More important, could he actually be right?
I’d believed him, but that had been because he was a mage and I was in awe of him. Now, however, as I held a sobbing Hero in my arms, I actually gave his assertions some serious critical thought for the first time. This wasn’t a question of the earth’s creation or of man’s existence. This was a simple question of the source of magical power. The Dominion knew only the power granted to a select few by the hyma. To Synth and Hymanni alike, power came by drinking the juice of a berry, and the ability to tolerate the juice came by chance. There was no room for deity in such a system, for nature itself created deities, and those deities ruled over the rest of humanity.
But the mages knew magic of a different sort, magic of a more intimate species. Their magic sprang from within, from the very blood in their veins. If a similar pattern were true for the mages as was for the Synths—that only random individuals had access to the power—then perhaps nature could have been said to create magic as well. Yet I distinctly recalled Abacus claiming that at one time all humanity had the ability to manipulate their ether. That it was a natural part of being alive. The old mage had not conjectured upon reasons for this, but he had made it clear that he felt there was more than chance involved.
Magic, after all, was no natural ability. It was at least paranormal, but more correctly supernatural. The ability to manipulate an object at the elemental level was no ordinary talent. No animals were known to have a capacity for magic, and much study had been conducted in the matter over the years. Humans were alone at the top of a pyramid, and the only thing that separated them was ether. Spirit. That connection with the Divine that granted divine powers over nature.
Why, then, had that power been withdrawn? I wasn’t sure there was a way to answer that question, but it seemed to me that if this were a question of mere natural forces that there would have been no decline. Indeed, the simple fact that the children of Hymanni or Synth parents were as likely as any other child to fail the Choosing, falling into Eikos anonymity, indicated that something other than nature was involved. Synth abilities were not passed on in the blood.
I was drawn back from my musings by Hero’s whispered plea in my ear. “Toven, we have to talk to someone. We can’t go on by ourselves.”
I was troubled by this sudden change of heart on her part and pulled away from her slightly so I could look into her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
Her eyes flittered briefly to the book on the table and then away to the shelves behind us. “Because there are dangerous things in here, Toven. Knowledge that should be kept locked away. Lies that should never be permitted to see the light of day. These are not things for nineteen-year-old children.”
“Lies? Children?”
“Please, Toven,” she begged, not answering my question. “Please, let’s go talk to someone. Deryn Lhopri will have answers. Or Professor Lornis.”
I shook my head. “No, Hero. We decided to come here because I can’t trust them, remember? Tell me what it is you read that put you in such a state. Perhaps it’s just what I need to know in order to understand myself and my place in the world.”
As I pled with Hero, I became faintly aware of her in a way I’d never been before. Her scent, which was increasingly enticing, was almost overpowering, as though I breathed in air composed of one part oxygen and one part Hero. It was not the proximity to her, either, that caused this sensation, for I’d been this close to her on numerous occasions without feeling what I now felt. Neither was it any sort of romantic connection that had begun growing, for though the seeds of that were present, my mind was too clear to be clouded by emotions just then.
No, as I pled for her to show me what it was she’d read, I began to sense her with that part of me that I’d only just become acquainted with: my ether. I could just faintly recognize the divisions of air and fire that made up her mind.
To explain this to you will require an analogy of sorts: Imagine, if you can, attempting to convince someone of an argument you believe so strongly that you begin to will them to accept? You begin to project your own thoughts into the air between you, straining your mind to impose your will on their own, not by words but by simple thought. That is what it felt like talking to Hero, only rather than leave my thoughts hanging between us, my thoughts actually pushed into her mind and began to drive hers away.
She recoiled suddenly, thrusting me away in fright. I fell to the floor, the chair toppling over from the force of her shove. “What are you doing?” she screamed.
“I don’t know,” I murmured back, as much in shock as she was. Her eyes were fairly bulging with fright and she breathed heavily. Meanwhile, I turned over and retched onto the mage’s thousand-year-old rug. I did not feel sick, not in any normal sense. It was rather like the rush of adrenaline that comes upon a man the first time he kills.
I wiped the last strings of bile from my mouth with the back of my hand and coughed. “I’m sorry, Hero.”
I heard footsteps, and when I looked up, she was gone.
* * *
The Way of Things was an enigmatic volume. Philosophy, science, religion, mathematics. All facets of human knowledge had found their way into the old book, all of them being related by the author in ways I would never have thought possible. Modern textbooks are clearly delineated by subject. A philosophy text will contain no mathematics, and religious discussion is absent all science texts. Just because we are an atheist society does not mean religion is taboo. On the contrary, many Synths are fascinated by what they call the primitive beliefs of the Eikos, studying their religious patterns and practices as one would a jar of fruit flies.
But the book entitled The Way of Things did not even divide its various subjects by chapters or sections, relegating discussions to appropriate places. No, the book seemed written on the assumption that it was impossible to separate any one facet of knowledge from another, that all was interconnected, and that to force an artificial division on them was to ruin any chance of really understanding the world.
If that is not reason enough for Hero to have reacted as she did, then perhaps the fact that the tome systematically attacked every foundational tenet of the Aarian Dominion is ample reason for her reaction. For my part, I floated through its pages in a kind of stupefied wonder. Only Abacus’ confessions had come close to this in terms of heretical arguments about life. Five minutes of paging through The Way of Things, though, was enough to convince me that I held in my hand probably the most dangerous book in existence. Abacus’ journal, at least, was apparently unreadable to anyone but myself. This tome, however, was in the common tongue, if in a rather archaic dialect, and could therefore quite easily wreak havoc if made public.
I glanced at the shelf where it had sat collecting dust for a thousand years. It had not been a volume I’d looked at before. I would have remembered as much. But now I wondered how it could possibly have escaped through ages of a careful and systemic compilation of approved knowledge by the Dominion hierarchy. Surely someone had pulled it from the shelf since the days of Abacus the mage.
It took a great strength of will to close the book again, knowing that I had to go after Hero. The curiosity had been too much, and so I’d allowed myself a glance at the tome’s pages after she had fled, but I needed to follow her now, if only to ensure she did not tell someone about what had happened. I decided against placing the book back where it had come from, admittedly not trusting Hero to leave it alone, but fearing she might return to destroy it or turn it over to a professor. I placed it high up on a top shelf behind some other books chronicling the rise and fall in popularity of an ancient sport that involved kicking an inflated bladder around a circular field. Judging by the number of volumes on the subject, Abacus seemed to have rather enjoyed the game. Hopefully nobody would think to look for so dangerous a tome behind so trivial a subject.
I then dashed from the library and down flights of stairs. Warrior Synths in their green cassocks stood on guard outside the tower just a
s they always did, ignoring me for the most part as I had special license to come and go, and they had grown so used to my presence that I was almost considered a part of the place.
“Did you see which way Hero went?” I asked one of them. They had no way of knowing one student from another, but as only two young people came and went with any regularity, there could be no mistaking whom I meant.
One of the Synths snickered. “Women problems, is it? I always wondered what it is you two are doing in that tower.”
“Reading,” I answered flatly and then turned to the man I’d addressed first, waiting for an answer.
“She went towards the front of the University grounds,” he said, pointing. “That way.”
I dashed off again without giving the man my thanks, suspecting I’d find Hero seated beneath the statues that loomed before the University buildings. As the dormitories lay clear in the other direction, I knew that the only place she was then likely to be was our favored homework spot. I could sense the stone statues from a distance, the cold, hard element of earth calling to me desperately as though seeking to be awakened just as my ether had recently been roused itself. I was momentarily stunned, but I managed to force all thoughts of the stone from my mind as I spied Hero at the base of the middle statue.
She sat with her back to me, but she knew I was there, for as I approached, she said, “You took your time.”
Her voice was angry and bitter, but there was a hint of anxiety in it as well. She turned to face me, her eyes the angry red of those trying to weep but having no more tears.
“Hero, I’m sorry.”
She sighed. “Oh, I know. I’m sorry too, Toven. I don’t understand what’s happening to you, and that frightens me. I know you didn’t mean to do whatever it was you did back there, but it felt like such a violation, like you were trying to—to possess me.”
I sat down on the stone base of a statue, my legs touching hers. “That would be a good way to describe it. It felt like I was taking over your mind. I’m sorry.”
Hero waved a hand. “It’s over. Just promise not to do it again.”
I smiled wanly. “I’ll try, though I’m not sure exactly what it is I did. This is all so new to me, Hero. I feel my ether inside me now, faint though it is, but I seem to be able to do things with it that should not be possible. Think about these statues. Remember when I said they felt warm, almost alive?” She nodded. “Well, everything is beginning to feel like that now, and these statues are calling to me, summoning me like the scent of food when I haven’t eaten for a day. When we were in the library, I could sense the air and fire elements in your mind. If I focus, I can make out the form of your body with my ether, the earth and water, air and fire that makes up who and what you are.”
She drew back slightly, and I realized I’d embarrassed her. I felt my cheeks flush at what she might be thinking, but I couldn’t exactly put her mind at rest. All I could do was commit within myself to not focus so intently on her. I quickly realized that if I did focus in just the right ways, it was as though I saw her body unclothed or her whole soul bared open for me to inspect. There was no part of her that could be hidden, not even if it were buried beneath an avalanche of clothing.
My mind made the leap to the fact that if I could sense Hero like this, I could probably sense others this intimately too. It was a realization that sent a shiver down my spine, to be blest—or curst, as it were—with such a personal knowledge of others. I did not like the level of responsibility that this placed on me. I would need to devote a great deal of time to Abacus’ library, I knew, if I was going to make any sense of it all. Despite a handful of hours spent flipping through ancient books that afternoon, we’d not uncovered anything useful on the mages. All the volumes on magic I’d perused had dealt with practical application, nothing on the nature of ether itself.
“What are you thinking?” Hero asked, breaking into my thoughts.
“That I’m confused with no sign of help any time soon,” I replied.
Hero dropped her head as though in disappointment, and I pondered for a moment her response, until I recalled that the last thing I’d said before falling silent was how I could sense every part of her.
“Oh,” I said, drawing out the vowel in sudden understanding of what she had been waiting for me to say. She looked up at me mischievously, and I felt my cheeks flush again. “Ah, you’re very pretty,” I offered.
“You can see into the deepest parts of me, and all you have to say is ‘you’re very pretty’?” she asked petulantly. Despite her tone I could tell she was amused by my response and the way she had me flustered, cornered before her like a frightened animal.
“Beautiful,” I ventured again.
“Hmm, better,” she replied, a smile tugging at her lips, “but you’re going to have to practice your adjectives if this is going to go anywhere.”
“Go anywhere?” I repeated, startled now to the point of mental immobility, reduced to an echo. Gone was the ability to sense any part of her. I was so uncomfortable I might not have been able to tell her my name had she asked it of me.
“Boys!” she declared, as though that one word summed up everything that had passed between us. Her fear and anger had vanished by now; instead, she sat there grinning like a trapper approaching a rabbit caught in her snare. “You don’t tell a girl you can sense her every part and then not expect something to come of it.”
“But I was just stating the facts.”
She looked at me slyly, as though gauging the sincerity of my remark. I moved to allay her biting wit. “If it helps, I thought you were beautiful yesterday, before my ether awoke.”
That brought a full smile to her lips, and without warning, she kissed me firmly on the mouth, leaping to her feet as soon as we parted, and leaving me stunned to silence once more.
“You behave yourself, Toven Aimis,” she said as she turned and skipped off in the direction of the dormitories.
I sat at the base of the statues puzzled by what had just happened.
* * *
Several moments passed in stupefaction until I finally shook myself from bewilderment. I tried to put Hero from my mind for a moment, but it was proving futile. As I fought my own thoughts, I laid a hand on the center of the three statues, feeling the familiar warmth in the stone. Try as I might, though, I felt nothing but their incessant tug on my mind. The stone definitely felt alive, but my head was overflowing with thoughts of Hero just then and I could get no further than to slam my fist down in frustration.
I made my way back towards the mage’s tower. It was getting late, but I still had about an hour before dinner would be served, and I wanted to take a closer look at the volume Hero had found and which had sparked something between us I did not yet understand.
The same pair of Synth guards was still on duty when I returned, and they eyed me closely. They did not get much entertainment, I supposed, and so they were clearly amusing themselves trying to guess the outcome of my search for Hero. They dared not ask me, though, for even as a student, I already outranked them, wearing as I did the white cassock of a Hymanni. Their earlier flippancy was an aberration, and one the fellows were probably hoping I’d forgotten in my hurry.
I could see their disappointment as I passed by without comment, but I was in no mood to indulge them. My mind was fixed on the book hidden in Abacus’ library.
I found Deryn Lhopri waiting for me, and I paused midstride as I entered the room. On the desk before her was the book, the faint gold lettering of the title glinting in the light of the lamps I’d left burning in my haste to find Hero.
The professor’s lips were pursed with anger, and she studied me closely. I tried as best I could to hide my fears, but apparently my nonchalance only made me seem guiltier. She placed a hand slowly on The Way of Things, the look of displeasure never leaving her face. “We had an agreement, Toven, that you are to report all that you learn to me. I am here to guide you.”
She withdrew a second book from the po
cket of her cassock and set it on the table. As soon as I saw what it was, my eyes grew wide with fear. Deryn Lhopri grew suspicious, her brow furrowing. “This is your journal, is it not?”
I hesitated a moment, confused now myself. I decided in an instant that she did not know what it was she held in her hand. Despite the fact that my privacy had been violated rather grossly, I knew that any slip on my part would give away the fact that she held in her hands the true version of Abacus’ confessions, the book I’d found two years previously in the mage’s tower. She, like Hero before her, had evidently been unable to read it. How long she had known about it, I could not tell, but if she thought it was my journal, then I had little choice but to continue in the same vein.
I nodded. “Yes, professor.”
“Interesting. Tell me, Toven, where does a student of the University, who is not yet permitted to leave these grounds, get a journal that is this ancient? The binding has got to be a thousand years old at least, though in very sound condition.”
My mind raced. “I—uh—I found it here in the tower. I think it may have been one of the mage Abacus’ unused journals. I didn’t think it would be missed, and I intended to write down my own thoughts and frustrations with my ether, but when it came down to it, I couldn’t bring myself to soil those pages with ink.”
I could tell she did not believe me, and yet I was fairly certain there was no way she could know the truth, not unless she could actually read the text. “So, you want me to believe that you stole a blank book from the mage’s library and then were so overcome with guilt that you could not actually bring yourself to record anything in it?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I said.
The Scion of Abacus, Part 2 Page 3
