The Talented

by J. R. McGinnity

  From what she gathered, the journal had been written before the conflict with Almet. Before the rule of the Fuirons, even, as the author referred to slaves as a part of everyday life. An acceptable part of everyday life. He seemed to have no compunction about punishing his own slaves, even going so far as to write down the punishment he had administered to one of his male slaves.

  Yesterday I gave Barimbo twenty lashes for disobedience. He had brought food to one of the women when I had forbidden her to be fed for two days.

  Today, a boy came to me telling me Barimbo was too sick to work. I went to his shack myself and pulled him out of bed. There is a plot to be turned, and Barimbo is the strongest of my slaves. If he had wanted to avoid a fever, he should never have made me whip him. I will not allow him to get out of work as a result of his disobedience, or I’ve no doubt he will grow more disobedient in future.

  It does not do to show slaves tenderness. To do that is to encourage them to be lax in their duties.

  The accounts of his treatment of slaves made her shudder. Adrienne could not imagine such treatment of a human being as legal, yet she knew that that and worse had been done regularly before the Fuirons came to power. And it was happening even now in Almet.

  After reading two tedious pages about the author’s mother, whose authoritarian character was “unenlightened” and “unbecoming of an educated woman,” Adrienne set the book aside in disgust. It was a waste of time, reading drivel about a long-dead someone’s longer-dead parent, but she couldn’t risk missing some mention of the Talented. She had so little to go on at present that any mention of them could be important, and the author had more than once scrambled his rants about his parent or the government in with his rants against the “unnatural creatures.”

  It was only late afternoon, but they had already set up camp for the night. Adrienne could not object to the campsite, as it was well situated on a hill near a quick-flowing stream, but as usual she thought they could have pressed on for a couple more hours.

  Adrienne did not complain about the early stop; she was grateful to put an end to their travel that day. It had been two days since she had gotten any exercise, and she thought a run and an hour of stretching and balancing poses would help clear her head and prepare her for reading more of the journal. Too much reading and too little activity besides sedately riding Strider were making her itchy and moody. Without some release, she thought she might turn on her companions in hopes of some excitement.

  “I am going for a run,” Adrienne informed Ilso and Tam. “I should be back in half an hour.”

  “What?” Tam asked, regarding her as he would a curiosity. It was his usual response whenever Adrienne pursued any physical activity without need. Even volunteering to collect extra fuel for the fire could be perceived as strange by the man. He preferred studying to all else, which was no doubt the cause of the fat paunch around his middle.

  “I won’t hold supper,” Ilso warned.

  “I enjoy the exercise,” Adrienne explained to Tam, ignoring Ilso’s warning. With a parting look she headed downriver at an easy lope, enjoying the feel of her muscles and ligaments flexing and relaxing with the familiar motions. A feeling of peace such as she had not felt since leaving Kyrog filled her as her mind cleared and she fell into a natural rhythm. There were trees lining the stream, and a breeze relieved some of the sweltering heat.

  The only sign Adrienne saw of other people was the remains of a fire at least two days old. She would keep an eye out, but she was not overly concerned by what she saw. Whoever had been camping near the river two days ago would be several leagues away now, even traveling by foot.

  Adrienne estimated she had run about four miles by the time she returned to camp, and she waved off Ilso’s offer of stew, given grudgingly under the watchful eye of Tam. She was sick of stew, and she had saved some of the berries she had found the day before. Instead of joining the men for supper, she went to the edge of camp and began the routine she had taught Jeral those first days of his training.

  She began with her eyes closed, her feet hip width apart and her hands by her sides. She breathed deeply for a few moments, then inhaled even deeper as she raised her arms and tilted her head toward the sky. She folded forward, exhaling and felt her lingering tension fade with the familiar, calming moves. She was aware of Ilso and Tam talking, but it was easy to block out the meaning of the words so that they were no more than background noise.

  She was aware of other sounds, too, as she moved smoothly through the familiar moves. Adrienne could hear the quiet rushing of the stream, the wind whispering through the branches and leaves and across her sweaty face. Birds sang occasionally in the hot afternoon sun, and squirrels sent up their mad chatter. The smooth, controlled motions took Adrienne outside of herself, away from her companions’ disapproval and the drudgery of the journal she was studying.

  When Adrienne finally opened her eyes, she found both Ilso and Tam watching her. Ilso sneered and looked away, but Tam looked intrigued.

  “That was very interesting to watch,” he told her. “A dance of some sort?”

  Adrienne thought about the sounds she had heard that had seemed almost musical, and the feelings and sensations that seemed to move around and through her during her routine. A dance would not be the worst comparison someone could make. “Perhaps.”

  “I saved you some supper, though Ilso was of a mind to throw it out after you turned it down the first time.”

  Adrienne remembered the berries she had saved, but now that she was calm and relaxed, more stew did not sound as bad. She had eaten far worse and for a far longer stretch of time. “Thank you,” she said. “I am hungry.”

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?” Tam asked. “I would like to discuss what you think of the journal.”

  When she had left the camp for her run, Adrienne had not even wanted to think of the horribly dry journal, but she was in a better place now, and willing to discuss it. “The reading is slow going,” Adrienne admitted. “It is quite clear that the author did not like or approve of people with special abilities. He had some unusual ideas regarding the government and the role of leaders as well.”

  “I thought his ideas rather brilliant,” Tam said. “However, I must agree that he was not a supporter of more people developing abilities.”

  “I can see why you thought Old Samaroan was the best way to read the text. Subtleties are lost in the translation.” Adrienne had started out checking between the two texts to be sure she was reading it correctly, but it had soon become apparent that she understood more from reading the journal in its original language than from reading the translation. “I do wish there was a copy that eliminated the chaff, such as his disagreements with his mother,” she added absently.

  Tam looked at her with muddy eyes full of disapproval, his dark pate reflecting the evening light. “Those incidents give us a glimpse into the author’s mind. Understanding him helps us to better interpret what he is saying when referring to people with special abilities. To eliminate that would be disadvantageous.”

  “They weren’t random people with abilities, these Talented. I think that they were a community, a group with similar goals and experiences. Similar beliefs .”

  “That is an interesting view, but there is no evidence to support such a claim,” Tam said. “I advise against thinking about them as a group when there is no evidence but your mind’s interpretation. It is always best to stick with facts.”

  Adrienne didn’t agree. The entire journal was an interpretation of events through the author’s view, and he viewed them only in light of how those events affected his own life. Her studies of war had meant studying groups, their motivations and beliefs and structures, and she was fairly certain that the book she was reading involved one man’s dislike of a distinct group of people, even if he never explicitly referred to them as such.

  Had she been discussing this with someone other than Tam, she might have pressed the issue. Instead, she decided that her b
est course of action was to let it lie and not argue her point. This was obviously not a part of the theory Tam had meant her to learn about, and she doubted Tam would be reasonable about hearing more of her theories.

  “I plan to read some more before retiring for the night,” Adrienne said, rising from where they sat near the fire. “Good night, Tam.”

  “Good night, Adrienne,” he said, pulling another book from his pack before she had even left the ring of firelight.

  As Adrienne made her way to her bedroll, she wished there was someone else she could share this with. Ricco would hate studying the old journal, but he would have thought that the Talented were a group, just like she did. Jeral was so eager to learn that he would have loved all of it. She missed both of her friends now, when she was so alone in her studies and beliefs.

  ••••••

  The reading did not get easier, although Adrienne’s somewhat dusty Old Samaroan improved greatly. Her dislike of the author, whom she now referred to as “Pele,” the name of a soldier she had been bullied by as a child, grew with every page, but her understanding of the Talented also grew. She was even more convinced now that they were a sub-group of the general population, brought together by the desire to possess special talents and the effort it took to gain them. The author spoke derisively of the hours the Talented spent practicing, focusing, and training, all to disrupt what he thought of as the “natural order.”

  Adrienne wondered if Pele had once had aspirations to become Talented, and had somehow failed in his goal. It would explain his intense dislike of the Talented, which seemed more personal the more she read. She had seen the same behavior in men who had desired to become soldiers, but eventually learned they were not suited for the profession.

  While Adrienne exercised her mind studying the old journal, she made sure to exercise her body as well. She resumed her morning runs, and began performing her “dance” at night. When they stopped for lunch, which invariably took an hour if not more, she would run through forms with her sword. Ilso and Tam always seemed displeased by her use of the weapon, but Adrienne refused to give up the regular practice that was so essential to maintaining her skills. She only wished that she had an opponent to practice against, and hoped to find someone in Kessering to train with.

  Adrienne was running through the sword forms, and just starting the transition from defensive to offensive moves, when a sense of wrongness trickled through her concentration. It was nothing she saw or felt, no sensory input, but a gut-deep feeling. She scanned the woods around them and the road to their right, straining her eyes and ears for a clue as to what had alerted her. She had experienced this feeling before, and her grip on her sword firmed as she readied herself for whatever was coming.

  “Ilso, do you hear something?” she asked in her best lieutenant’s voice, still scanning the woods for signs of danger. They had all been grateful for the shade the grove offered, but she wished now they were camped out on the grassy plains, where she would be able to see further into the distance.

  “No, why?” Ilso’s response to her commanding tone had been automatic. He spit on the ground in disgust. His dislike of her had only grown over the two weeks they had spent in each other’s company. Adrienne thought that the frustrated guard was coming to hate her, and the fact that he had felt compelled to answer her would not help that.

  But Ilso’s feelings toward her were unimportant now, and Adrienne forced thoughts of them aside. He was the only other person around with even rudimentary skill with a weapon. “Something is wrong,” she said. “Grab your sword.”

  “I will not,” he objected, glancing over at the sword piled on top of his saddle bags beside the fire.

  “Grab your sword and begin saddling the horses,” she ordered, her voice velvet over steel. “I am going to check the perimeter.”

  “Adrienne, dear,” Tam said in the patronizing tone he used whenever he felt she was interpreting something wrong in the journal, “do you think perhaps all of that sword practice has made you paranoid? Welcoming such violence into your life cannot be healthy. Neither Ilso nor I heard a thing.”

  Adrienne’s rage boiled over. “I don’t know why the two of you wanted to bring a soldier to Kessering in the first place, since you seem to disapprove of me and all other soldiers, but something is wrong!”

  As she spoke the last word, two men, unkempt and brandishing wickedly curved scimitars, leapt from the thick forest surrounding them. Ilso fell back as quickly as Tam, moving even further away from his sword in the process, and Adrienne allowed herself a grim smile. Ilso would be of no help to her.

  “I’ll deal with the chit,” the smaller of the two men said. His long black hair was matted, and it was nearly impossible to distinguish where dark skin ended and dirt began. “You can—”

  Whatever the taller man could do was lost in his cry of surprise as Adrienne leapt forward suddenly. She darted in and out, the razor edge of her sword leaving a thin line of blood on the man’s arm.

  “Bitch!” he said, and both men turned away from Tam and Ilso and rushed at her.

  Adrienne smiled in anticipation as she watched them run toward her.

  The dual assault might have been effective had they come at her from different directions, but they were both rushing her from the front, getting in each other’s way in an effort to reach her. The two men were poorly trained, that much was obvious, and in minutes they were lying on the ground. Neither would be getting up again.

  “Merciful Creator,” Ilso said, staring at the men on the ground in shock. Each of them had outweighed Adrienne by at least sixty pounds, yet she had dispatched them with swift efficiency, her sword moving as an extension of her body.

  “Was it really necessary to kill them?” Tam asked once he had found his voice. “Couldn’t you have simply disarmed them instead?” His tone was shaky and uncertain, and when he looked down at the bodies there was horror in his eyes.

  Adrienne looked away from the bodies of the two outlaws to shoot Tam a look of disbelief. She decided to ignore the ridiculous question. “Saddle the horses,” she told Ilso again.

  “Surely that is not necessary now that you have…dealt…with these men,” Tam said. “Although a spot away from the, uh, bodies might be preferable,” he added after looking at the bloody corpses.

  “No, not just a different spot,” Adrienne said. “We don’t know that these men were alone. We should keep on until dark, and keep our guards up.”

  “You’re not in any position to issue orders,” Ilso said, his expression dark and angry. “Just because some fool gave you rank back in Kyrog doesn’t mean anything out here.”

  “Saddle the damn horses,” Adrienne snapped, her eyes skimming the bodies before traveling up to meet Ilso’s.

  Ilso’s eyes fired, and Tam stepped between the two of them. “Adrienne, I know that you must be upset, but I am in charge of this mission, and—”

  “You’re in charge?” Adrienne turned her anger on Tam. “I’m the only reason the two of you are not the ones lying dead on the ground.” She saw the fear in Tam’s eyes as her words hit their mark, but it did nothing to cool her temper. “Maybe my rank in Kyrog doesn’t matter here,” she said, including Ilso in her scathing words, “but this,” she raised her sword, “means that when I say move, you move.”

  “I—”

  Adrienne took a step forward, and Tam took two quick steps back. “I’ll start packing up,” he said. “Ilso, get the horses ready.”

  Adrienne stood back and kept an eye on the surrounding forest while the two men worked to pack up camp. When she was reasonably sure that no one was in the woods and that Tam and Ilso were fully occupied with their duties, she gathered up the scimitars, knives, and coin purses from the thieves’ bodies and bundled them in with her own possessions. There was no point in leaving the weapons to rust, or the coins to be scattered by scavengers come to feed on the dead.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kessering was a small but sprawling cit
y.

  The people in the streets wandered every-which-way, and Adrienne thought they lacked the commonality of purpose that most of the people at Kyrog had shared. Adrienne had traveled to other towns and cities before, and had observed in nearly all of them such a separateness of purpose amongst the people there, but it was strange to think that she would remain in such a disorderly place for an extended period of time. The soldiers in Kyrog had training to bind them together, but the people who lived in cities went about their business almost completely independent of each other.

  “I can’t wait to return to the library,” Tam said. “I was not able to bring nearly enough books on this trip.” Since he had managed to cram more books into a saddlebag than Adrienne had thought possible, she was not sure that his statement was entirely accurate, but she was too busy studying the city to comment.

  The city had no surrounding wall to speak of. In lieu of stone defenses, dry wooden boards ten feet high surrounded the city and gave the appearance of safety, but they would provide no real protection if someone were to try and enter without permission. Fire or even a battering ram would work quickly if invaders were too lazy to climb the low walls.

  She turned her attention to the hinges on the gates and realized that they were going to rust despite the dry heat. Adrienne could not help but wonder when the gates had last been closed, or if they even could be closed after so many years of neglect.

  The three of them rode their horses through the gates and garnered no more than a passing glance from the one guard set to keep watch.

  “If my presence is no longer necessary, I am going to leave,” Ilso said to Tam, giving Adrienne a dark look. He had not forgiven her for her actions the day she had killed the brigands a week before, and Adrienne was glad to see him gone. She’d had more than one uneasy moment wondering if Ilso might try to harm her in her sleep.