, and the fire from above began to fade.
So did Bettani.
Reality flickered, then stabilized. Then the dream world was no more, and his mind, once more, was his own. He knew this was true because of the coppery tang in his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue, but if anything, that only helped flush the invasive visions from his mind.
“You’re not my sister,” he stated with conviction, and the last outline of Bettani shattered, leaving behind nothing except a deep-seated pain, pulsing just below Thorn’s brow.
“Thorn!” Kira rushed down the bank to his side and pulled him up to his feet.
“That was…intense.” He sat up, but slowly, trying to shake off the effects of a powerful telepathic assault.
“This is my least favorite portion of the curriculum.” She brushed off her pants and breathed deeply. “I was terrified you wouldn’t come out of it. Sometimes, people don’t.”
He shook his head, still feeling pressure inside his skull, but it was fading.
“Not fast enough,” he murmured, groggy.
“Oh, the hangover? It fades.” Kira shrugged, her eyes gleaming with relief. “Takes a bit, but it does. And I’m glad you’re coming back this fast. It’s a good sign for…for later.”
Kira smiled, stood, and pulled him to his feet among the groans and odd cough of every recruit coming out of their own private hell. “They’ll all have a story to tell. I once heard a ’caster say his dead uncle forced him back into high school. Can you imag—oh, shit.” Overhead, a silver line streaked across the darkening sky. “No, no, no. Captain?”
“This can’t be,” Leblanc hissed, pulling another recruit up from the ground.
Kira’s head whipped sideways to track the object. Another bright point flared into existence, then two more. “They found the base.”
Explosions hammered the ground, sending waves of debris skyward as the base was methodically reduced to ashes.
“KEW,” Leblanc shouted, leading the wobbly recruits across open ground. “On me,” she barked, as everyone followed in varying states of readiness. In seconds, the recruits were running at full tilt, their recovery complete as Leblanc led them to the armory.
They didn’t get far.
Thorn watched in horror as a hailstorm of bullets tore through the grass in front of them. Streya screamed as she hit the ground, blood spraying from her shoulder in a looping arc. She rolled twice, arm flopping.
Kira grabbed him by the arm as he changed trajectory from the armory toward Streya. “No! Thorn, you have to leave her! We have to get to the armory. We need weapons and suppressing fire!”
“Can’t,” he grunted, pulling away from Kira and ramping up to a run.
“Thorn, if you try to save her, you’ll just get both of us killed! Stay to the tree line and keep your damned head down.” On cue, rounds howled overhead, chopping trees apart with efficient brutality.
“Get my weapons, too,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Keep to the trees! I’ll meet you at the armory.”
Bullets continued to whine overhead, but Thorn wove with the desperation of the hunted. He slid to Streya’s side, causing his book to tumble out into the bloody earth. With one arm, he rolled Streya over; with the other, he grabbed his book. A heave and she was up on his shoulder, his adrenaline cooking off at a stunning rate.
“Gotcha,” he muttered, but Streya said nothing. Blood spooled away from her. “Shit, she’s ventilated.” Heart hammering against his ribs, he began to run and drew on the atmosphere around him, harnessing a cloud of dark shimmering matter. He held the attack ready, like a drawn arrow, wiping blood from his eyes—Streya’s—then wiping the sticky mass on his leg. His thumb brushed the book’s cover, peeking from his pocket—and the world stuttered.
“The hell?” he said, still running, but his steps slowed. Streya seemed light. “No-- lighter,” he corrected, then touched the book again. Overhead, his spell swirled, an unformed mass of endless violence, waiting for his command.
Streya coughed, crimson arterial blood leaving her mouth in a red mist, but there was a pause in the rounds flying by. Not silence, but…an interruption.
Thorn touched his book, brushing fingers over the pages as Streya grew lighter still. “Show me,” he commanded. When nothing happened, he released his spell, adding, “Show me the truth.”
Silence.
Without opening his eyes, Thorn felt sunlight and a breeze. No hint of char or blood or war in the air. He opened his eyes, already beginning to sense what was waiting.
Captain Leblanc smiled knowingly, though her eyes remained shrouded by a glowing orange light. Thorn released his remaining energy, the spell sublimating with a soft crackle.
“I knew that your induction would need to be multi-leveled when I saw the depths of your…pain, Stellers. From what happened.” Her voice resonated with power. This was not the same woman from moments earlier.
Thorn looked around to see the dazed faces of the other recruits. They stood, swaying, in her thrall. Some cried. Some raged in silence, and some were merely still, their bodies a mockery of what they’d been at the start of the test.
He was the first to be released from her telepathic hold.
“Keep that talisman close to your side, Stellers.” Leblanc’s face was eerily still. “No trainee has ever pulled themselves from dimensional training that fast.” She searched his face, then gave a small nod. “Or with such clarity.”
Thorn looked down at the book in his hands. Talisman. Yes. That was the word. The book was more than a memory made real. It was a steady point—an anchor for his power. For his sanity.
He sidestepped through the hypnotized troops and made his way to a fallen tree at the edge of the forest, it’s roots a cathedral of gnarled fingers. Narvez appeared at his side without a sound. He barely twitched.
“Your performance was impressive,” Narvez said.
“I—thank you, Lieutenant,” Thorn mustered. This sight of Narvez left him wary, and her neutral look did nothing to disabuse him of that.
“I know a fighter when I see one,” she said, walking away to join the captain without another word. He could see that Leblanc appeared drained, her face a wan circle of pale flesh. The enormity of her telepathic control came with a high cost, which told Thorn that she was built of far tougher stuff than her laconic bearing suggested. He found himself wondering what the recovery from such a task would entail, and was glad he didn’t need to find out. As to his own power, it was still there—brooding, vast, and unscathed, even after releasing a spell large enough to crack the false reality of Leblanc’s immersive magic.
Dismissed, Thorn began the slow walk to his bunk. By the time he made it, every cell in his body felt heavy—or light, as if hollowed out by the force of his own will. He staggered inside, only to hear Rodie’s light snoring.
“Damned good idea,” Thorn said,
and in seconds he collapsed, but not before checking the sky once more for bright silver things, falling on his head for eternity.
11
The routine was becoming easier, and Thorn’s confidence was building with each wake up. Instead of fearing his magic, he was learning to live with it—to shape it in ways that made power seem like a natural extension of his own will. A part of him that belonged, not something to be hidden from the other kids at the home.
He kept The Hungry Trout on him at all times, and began to excel in areas that had been out of reach mere weeks before. Now, Clearance and Material Sciences came easier to him, as he finally concluded that making war would be the hardest thing he’d ever do. Not just using magic, because it was a given that his power was dangerous and costly.
But war against the Nyctus was going to be unlike anything else in his world. Humans weren’t built to kill. They could kill, given training, and there was even the odd enthusiast among his peers, but in truth, killing another sentient being wasn’t a default setting. Thorn considered this as his power grew, learning that inside himself he found a core shut off from the rest of the world. It was a secret place—a combat awareness—that he could invoke, given the time to tap into it.
But even the delay between thoughts and spells was fading, just as his need to physically touch his book. Now, he could merely sense the book, and his well of power would yawn open, a roiling mass of unformed energy waiting for his command.
Captain Leblanc had called him to her jump plane once more before moving on to whatever her next assignment was, and she was not the same person he’d met on the field that first day. Leblanc’s face was sallow, her eyes sunken over hollow cheeks and a look that fell between haunted and raw exhaustion. Thorn was sure now that recovery was far worse for her than it had been for the trainees.
“Stellers.” She spoke as if her throat was swollen, the words dusty.
“Captain, ma’am?” He stood at attention, eyes clocking her office. It was sparse, with odd things—like a brass plate, candles slumped in the middle, and the skull of a small animal, its jaw in an open leer.
