by LeAnn Mason
I kicked a clump of hay he must have dropped and cursed him under my breath. Another flaw in my Sage persona: a temper. Most had an even temperament, at least outwardly. Visually, they didn't really waver to either happy or mad, or anything really. Stoic is how I would describe their overt behavior. Primals, on the other hand…
I continued my tirade until I was stopped in my tracks as a hand closed around mine. I looked down at my fingers, clasped securely in Mystery Man’s larger ones.
His was rough, calloused from long days caring for the horses, I assumed, and I marveled at the feel of it. When he tugged softly, I shifted my eyes to his blazing blues with a silver ring around the pupil. They held me captive with their intensity, making me feel as though I could step into the stormy sea reflected there. He wore a contrite expression and opened his mouth as if to speak, only to close it and shrug, not releasing my hand.
I don't know how to tell her I can’t tell her my name.
"Why can't you tell me your name?" I asked, wondering if he was not permitted to speak with Sages at the facility or elsewhere.
I can’t speak. He sounded exasperated, his eyes sad.
"You can't speak? Like you're not allowed? That's ridiculous!" I pulled my hand away and crossed my arms over my chest. They were safer there. I was safer with them there where I wouldn’t marvel at the heat I felt when we touched.
His shocked countenance pulled me from my mental tirade. "What?"
He had dropped his hands to his sides and stood gawking at me with surprised blue eyes and a gaping mouth, looking much as I had earlier.
Can you hear me? he asked mentally in a tentative voice filled with awe and…hope. I loved his voice even if he was rude. I contemplated my answer. Obviously he was unaware of who I was or what my abilities were. It softened me toward him slightly.
I nodded.
He blew out a breath he seemed to have been holding and his shoulders dropped, almost as if in relief. You can hear me.
A statement this time. He smiled. A small, crooked line that seemed to belong on his face but hardly had the luxury of being there. I smiled in return, feeling a dimple emerge, and nodded. "Yes. I'm Sage and a telepath." I figured he'd puzzled it out, so no point pretending I couldn't hear, and that statement was the easiest explanation of me.
He reached out his hand and voiced clearly, My name is Holden, then smiled. It was big, it was bright—it was beautiful. Then and there I decided my goal when around him was to bring that smile out anytime I could. I reached for his extended hand. "I'm Nathalee."
He mentally chuckled, I remember.
I blushed. I had been so caught up in him that I repeated information. Mental face palm! Time to make your exit, Graceful.
"Well, Holden, it was nice to meet you." At the end of my diatribe, I noticed our hands were still clasped. Clearing my throat, I dropped my head, feeling heat rush upward as I pulled out of his grasp.
"I, uh, need to get going." I hitched a thumb over my shoulder in the opposite direction and took a step back. I was still blushing. He noticed but was gracious enough not to draw attention to it.
I see you most afternoons. Do you live nearby?
"Yeah. Um, I work at the campus for Doctor Parmore after classes. This is on my way home."
Forgive my intrusion. I am incredibly unaccustomed to holding conversations. Now it was Holden's turn to flush, the tips of his ears becoming red. His eyes averted mine, lowered toward his dirt-scuffed boots. He sighed.
He had a very good vocabulary for someone who didn't use it.
"There is nothing to forgive. You did nothing that has caused me offense. I'm not used to holding conversation much, either, as most people don't want me anywhere near them." I shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
I'm sure that's not true, he said, ducking in an attempt to catch my eye.
Bitterness crept in. "It is." I laughed derisively. “People want to maintain the illusion. They don't want someone around who can unravel them. Call them out on their crap." I had to remind myself that I didn't care. Calm, Nat. I looked at Holden, noticing his unbelieving expression, and decided I needed to end the conversation and regroup.
"Again, it was nice to meet you, but I really do need to leave. I'm late, and my parents will worry." I turned on my heel once more and resumed walking to the far end of the barn without waiting for a reply, afraid I would get lost in conversation again. As I reached the entryway, I heard Holden.
Goodbye, Nathalee.
Then I was gone, out the doors and into the ever-darkening night.
CHAPTER 2
AS I WALKED TO the small house I called home, I thought about our segregation from the Non-Enhanced human population. We, here in the created town of Minefield, called those who populated the rest of the world, Non-Enhanced, “NE” for short. I called them ninnies, get it? N-Es? As you see, I’m brilliantly witty.
Anyway, NEs are your average, every day, run-of-the-mill humans. The majority appeared to be incredibly afraid of the possibilities of Enhanced humans. Their fear created the basis for our culling from the general population. I compared our situation to being incarcerated. We were deemed “unfit” to mingle within the ranks of the rest of the world. Now, we had our own set of rules and were completely isolated except for the oversight of an outside governing body, which ultimately dictated our entire lives.
For all intents and purposes, we were imprisoned in Minefield.
I pulled out my headphones, picking an upbeat tune, and allowed myself to get lost. The thumping bass line and all too-true lyrics about being an adrenaline junkie crooned as I watched life being lived around me. With music, it was almost like a movie soundtrack and I began watching my surroundings in such a light.
A Primal man had lifted the rear of a car in order to retrieve something which had been trapped under a wheel, then proceeded to unceremoniously drop the vehicle once he had his item. The car thudded, then squeaked as it hit the ground and settled back into place, bouncing a few times before coming to rest. The Primal ability of strength was obviously gifted to him.
Wish I had Adrenaline in my veins.
The track changed as I noticed a couple walking down the street, hand in hand. Their dog’s leash taut but not being held, floating in front of them. A normal display of telekinesis though I couldn't tell which of them held it in place. There was no telling whether one was an NE.
Some NEs lived in the town. The ones who chose to stay with their families when they were forced to relocate to the Enhanced segregated areas generations ago. Some still came through our gates, though now, they did so with no connection to those inside. It was like a novelty, or a challenge. In fact, the numbers of NEs entering Minefield had been steadily growing in the recent years, and they were fully aware they could never leave.
Insanity.
I had both Sage and Primal characteristics, but I leaned toward the ninnies in appearance. I was unique, and I was hiding the full scope. My father worried constantly that my special Primal ability would be unearthed. He worried what would come of the knowledge. The Enhanced were already under intense scrutiny and regulation, feared for their specialties. I could only imagine what they’d think of someone with a unique specialty. Though Enhanced humans were only a small percentage of the overall population, the ninnies worried themselves to death with “what if.”
What if we used our abilities to sway people, governments? What if our abilities became too much to handle? What if we were dangerous? People often forgot that anyone could be dangerous. Everyone had the potential to cause harm whether intentional or not. Non-Enhanced had just as much aptitude for mayhem as we did, but still, we were the only ones subject to complete segregation—aside from prisoners.
As I continued to walk, I thought back through my life and tried to find instances in which I spoke with a Primal because Holden wasn't the only one I was around. I searched memories but couldn't recall anything concrete. Nothing personal. I certainly had no friends that were Primal, and my N
ana had died when I was quite small.
I had only one real friend, Jade, who was a Sage, not too much of a surprise. I felt ashamed to think that maybe I avoided them, maybe some unconscious effort to stay with what I was comfortable with—just like the ninnies did with the Enhanced. Then I remembered Holden's reaction when I heard his voice, his words, and scoffed. I couldn’t believe they lacked understanding. Even if that’s what Sages liked to believe.
In fact, I could argue that Sages were lacking or underdeveloped when it came to relationships between people, in emotion. They seemed to live in black and white, never straying from the lines. Variation was deemed lesser and frowned upon. Only the desirable traits were cultivated and brought along, allowed to flourish. They'd been trying for years to mold me into their vision of what a Sage Enhanced should be. To my knowledge, no one had developed gifts of both Sage and Primal, and I was not anxious to see how they moved forward with that little piece of information about me, should it ever be revealed.
Most Sages seemed to have evolved to be telekinetic, likely to help balance the fact that their bodies could not do heavy lifting so to speak, so the mind picked up the slack. Other abilities were less prevalent, telepathy for example. I was the only telepath who heard more than snippets or fleeting images without physical contact, at least, to my limited knowledge.
I heard anyone within range, at least to some degree, and voices got louder or sharper when someone focused their thoughts on me. Though extreme emotion was rarely seen from Sage Enhanced, I heard it in their minds. In fact, stoicism could be a clue as to whether someone was Non-Enhanced human or a Sage. That didn't mean emotion was absent necessarily, just that it was hidden beneath the surface. For this reason, both telepaths and empaths were avoided or made to feel inferior.
If no one had the ability to contradict what one said with their mouth, then it must be truth though I’m sure Primals could detect it as well. They were much more in tune with body language and such nuances… or so I’d heard from Dad. My Nana was that way, what little I knew of her.
I blinked and looked around the nearly dark pathway, aware that I had been lost in my contemplation. The street lamps were on and emitting soft yellow halos of light at regular intervals, like they were my guide, keeping me safe. I knew I was late for dinner and hated worrying my parents, at least my dad, so I hurried my steps as I crossed the street and headed down the last block.
I removed one earbud, so I would have a leg up should anyone approach, but still mouthed the words. My steps matched the beat, head bobbing in tune. The sun had almost completely set, and I didn’t wish to be caught out roaming after dark.
My mother was convinced that sanity fled with the light of day. “You just never know what Primal miscreants come out in the latter hours, Nathalee,” she’d say. Of course, bad behavior and misdeeds were synonymous with “Primal” to my mother.
At last, I turned the corner to my home and tripped up the path lined with bright blue and purple pansies, onto the front steps. I took a moment to regain my balance, something I struggled with regularly, and immediately smelled my mother's spaghetti and meatballs, causing my mouth to water. I stopped at the door and just breathed it in.
I scented the browned meat, the richness of the herbs and tomato sauce. And garlic. Yum. My mother's internal monologue was unruffled, as usual. I hadn’t expected any difference, really. I stepped on the worn welcome mat and scraped my dirt laden shoes, gathering breath in preparation for my apology, and pushed open the door like a woman prepared to meet the gallows… or worse, a freaked out parental.
My pent up breath was promptly and thoroughly torn from me in a whoosh as I was gripped in a surprisingly strong embrace. My father wrapped himself around me, one arm around my head, the other across my shoulders as his cheek rested against my crown, squishing me quite effectively against his chest. Freaked out parental it was.
"You're all right," he assured himself.
I wrapped my arms around his back and held. I knew he worried about me, knew he was convinced harm would come to me one day because I was different. Because he couldn’t sway people into realizing that we should all just get along. My being late had planted the seed that today was that day.
I was eighteen, soon to be pushed out of the nest and into my own life. He couldn’t worry about me like this whenever I deviated from the routine, but I still felt horrible. I squeezed my eyes shut and berated myself for my carelessness. How could I have worried him like that? Why didn't I let them know I was running behind? I had my phone. Well, honestly, Holden had me all discombobulated and my good sense had flown the coop.
"I'm sorry, Dad," I mumbled into his chest. "I dozed off at the barn and didn't wake up until Holden came in to feed the horses."
My father gripped my shoulders with large hands and drew me away from his body so he could look at my face. Dad was another anomaly of a Sage. Like me, he was above average height and built like an athlete, a product of his being a true Primal and Sage hybrid. He did not however, receive any Primal enhancements. Because he had the mental gift of shielding, he was identified as a Sage. He ran more toward NE strength though maybe like someone who frequented a gym. From physical appearances, we both resembled the ninnies, somewhere between the Enhanced extremes. He was nearly always in scrubs from work, usually green to indicate surgeon.
"Holden?" Puzzled, Dad’s brow wrinkled in confusion. "Who is Holden?"
Still holding me away from his now rigid body, bright hazel eyes roamed my person from behind stylish glasses, trying to fish out details.
"Holden is the guy who works at the barn," I said as I shrugged a shoulder. The effect was minimal, still confined under a large hand and I was sure it hadn’t worked. My father narrowed his gaze and flicked his probing gaze between my widened bluish-green irises. "I think he’s Primal," I whispered. My father’s eyes widened a fraction before he schooled his features.
"Primal?" he asked hesitantly. I nodded as he stepped back, dropped his hands, and looked over my shoulder toward the kitchen doorway behind me. "Did he notice you?" He began to pace, looking decidedly agitated. I watched him move the length of the small living room as I answered.
"Yes. He noticed that I was still there past my usual time and seemed curious about it." I continued to watch my father pace but bounced my attention to my mother who stood stock still in front of the kitchen island, her back to us and our conversation.
The scrumptious dinner abandoned for the details I now shared. I returned my attention toward my nervous father, chewing on a fingernail to accompany the agitation of his legs. He turned on his heel and headed the other direction. I was sure a trail would be worn in the carpet if he kept it up. His hand left his teeth to run roughly through his short, auburn hair.
"I introduced myself…and he didn't." I quirked my mouth at the remembered conversation.
"I can't speak."
"You can hear me."
Dad growled, "Did he hurt you?"
"No!" I was offended on Holden's behalf; it seemed the stigma of being Primal didn’t allow for deviation, which was funny considering our own lineage. My father’s lineage, and his thoughts on cohesion.
"He was apologetic. Told me he is unable to speak." That little nugget caused my father’s steps to falter, his large frame swaying as he dug his heels into the plush beige carpet in his attempt to stay upright. That was an interesting reaction.
He asked if Holden was not allowed to speak to patrons and began his movements once again. I, as Holden had to me, corrected him. "He physically can’t speak."
"Oh." My father looked at a loss for words, his eyes large and owlish as he blinked behind his black rimmed spectacles. I sat and enjoyed the moment, soaking in the sight of the mighty Connor Dae shocked into silence. Soon enough, his brow wrinkled, and he cocked his head to the side, like he had just had an epiphany. Interesting.
Through this whole recounting, I heard nothing from his mind. Dad was the only person I had met who had a fu
ll-time mental shield. It was impressive, and it never wavered, unless he wanted it to. He was one of the few people I could stand to be around for long though I was sure if his shields dropped for any length of time that would change. His worry for me was constant, and I was sure his mind circled with it.
Also, my father was a true genius and studied genomes when he wasn't on rotation at the emergency section of the hospital. He focused on how genes had changed since the original genetic deviations; the first cases which noted enhanced abilities. The startling trend was traced back to survivors of extreme mental or physical ailments. Those whose mind or body had been viciously ravaged and survived mainly due to medical intervention.
The examples he gave most often when explaining were a cancer patient and a schizophrenic. If someone had either of these disorders, their lives were inexorably tied to medical advances in treatments. These treatments caused genetic mutations in a high number of progeny of such afflicted. He studied DNA from as many generations, and abilities, as he could.
"I've never heard of a Primal who was mute. Do you know if he was born that way? Was he injured in some way—at some point?" Something was off in the way he lilted the question, like he was fishing for something.
He was right, though, that's what made a Primal such, physical superiority, near perfection, in fact. Sure, there were some with scars or limps or even missing appendages, but to be born with a flaw and still possess Primal enhancements was unheard of. My father mumbled about coincidences or something, and continued his creepy blank stare. I knew he was digesting and assimilating this new information as he stared past me into the kitchen. This would go on forever if I didn't bring him back on point. With the ongoing quiet, I registered that I didn't hear my mother anymore.
I used her absence to bring my father out of his musings.
