Slowing to a walk, I arranged my garments as I approached the last turn in the path before the cottage door. A soft glow greeted me. Bonaventure, a tall fair-skinned old man, waited beside the open door. When he spotted me, he inclined his head.
“Master Aleron,” he said in a deep voice. “Master Neleck is fading fast. His children are ready to leave and it is time for the wait to begin.”
I followed him into the familiar front room now cleared of its customary clutter to make way for the guests, his two sons and three daughters. I quietly greeted each, murmuring the appropriate words of condolence. The oldest, a graying middle-aged blacksmith, grasped my hand last.
“Thank you for giving him these last three months of peace and quiet. If you hadn’t accepted the selection when you did, he wouldn’t have stopped until he dropped dead.” He held up a brand new leather bound book. “He was able to finish this for us. It is a record of our family and the years of his service to Pratinus.”
“He is a good man and he has served well.”
“Aye,” he agreed, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “He was a good father to more than just his children.”
The door to the bedchamber opened, interrupting the hushed conversation. The healer’s assistant emerged and scanned the room. As her eyes met mine, she hesitated. “Sept Son Aleron?” she asked.
“I am he.”
“He is calling for you.” She stepped back, indicating that I should follow her.
Neleck’s bedchamber breathed of his personality, warm and comforting. Bookshelves full of memories lined the walls, stacks of books crowded the bed with a few volumes laid on the side table, and candlelight flickered over the wood-paneled walls. Neleck lay on the bed, his white beard contending with the purity of the pillow beneath his head. His gaunt face was so still and lifeless that for a moment I almost believed he had left already. But then, his eyes opened. Dark and deep, the brown orbs brought life to the haggard features, a ghostly shadow of the man that was leaving.
“Hadrian,” he sent. His familiar smoky taste teased my senses. Lifting a weak hand from the covering, he greeted me.
“I am here,” I answered, crossing to grasp the brittle fingers. Only days before, the same fingers had encouraged me to not give up hope. Now it was my turn to offer comfort. Gently I returned the hand to its resting place on the bedding, but I did not release it. I understand that his time has come, Father, but I don’t want him to go. I still need him.
Even as I prayed the words, I knew the answer that the man before me would give. Pointing out that the Almighty promised to supply all that I needed, he would order me to seek Him. Tears pressed against the back of my eyes as I struggled to focus them on the beloved face of my mentor. I need him, Father.
I knelt beside the bed, bringing my head level with his. His breathing grew shallow and stillness filled the room, pressing upon us both. I could feel the life ebbing out of the fragile shell on the bed before me. I brushed his mind. “I shall miss you.”
His face didn’t move, but his presence touched mine. It was a sending of peace and joyful anticipation. I understood. He wasn’t thinking of what he was leaving behind. His thoughts were looking forward to the face of the beloved Redeemer that he would see at any moment. Pushing away the grief and sorrow that would demand my attention soon enough, I joined my heart with his in celebration. He was stepping from the mortal world of pain into the immortal eternity of communion with the Almighty.
“What glories shall I see when I step upon that shore and see my Savior’s face...” The words of Neleck’s favorite poem wafted through my thoughts, fading as his presence faded slowly away. Then as the words disappeared, the body beside me took a deep shuddering breath and was still.
I waited in the silence. Only the steady thud of my own heart and the rhythm of my own lungs broke the quiet. Grief came in snatches, winding cold wispy fingers about my heart. Yet, beneath the ache settling over me, I could sense a peace. Someday I would see him again. Thank you, Father.
Rising, I carefully placed the cooling hand on the bedclothes. His eyes were already closed; so, there was nothing more for me to do. I crossed to the door, signaled to the healer’s assistant that Neleck had passed, and stepped out into the night. Despite the workload awaiting my attention tomorrow, I doubted that sleep was anywhere in my near future.
Chapter VII
Zezilia
By late Cadeomea, the time when the leaves turn brown, orange, and red in preparation for winter, I was sending instinctively and Errol proclaimed me ready to attempt using the second talent.
“I have high hopes for you in this aspect, Zez,” he informed me as he led me up the trail to the meadow. Selwyn was to join us there to observe my first lesson.
“Why?”
“Of the trained females to date, all of them have excelled in mass moving above their abilities at sending.”
I frowned at him. “Why?”
“The theory is that women produce more energy than men.” He pushed aside an overgrown bush and held it back for me to pass. “You see moving objects without touching them takes a different skill, completely separate from the brain.”
I nodded. Force or Thought had explained in sparse detail what happened when one tried to move matter. In order to move matter, a talent must have two things: a functioning amoveo, an organ located beneath the breastbone; and a capio gland. The capio gland produced an energy completely undetectable to the normal human senses which the amoveo then manipulated to interact with the physical world around the talent.
All of this had been accepted and known from before the Great Loss. When our people were forced to disburse from the great cities in the far north after the land soured, they left most of their knowledge behind. A few scholars had thought to bring texts of information, but it had all been so long ago that only a few texts had survived. Everything known was traced back to those few sources and observations.
“It is theorized that the female capio gland produces more energy for their amoveo to utilize, thus it takes less effort from their amoveo to move something.”
“Is this why we are having the first lesson in an open field?”
Errol paused to laugh. “No, that is because I learned my lesson teaching Ilias. He literally lifted every object in the entire room on his first successful try. It took me months to teach that boy to focus. I don’t want to call down my wife’s wrath over an overturned room again. So, you shall have your first try out in the open where the worst that can happen is dirt hanging in the air.”
At the mention of Ilias’ name, I stored away this new information about him. The man’s name came up every other lesson, and the whole family spoke of him with great affection. Candra told me stories of camping trips with her father and Ilias, Eloine spoke of his singing, and Galatea compared every man she met to the mysterious former student. Though I knew that Errol tried not to compare his students, Ilias’ name came up often when discussing what he expected of me, or what to do or not do in different situations. Apparently, Ilias had been his best student before me. Frequently of late, I found myself wanting to ask someone abruptly who this mysterious student was and see if I could startle information from them.
“Ah, here we are,” Errol announced as he pulled himself up the last rise. “Oh, good, Selwyn is already here. We can begin at once.”
Selwyn lay in the grass near the edge of the field. Sprawled out on his back with an arm flung over his eyes, he looked like he had been napping while he waited. A grasshopper was perched in his dark hair and a many legged bug crawled up his bare foot. Errol crossed to him and nudged his side with a sandaled toe.
“For the last time, Candra,” Selwyn muttered.
“Candra isn’t here.” Errol informed him. “Has she been bothering you?”
“Oh, greetings, Errol.” He blinked up into the afternoon sunshine. “She hasn’t been too bad. Just wanted me to help with her tree house since Zezilia wasn’t available.” Rising to his feet with the fluid
ity of a man used to sitting on the ground, he inclined his head. “Good to see you, Zez.”
“And you, Master Selwyn.”
He smiled and something tugged at my memory. Annoyed, I pushed it away.
“Thank you for coming to assist.” Errol nodded his red head to him.
Selwyn shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. A first lesson in moving matter is always eventful.” He winked at me.
A thrill of nerves slithered down my back. This sounded bigger than Errol had led me to believe.
“Don’t be nervous.” Selwyn’s wild, smoky taste flickered over me tongue. “I am only here because Errol isn’t much of a mass mover.”
“So, you are here to stop me from hurting him?”
“Or yourself.”
“Come over here, Zez,” Errol called. I turned to spot him in the center of the meadow, a frizz haze of hair above the tall grass. “Selwyn, would you mind mowing this field before the next lesson. I cannot see worth anything through this jungle.”
I followed the sound of Errol’s voice, wading through the grasses. They towered almost as tall as my head.
“I will see to it tomorrow morning,” Selwyn replied, his voice coming from off to the right. “What do you want for an object?”
“A stick or pinecone will do nicely,” Errol informed him as I emerged into a hollow of flattened weeds. Errol was stomping around in an ever widening circle. I joined him until we had cleared a circle about ten feet in diameter. Just then Selwyn appeared from the opposite direction. He carried an assortment of objects which he dumped into a heap on the edge of the circle.
“I got a whole selection. Are you ready?” he asked as he brushed his hands off on his britches.
“I am. Are you, Zezilia?” Errol asked.
I looked at him in surprise for a moment. “I guess so. I am still shaky as to what to do.”
“The experience of moving, unlike the experience of sending, is unique to each talent.”
“So, you cannot tell me how to do it?” Panic formed in my middle. The text book had given me nothing on how to move things and if Errol wasn’t going to help... I suddenly envisioned us standing in this field until sundown waiting for me to figure out how to access my amoveo and sense the energy.
“Don’t look so scared,” Selwyn admonished. “All he means is that your way of doing things is going to be different than mine or his. We can still give you hints on how to access your amoveo.”
“Stand here,” Errol instructed, indicating the center of the open space. I obeyed as he crossed to the pile of objects. After selecting a leaf, broad and crimson, he set it on the ground three feet in front of me. “This will be your first object.”
He and Selwyn took a stance to my right and my left. “Would you demonstrate, Selwyn?”
I looked up to find Selwyn concentrating on the leaf. “Look at the leaf, not him,” Errol instructed.
I turned to where the leaf had been, but it wasn’t there anymore. Instead it floated three inches before my face, twisting in an invisible breeze.
“Hold out your hand,” Selwyn instructed.
The leaf settled in and nestled my fingers before ceasing all movement.
“The first step is to sense your amoveo.” Errol lectured as he retrieved the leaf and returned it to the ground. “It is located beneath your breastbone. Now look inside and tell me when you locate it.”
Closing my eyes, I focused my mind inward. I still wasn’t sure what I was looking for, so I started with what I knew. Using the technique I used for visualizing in the beginning of my training, I imagined a gray space. The glimmerings that represented Errol and Selwyn beckoned to me to touch. Looking down past the glimmerings in the direction that I guessed to be my feet, I began my search.
“You won’t be able to see it like you see minds,” Errol commented.
I frowned. So, how was I supposed to detect it?
“Visualize your form,” Selwyn offered, “and look where it should be in the picture.”
I thought of the image I had seen briefly in the mirror that morning, skinny and long-limbed. Adreet constantly predicted that I was going to be tall, but I still hadn’t grown more than an inch or two since leaving my parents. Once it was firm in my thoughts, I looked where the book said my amoveo should be. Something glowed. I was so startled I almost lost the image. “I found it. I think I found it.”
“Touch it,” Errol instructed.
Reaching out mentally, I touched the glow. A warm essence filled my mid section and seemed to flow outward to fill my arms and legs. Then, last of all, it reached my head.
“Good.” Errol’s presence brushed against my consciousness. “Now open your eyes and touch the leaf with the energy.”
I opened my eyes and focused on the leaf. The crimson sheen and the light construction flickered through my thoughts. Lifting my arm, I reached out and did something. It was unlike anything I had ever done before, almost as though the essence within me called to something within the leaf. Whatever it was, suddenly the leaf was in my hand.
“Very good,” Errol said as he took it from my hand. “Now do it again from the beginning.”
“I did it right?” I asked. I was a little confused. From what they had been saying up to this point I had expected to do something amazing the first time. True, the calling of the leaf had been amazing, but I hadn’t lifted all the leaves in the field or something like that.
“Perfectly.” Errol smiled and then returned the leaf to its place.
“But...”
“Perfectly and on the first try. I am impressed,” Selwyn added. “You should be proud.”
“But you said that Ilias raised everything in the room on his first try.” I gazed in confusion from one man to the other.
Selwyn laughed.
Errol didn’t laugh, but his lips twitched slightly before he explained. “It wasn’t on purpose. He tried for three days to find his amoveo unsuccessfully. So, when he found it on the fourth day, he didn’t pause to focus the energy and just lifted. Everything in the room went flying. Now back to work. You still have a great deal to accomplish this afternoon. I replaced the leaf; now do it again.”
I turned my thoughts back to finding my amoveo, but a small part of my brain rejoiced in the fact I had done something in less than an hour that had taken Ilias four days. I couldn’t wait until Candra heard this.
Hadrian
A TAPPING AT THE DOOR brought my attention from a letter before me. I reluctantly tore my concentration from the foolish actions of a talent trainee as related by his trainer. Focusing on the young man standing in the doorway, it took me a moment to recognize Renato’s worried features.
“Yes?” I asked.
“There is an message from the king.”
“Please place it here.” I motioned to the shrinking stack of letters to be answered and turned back to the missive in my hands.
“The messenger has instructions to hand it into your hands himself, Master.”
I frowned. That meant it was serious news. The only thing I could think of serious enough for this formality was the High King’s death.
“He is waiting in the gatekeeper’s office. I came to fetch you.”
“Very well.” I lay the paper on the desk and pushed back my chair. “Renato?”
“Yes?”
“How well do you know the Talents Code?” I shot a glance in his direction as I rose to my feet.
“My trainer had me memorize it cover to cover, master.”
“Mine too,” I replied. I crossed the room and lifted a cloak off the clawed cloak tree. Hibernus, winter, was in full fury and I was not about to walk across the compound without protection against the wind’s icy fingers. “Some of the trainers in the west are not demanding the same of their students. In fact, I have had at least four challenge me to find a reason why they should.”
Renato frowned and shook his head sadly. “Without the Code, trainees would have no reason to not touch th
e unprotected minds. They could manipulate those without defenses.”
“They would gain a taste for the terrible possibilities of their power. And without knowledge of the Code, they would not know that what they are doing is wrong.”
Together we stepped out of my study and crossed the reception area. I informed the man on duty at the desk that I was leaving for the gatehouse.
“How long has this been going on?” Renato asked as we stepped out in to the icy wind and whipping snow. The wind whipped his voice away.
“For five years, if I am reading the signs correctly. I received a letter yesterday from your brother, Blandone. He reports that a rebel group of talents have formed a settlement close to the Western coast. So far they are peaceful, but his impression is that they are seeking talented females for intermarriage.”
“Elitism?” Renato’s musky taste was stronger than usual and a wave of fear came with his sending. I peered at him through the driving snow.
He had a right to be alarmed. According to talent recorded history, Elitism plagued our nation in the past, almost bringing about its collapse. The last rebellion of Elitists rose about three centuries ago, resulting in the present structure of the Sept Son and the Talent Code, memorized by every talent before his acceptance and the granting of permission to use while not in the presence of his trainer. At each level of testing, the trainee’s knowledge of the Code as well as his skills with the talents were poked and prodded.
“Doesn’t the testing prevent Elitists from rising in the ranks?” Renato asked.
“Someone was cheating or, even worse, not submitting to testing at all and training young talents outside the system.” A twinge of guilt tugged at my heart. Wasn’t that what Errol and I were conspiring to do with Zezilia? I didn’t have time to contemplate it now, but on initial glance, it did look that way. How could I condemn someone for doing what I was also doing?
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