Seventh Born

by Rachel Rossano

“Is she still infatuated with me?”

  Candra laughed. “Oh, no, she loves Korneli.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise involuntarily. “I am assuming that her beau’s name isn’t Korneli.”

  “His name is Tyre. No, she loves the Korneli that came to test Zez before you.”

  I couldn’t help the laugh. It came out short and abrupt, but I cut it off quickly. It was wrong to laugh at the child’s heartache. But I couldn’t help envisioning Korneli’s face when I told him this news. Tears came to my eyes with the effort of not laughing.

  “She moons about all day talking about Korneli. Then when Tyre comes, she brushes her hair, washes her face, puts on a huge smile, and plays happy for him.”

  “Then why does she see Tyre?”

  “Because Father says she has to or he will ban Korneli from coming.”

  “I see.” I glanced over at Zez. Her eyes remained on the road. “I am sorry if I did something to offend.”

  “You didn’t,” she replied without acknowledging my presence physically. Something was wrong, but apparently she wasn’t going to tell me what.

  Zezilia

  IT TOOK AN ETERNITY for the house to come into view. The whole while, the Sept Son continued glancing my way as he kept up with Candra’s chatter. I purposefully avoided his eyes. Something was wrong and I wasn’t sure what it was, but the feeling increased tenfold when our eyes met. My heart thrilled at the sight of the cottage just beyond the kitchen garden wall. In moments, there would be four others to occupy the man’s attention, and I could begin studying him unnoted.

  Candra explained about Eloine and Eldivo’s secret rendezvous and rattled on about plans for another tree house until we were spotted from the house. The kitchen door opened and Adreet came out wiping hands on her apron with Galatea and Eloine in her wake. Eloine ran out to us, arms spread wide to be swung around and hugged. Galatea hung back at her mother’s side, but when the Sept Son wasn’t looking, she straightened her skirts and touched a hand to her hair.

  “Ilias,” Adreet exclaimed as she approached. He leaned down so that she could place an affectionate peck on his cheek as he hugged her. “Errol said you were coming, but he couldn’t say when.”

  “Where is your escort?” Eloine asked.

  “He is playing hooky,” Candra explained as she danced around them all in excitement.

  “The rest should be here any minute.” The Sept Son smiled at Galatea, taking her hand and bowing over it like a gentleman. “You have grown, Teaia. When I last saw you, you were still in braids.”

  Galatea fluttered her eyes and blushed becomingly. Something within my stomach turned.

  “Come in. Come in,” Adreet instructed, waving us all toward the open back door. “Lunch is just about ready and if I am about to have more visitors, I need to get working on cooking for them.”

  “Don’t bother, Adreet.” The Sept Son looked up as he disentangled himself from Candra’s grasp. “They have their own supplies. We won’t need to inconvenience you.”

  “You at least will eat with us,” Eloine demanded.

  He laughed. The warm sound flooded my senses and I couldn’t help remembering the first night we had met. He had laughed like that then. But this sound was slightly different. Laced with sorrow, it held only traces of the freedom that I had heard in his voice almost three years ago. Yes, something was wrong.

  Everyone moved in a loud body with the Sept Son in the center. I hung back and watched as all four of the Silas women vied for his attention.

  “Kind of makes me jealous.”

  I jumped at the sound of Errol’s amused voice. I glanced over to find Errol at my elbow watching the throng with amusement.

  “Definitely jealous,” Selwyn added as he joined us on my right. His voice was far from amused.

  “He is different, Errol,” I said. Somehow, I knew I couldn’t keep my feelings to myself. The sense of something important was so strong.

  “How so?” Errol’s strange green eyes studied my face as I struggled to put the sensation into words.

  “I am not sure what it is yet, but he is different and something is wrong. I feel that if I have time, I can tell you more, but right now it is just an overwhelming sense of pain and deep sorrow.”

  Errol frowned as he met Selwyn’s gaze over my head. There was no sending between them, but somehow they communicated something. “Keep studying and let me know when you know,” he said finally.

  I nodded. I would. Whether or not Errol and Selwyn wished me to, I intended to study the Sept Son until I understood this strange cloud that surrounded him.

  “Come,” Selwyn flung an arm over my shoulders. “I am hungry.”

  We entered the house and were immediately drawn into the fray.

  As I had hoped, I was able to study the Sept Son to my heart’s content over the meal. I watched his every movement from cutting his meat to leaning over to hear Candra’s latest tale. Beginning with his external appearance, I began cataloguing the differences between this man and the one I had met briefly three years before.

  He wore his hair shorter now. Thick and dark brown, it curled around his ears and rioted across his forehead. Traces of silver at his temples caught in the sunlight from the windows. When he pushed his hair back to see Galatea’s ring, a gift from Tyre, more closely, he uncovered a scar on his forehead above his left eyebrow. His face had aged too, more than it should have in three years. Fine wrinkles webbed his eyes and the lines around his mouth were pronounced even in laughter. He was still handsome and still charming, but an edginess lay underneath where only peace had been before.

  Once, while I was observing him, he turned from commenting on Eloine’s gardening story and met my gaze. His rich brown eyes met mine and he shot me a half-smile. With nervous clarity, I knew he was aware of my scrutiny. Then, just as abruptly, he turned away to answer one of Galatea’s questions.

  The last of the meat disappeared just as a pounding on the door ended the meal and the jocularity. An intense sending aimed at the Sept Son made me jump and look at him in apprehension. He was grimacing.

  Turning to me he said, “Your brother has a sharp tongue.” Another sending followed the first and finally the Sept Son replied. “I am fine, Renato. Give us a chance to get to the door.”

  My face must have shown my surprise because suddenly Candra asked, “Why is your mouth hanging open, Zez? You can’t be that surprised to know your brother has a sharp tongue.”

  All the faces around the table turned to me. I clamped my jaw closed and reached for Errol’s mind. “I heard the Sept Son’s sending to my brother.”

  His astonishment rolled over me, quickly followed by a more sober thought. “Does he know?”

  I shrugged. We both looked at the Sept Son. He was regarding me with a puzzled, concerned face.

  “What is going on here?” he asked. I didn’t catch who he sent it to, but I heard it clearly as the rich taste of his presence filled my mouth.

  Ignoring the impatient knock on the outer door, Errol stood to his feet. “Ilias, Zezilia, Selwyn, my office, now.”

  “But what about the door?” Adreet exclaimed as she rose also.

  “Let them in after we are gone and explain that the Sept Son is safe and something crucial needed his attention.”

  Selwyn was already on his feet and halfway to the corridor when I pushed back my chair. Before I could manage to make it to my feet, the Sept Son was at my side, his fingers wrapped around my elbow.

  “What is going on?” he demanded. This time there was no mistake. He was sending to me. His dark eyes were only inches from mine and narrowed suspiciously.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted truthfully.

  Giving me a look that said clearly that he didn’t believe me, he escorted me down the hall to Errol’s study.

  Chapter XVII

  Zezilia

  “What is happening?” Hadrian addressed Errol the moment the door closed.

  Ignoring him, Errol turned to me. “Explai
n.” Selwyn and Hadrian turned and regarded me with identical questioning gazes. I suddenly wondered why I hadn’t seen the familial similarities between them.

  “When there was a knock on the door, I detected a sending to the Sept Son. Then I heard his reply.”

  I suddenly had the Sept Son’s complete and intense attention. “What did I say?” he asked.

  “I am fine, Renato. Give us a chance to get to the door.” I sent it to him with exact emotional undertones he had used. Surprise flickered in the depths of his eyes.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “This is the first time I have heard a sending not sent to me.”

  “And you did not hear Renato’s sending?” Errol asked. I dropped my gaze to regard him thankfully. The force in the Sept Son’s regard was unnerving. He sat at his desk, watching my face.

  “I did not.”

  “Is it possible that she is more sensitive to intensities?” Selwyn asked from his corner.

  Errol nodded. “It is possible. We will have to test it.”

  “So, you are saying she can hear me because I project more strongly than other talents?” the Sept Son asked.

  “That is exactly what I am thinking.” Errol leaned forward to place his elbows on the desk. “She can detect sending activity around her, but until now she has not been able to detect words. You are the strongest talent we have known of in fifteen generations and from what we have seen within the past few months, she is displaying talent above yours.”

  The Sept Son frowned. “And you have not notified me?”

  “You were not exactly accessible,” Selwyn pointed out. “I sent word that she was ready for final testing four months ago and I know that you didn’t receive it until two weeks ago.”

  Head bowed, arms crossed over his chest, the Sept Son stood in the center of the study projecting a struggle to stay calm. For some strange reason, I could feel him wrestling with something deep within. Strands of weary exhaustion threaded his next words. “You are right. I am sorry for the outburst. I didn’t expect this complication.”

  “Then you are not going to like what I am going to have to say next,” Errol warned.

  Lifting tired eyes to regard Errol, the Sept Son sighed. “It isn’t going to stop you is it?”

  “No, but I suggest you inform Renato that you are going to be in a meeting for a few hours.”

  He reached out to a flickering center located in the front room. “I am going to be a few hours.” His rich taste touched my tongue.

  My brother’s response was respectful and curious.

  “Something important has come up with your sister.” I looked up abruptly at his words and encountered his guarded gaze. “No, she is fine. I will explain later.” “You heard that.” It was more a statement that a question, but I nodded anyway.

  “So, it wasn’t a fluke.” Errol sighed and leaned back again. “Make yourself comfortable. This is going to take time.”

  I slipped across the room to my usual place beneath the windows. Selwyn smiled encouragingly from his corner. The Sept Son leaned back against the heavily laden bookcase, re-crossed his arms, and pinned Errol with an even gaze.

  “I know that you planned on coming here, testing Zez, and leaving her in my care until you found a way to marry her off to someone.” I stared at Errol. True, I had gotten that impression from what the Sept Son had said up to this point, but phrasing it that way sounded so harsh. “As you can see, you do not know of her full capabilities and neither do we. She has known all that I can teach her since a year and a half ago. Since then, Selwyn has been filling her head with defender knowledge, techniques, and strategies. She knows and understands enough to be a defender, but we both know that her capability goes way beyond that. In fact, for the past three years she has displayed the indicators of a child in the period of discovery. Basing our estimate on the usual child’s development, she still has two years of encountering new skills. Two years during which she will need guidance and training.”

  The Sept Son’s frown deepened. “And I am the logical choice. You do realize what pressure I am under, Errol. I am surreptitiously preparing the talents for war. I have a contract out on my life, a High Religious official calling for my removal from power, and a Elitist cancer growing on the Eastern coast of this county that the High King is going to be panicking over soon. The talented children entering training are sadly under prepared for any disciplined study, and the trainers are under staffed. I have parents in an uproar over the new standards for admission into training, and now you want me to take on a special case.” He turned to me and said, “It is nothing personal against you.”

  I nodded my understanding, but Errol spoke before I could reassure the Sept Son.

  “You agreed to this three years ago, Ilias. There is no possibility of stepping away from this now. We agreed with her father that we would train her, and I have trained her to the best of my abilities.”

  “She will be useful to you, Ilias,” Selwyn commented. “She has within her all the skills that I could share. It would be as if I was at your side with my knowledge and skills, except her abilities are so much stronger. She ConProped in our first lesson.”

  The Sept Son’s dark eyes found my face and I could feel his gentle probing of my thoughts. I ConProped without hesitation, my talent-related senses went blind, but I didn’t need them to recognize the astonished look on his face. I opened up my senses again.

  “She also can tell when others are sending and receiving,” Errol pointed out.

  “She reads intents, emotions, and reactions,” Selwyn offered.

  Seeing that he was going to need a physical demonstration, Errol prompted me. “Show him.”

  I spoke. “Renato is about to knock on the study door and he intends to be heard.”

  A loud pounding on the door proved my point. The Sept Son crossed to it and flung it open. Renato stood there frowning like a gold-flecked thunder cloud. He opened up his mouth, but the Sept Son raised a hand and stalled him. Turning to Errol, he asked, “Are you going to tell me next that she can inform me what he is going to say?”

  “No, Ilias,” Errol retorted.

  “What is wrong with you?” Selwyn demanded. Anger rolled off of him in waves.

  The Sept Son turned on his brother as the swells broke around him. An answering emotion snapped in his brown eyes, and he clenched his fists as he struggled to control the well of frustration and indignation that filled his being. His energy was rising with the flood. I tentatively touched my own amoveo and spread my energy in a thin barrier around him. Perhaps it was presumptuous, but I didn’t want him hurting anyone.

  “What is so difficult about taking her with you?” Selwyn asked.

  Closing his eyes, the Sept Son leaned his head back a moment before answering. “I have watched six men die in my place in the past two years. I am dangerous to be around. If I take her with me and train her as you ask, she will have to be with me all the time. I cannot watch over her wellbeing and concentrate on my work. All it will take is one distracted moment and she will die, or worse, the Elitists will get to her and tear her mind to shreds. Meanwhile I shall have that guilt resting on my shoulders, another death on my conscience. She is safer here.”

  Errol rose and came around the desk to stand before the Sept Son. “The man I knew would have never made that speech. The Almighty chose when it was time for those men to die and why. He alone decides when Zezilia, you, or I shall breathe our last breath and nothing that you and I do will change that.” Raising his hands to his face, Ilias sank into a nearby chair. Errol’s voice grew softer. “Stop acting like you are in control, Ilias. You are not. The Almighty is. Start living like He has a plan.”

  “How long has he been like this?” Selwyn asked Renato.

  I turned my attention to my brother, fighting through the storm coming from the Sept Son and reaching out to sense him.

  “It has been about a month. Ever since the death of his latest defender bodyguard,
he has been more tense.”

  Errol nodded. “Always a sign that something is going on. Renato, could you take Zezilia out? I am sure that the two of you have a great deal to talk about. This is going to take a while to work out.”

  Renato looked over at me and then worriedly at the silent form of the Sept Son. “I guess that answers my question. We will be staying the night.”

  “Yes, and perhaps a few after tonight. He is not leaving without her, and it is going to take time to convince him.”

  “Come Zez,” Renato extended a hand toward me.

  As I passed the Sept Son on my way out, I brushed the edge of the black clouds of acute pain shrouding his mind. Please open his heart to Your words again, Almighty. He is in such agony.

  Hadrian

  MONTHS OF PAIN PRESSED against my eyes, throbbed in my temples, and ached in my chest. This was not what I had come here for, but it seemed to be in the Almighty’s will. Errol was right, as he usually was. For months I had been struggling with feelings of guilt. This job was too big for me, the work too difficult; the torture of watching good men die in my place left me swinging between anger and depression.

  “So, when did this truly begin?” Errol asked.

  “When Lorne died.” I lifted my head and regarded him over my folded hands. “I realized what the Elitists were capable of doing to another being. Immediately we began taking precautions, closing off the compound and giving Renato, Tristan, and the other aides bodyguards. Everyone watched everyone else day and night.”

  “But it didn’t work.” Selwyn’s voice hinted at the foolishness of the hope that it would.

  I closed my eyes against the sight of Blandone’s slack face. “Blandone appeared with his pregnant wife and I became angry. How could the Almighty do this to him? How could He allow Blan’s mind to be razed, leaving so little behind? He wasn’t even a shadow of what he had been.”

  “We do not understand the workings of the Almighty’s plan.” Errol’s voice repeated the very thing that I had told Renato that day. My words were just that, words. Somewhere, elusively flickering in the depths, there was the faith that gave them value, but for months it had slipped through my fingers. I highly doubted that one session with Errol would whip it back into my grasp.