by Ann Macela
Some fifteen minutes later, Saxt stood by the side watching the teams. He was both pleased and surprised by the Indies, who had enthusiastically thrown themselves into the effort. If Clyde’s team had fully explained to their “test subjects,” they might have been successful earlier.
That, however, was the past. Saxt had to consider the future. The Defender Council definitely needed to pay closer attention to those people not on teams and make sure they weren’t being wasted. They had to discuss the possible need to certify teams in the new method to make sure all members could handle the power being generated. He was formulating a mental memo when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a tiny flash in the far pentagon.
The one with Phil Bellman.
Saxt looked more closely. Something was wrong with the color or luster of their ring. The silver-golden glow appeared pale, diminished, weak.
One of the Defenders in the fortress noticed his attention and made a “come here” gesture with his head. Saxt hurried over, and Johanna quickly joined him.
“What’s the matter with our ring?” the Defender asked. “We were doing fine, building speed, beginning to feel the ebb and flow like you said we would. Man, what a thrill! Then, all of a sudden, the ring began to lose power. I can barely feel the energy coming back to me now.”
“Me, neither,” a couple of the others said, and the rest agreed.
All except Bellman.
The tall Sword stood with his eyes closed and his lips curved in his trademark smirk. He hadn’t budged when the Defenders in his pentagon spoke. If it weren’t for the visible stream of energy flowing between his fingers and the ring, you’d think he was asleep—or totally blissed out by the experience.
What was wrong with this picture? Saxt studied the ring and the energy sliding between it and the team members. He stepped into the pentagon on Bellman’s left and stuck his hand into the ring. Power flowed through his fingers … going the wrong way.
It should have been gliding clockwise, from right to left. Instead, it streamed from left to right. The movement made no sense.
“Johanna,” he said, “get on Bellman’s other side and tell me which way the energy is flowing.”
She did so and reported, “It’s moving clockwise.”
Saxt peered across the ring to its opposite side, directly across from Bellman. The threads midway between two Defenders seemed tangled, almost churning, almost splitting, like a little whirlpool, indecisive about direction.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Very carefully, Saxt reached his fingers into the space between Bellman’s hands and the ring, right into the man’s energy thread, and waited for the ebb-and-flow effect.
He found, however, all flow, no ebb.
Energy poured into Phil. None came out—at all. Not even a trickle. The man was soaking up almost every bit the others could produce. Bellman truly was an energy hog.
“Bellman.” Saxt said the name with a little bit of force behind it. Phil didn’t even twitch. He probably hadn’t heard him.
“Cut the power, everyone,” Saxt told the others, and he watched the Sword while the ring diminished and finally disappeared with a “poof.”
When the power stopped flowing, Bellman jerked, stretched out his hands as though searching for the non-existent ring. Finding only empty air, he frowned and finally opened his eyes in a squint. “What happened? Where’s the ring? Man, was that a trip or not?”
“Johanna will help you restart,” Saxt said to the team before facing Phil. “Come with me, Bellman.”
Johanna sent him an understanding nod before she said to the others, “Okay, let’s try the ring again.”
Thinking about the best way to handle Bellman, Saxt led him into the anteroom between the arena and the hall. Phil had to stop his hog habit. Did he even realize he was doing it? At the same time, after yesterday he was bound to be touchy about being corrected.
A calm discussion held a better chance of his actually hearing what Saxt had to say. It also gave Saxt a chance to learn more about the man. He’d hate to see Phil’s talents and power go unused or misused. No matter what his faults or his personality, Bellman was correct. A level-fourteen Sword could be very useful.
After he closed the door to the arena, Saxt slid a couple of chairs away from a table, sat in one, and waved a hand at the other. “Have a seat.”
With a belligerent expression on his face, Phil sat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, what’s the problem? What have I supposedly done now? Why did you shut down the ring? Damn it, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
That statement answered Saxt’s first question—the man had no clue he’d been sucking in power like a vacuum. Sticking to his plan, Saxt leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and smiled. “What did you think of the new method? Especially once the ring started spinning and power built?”
Bellman didn’t seem to expect those questions, and he took a moment to understand that Saxt was not going to ream him out for some violation of the rules. He still appeared wary, though, when he answered, “I admit, I had some doubts going in. When the ring spun and the energy grew, damn! It felt exactly like what I’ve been hoping for—finally enough power to fill my center and fuel my blade. Those low levels I was with out there couldn’t produce the kind of energy I need, but if I was working with a real team, I know we’d be able to take on the Cataclysm Stone itself.”
“Clyde’s team refers to the feeling as ‘the euphoria of the ring.’ Have you heard that?”
“Euphoria of the ring,” Bellman repeated, his demeanor changing from suspicion to agreement. “Yeah, that’s a good description.”
Saxt kept his tone mild, as if he was simply making an observation. “The problem is, that euphoria can stop someone in his tracks, make him oblivious to anything except the power and the glory of it filling his energy well. I think that’s what happened to you in the arena.”
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened to me.” Bellman looked more puzzled than offended.
“Phil, the first time I felt that rush, I couldn’t move. I could have stood in that spot all day, soaking it in. Pulling in the power, you froze, too. When I spoke to you, you didn’t hear me. We had to cut power to the ring to bring you out of it.”
Saxt leaned toward Phil, held his hands out as if producing energy—and offering aid. “Where I simply let the power flow in and out of me, however, you gathered it into your center and didn’t let any out. You drew so much out of the ring that the other team members couldn’t keep up with you, couldn’t produce enough for themselves. Were you aware of that? Did you consciously take and keep the energy?”
Bellman’s face flushed, and he gazed down at his hands, intertwining his fingers. Finally he raised his head and admitted, “No, I didn’t know what was happening.”
Saxt breathed a sigh of relief. If Bellman could acknowledge his lack of conscious action, Saxt had a chance of getting his agreement on correcting the problem. “You do realize, you must fight the euphoria, keep a clear mind inside the pentagon?”
“Yeah.” Phil drew himself up and said with more than a touch of righteous indignation, “Of course. I’m not a novice.”
“I agree,” Saxt told him, ignoring Phil’s tone, “you’re not a novice. All the more reason to make certain you can truly share energy, maintain a balance inside the fortress. You know how important that is.”
Bellman didn’t say a word to that—only frowned and nodded.
“I suggest you rejoin your pentagon in the arena, but keep yourself ‘conscious’ and focused,” Saxt continued, trying to infuse sincerity and persuasion into his tone. “It’s absolutely vital you master this method, Bellman. The power we’re harnessing here is too great to be left to chance, ineptitude, or euphoria. Some people won’t be able to handle it, and they will be dangers to themselves and every person in the fortress with them. The Council will have no choice but to bar them from item destruction except at the lowest levels. I’d hate to see your
talent go unused.”
“Is that a threat?” Bellman asked, his square jaw clenched.
“No, not at all,” Saxt replied. “Simply the situation. On the other hand, I can foresee several retirements among our older Swords and Defenders—the ones who hate changing their ways. Their leaving will offer team opportunities to a number of Independents. You might also explore forming a new team of your own. Plenty of Indies are available.”
Bellman appeared thoughtful for a few seconds before he rose, smiling broadly. He said enthusiastically, “Okay. I hear you. When will we be able to actually destroy an item with our new power?”
“We’ll set up training to show you how. After that, it’s up to you. As soon as you can put together your own team, or an established team will let you practice with them.”
“Great,” Bellman said. His usual haughtiness returned when he asked, “Anything else?”
“Just remember, when you do attempt a destruction, start with a level-one item,” Saxt replied, deciding not to mention item limits—yet.
He watched the Sword leave before he stood and stretched. Maintaining an impression of being relaxed in a negotiation was tiring. He’d keep an eye on Bellman and hope he’d made an impression with the man where Johanna and the teams here had not. They tried, she’d said, and then gave up. Not surprising. Phil evidently looked down on all and listened to none. Now, however, they had a new method that he wanted to be a part of and needed them to learn how.
All right. What next? More training, the last dinner, and finally, he’d talk to Johanna. Saxt was smiling as he re-entered the arena.
***
After dinner, contrary to his expectations, Saxt was not smiling. The visiting Council members captured him, Clyde, and the two engineers. Saying she had a full day of classes tomorrow, Johanna begged out of the meeting.
Saxt managed to draw her aside and remind her he’d be at Ben’s training the next day. He couldn’t help adding softly, “Then, we need to talk.”
Johanna met his gaze, drew in a breath and let it out. He couldn’t tell if she was frustrated or disgusted, and he had to smile when she nodded solemnly. “Yes, we do.”
“Let me take you to dinner. Or, let’s have dinner in my suite here.”
“Let me suggest an alternative,” she replied in a whisper. “Come to my house. We’ll have some privacy there. I feel like everyone here is watching my every move, waiting to pounce with another question about the ring or energy or what it feels like to zap a piece of the Cataclysm Stone.”
“An excellent idea,” he agreed and knew he was grinning like he’d closed an important business deal. “Red or white wine?”
“Whatever you like. Shrimp okay? A little spicy?”
“Sounds good. Let’s leave right after Ben’s training and tell no one. The last obstacle we need is a Council member tagging along.”
She made a disgusted face at that notion and brightened when she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Saxt watched her leave while his center hummed in anticipation. They’d be alone at her place. Privacy at last.
Chapter Eleven
Snow was gently falling while Johanna drove home early Monday evening, and she checked the rearview mirror from time to time to make sure Saxt was following her. Her house wasn’t hard to find, but his being behind her was somehow reassuring.
Of course it was. The soul-mate imperative was busy at work. Being side by side with Saxt made her even more … reassured was not the right word—antsy, fidgety, excited were better. The urge to touch him was growing, causing her fingers to itch in anticipation.
And other parts of her to heat and tingle.
“Slow down,” she ordered out loud. “Take it easy. Or at least, easier. You hardly know the man. It’s not like you’re going to throw yourself into his arms and make mad, passionate love on the kitchen table.”
“Or is it?” a sneaky little voice asked inside her head.
“No, it isn’t,” she answered and rolled her eyes. Great. Now she was talking to herself.
The soul-mate imperative had to be responsible for causing all her extremely uncharacteristic thoughts. To shut them off, she started thinking about what she was going to cook.
Within a few minutes, she drove up her own driveway and hit the button to open the garage. As she’d suggested, he pulled his car in next to hers. No sense having snow cover the vehicle when she had room under her roof.
Johanna led him into her utility/laundry/mud room where they hung their coats in the closet before moving into the kitchen. She was glad she’d left the lights on—coming into a dark house would have been somehow too intimate. Dropping her purse and briefcase on a chair, she took a pot out of the cupboard. “Give me a minute to start the water heating for the pasta, and I’ll set out some munchies.”
Saxt held up a white box and a green bottle. “I brought dessert—talked the pastry chef into making what he claimed is your favorite. Apple-cranberry pie? I’ve never tasted that combination.”
“Oh, yum.” She glanced at him while the pasta pot filled. “How did you convince Antonio to make a non-scheduled pie? He never does special favors.”
He grinned. “While I wish I could claim it’s because I’m such a special guy, it was really because I mentioned it was for you. You helped his favorite niece with a problem, and he wanted to send his thanks.”
“I did?” Then she remembered and waved the idea away. “Oh, no big deal. I only helped her determine where her talent lies. It’s in cooking, and her uncle is ecstatic. He doesn’t owe me for that. On the other hand, I’m not going to refuse my favorite dessert. I have the perfect ice cream to go with it, too.”
“If you’ll give me a corkscrew, I’ll open the wine. I brought a chardonnay.”
“It’s in the drawer to your left, and the glasses are in the cabinet above.”
While he opened the wine, she put the filled pot on the stovetop and lit the fire under it. Watching him pour the pale liquid into the glasses, she smiled at the wonder of having him—a new soul mate—in her kitchen. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such a possibility.
He smiled back at her, and his brown eyes sparkled like he knew what she was thinking. He handed her a glass, toasted her with his, met her gaze, and said, “To you.”
“To you.” Johanna managed to return the toast and took a big sip of the wine to wet her suddenly dry mouth. She thought she had herself under control, but when she stared into his eyes again? She felt drawn to him as though he was a magnet and she a piece of iron, their coming together an inevitable fact of nature. The shiver running up her spine reminded her she couldn’t stand there and bask in his nearness. She had dinner to cook.
“Before I left this morning, I chopped the vegetables and made the salad so we wouldn’t have to wait long to eat. I don’t know about you, but I need energy replenishment. It’s been that kind of day.” She knew she was babbling, but couldn’t help it. From the refrigerator, she pulled out the cheese/veggie appetizer plate and spread crackers around the edge. “Help yourself. Have a seat or look around if you’d like while I start cooking.”
“Let me help. I’m a great table setter. Where’s the silverware? I assume we’ll eat at the table here?” He indicated the table in the bay window nook on the other side of the open kitchen counter.
“Unless you’re a stickler for a formal dining room.”
“Not me.” He ate a bite of a cracker and cheese.
She stifled a grin as she pointed out the correct drawers and cabinets. Somehow she wasn’t surprised at his helpfulness—the soul-mate phenomenon would not have paired her with a man who wanted to be waited on. They nibbled on the appetizers and discussed practitioner politics while he set the table and she prepared the ingredients for the pasta dish.
“Why don’t you turn on the lights in the living room?” she suggested when he finished the table. She pointed toward the dark opening past the nook. “It’s on the other side of that wall. The sw
itches are over there where you come in from the foyer.”
When Saxt walked over and flipped on the lights, Johanna followed to see his reaction to the large space. The pinpoint spotlights in the high ceiling showcased the two paintings above the fireplace, and tiny individual lights illuminated her art collection, an eclectic mix of colorful paintings and drawings, mostly landscapes and flowers. Several tall growing plants stood out against the dark floor-to-ceiling windows flanking the fireplace.
Johanna was proud of the space, happy it had come together exactly as she’d planned. The long sand-colored couch facing the fireplace was perfect to lie on and read or nap. The embroidery and needlepoint pillows made by her mother played off the art, and the oak flooring with vine-laden throw rugs added to the setting.
“This is great,” he said after he wandered into the middle of the room and revolved in a slow circle. “I feel like I’m in the middle of a garden.”
“That was the point,” she told him. “With all the gloom and reduced palette that winter brings, I wanted a respite, a reminder of summer. Hence the pot plants and designs in the pillows and rugs, with a few accents to match the pictures.”
“You succeeded.” Saxt moved to study the paintings above the mantle.
Johanna went back to her cooking and poured the penne pasta into the boiling water. In a few minutes, he returned, this time to scrutinize closely the paintings on the wall facing the breakfast table.
“These flower paintings are so intricate, so delicate. Watercolors?”
“Mostly,” she answered. “They’re called ‘botanical paintings or illustrations.’ The technique is a very old form of art, first used to help healers identify medicinal plants. The pictures show the life cycle of the whole plant—roots, leaves, flowers, seeds. Usually the medium is watercolors, often combined with pen and ink. A true illustration must be totally accurate as well as visually pleasing, a real blending of art and science.”
“Are these smaller versions of the ones above the fireplace?”