by R. M Garino
Hammer’s sin’del shimmered with the same white light. His steps made little impression on the hardpacked dust.
Angus regained his balance, and moved, as if by instinct, into the defensive stance. He spread his feet, bent his knees, and raised his fists to chest level. He watched Hammer glide, each step placed just so, his head lowered by the slightest degree. And Angus understood. There would be no shared joy of discovery here. Hammer would test him as the Areth’kon always did. Hammer would push him to see how much control he had over this new ability of his. Angus smiled. That was just fine with him. It was something he wanted to know himself. He moved to meet Hammer’s attack with his own.
Angus darted in to close the distance as fast as possible. He led with a right jab that struck Hammer square in the nose. A soft thump sounded, as if someone had punched a pillow. There was no flash of light, no crystalline chime as when he’d deflected the sword. The absence was a disappointing; he had rather liked the effect.
Hammer gave a quick, evil smirk, letting Angus know that it had been a freebie. Angus raised his guard, as he knew there’d be no more. Hammer feinted with a hooked finger grab, and when Angus moved to block it, struck with his other fist and connected just below the pit of his arm. Hammer’s blows were as fast as he was silent, each delivered with efficient precision. Angus managed to block less than half of them. Hammer was favoring insulting attacks, slaps and shoves rather than punches and kicks. In a matter of moments, it was all Angus could do to defend, and he was not succeeding. Hammer was a barrage of fists, elbows, and knees, most of which met little effective resistance.
A dull ache was forming behind Angus’ brow, and increased with each landed hit. At first, it was easy to ignore, but as it grew, it pulsed in time with his movements. Moving his forearm to block an elbow aimed at his head made the pain throb.
Two more strikes made Angus change tactics again. It was not enough to defend. He needed to get away. He stumbled backward in his haste to retreat.
Hammer did not pursue.
Angus cupped his forehead, and extended his palm outward asking for a pause. Even these simple movements drove a stab of agony deep into his brain.
“Release it, boy!” Hammer said.
Angus did not know how. Trying to move his head made him vomit, which in turn made his head swim with anguish.
The release of the pain propelled him to his hands and knees. Exhaustion, deeper than any he had ever felt stole across him. It took a tremendous effort to wipe his mouth.
“It will pass in a moment,” Hammer said, patting Angus’ shoulder. “Part of the price you pay. The sin’del absorbs the impact. Eventually you’ll learn to bleed it out slowly. Ha! You should have seen my first reaction. You would have thought I was blind drunk for the amount I heaved.”
Angus managed a weak grin of appreciation at the attempt at humor. He pushed the incongruity of a humorous Mala’kar away. The fatigue was already passing, and he was starting to feel better, faster than he had earlier. He suspected, however, that he was going to have a tremendous headache very soon.
“How did I release it?” Angus said. He remained where he was; it was the safest position for now.
“You didn’t,” Hammer said. “I did.”
“How do I learn what to do?”
“I will teach you. As I told you, your ability is rare, especially in one so young. Normally, by the time we have learned to use the Satyagraha, we know how to release it.”
“Satyagraha?” Angus said, tasting the unfamiliar word. “The firm truth?”
Hammer chuckled. “You’re not as dense as you let on,” he said. “I forget; you studied in Reven Marthal, didn’t you? Not in the Vaults like the rest of us.”
Hammer knelt down so he was nearer Angus’ level.
“Firm truth is not quite right,” he said. “It is the firmness that comes from the pursuit of the truth. But your version comes close enough. Think of it this way: your armor comes from the strength of your convictions; from your conception of the truth about the self you hold close to your heart; from who you know that self to be, and what you are doing. I was able to batter you down because you still lack the absolute certainty about your own skills in unarmed combat. I was not attacking your armor, so much as I was attacking your insecurities. I was showing you that you could not stand against me. But, you refused to see that truth. Your legendary stubbornness, in this case, became your weakness. I was able to turn your own body against you.”
“And if I was able to hold to my belief despite your efforts?” Angus said. “If I had, I would not have had that reaction?”
Hammer seemed to consider his words for a moment.
“Most of what we perceive as reality is little more than our own projected thoughts and beliefs,” he said. “The body, however, has its own ideas, and it will decide what to make real and what not. The trick is to find the balance. We will teach you this. We’ll start with your meditational practices. To control the body, you must first control the mind.”
Hammer slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t pout,” he said. “From what I saw of you on the rock, you’re already fairly adept at meditation. That should be the easy part for you. The hard part, I think, is getting you to accept the truth when you see it.”
Angus inclined his head in acceptance of the explanation.
Damn! But he felt tired. The exhaustion must come in waves, he thought. His head slumped, too difficult to lift, as if its weight had tripled. His arms were beginning to shake with the effort of holding himself up. He heard a voice, Hammer’s, calling his name as if from a great distance. He felt himself falling.
Angus fought the sensation. He was stubborn, as Hammer had said.
His belief buffered him, the firmness of his resolve that held to the shreds of his consciousness. The darkness of oblivion called, amplified by his body’s need for rest, turning it into a siren’s song of peace. He pushed at it, resolved to fight it. A cold crept down his limbs, moving from his core to his fingertips.
He could feel his energy flowing, moving away from him in pulsing waves. Directing his attention to his fingers, he dug them into the dirt. He could feel the life of the rock, shimmering like a field of diamond dust. Angus called to the power he sensed far below him, drawing it up into himself. It was slow at first, a small trickle to replace the flood that was leaving. But he drew deeper, pulling from the granite that formed the valley and the mountains above. The flow was languid and viscous, creeping with the persistence of ages. But it was there.
The fatigue retreated, though the drain remained. He could order his thoughts again, and send them where he wished. He followed the path, sending his mind along the flow. It stretched into the lecture halls, a pulsing cord of silver light. It was familiar, almost an echo of himself, a slight variation as it bounced back to him. He could feel anxiety, a desperation bordering on panic, and he knew that these sensations were not his own. He drew deeper on the bedrock beneath him, and sent it along with willing joy. He was patient. He was reassuring. He was here, and he was not going away as long as the need of him remained.
Time held no meaning as he hung suspended upon the flux of power. He was a conduit, and he concentrated on the movement he was part of.
And then the need was gone.
Angus let go and watched the energy fall to the ground, collapsing like water. It puddled, only to be absorbed like rain on parched soil. A thinner cord remained, suspended in the air, reaching into the lecture halls. He felt a sense of relief fill him, entwined with a sense of wonder and elation. This was an echo of his own emotion, for he marveled at the wholeness he felt within his self. A part of him, long dormant and hibernating had awoken as the silver light filled him. He was focused, and at the same time, at peace. He was content. Happy. A spattering of thoughts flittered by just beyond his ken, and he reached for them, eager to hear them in detail.
The cord dimmed, and the sound of the thoughts faded, taking the sense of peace with it. A void remained
, yawning and eager to be filled.
Angus pushed himself to his feet, and took several deep breaths to restore his equilibrium. Hammer stepped aside as he stood, ready to catch him should he stumble. He watched Angus, consternation and worry creasing his brow.
“I’m fine,” Angus said when he saw the expression on the Mala’kar’s face.
“It stopped,” Angus said, brushing himself off. “I thought I would just be tired, maybe have a headache. Anything but that. That was intense. It’s gone now though.”
He could not keep the note of longing from his voice as he uttered that final truth.
“That had nothing to do with the Satyagraha,” Hammer said. “That was the Caul.”
“The Caul?”
“Aye. That’s what I said. I’ll explain later. Suffice to say, like most things with you, that was not how it was supposed to work. Come!”
Hammer stalked off, leaving Angus with no choice but to follow. He headed for the lecture halls, straight to where the silver cord had led.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Masters’ Prerogative
Trenton was preoccupied as he left the lecture halls. What he had seen should not have been possible. The girl should have dropped like a fecking stone! He’d never heard of a graduate deflecting the Caul. There were ways to do so, of course, but they all required centuries of disciplined training and study. The little slip of a scrub should not have been able to do it. If believed what he saw, she was partnered to another Lethen’al through a unity, and if he guessed right, it led straight to the Kal’Parev boy. But the girl was far too young to be wedded. He might have expected that swaggering Fel’Mekrin peacock to be at the other end, but apparently his information was outdated. How in the seven hells was he supposed to keep up to date on their bloody romantic involvements anyway?
So what the feck happened? How did it appear and then disappear? He was not surprised in the least that the boy was involved. It was obvious they were taken with one another. Their display when she arrived was inappropriate at best, but they both seemed surprised the other was there. They were up to something, and he was damned well going to find out what it was.
Lost in thought, he was halfway across the parade field before he became aware of two Blades jogging toward him. He schooled his thoughts and features, burying his agitation beneath a mask of reserve and self-control. Folding his hands behind his back he waited while the two approached him.
Hammer, and that boy, Trenton thought. The troublemaker. Talon’s boy. How a child could turn out so different from his sire was always something of a marvel to him. Talon was an Elc’atar of the highest order. His wife, Chrysies, was one of the only individuals never to have studied at the Areth’kon. As the daughter of the Matriarch, she had a special dispensation. From what Trenton had heard, her skills as a Magi more than made up for her lack of martial prowess. Perhaps that explained the boy’s troublesome behavior. Among the Lethen’al, there was no higher pedigree than to be born a Tu’renthien. Unfortunately, such prestige spoiled the boy rather than instill in him a sense of duty and continuity. If he had even a fraction of his grandmother’s fortitude, he would be an exemplary soldier. Instead, he flouted the rules and all attempts at discipline, as if he were above such trivial concerns. The incident with Bowler still rankled. That any scrub would dare assault an Elc’atar in such a cowardly manner infuriated him. The boy’s very presence was enough now to raise his ire.
Trenton’s clenched his fists behind his back as the two drew nearer.
Perhaps I need to take a greater interest in the boy, he thought. Show him the errors of his ways. Turn his impulsivity into something useful. Break his fecking spirit, if nothing else.
Hammer stopped before him and saluted. The boy was several heartbeats slower.
“Sir,” Hammer said. “Who is inside the lecture halls?”
Hammer was usually more circumspect than this.
“Why?” Trenton said. He knew he had a habit of lowering his head when asking questions, and he knew that it unnerved of his underlings. It was one of the many useful tools in his arsenal, especially when he had to deal with one item of nonsense or another in the course of a day. Hammer, however, did not seem to notice.
“The lad was attacked with the Caul,” he said, paying more attention to what lay over Trenton’s shoulder. “I want to find out who did so. And why.”
Trenton spread his glare between Hammer and the boy. There was a shadow about his eyes, and the edges of his sin’del, shimmered and moved about as if trying to settle. After effects. As he had suspected. He drew a breath and stilled his thoughts.
“Walk with me a moment, Hammer,” Trenton said. Thankfully, the boy held his place. At least he has manners. Angus sagged a bit as the Mala’kar left him. They would have to heal him soon if he was in this bad a shape.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, his voice lowered. “All of it.”
Hammer obeyed, and made his report with his usual objective precision. It was difficult not to interrupt, but certain things were starting to make sense. Things, he now knew, were about to become extremely complicated.
They stopped their walk a dozen yards from the boy.
“Send Hyde and the rest of the Fifth to me as soon as they are out of the infirmary,” Trenton said. “They have many more bones I intend to break for behavior like that.”
“Aye, sir. But there’s a line already.”
“I outrank you all.”
“True.”
“The Satyagraha?” Trenton said. “Are you sure?”
“Aye, sir. I saw it manifest myself.”
Trenton snorted in reply and glanced over his shoulder at Angus. He was staring with an unusual intensity at the lecture hall, and it was a wonder that his sin’del did not knock him over the way it was straining.
“What concerns me is the Caul,” Hammer said, reclaiming his superior’s attention. “The boy has been gathering enemies. I would doubt such a thing even of a Fel’Mekrin, but there are precious few of us who can perform it.”
Trenton nodded at the reasoning, but it was an absent gesture, a way to reassure the speaker that he was listening. Yet another item in his managerial arsenal.
“You are forgetting that there was no one else on the field with you. You said so yourself. What is the longest distance we have ever recorded it being performed over?”
“Ten yards, give or take,” Hammer said without hesitation. “I have thought of that.”
“So then how did this happen?”
Hammer was troubled by his inability to answer, although Trenton had to search for the signs. The junior officer held his peace, waiting for his superior to offer a hypothesis. Like everyone else, Hammer expected the one in charge to have all the answers.
“What if I told you that young Angus was not the only graduate to spontaneously develop a high-level talent tonight?”
“Who?”
“You ask me ‘who,’ but not the skill.”
“From your presentation of the intelligence, I assume that the skill was the Caul. My question now becomes who performed it?” Hammer said.
“That’s precisely the right question to be asking.”
He knew he was delaying, stalling for time to get his own thoughts in order. But as Master of the Gates, infuriating his subordinates was a privilege he often enjoyed. It was far better, to his mind, to delay a statement than to speak in error and need to retract it. Hammer understood this, and bided his time.
“Arielle Rhen’val developed the ability to perform it, but not how you think,” Trenton said. He lifted a hand to forestall an interruption. “It was while confronting Davin in the crowd this evening. It would seem to be about the same time as Angus’ first manifestation with the Fifth. She claims not to have been taught this, but rather reacted out of instinct. Much as you did with young Angus and the Satyagraha, I performed it on Arielle not more than five minutes past, there in the lecture halls.”
“You did?” Hammer sa
id, stunned by the revelation and grappling with the implications. “Then how did it turn on Angus, and at that distance?”
“There is one more detail,” Trenton said. “Arielle was able to withstand it, and speak to me while I performed it.”
Hammer’s stared in disbelief. It passed in a heartbeat, replaced by an understanding that lit him from within. Hammer’s name derived not just from his weapon of choice, but rather from his quick and keen intellect. He would hammer a problem another would try to unravel.
“I didn’t want to believe what I saw,” Hammer said. “I discounted it when I did. He’s not old enough. But why was it only present during the Caul? If that’s what it was, it should be visible now.”
“It should,” Trenton said. “Because it is not, the explanation you propose is dangerous, my friend, on many levels.”
“Aye, sir. I believe it is,” Hammer said. He studied Trenton with an intensity that bordered on rudeness.
“You saw it too,” Hammer said.
“Yes,” Trenton said. “But that does not make it any less dangerous an explanation.”
Both had adjusted their positions to watch the boy. He had taken several steps closer to the lecture halls.
“I wonder,” Trenton said, “if you grasp the repercussions of this thing in its entirety. Put aside the politics of Arielle’s impending betrothal to the Fel’Mekrin.”
“Rumor has it that it is far from impending,” Hammer said. Trenton’s frown made him wave off the comment.
“Was this ordinary, Hammer?” Trenton said. “Did it function, say, as yours does?”
Hammer was silent as he contemplated the question. “No. It was different. It was pure light. Brilliant silver, not golden like my own.”
“That matches my own observations, as well.”
“And it was thick. Far thicker than any I’ve ever seen.”
