by Sharon Hinck
“I can’t do everything,” Medea whined. “Make up your mind. Do you want me to control the songkeepers or help these men with their toys?” In a blink, her face shifted into a sneer. “You’ve become weak. You can’t manage anything without me.”
Cameron stepped closer to her. His jaw barely moved, and his words were a tight whisper, but I focused past the clamor in the room and heard him.
“Could someone weak have taken control of all the clans? Don’t forget who I am.”
Her malice flickered out of hiding. “Don’t forget who put you here.”
“Hey!” Gun Guy shouted again to the room at large. I jumped and tried again to pull away. “Who does this boy belong to? Next time we find someone wandering outside the city, we won’t bother bringing him back.”
The room quieted. I couldn’t hear anything beyond the rushing in my ears.
As if in slow motion, Cameron and Medea turned toward the guard bellowing in the doorway. Then they zeroed in on me. Cameron’s eyes widened, and he paced toward us. Slithering along in his wake, Medea laughed a light sparkling trill that made my stomach clench like I’d been sucker punched again.
The guard holding me stiffened to attention. “S-sorry to . . . to interrupt . . .”
A slow smile spread across Cameron’s face. “No need to apologize. I know exactly where he belongs. We’ll take care of him.”
Gun Guy released me and nodded, backing out the door in a rush.
I tried to step back too but couldn’t move. Sick dread churned in my stomach.
“This is a very . . . timely surprise,” Cameron said softly.
Medea tilted her head. “We’ve had a few problems that were unexpected. The songkeepers suddenly began to debate the new Records.”
“And progress on the new defenses hasn’t been fast enough.” Cameron rubbed his temple before slicking back his hair.
Maybe his rise to power was giving him headaches. I could only hope.
Medea stepped closer to me. “But now the king will have a son to help him.” Her voice was sweet and comforting. Cameron chuckled, but the sound seemed to come from far away. All I heard clearly was Medea’s voice. All I saw were her eyes. “This is better than we could have hoped. Everything is falling into place.”
I frowned and shook my head.
Medea’s gaze traveled over me. Then she met my eyes again. “Poor Jake. So confused. So weary. What has been happening to you?”
Her sympathy was a balm. She understood. I hadn’t asked for any of this. I’d tried to help, and no one had appreciated it.
Her smile filled me with warmth. “I’m sure you’ll tell us all about it. But it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you’ve found your way home.”
I nodded. I was here to help. This was where I belonged. Some voice inside me called a warning, but I brushed it aside.
Cameron rested a hand on my shoulder. “Come. We have new plans to make, son.”
Plans? What was he talking about? Memory threads darted across my thoughts. I was trying to find something . . . someone.
“Let it go, Jake.” Medea’s voice soothed. “The king is your father now. He needs your help. We’re glad you’ve come. There’s so much to do.”
They needed me. They were glad I was here. Eagerness welled up. “How can I help?”
Cameron and Medea both laughed. “So many ways,” Medea promised.
Oceans of contentment bathed me. I followed them from the room. No more doubts, no more struggle. I floated down the hall, leaving behind the questions and conflicts that had tortured me. This was so much easier. I’d found my purpose. I was here to help the king. He had chosen me to be his son.
22
Susan
Nothing in the stark cell had changed, but when Nicco settled into the chair across the table from me, a higher level of tension filled the room. His fingers flexed as though they were eager to wrap around someone’s throat. “You offered to show me secrets,” he said without preamble.
I swallowed hard. “I offered to exchange information. Truth for truth. I want to understand your people and why you . . .” My words trailed off. I couldn’t find a tactful way to phrase it. “. . . why you twist people’s minds.”
Nicco tilted his chair back onto two legs and stared at me through hooded lids.
Cold seeped from the bare cell floor through my feet. I pulled my blanket around my shoulders. I’d had a rough night since my last encounter with Nicco, haunted by nightmares and confusion. My only comfort was that he didn’t look too great either. His eyes were dark-ringed, and his usual control was fraying.
He crossed his arms and glared at me. “Show me the things I haven’t found yet.”
My time was running out. I cleared my throat. “Have you come across other people who have your mental . . . skills? Can the Kahlareans do what you do? Have your people always had these powers?” I just wanted to get him talking, keep him calm.
The angry lines across his forehead eased. He watched me thoughtfully for a moment and leaned farther back. “I don’t know. We have some stories, passed down by the ones who came before. But it’s hard to know how much is true. As our people near the end of life, they become . . . confused.”
I leaned forward, intrigued in spite of my fear.
Nicco stared at the ceiling. “Those with the greatest power become the most disturbed. We lose so much of what they’ve experienced.”
“Medea?”
“She’s the strongest.” Affection and admiration wrapped his words, but he sighed. “And growing more erratic.”
A hint of pity bloomed inside me. The emotion startled me. Maybe it was another of Nicco’s manipulations.
They are so lost.
The whispered thought wasn’t Nicco’s or my own.
I studied him more closely, sadness thickening my throat. “You don’t know the truth about your people—your world.”
His chair crashed forward, and his face twisted in a growl.
I tensed, compassion quickly smothered by fear.
Nicco took a deep breath. Like the flip of a switch, the anger left and his voice was casual when he spoke. “We create truth.” A confident smile spread across his face. He leaned on the table, chin braced on one hand. “That’s far better.”
“Is it?” I met his eyes. Some stray pool of courage fed my nerves. “What purpose does your life have if nothing in it is real?”
His eyes widened, and the smile disappeared.
I bit my lip. I’d pushed him too far.
Just then a chime sounded outside in the hall. He pressed the remote and stalked to the door before it finished rising. A Rhusican woman in a vibrant magenta tunic waited in the hall.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Nicco.” She dropped her chin. Deference or unease? I barely heard her next words. “We’ve lost two more.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded.
The woman threw a curious glance in my direction before hurrying down the corridor.
I ran to the door. “Lost two more? Two more prisoners? Nicco, you can’t do this to people. Torturing their minds. Isolating them. They’ll all die.”
He squared off and locked eyes with mine, harsh angles etched into his face. “She was talking about our people.” He bit the words out and took a step toward me.
Backing away, I collided with the cell wall.
Nicco moved one step closer and thumbed the remote. The door slid down, and suddenly there was no air in the room. “There’s some reality for you,” he said slowly, letting his rage cool into a much more dangerous malice. “There’s some of the truth you’ve pestered me for.”
I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t look away.
He loomed over me. “Maybe you’re right. Someone should understand us.”
I closed my eyes. My muscl
es clenched in reflex, preparing for his invasion of my mind.
A chair scraped across the floor.
My eyes flew open.
Nicco was slouched against the table, a grim smile curving his mouth. “Sit down.” He gestured to the chair.
I couldn’t bring myself to walk closer to him.
“You know,” he drawled the words, “you are so jumpy, it’s impossible to have a conversation with you.”
That statement was so unfair that my mouth hung open while I tried to find a response.
Light from the walls sparked in his eyes. “I won’t hurt you.” The now-familiar intrusion of compulsion entered my mind. Years ago, a nurse had injected something into my IV right before a minor surgery. A strange chemical calm had infused my body in seconds. I felt the same way now. A part of my mind knew the sense of peace was artificial, but it was such a relief to be free from terror, I didn’t care.
I floated to the chair and sank down, strangely detached from my own body.
Frowning, Nicco studied me, and the soothing tranquility in my mind withdrew slightly.
“Are you paying attention?” he asked.
I nodded with effort and struggled to remember what we had been talking about. “Truth,” I whispered.
He gave a short laugh. “Yes, and why we’re able to create our own.” He shifted his weight to sit on the edge of the table. “We haven’t found others like us—not that we’ve been able to search very far. We learned early on that our skills fail and our minds begin to break if we are away from Rhus too long.”
The sluggishness in my mind eased, and I could concentrate again. “Is it something in the air? In the water? Or is it that you need each other?”
Nicco shrugged. “We’ve never found out. One of our guests said it must be the gods’ way of keeping us from venturing too far. Few of us dare leave Rhus. Medea has sacrificed more than anyone else to help our people.”
His fondness for her resonated through the link he held to my mind.
I shuddered, hoping he couldn’t read my wave of disgust. Medea was beyond irrational, but it made sense if the travels had affected her mind. The other Rhusican who had attacked me in Braide Wood had turned on me with a crazed roar and lunged into my sword. Maybe he had also been away from Rhus too long. But then Nicco wasn’t particularly levelheaded either.
“Have you done a lot of traveling?” I asked.
He glanced down at me. “No. I’ve never wanted to leave.”
“But you seem to be . . .” I hesitated. “You’re a lot like Medea.”
His eyebrows lifted.
A frisson of anxiety tried to assert itself but was pressed back by imposed serenity. My breathing remained steady, and I waited.
Nicco pushed to his feet and paced across the room and back. “Our people don’t live long. As our mental strengths develop, we find our emotions also are more intense, harder to control. Those with little creative powers live longer. Those of us with greater gifts . . .” He sank into the chair across from me and sighed.
“Maybe if you stopped messing with people’s minds. Maybe if you stopped creating your own realities.” A flare of hope ignited in the grey emptiness of my spirit. “Maybe that’s why I’m here. To help you find truth.”
Nicco leaned forward, his face mirroring my earnestness for a second, absorbing and tasting my desire to help. Then he threw himself back and laughed long and hard, until he had to wipe tears from his eyes.
I sank down into my chair, defeated.
“No”—he choked on another burst of laughter—“you’re here because we live for fresh experiences, and Medea found something new in you. You provided fuel for her work. You’re still alive because—and only because—there are a few things I haven’t finished exploring.” His eyes narrowed. “Now. Fair exchange of information. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s your turn.”
I pressed against the hard back of the chair.
A muscle jumped along Nicco’s jaw, and then he went very still, eyes riveted on me. “When you were about to die, you saw something. Show me.”
I didn’t want to relive that moment near the fountain, but I couldn’t push him out of my mind. The feelings rushed back. The desperate attempt to escape. The brief sputters of hope. The crushing despair when I knew I had failed. The knowledge that my life was going to end. The yearning to connect one more time with Mark and the children. I closed my eyes, gripping the edges of my chair for support.
Then it happened again. Beyond Nicco’s snarling face and raised dagger, I saw Life. The One. A presence wrapped in light and mist, radiating welcome and comfort. Even the memory of that moment stirred deep feelings of awe and trust. I followed that thread to other encounters. The fiery blast of assurance right before the battle of Morsal Plains. The tender wooing of my heart in the Lyric tower by One who asked permission to heal me. The powerful words that called me back from Medea’s poison as Mark recited, “He restores my soul.”
Moment after moment unwrapped and played across my thoughts like spools of film. Overlaid above the images of my own story was the glow of the Source. It was His goodness, His compassion, His hand that spun the reels and allowed my life to play out. For a second, I could almost understand the way He had steered and shaped my existence to touch something far beyond the confines of the film. I lifted my focus from the scenes of my life to His face, basking in His love. Time stopped.
Slowly, I remembered where I was. Long minutes had passed, maybe hours. Where had Nicco gone? I didn’t feel him twisting, controlling, or even observing my feelings. I opened my eyes.
Nicco’s face was white, his eyes wide with horror. His shoulders moved raggedly with each panted breath he took. “What . . . who . . . ?” He skidded his chair away from me.
“It’s all right. It’s what I’ve tried to explain to you.”
He grabbed fistfuls of his hair and doubled over, hands pressed against his head. When he looked up, his eyes were wild. “How did you do that?” The words rang against the walls of the small room.
I flinched.
Nicco backed away toward the door, his muscles tensed so tightly he shook. “Tell me.”
“I didn’t do anything. It’s the One. Nicco, your people have been so busy creating realities, you’ve never been willing to see Him. If you want experiences that won’t bore you in moments, try real truth.” Let him mock my earnestness again. I didn’t care. It might be the last chance I would have to tell him this.
He was still breathing hard, but hunger and cunning replaced his fear. “How do you control that power?” A dark smile twisted his lips.
I shook my head with a moan of frustration. “It’s not something I control or that anyone can control. The One . . .” I floundered for an explanation and remembered the creed I had first learned in Braide Wood:
Awesome in majesty
Is the One eternal.
Perfect in His might and power,
The only truth and only source,
He made all that is and loves all He made;
His works are beyond our understanding.
Nicco stood very still, as if analyzing every syllable. He seemed to be searching for a trick somewhere.
I met his eyes with complete openness. “You’ve learned to control a lot of things—even the minds of other people—but you’re not the source of power.” Strength welled up in me and lifted me to my feet as the truth of those words sank into my own heart.
Nicco’s chest lifted and he sneered at me. “Do you want me to remind you how much power I have?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” For once fear didn’t race through me at his threats. “But you know the truth now. There is One with much more power than you.”
“I can fill your mind. I can make you feel pain beyond imagining.” Nicco pulled his dagger from a deep pocket and slipped it out of the
fabric cover. He ran a finger along the edge of the blade. “I can take your life.”
I squared my shoulders. “Yes. But after, there is One who will meet me, and you have no power over Him.”
Nicco reached out and traced the raised scar on my cheek. His hand slid lower to rest against my throat.
My pulse pounded against his fingers. He had rarely physically touched me, for which I had been incredibly grateful. Now I was afraid to move.
“So little life left,” he mused. “And you boast about power.”
“Not mine.” I choked the words out. “His. Are you ready to face Him again?”
I hadn’t meant the words as a challenge. I only wanted him to understand.
His hand tightened, cutting off my air.
Grey glitter moved in from the edges of my vision. He snorted and shoved me away with so much force I collided with the wall.
My knees buckled and I sank to the floor. I brought a hand up and felt tears on my face. I couldn’t make him understand, and it tore me apart. “He wants you to know Him.”
“You think I should try to know this One, whom I can’t control? You’re insane.” He reached for the remote on his belt, and the door slid open. Sneering down at me, he put his dagger away. “You were right. There were some things I hadn’t found before. But I’ve seen enough now. You bought yourself today. Tomorrow I’ll need this room for new arrivals.” He stalked out of the room, and the door slid down.
For a moment, I had really believed truth was breaking through to him, but he wouldn’t hear it. Grief pressed the breath out of me. I had given up on being rescued weeks ago. I’d let go of ambitions to escape. I’d resigned myself that I wouldn’t get out of here alive.
Still, through each long day, one hope refused to be crushed. I had held on to a spark of faith that my being here would have a purpose—make a difference somehow. The spark dimmed now. Maybe nothing could make these people change.
I hugged my shins. The wall behind me felt cold in spite of the light emanating from it.