by David Angelo
Fin craned his neck and looked at Kemp, puzzled.
“I—” he started.
“You don’t understand the last part of my story,” Kemp said. “To answer your question, no, my grandmother is no longer living. But her spirit watches over me from the Upper Realm, guiding me whenever I require her assistance. She’s watching you right now; she tells me that you’re very apprehensive about your decision to join this resistance, and you wonder if you made the right choice. But she also says—”
“Hold on,” Fin said, standing up. “I know what you’re trying to do here. You’re trying to scare me into believing your little hoax, but it’s not going to work on me!” In reality, Fin was unnerved beyond measure, but he tried his hardest to look tough.
“But I just told you what you were thinking,” Kemp replied.
“Big deal,” Fin said. “You’re guessing things that are pretty easy to assume for someone of my age. Heck, you probably eavesdropped on my conversation with Chinaw last night, or on the assessment with Rocklier just a few hours ago, and figured that those topics would make an impression on my mind. I mean, Chinaw’s kind of a strange guy, and that stuff Rocklier told me was pretty nerve-racking. It would be safe to assume that I would still be thinking about those things hours or even days after I first heard them.”
“Oh, please,” Kemp said. “Listen to what you’re saying. Don’t you think that’s a little too elaborate?”
Kemp was right, and even Fin was beginning to doubt this complex, crack-ridden theory of his. But he refused to believe in such nonsense and yearned to take things one step further.
“If you want me to believe in this woo-woo,” Fin said, “then prove it. I want you to tell me a deep, dark secret of mine, something that no one else knows but me. Something so personal to me that I wouldn’t even tell it to my closest acquaintances.”
“Are you sure about this?” Kemp asked.
“Positive,” Fin said. “Then and only then will I believe what you’re saying.”
Kemp looked worried, as if she had just seen something that was not made for her eyes.
“This could be a little embarrassing—” Kemp started.
“Are you or are you not a psychic?” Fin asked.
“Fine!” Kemp snapped. “You obtained carnal knowledge of Scarlet last winter and kept it a secret from everyone.”
“Wha—?” Fin asked, but no other words came out. Frozen, Fin stood there with his mouth open, his jaw locked in an unfinished exclamation. Of all the secrets in Fin’s mind that Kemp could have chosen, she had to pick the one that was the most deeply personal and the one thing that no one, aside from him and Scarlet, had the right to know.
“Before you ask,” Kemp said, “finding out wasn’t that hard. All I had to do was look at your aura.”
“My what?” Fin asked.
“Let me put it this way,” Kemp said. “All dragons, both Faranchies and Cullidons, are surrounded by an energy field that is invisible to the naked eye. We used to be able to see our auras, back before Edonions had a written language and relied on physical expressions to communicate. Now, however, the only ones who can still see them are sensitives like myself. Basically, your aura changes color depending on your mood or physical state. For example, when you’re happy, your aura turns yellow; when you’re angry, it turns red; and when you’re sad, it turns purple.”
“But what does this have to do with sex?” Fin asked.
“Before someone loses their virginity,” Kemp replied, “their aura has a type of sparkle to it, like the sun shining off the surface of a lake. It glitters all around them, a radiance that accompanies the aura wherever the subject goes. But once that subject loses their virginity, the radiance disappears, and the aura appears less intense by comparison. I didn’t even need to look at your aura to know that you had already broken the one barrier in life that can never be put back together again. A week ago, when the resistance went to your place of business to inquire into your whereabouts, I noticed that Scarlet lacked the radiance around her aura. In fact, she stood out like a sore thumb among the other employees and residents, who all maintained their radiances. And after listening in on her conversation with Kaw-Ki, about how she loved you, how you were her rock and support and how much she missed you, it didn’t take long for me to figure out who took that radiance away.”
“This can’t be happening,” Fin mumbled, chewing his claws, while his perception of the world crumbled around him. He was running out of possible theories to disprove Kemp’s claim, which sounded more and more convincing by the minute.
“Alto could’ve told you that,” Fin said, the strains of desperation beginning to echo in his voice. “He knows all about that one-night stand and probably told you when you were at the pub.”
“How dare you accuse Alto of stabbing you in the back?” Kemp scolded. “I read his mind, and while he does know about that little event of yours, he would never reveal it, for fear that it would violate your privacy. If you honestly believe that Alto would do such a low thing, then shame on you!”
An invisible fist jabbed Fin straight in the gut, and he bent over in guilt and anguish. What was he thinking, selling Alto out like that? Fin knew that his foster father loved those in his care more than life and would never do anything to place them in potential danger. Perhaps, Fin thought, he was going too far in his search for a logical answer.
“You want more proof, do you?” Kemp asked, her yellow eyes glaring from below her purple eyebrows. “You’re just like the rest of them, so narrow minded in their worldview. But if you want proof, I’ll give it to you, and you’ll never question me again. But before I do, I think you should take care of those…”
Kemp pointed over Fin’s shoulder, near the back of the campsite, where the edge of the field met the trees of the dead oak. Fin turned his head and saw three large black panthers emerge from the tree line and make their way toward the tents. They looked hungry, their white fangs showing clearly against their black coats.
“Wait,” Fin said, “what’s happening? How’d they get here? What—?”
“Now’s not the time to ask questions,” Kemp said.
“Shouldn’t we get Black-Tooth?” Fin asked.
“Black-Tooth’s not here now,” Kemp replied, motioning to something near Fin’s feet. “Quick, grab that hatchet and ward them off before they destroy the camp.”
Sure enough, to Fin’s amazement, a hatchet was leaning next to the log, the tip of its silver blade catching the glare of the sun. Without question, Fin grabbed it by the handle and approached the edge of the field.
Why am I doing this? This is crazy. I have no business fighting these beasts. Perhaps if I just hold still and look threatening, they’ll go back in the woods. No, they’d tear me to ribbons before they’d flee…
The panthers spotted Fin, prompting him to freeze in his tracks and hold as still as a statue. Fin could hear the beat of his heart as the three pairs of predatory eyes looked him up and down, scoping him out. They licked their chops, polishing their fangs with their tongues, while long strings of saliva cascaded down the sides of their chins. Slowly, the cats began to crawl toward Fin, their bellies low enough to touch the ground and their muscles flexing beneath the glossy black surface of their coats. They were arranged in a row, with the larger of the three in the center, leading the pack from the front. Fin locked eyes with the leader, whose narrow yellow eyes cut through him. These were not the eyes of something that could be bargained or reasoned with but of a creature whose predatory instinct drove its very existence.
Without warning the leader roared, and one of its brothers bolted toward Fin. All Fin saw was the blur of black charging at him with its mouth open wide, ready to sink its fangs into his neck. But before he could even think about running for his life, Fin found himself sprinting toward his attacker, the blade of his hatchet prepared to swing. In that moment Fin received a rush of adrenaline that ignited an instinct to fight instead of flee. It was like the pub
skirmish all over again, only this time Fin’s attacker wanted to eat him.
The panther leaped toward Fin, its claws ready to flay him and its maw prepared to chomp through his bones. But Fin was ready and met the panther with a swift ax swing to the head. The blade of the hatchet hit the panther square in the eye, burying itself deep into the skull and shearing off the top of the beast’s head. Fin was forced to shut his eyes as a mist of blood sprayed him and chunks of flesh matted with tufts of black fur pelted him like rain. When Fin opened his eyes, the large cat lay motionless on its back a few feet from where he stood, with a red, jellylike substance spilling from the gash in its skull.
Fin hardly had time to marvel at this achievement of his before the second panther charged at him. Again Fin felt the urge to meet his attacker, this time spinning the blood-soaked head of the hatchet. When the beast was in range, Fin swung and hit it in the nose with the flat end of the ax. A crunch accompanied the impact, while the panther, carried by its forward momentum, flipped over onto its back and landed with a thud. The beast growled slightly, writhing in pain and struggling to regain its senses, but Fin was not going to give it a chance. Spinning the hatchet around, Fin reared back and drove the blade deep into the panther’s neck, slicing the head clean off. Fin hardly had time to ready himself before a sudden blow to his midsection knocked him off-balance and sent him sprawling backward. Gasping for air and with a pit forming in his gut, Fin looked up to see the third and final panther sitting nearby, ready to pounce. The creature had headbutted him. Having dropped his ax in the fall, Fin could do little but look at his attacker, fearful that the next move could be his last.
Out of the corner of his eye, Fin saw the ax lying on the ground just a few feet from him. Slowly, Fin reached for the hatchet, but the panther growled before he could even lay a hand on it. Undeterred, Fin reached even farther, prompting the panther to crouch down and let out a long, low roar. The closer Fin’s hand came within reach of the ax, the more threatening the panther became, as if it understood Fin’s intentions. But Fin understood that this was probably some sort of ruse to scare him away from grabbing his only means of protection. Fin took one last look into the panther’s hungry eyes and dove for the ax.
The panther pounced, flying through the air as Fin grabbed the ax and held it up to protect himself. He was knocked back, and the panther latched its claws on the hatchet’s handle, letting its full weight come down on Fin’s arms. Fin struggled to hold the handle up as the panther’s hot, stinking breath fanned his neck. Its saliva splattered his face and got into his eyes and mouth. Fin shut his eyes and groaned, straining with all his might to keep the giant cat’s jaws from getting anywhere near his neck. But Fin’s strength was growing weaker as a burning sensation formed in his elbows. Fin could feel his arms turning to rubber, while the burning in his arms grew more unbearable and the panther’s mouth came closer to his vitals. The last thing Fin felt was the tickle of the cat’s whiskers on his neck before his strength finally gave.
But instead of six-inch-long fangs sinking into his flesh, nothing happened. Fin could not feel the cat’s breath on his skin or the massive weight on his body, and his arms ceased to feel strained. He opened one eye, but all he saw was the blue sky above. Fin looked up only to discover that the cat was gone; he was not holding an ax but lying on his back in the middle of the field. Scrambling to his feet, Fin looked all around him, but there was no sign of any large cats, as if they had dissipated into thin air. Fin felt like he was going insane as he spun around and looked for any sign of their presence.
“Where are they?” Fin gasped.
“Who?” Kemp asked, making her way to where Fin stood. “The cats?”
“Yeah, what else would I be asking about?” Fin said, before it dawned on him. He turned to face Kemp, who stood by with her arms crossed, smirking.
“You didn’t…” Fin stammered. “I mean…was that you?”
Kemp nodded. “What you just experienced,” she said, “was created in my mind, which I placed into yours in a method of psychic communication called mental impressionism. The panthers were under my control, the ax was placed there as a means of defending yourself, and furthermore, I anticipated your every move. I meant for you to kill the first two panthers, but I made the third one stronger, so that the impression would end with the outcome you ultimately received.”
“But it felt so real,” Fin said.
“Yes, but it was all in your mind,” Kemp said, “and you were never in any danger to begin with.”
Kemp motioned back toward the edge of the forest, where another black panther waited patiently, giving itself a bath.
“Let me demonstrate this in greater detail,” Kemp said. “That panther over there is one of these mental impressions, which I am currently transmitting into your mind as we speak. It follows every command I give it, because it does not have free will of its own, and its every move is dictated by my thoughts.”
The panther abruptly stopped its bath and walked up to where Fin and Kemp were standing.
“I can make it be mean,” Kemp said. The panther growled at Fin and flashed its teeth, its ears flattening against the top of its head.
“I can make it be nice.” The anger left the panther’s face, and it rubbed its head against the side of Fin’s leg like a giant tabby. Taken aback by this sudden change in behavior, Fin felt pressured to give it some affection and gently scratched the panther’s ears. The thick black fur felt too real, and too lifelike, to be a mere figment of the mind.
“I can make it die,” Kemp said. Suddenly, the cat froze, stiffened its limbs, and fell over on its side. Fin knelt down and felt the motionless beast, which was already stiff with rigor mortis. The cat’s eyes were glazed over, staring ahead like two marbles set in a frozen face.
“And I can make it come back to life again.” The warmth returned to the lifeless cat, and the chest expanded once again as new air filled its lungs. The cat got up and lay on its belly, resuming its normal composer as if nothing ever happened.
“Incredible,” Fin whispered. There was no denying it now. Kemp was indeed gifted.
“Now do you believe?” Kemp asked.
Fin looked up at Kemp, his eyes wide with childlike wonder.
“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” Fin said.
“No worries,” Kemp replied. “I knew you’d believe sooner or later.”
“Now that we’re on the same page,” Fin said, “what did your grandmother want to tell me?”
“She wants you to be resolute,” Kemp said, “and to be unafraid of this change in your life journey. While danger awaits you in the coming months, she wants you to know that the Elder has your back, and that you’re in the company of some of the greatest warriors Edon has ever known. She also wants you to be unafraid of the threat of death, because death is not the end of the line but just another stage in the adventure that we mortals call life.”
17
“…AND THEN,” FIN TOLD Kaw-Ki, “the panther disappeared into thin air, without a trace.”
“Sounds like you had one heck of a morning,” Kaw-Ki replied. It had been a few hours since Kemp showed Fin the power of her mind. Kaw-Ki and Black-Tooth had returned from their hunting expedition empty-handed, since there were apparently few deer out at that time of the day. Regardless, the team still had a barrel of salted meat waiting in one of the tents, and while Black-Tooth prepared it for the meal that evening, Kaw-Ki decided to teach Fin archery.
“Anyway,” Kaw-Ki said, “back to what I was saying. Try relaxing your shoulders, and remember to not hold the bow so stiffly. Then just aim down the bull’s-eye, and let go.”
Nodding, Fin grasped the wooden bow in his left hand. He looked in the direction of a large wooden target at the edge of the field, whose yellow bull’s-eye lay hungry for arrows. The grass around the target was peppered with arrows from infinity’s worth of misses, their fletching sticking out of the earth like small, scrawny trees. Fin took an arrow from the quiver in
front of him, nocked it onto the horsehair bow, and pulled, tightening the slack and aiming the point at the center of the target.
It doesn’t matter if I don’t land a hit before the sun sets, Fin thought to himself. I’ve got a while to learn, and this is only my first try…
Fin let go and watched his arrow sail over the target and disappear through the snow-covered treetops. The sound of the head hitting a branch echoed back up the field, and disappointment settled in. “Not again,” he said.
“It’s all right,” Kaw-Ki replied. “You’ll get it eventually. But for now, watch how I do it, so you can get a good idea of how it’s done.” Kaw-Ki picked up her custom bow. It was almost as tall as Fin and was adorned with razor-sharp blades on either end. Grasping it in her left hand, she slid an arrow into place, nocking it to a tightly bound thread. She pulled back with her right, forcing the ends of the bow to slowly bend inward. After adjusting her aim to compensate for the wind and the inevitable drop, Kaw-Ki relinquished her grasp and let the arrow fly through the air. A whooshing sound accompanied the arrow’s journey toward the target, followed by the sharp snap as the arrowhead struck the bull’s-eye. Kaw-Ki rested her aim, satisfied with the outcome of the demonstration.
“Notice how relaxed and steady I was?” Kaw-Ki asked. “It’s all in your composure. If you’re nervous or under pressure, you’re more likely to miss your target.”
“But what if you have a stampede of screaming, bloodthirsty Cullidons charging at you?” Fin asked.
“Then you try to imagine something that calms your nerves,” Kaw-Ki replied. “Different things work for different people, but whenever I’m drawing my bow in a stressful situation, I like to imagine soft flute music. It’s gotten to the point that whenever I grab my bow, my mind automatically associates it with flute music, and I feel more relaxed and focused. In fact, I find archery to be a very good stress reliever. Anyway, what kind of things do you find relaxing?”
