Seventh Born

by Rachel Rossano

  “Three years?” I looked up at him in surprise. His bright green eyes met mine and he nodded.

  “I estimate it will take you at least three years to reach full training, however, we can take longer if you need more time to master something.”

  I looked down at the heavy tome and frowned. “Then I guess we should begin.”

  He laughed. “Sounds wise, but first I need to go over the basic ground rules. First, except for today, all communication done within this room is to be done by mind alone.”

  My stomach sank. Remembering the difficulty that I had trying to send the first time, I was doubtful that I would be able to do it correctly so soon. That meant that if I didn’t learn to send today I would have no way of asking questions later.

  “Second, outside this room there are only three people you are allowed to send to. They are Selwyn, the Sept Son, and myself. Until you are trained, we are the only three people who know that you are training. My daughters know not to speak of your training to anyone and I want you to do the same. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “Why does it have to be such a secret?”

  “We have our reasons and I will tell you about them later, but for now you have to trust me. Do I have your word?”

  I agreed.

  “Now, third, you are not to ever send to the mind of an untalented. It is an invasion of privacy of the most atrocious kind. They will have no defenses with which to shut you out, and so you could glean anything you wanted from their mind. The only exception to this rule is if the untalented gives you permission. The only time this usually happens is within a marriage relationship.”

  “So, Adreet lets you read her thoughts?”

  He smiled in amusement. “Sometimes. Now, the final ground rule. You are never to use your physical talent while angry. Accidents have happened when new talents, fresh to the ability to move objects, have injured their trainers or untalented friends and family because they were not able to control their usage of the energy. Now,” he said as he sank into the chair behind the large desk, “Do you agree to these rules?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He smiled at me warmly. “Now take a seat and open Force or Thought and read the fifth chapter. It is the one entitled ‘Introduction to Sending.’ When you have finished, we will discuss and begin applying. The goal for today is to get you to send.”

  I immediately grabbed the book and found the chapter. Reading it was easy. It explained in detail how the sending ability came from a part of the brain that is more developed in some individuals more than others. The ability tends to appear in primarily males, but some females have been known to possess the capability to send. Then the text outlined a detailed description of how to do it. Without thought, I began trying to send to Errol.

  “Stop” Errol’s plum taste flooded my mouth. I looked up to find him frowning at me. “We still need to discuss it. I don’t want you trying it exactly the way they describe.”

  The following hour was spent in intense discussion over every aspect of the act of sending. Finally, just as I began to lose hope that Errol would allow me to try it again, he sat back in his chair and smiled.

  “Now you may try again.”

  As we had discussed, I leaned back in my chair, relaxing against the wood until I was comfortable. Then closing my eyes, I visualized the field of gray with the glowing bits of light. The brightest one close to me was Errol. Reaching out with my mind I tried to touch his light. My reach fell short the first time; second time I overreached. Then finally, I touched it. Plum filled my mouth as I brushed the surface.

  “Good,” Errol muttered. “Now try to touch me again.”

  This time it was easier. For a half hour, we practiced until I could touch his mind exactly right without a miss for ten times in succession.

  “Now think of a word,” he instructed.

  The word ‘willow’ came to mind. Visualizing the memory of the great willow outside the house, I formed the word deliberately in my thoughts.

  “Do you have one?”

  I nodded.

  “Now send it to me.”

  Reaching out with my mind, I brushed his, pushing the thought of the willow toward him as I did. The plum taste touched my tongue; so, I knew that I had made contact. However as I waited with my eyes closed for his next instruction, it didn’t come. I opened my eyes to find him watching me with a thoughtful expression.

  “Did I do it?” I asked.

  He didn’t move. Thoughts seemed to flicker beneath his green eyes as he studied me. Finally, his eyes lowered and he frowned as he ran his fingers through his already frizzy hair.

  Taking that as a negative, I pushed again. “Should I try again?”

  “No,” he lifted his hand and shook his head. “Just give me a moment to process what has just happened.”

  “So I sent something?”

  “Oh, yes. You sent, child. You just sent more than any trainee has ever sent before on his or her first try.” He pinned me with his strange gaze. “You haven’t been studying behind my back, have you? Selwyn giving you lessons?”

  “No, Master. I only did the exercises you told me to.” I shrunk back in the chair. I could not think of what I might have done. Had I sent the whole word when I should have only been able to manage half or nothing on the first try? I watched Errol warily. “I did try that one time in the carriage,” I reminded him.

  He waved me to shush and reached for Xornitic’s Book of Sending Exercises. Opening it to the appendix, he flipped a few pages and then set it before me open. “Read that,” he ordered.

  “‘Sending Images, Feelings, and Intentions,’” I read out loud. It was the title of the section. “I don’t understand.”

  “That is what you just did, child.” He whipped the book away from me and closed it with a muffled thump. “I can see that that book is going to be useless,” he muttered.

  “I sent an image, feeling, and intention?” I asked. I was still confused as to what Errol was so agitated about.

  He finally looked up and actually looked at me. “You sent a word, an image, and an emotion, Zezilia.”

  “And that is significant?”

  He laughed. “It means that you have a strong talent for sending. Sending multiple things in one sending is a skill that most advanced trainees learn after two years of study. You just did it instinctively, which means that your sending lessons are going to focus on something totally different than I was planning. Instead of learning how to send these things together, you are going to need to learn to separate them out and send only the one you intend to send.”

  He rose from his chair and crossed to one of the floor to ceiling bookcases. Selecting a thick book with a deep purple cover, he said, “There is going to be a change in textbooks.” He set the book before me and removed the Xornitic’s Exercises. I read the faded gold lettering on the new book, Defensive Discernment.

  “I want you to begin reading that immediately. It will be tough to digest at first because you will not be familiar with the vocabulary. This should help with that.” He set a dictionary on top of the purple book. “I want you to take notes on everything you read. We will discuss a section every morning and then practice it.”

  “But I am not very good at sending yet. I have only done it once.” In fact I was feeling overwhelmed.

  “That,” he said as he resumed his seat, “Is what we are going to do today.” He settled into the chair as though he expected to be there a long while. “I want to hear a story,” he declared.

  I looked at him in stunned apprehension.

  “Touch my mind and tell me a story. I want you to develop the discipline for sustained sending. If I am right, you are very capable, you just need practice. Now, tell me a story.”

  I struggled to think a tale to tell. My thoughts were too full of the discoveries of the past half hour.

  “It could be a bedtime story about a pig and a goat for all I care, child. I am waiting and you are wasting time. Compose
your thoughts and begin.”

  Taking him literally at his word, I pulled a bedtime tale that my nurse told me when I was young from my memory. Repeating the steps from before, I falteringly began to send my tale a word at a time.

  “You can do better than that,” Errol complained. “Send sentences. Maintain touch; just be careful not to press into my thoughts.”

  Hands shaking, I began again. This time I let the fusion of taste fill my mouth until I could smell nothing but what my taste buds insisted was on my tongue. With great concentration I told the tale. Thankfully, it was brief.

  “Good,” Errol proclaimed. I jumped at the abrupt presence in my mind. An instinct that I hadn’t known was there did something, and suddenly I could no longer taste plum. Errol laughed. “So that is what he meant.”

  “Who?”

  Waving me off, Errol shook his head. “Enough for today. Take out Talents and Morals and read the first chapter. After you are done, we will discuss the concepts.”

  I obeyed, wondering if every day of study was going to be as disconcerting as this one. I hoped not. Feeling more confused than enlightened, I turned my thoughts to the first chapter of Talents and Morals.

  Hadrian

  THE NIGHT BECKONED to me. From the candle-lit confines of my study with its floor to ceiling bookcases and white vacant walls, the darkness looked velvet and deep. Where I sat, leaning over the cluttered stacks of evaluations, reports, letters, and documents, the cool waft spoke of relief and repose. My thoughts strayed from the letter about the latest birth of a seventh son to the enticing music of trees in the breeze.

  On those days, exhaustion frequently drove me to bed long before the dimness of evening fell into night. Long hours of work with no glimmer of relief thrust me onward from early morn, before the sun rose, to sunset. Then I would collapse into bed only to rise to do it again. For three months, this had been my life. Almost half my first year as Sept Son was over and yet both the High King and Neleck lingered.

  Tonight, however, promised to be the end of one wait for death. Neleck grew weaker hourly and the healers predicted he would breathe his last tonight. That was why I lingered so long in my study, chipping away at the perpetual cliff of documents. Hours ago, I left orders with the healers that I was to be summoned when Neleck had finished saying goodbye to his children. His wife had passed into the next life years before. As he had held her hand for the crossing and closed her eyes on this world, it was my honor to do the same for my mentor and predecessor. So, I waited, hunched over my desk eyeing the freedom that summoned from beyond the partially open doors and the gaping screened windows.

  “I am going for a walk,” I announced abruptly. Rising to my feet, I was stretching the aching muscles in my back before my aide, Lorne, began his protest.

  “But there is more work. You should use the waiting time while you can, Master.”

  “I could work forever and never catch up, Lorne. If I don’t stop occasionally, I shall fall asleep or into a stupor.”

  “But what if we hear news from the bedside?”

  “I shall be on the main path in the back gardens. Send a messenger to fetch me, or have one of the stronger talents send to me.”

  Then, before he could voice another objection, I ducked out the doors and into the night. I strode deep into the darkness, away from the star-masking light behind me. Memory guided my steps until I had left the glow far behind me. Finally pausing, I drew a deep breath of intoxicating air into my lungs, only to let it out slowly, savoring the sensation. The last time I had taken a moment to take a deep breath occurred three weeks ago and I was long overdue.

  “Master Aleron?” I immediately recognized the musky taste of my trainee, Renato.

  “Yes,” I replied, seeking his presence with my mind. I found it immediately. He was standing off the path to my left under the great crayepple tree that never produced fruit. As my eyes finished adjusting to the darkness, I could just make out his shadow.

  “What brings you out so late, sir?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I got another letter from my brother, Clovis, and I am worried about Vander.”

  “Still getting into trouble with his tongue?” I asked.

  “Aye. He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth closed, and in the military a loose tongue can get you killed.”

  “I am walking toward the back garden. Do you wish to join me? You can tell me about your brother and perhaps there is something we can do about it.”

  I caught his surprise, as I sometimes did when communicating with others. It was something that Errol believed was unique to me. Usually most talents could not sense emotion unless it is sent purposefully with a sending.

  “There is nothing you can do, Master, but I would like to speak with you. There is another matter I want to ask you about.” He crossed out of the shadow of the tree and joined me on the path. Together we strode deeper in the gardens in silence.

  “So what is this other matter, Renato?” I asked finally when it was clear he wasn’t going to introduce the subject on his own. “Is it something to do with your training?”

  “No. It is something about my family, my sister, to be specific.”

  I nodded. My memory offered up her image as I had last seen her. She stood among the dancing tresses of the High King’s willows. Light flickered across her listening face, tracing the unique lines and emphasizing her beauty. She had looked so perfect there, as though she belonged, growing strong and slender within the sheltering shadow of the ancient willow.

  “Zezilia, right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he admitted and then dipped his head as though reluctant to go on. “My parents haven’t heard from her in four weeks and they are concerned. In her letter, Mother sounded very worried. I am not sure whether it is more about Zez or the fact she feels Father is keeping something from her.”

  I frowned. “Does she know where Zezilia is?”

  “Yes, of course. She is on a farm somewhere south in the lowlands with Master Errol Silas and his family. Mother talked about to trying to visit her there just to make sure that she is alright. Why do you ask?”

  I paused. That would not be good. If Ostin Ilar had not told his wife about Zezilia’s unusual training, it would have been for a reason, a good reason like she would put a stop to it. “It is vital that your mother not attempt to go and visit Zezilia.”

  “Why? What is going on? Is Zez in danger?”

  “No.” I immediately answered the final question. That was the only one that I could answer without deep thought. So far Errol, Ostin, and I were the only keepers of the secret, but if Donelle Ilar managed to find out, I knew with sudden unwavering certainty that would be the end of Zezilia’s training.

  “I am going to tell you something, Renato, and I am going to need your oath that you will tell no one else.”

  “Is this something that I am going to regret knowing?”

  “I doubt it. In fact, you will be able to help your sister by knowing this.”

  Renato lowered his head in thought. I let him think. This might not be the wisest move, but I felt I could trust the boy. In the three months of his sojourn within the Sept Compound, I watched him. His overseers and trainers spoke highly of his hard work and level head. If I was to seek out an ally among Zezilia’s brothers, Renato would be my choice.

  “Tell me. I shall not pass it on.” The young man’s voice was firm and steady. The choice was made never to be reconsidered.

  “Errol is training your sister.”

  Silence hung between us for a few moments.

  “So she is talented?”

  “Yes, she is very talented. I tested her myself.”

  “But how did he get Father to allow it?”

  My stomach sank. There was only one answer that I could give him and that was the truth. Taking a deep breath, I hoped he wouldn’t hate me for it. “Errol made me promise your father that I would find Zezilia a husband at the end of her trai
ning. He was afraid that she would not be marriageable once she completed her training.”

  Renato laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “That sounds like Father. I am surprised that he didn’t make you promise to marry her yourself.”

  “I did, after a fashion.” I then related the entire conversation to him.

  “He has a point,” Renato admitted. “I have seen some of those women he talked about.”

  “Your sister will not be like that.” There must have been something in my voice for he turned and squinted at me through the darkness.

  “You seem convinced,” he observed with mild amusement.

  “I told you I tested her myself. Your mother has raised her well.”

  Just then a faint flicker of brown sugar slid across my tongue. I lifted my head and reached out toward the origin of the sending.

  “Sense something?”

  “Yes, I must go. Neleck needs me,” I told him. But before I hurried off, I turned to him. “Remember that you cannot tell anyone, and you must convince your mother not to visit your sister.”

  “I understand,” he agreed. “Now go. May the goddess bless his crossing.”

  I nodded and then slipped into the foliage in the direction of Neleck’s quarters. The goddess’ blessing wasn’t what old Neleck needed, but I understood that Renato meant well. Since the former Sept Son’s conversion to a follower of the Almighty a few years ago, he and I had sought the same source of strength, the all-powerful God of the universe.

  It took only a few minutes to jog across the compound to the low bungalow that housed Neleck and his shrinking world. Upon my return from the Caelestis Novem, I discovered that the former Sept Son wasted no time in moving out of his old quarters and into the smallest building on the grounds. There, ensconced with his books, writing utensils, and faithful servant, Bonaventure, he wiled away his last months in study and rest. I quickly found myself envying the man his silence. After the long hours of work, I would occasionally visit him for a meal, discussion, or both. His fountain of experiences and knowledge constantly challenged me to learn more about the world I live in and the people I interact with everyday.