by Frank Morin
Chert told a different story. The skin of Connor’s forearm closest to the man turned cool. The whispers in his mind sounded soft, but fearful.
“What’s wrong with the loud fellow?” Connor asked.
“I figured you might notice him. It’s a common tale. A lot of people try to hide fear or nervousness by overcompensating. People like that are easily influenced by magnifying those fears. They either become so rowdy that they create distractions, or they break down, surprising people they’ve been fooling, and creating even better distractions.
Connor wasn’t interested in wrecking the guy’s day. “Can’t we help them feel better?”
“Temporarily, sometimes. We can’t fix people’s minds for them. We can only push them a little. That doesn’t change their outlook on life. Intensifying or weakening their current emotions is most productive, but with practice you can learn to carefully introduce new emotions and guide your target to an entirely different focus.”
The ramifications were enormous, and a little disturbing. “I’m glad not a lot of people can use this stone.”
She nodded. “It’ll never be a mainstream stone, even if Obrion or Granadure learn where it’s quarried. The deposit is small, the stone lacks much power, and it drains quickly.”
“Good.”
Now that she mentioned it, the little stone he held had already shrunk noticeably in his hand.
Connor spent another moment flicking his chert senses around the room, conferring with Student Eighteen about what chert revealed about each person. Most of the officers were pretty straight-forward, their emotional state exactly matching their external state.
Then he noticed a woman sitting in the corner, eating silently alone. The whispers from her came rapid, urgent, and the feel against his skin turned icy cold.
“What about her? She looks calm, but I get a feeling of near-panic and also terrible loss.”
Aifric considered the woman for a moment. “I suspect she lost someone dear to her in the recent fighting. I would not be surprised if she did something abrupt and possibly fatal to herself pretty soon.”
“Suicide?” Connor asked, his voice rising a little higher than he intended. He glanced at the woman again, thinking about the crazy battle of Altkalen. A lot of people had died, although fewer than if the fighting had gone against them.
“Can we do something for her?” he asked.
“Like I said, most of the time we can only affect minor, temporary changes.”
“Let me try,” Connor urged. He felt an intense need to help the woman, but didn’t dare walk up to her and say, Hey, I sense you’re planning to kill yourself. Bad idea.
“It’s not the first test I would recommend. It probably won’t make a lot of difference, but go ahead. Aifric approves too.”
Knowing she was watching gave him a little more confidence.
“What do I do?”
“Reading people is easy. You’re just taking the emotions they’re emitting. Trying to influence someone requires a deeper connection.”
Connor closed his eyes and allowed the whispered emotions from the woman to fill his mind. He drew that icy chill emanating from her into his own heart.
For a moment he just felt cold and a bit unsettled by the urgent whispering that tugged at his thoughts, as if on the cusp of becoming clear. Then the connection suddenly solidified, like a conduit snapping into place between them. Her emotions boiled down that link and Connor felt her crushing loss, overwhelming grief, lack of hope, and inability to see a brighter future.
He rocked back in his seat, gripping the edge of the table with suddenly tense hands as he sucked in a long, shuddering breath. He wanted to drop the connection, escape that terrible link, but he couldn’t.
He understood her.
If Verena died, he would probably feel the same way. For a moment as the emotions washed through him he blinked back tears, facing that most horrible of possible futures as if it had already happened.
Student Eighteen touched his hand and said softly, “This is the hardest part. Some lack the natural empathy to make such a deep link, and few manage it without extensive practice, but I can see you feel her. I should have realized your ascension would change things.” Her own voice was tinged with sorrow. She must have also linked to the woman.
Connor nodded, fighting to rise above the torrent of grief and loss. He reminded himself over and over that Verena was not dead, that she wouldn’t die. It helped clear his mind. “What do we do now?”
“Depends on what you want to do. If my mission was to assassinate her, I wouldn’t need to bother. I could just amplify her current emotions, echoing them back to her. She’d finish herself off for me.”
Connor grimaced. “I’m glad that’s not our mission.”
“Me too. I sense she’s got inner strength, but it’s been eclipsed by her loss. In time, she’ll regain her balance and learn to heal.”
“We need to give her the time, but how?”
“I can’t tell you exactly. Empathy is a personal thing. Just like you have to feel the emotion, you have to feel the solution.”
“Give me a hint at least,” he implored.
She hesitated and glanced at the woman again. “Like I said, I sense strength in her. Consider how you can help her tap that strength again.”
That wasn’t as useful as Connor hoped. He was starting to wish he’d never insisted on trying to help. No, he was glad for the chance, he just wished it wasn’t so difficult. So painful.
Relationships and emotions were always difficult, though. Even he and Verena struggled, despite how deeply they cared for each other. He was willing to fight to salvage their special bond, and he realized he was willing to fight to help this nameless woman regain the will to face the next day with hope.
Her loved one had already died, but maybe she had other things to live for, to focus on? Connor closed his eyes again and embraced the emotions radiating from the woman. Aifric had said he could send emotions back. As the connection deepened, he felt the link, sensed the conduit could indeed feed in reverse.
He held the image in his mind of waves of emotion radiating back to the woman from him, like those invisible beams of light he saw when tapping limestone. Then he focused on all the reasons that still inspired him to hope.
He thought of happy memories with Verena, memories he would always cherish, even if she slipped away forever. They would be tinged with sorrow, but still powerful. He thought of the first time he’d kissed her, of the first time she punched him, of the intimate moment when he healed her leg, that night he learned about Nicklaus and realized she had been telling the truth. He smiled to himself as he thought of the first time they flew together, of the sight of her in her custom battle leathers, of her cheeks flushed with the thrill of discovery in her workroom.
For several minutes, he forgot where he sat, forgot about Aifric, even forgot about the woman he was trying to help. He allowed himself to walk those wonderful memories, and he felt peace settle gently over his heart.
Verena might die. She might even leave him for Mattias when she awoke. Either of those events would devastate him, but they wouldn’t change the past. They would not make it impossible to find a happy future.
Student Eighteen gently gripped his hand, drawing him from his reverie. Tears glittered in her eyes, and embracing chert as he was, he read her approval.
She said softly, “I’m impressed, Connor. I think you can stop now.”
He blinked a couple of times and glanced at the woman in the corner. She had pushed her plate aside and was huddled in her chair, sobbing uncontrollably. Two other women officers had rushed to her side and were comforting her. Several others were moving in that direction.
Connor felt embarrassed as he sensed sorrow pouring off the woman in waves. The temperature of the emotions had risen from hopeless icy cold to the chill of a long winter night.
Connor released chert and withdrew his empathic senses. “Sorry. I thought I could help.”
Student Eighteen’s voice shifted to the warmer tones of Aifric. she chuckled and shook her head. “For one with such a knack at this, you’re pretty dense, Connor. You did help. A lot. I blame the ascension.”
“But look at her. She’s a wreck.” Connor barely caught himself before gesturing at the grieving woman.
Aifric nodded. “Exactly. She has released her anguish. Crying is good. It helps one deal with sorrow. This is the first step to actually dealing with her trauma, not getting destroyed by it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Switching back to Student Eighteen, she rose and winked. “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me wrong.”
Connor laughed and followed her toward the exit. Then he admitted, “That was a lot more intense than I had expected. I’m exhausted.”
“Too bad because we’re going up onto the wall so I can teach you to use serpentinite.”
12
When You Realize You Weren’t Nearly Scared Enough
Shona relaxed in a padded armchair in the front enclosed compartment of the speedcaravan, facing an enormous window that spanned the entire front wall. She gazed out at the panoramic view as the marvelous craft ascended the long final slope before reaching Donleavy.
The speedcaravan was one of the few marvels still remaining from the days of wonder before the Tallan wars. The long, sleek craft slid along raised rails, gliding so smoothly that it seemed to be floating more than sliding. Each metal cabin, oblong in shape, about forty feet long, and connected by wobbly bridges, served a different purpose.
She was the only passenger. The speedcaravan was reserved for high nobility and urgent communications. Usually the closer it drew to Donleavy, the more people tried to find an excuse to win one of the privileged seats on board.
Not this trip.
Instead of needlessly stopping at each of the cities along the way for non-existent passengers, the speedcaravan only slowed. Workers who manned the acceleration gears at the stations launched her toward the next stop. She wasn’t sure how it worked, but somehow the long, tubular wagon of the speedcaravan shot down the track without needing any additional propulsion, sliding with enough energy to reach the next stop.
Since she hated Verena above all other living souls, she made a point of not inquiring further. She appreciated the smooth, fast journey down half the length of Obrion, but she felt that focusing on the marvelous accomplishment of the ancient Builders somehow gave Verena yet another victory.
Instead she focused her thoughts on the capital and her growing worries that she might have underestimated the danger. It seemed the turmoil was even worse than they’d been told. No wonder people who lacked her connections felt hesitant to visit. Part of her was eager to find out what was going on and meet the queen. The part of her that looked forward to a long and healthy life was growing increasingly nervous.
The last car on the speedcaravan was a sleeping compartment, and she had tried to rest earlier in the trip, but sleep had refused to come. The middle car was the dining car with an extensive staff prepared to make palace-worthy meals at any time, day or night.
In the front car, the huge windows gave her unrestricted views of the countryside and she loved watching the scenery slide past. She hated that Connor could fly with Verena and enjoy sights that she’d never see.
The speedcaravan topped the final rise, slowed from the long climb up from the lowlands. The breathtaking city of Donleavy came into view, and Shona allowed herself a moment to simply enjoy the vista. The speedcaravan route circled part way around Donleavy, following the crest of a long hill overlooking the lower reaches of the city, offering panoramic views.
Donleavy was built high in the northern reaches of the Tairseach Mountain range that thrust up out of the farmlands of central Obrion. The Carraig was less than a hundred miles away if one could fly directly south like a Builder, but the jagged peaks between the school and the capital made the journey many times longer. The city clung to seven levels of wide bluffs that climbed the north face of the mountain. A deep canyon fell away to the east in steep cliffs, and the majestic Mealt Falls plunged from the inaccessible peak of Mount Raasay that lorded over the city. The long, silvery falls fell over four hundred feet and thundered into the center of the High Palace, the great wonder of Donleavy.
The sight took her breath away, as it had both times she’d visited Donleavy in the past. The Carraig, with its tightly packed palaces and soaring towers sought to impress by sheer magnitude of architecture. Donleavy embraced the breathtaking scenery and indomitable landscape and melded it into its architecture in a way no other city could match.
The High Palace was made of several parts. The central palace encircled the falls that plunged right through its heart into the wide Loch Mealt. The enormous palace extended out over that loch for more than a hundred yards and rose in five stories of solid granite, more than two hundred yards across. Long wings extended farther, becoming the western and eastern palaces. The western palace extended a full quarter mile and reared seven stories, with frost-rimmed towers and spires rising in graceful splendor even higher.
Her father’s tower was located there, close to the central palace. Shona loved the view of the falls plunging down the cliff nearby. The rushing water and the spray that billowed high along the mountain kept her rooms cool and comfortable in the summer. Firetongues heated that mist in the winter to keep the palace warm even in the worst weather.
The eastern palace extended to the outer edge of the cliff and rose in tiered levels, with the famous windowed wall at the top level overlooking the panoramic vista. The royal family lived there, which meant it was now Queen Dreokt’s residence.
The throne room seemed to hover four stories directly above the central palace, standing atop nine graceful, granite towers. Elegant walkways circled the towers at each level, but Shona stared only at the throne room. Its famous domed roof of translucent blue quartzite from the Glenmuick quarry made it look like a giant jewel floating in front of the waterfall.
Only the nine towers of the lore masters of each affinity rose above the throne room, reaching up to encircle the silvery falls like grasping fingers. The gray granite towers were inlaid with vertical stripes of their particular affinities, and the soapstone tower was capped by a rooftop walkway so the senior master Spitter could stand within arm’s reach of the mighty falls.
Shona forced herself to tear her gaze away from the magnificent palace to glance across the rest of the city. The Mealt flowed out of the loch and cascaded down seven additional waterfalls, with smaller pools at the base of each one. The final pool, simply named the Eas, was long, but narrow, and exceptionally deep. Shona had heard that the river seeped out the porous rock at the bottom and traversed three thousand feet down through the mountain before emerging again on the lower plain to join the mighty Macantact River.
Shona had never visited Donleavy in winter, and the city looked beautiful under blankets of freshly fallen snow. She enjoyed the view as the speedcaravan slid on raised bridges from one tier to the next on its course toward the High Palace, which occupied the entire highest level. The rest of the city was built upon the wide steps of the seven waterfalls, and the populace of the city was just as strictly segregated along economic and social lines. The palaces and properties of the highest nobility occupied the second highest level, while the rest of the nobles lived, worked, and shopped in the third. Lower classes lived and worked in the levels below, but Shona doubted she’d ever venture there.
She wasn’t sure if the waterfalls ever froze. The constant pounding of the falls kept the lochs from freezing solid, but much of the city was rimed with sparkling ice from the spray.
The end terminal for the speedcaravan was built into the basement of the central palace, and the speedcaravan slowed as it approached. Her father had once explained to her that resistance blocks were built into the tracks to help dissipate the caravan’s energy. Somehow they worked to bring it to a stop in the perfect pos
ition every time, despite the fact that the weight changed depending on the number of passengers and the cargo.
Once the speedcaravan settled with a gentle shudder into its cradle in the terminal, Shona rose and headed for the exit. A woman in her father’s colors, who acted as Shona’s chief handmaiden during the voyage, was already holding a fur-lined, knee-length coat for her. Shona had brought few personal effects. Her rooms in her father’s tower were already stocked with gowns and appropriate court apparel.
She swept out of the speedcaravan and spotted her father’s delegation waiting nearby. But she stopped abruptly as a nearby woman shifted to block her path.
“Watch yourself,” Shona snapped.
The woman was heavily bundled against the cold. She gave a barely adequate curtsy and pushed back the hat that had fallen down over her eyes. “Beg your pardon, Lady Shona.”
It was Connor’s Aunt Ailsa, the sculptress from the Carraig. For a second Shona was not sure what to say. The sight of Ailsa triggered a flurry of memories. Some were dark, filled with the anxious worry from playing the great game of the school, but most centered on Connor.
Ailsa stepped closer, her expression serious. She nodded toward the compartment Shona just exited. “Step inside, Shona. I need a moment of your time, and your life depends on listening to what I have to say.”
The intensity of her green-eyed stare ignited again all of Shona’s nervous worries about her summons. The delegation was approaching. She needed to go.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“No time for chatting.” Ailsa gestured with a leather-covered portfolio. “My excuse for being here is to study the speedcaravan. I hope to find a way to replicate its functionality through sculpted stones.”
“Is that possible?”
“I doubt it,” Ailsa admitted with a flicker of a smile. “But it gives me an excuse, and these days that’s barely enough. Now get inside and listen to me, or you will cease to exist before this day is through.”