by Frank Morin
Aifric sighed. “I suppose it was inevitable. Secrets just don’t survive around you guys.”
“Secrets and sweetbreads, two staples of our diet,” Connor said, forcing himself to attempt a little humor. The conversation was intriguing enough that he was able to stay in control. Barely.
“Like I said, Mister Five pioneered the technique. He was the most skilled Mind Killer in the history of the Mhortair. He discovered many fascinating truths about the mind, including the fact that we only use a small fraction of our available mental capacity.”
“Really?” Ivor asked.
She nodded. “Then he was assigned a very delicate mission that required a different set of affinities than he possessed. Instead of ceding the mission to another kill master, he figured out how to split his mind, creating a reflection of himself that lacked active affinities. When he transitioned into that mirrored mental state, he succeeded in establishing new affinities.”
“If I didn’t know you already, I wouldn’t believe it,” Ivor said.
Connor agreed.
“He was the first. He pushed the boundaries farther than anyone, but he did not achieve full personality split. The fact that he created mirrored images of his same self did allow him to establish different affinity sets and he actually managed to get both halves working together simultaneously for short periods of time.”
“So he could use more affinities, as if he was Dawnus?” Ivor asked. Now he looked impressed.
She nodded again. “At Alasdair he used both soapstone and serpentinite at the same time, even though those affinities are established with different mirrored halves of his mind.”
“That’s why he was so dangerous,” Connor muttered. He didn’t feel bad about Mister Five’s death at Queen Dreokt’s hands. If she hadn’t killed him, Connor had sworn to do so. Mister Five had nearly killed both Aifric and Verena, so his days were numbered, no matter how many ways he split himself.
“So what you do is different?” Ivor asked.
“It’s the next logical step in the process. With his help, I managed to partition my mind, using those latent portions of my brain not already used. I create alternate people and give them life and space in those empty partitions.”
“You’re the first to manage it?” Connor asked.
Her expression turned grave. “So far, I’m the only person to succeed. Three others have tried. One broke her mind and died. All we can figure is she partitioned away the part she actually uses. The other two succeeded in splitting their minds, but got lost in the partitions. They sit like mindless, empty husks. Hopefully they’ll find their ways out eventually.”
“Um, I’m starting to think I don’t want to experiment with breaking my mind apart,” Connor said. Struggling with porphyry was hard, but at least he was still alive.
“That’s why I’m not suggesting a full partition. I do think we can attempt the first stage of a mind-mirroring effect like Mister Five did, but not so drastic. Just enough to split away your porphyry affinity, but leave the rest intact.”
“Really, I’m fine,” Connor insisted. He gripped his hands together so they couldn’t see them shaking. He was still sweating freely and his body ached as if he’d let Anika and Erich pummel him with a tree for an hour.
Ivor asked, “How likely is success?”
She said confidently, “I am the original me and I have seen the depth of Connor’s affinity with chert.”
The truth struck Connor like a bolt of lightning. Aifric was one of Student Eighteen’s personalities. She wasn’t a real person, well, not like everyone else. His good friend was in essence a figment of Student Eighteen’s imagination.
Ever since he’d learned the truth about Student Eighteen’s multiple personalities, he’d known she wasn’t normal, but he’d never allowed himself to think through the ramifications of her condition to that point.
“So you weren’t Aifric first?” Connor couldn’t help asking.
Her features softened and she gave him her trademark Aifric smile. “I’m the first partition, Connor. I’m the first twin, so to speak.”
Her features hardened again and Student Eighteen barked a short laugh. “First twin of what became a really large family. Connor, Aifric is just as real as I am. She’s a full person. We just share the same head.”
“Okay.” That was mental. Literally. But it did still help him feel better.
She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Trust us, Connor. Of everyone I know, you are best qualified to succeed. Let me help you.”
Student Eighteen had sworn to protect him from all harm. He knew her resolve and could not imagine she would attempt anything that might destroy him. He wasn’t sure he could trust anyone else so completely besides his parents. He would gladly give his life for Verena, but they were still working on absolute trust.
So he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, how do we do it?”
“Activate chert.”
Connor took the little stone that she handed him and focused on it. The connection opened quickly, marked by that strange sound of rushing wind echoing through his mind.
He glanced at Ivor, who emitted a calm, greenish aura, suggesting he believed Student Eighteen. That was a good sign. If Ivor had seemed panicky, he might have second-guessed himself.
Student Eighteen motioned him to sit, then pulled her chair close in front of him until their knees touched. She met his gaze and her aura intensified into a bright, golden glow, almost as if she had ignited limestone under her skin like Saskia sometimes did.
“Focus on me. Open your mind and relax.” Student Eighteen commanded in a firm but gentle voice.
Connor tried breathing deep and steady. That always helped him relax and focus better. Student Eighteen’s glowing eyes mesmerized him, and the steady pulsing beat of her chert-enhanced mind meshed with the pulse of his own.
When she spoke again, her words seemed to sound directly inside of his head. “Good. The connection is strong. With both of us tapping chert and focusing on each other, the mental link becomes deeper than any other way. Now, I want you to think about porphyry.”
Connor tensed and the link faded in strength. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Concentrate,” she urged. “Relax. While we’re connected through chert, you should gain some insulation from the addictive impulses long enough for this to work. Now think about porphyry, how you established affinity with it, and all the memories of using it.”
That was really easy once he started. Addiction-fueled porphyry rage wasn’t fun, but it guaranteed really vivid memories.
So Connor allowed his thoughts to drift back to those moments. He thought back to the exciting moment of discovery when he found the bag of powdered stone in Professor Hector’s secret apartment. He re-lived again the terrifying ecstasy of the first time he’d established affinity and absorbed it into his system. Again he reveled in its unrivaled strength.
He thought back to the training session with Ilse, how she’d helped him discover the secret to keeping his sanity while transformed, how the siblings had beaten him with that tree every time he failed. His breath came faster as he re-lived the glorious battle with the elfonnel, then the death battle against Martys. Again the unstoppable bloodlust flooded his heart and he yearned to taste the blood of his fallen enemies.
For a time, he lost track of where he was, of who he was as he sank deep into those memories of exultant horror, of glorious terror, and unbreakable violence.
Then the power of those memories seemed to fade. First the colors and scents drained away, then the images began to retreat like familiar sights slipping into a distant fog. The details blurred, then disappeared entirely. He was left standing in a mental fog, devoid of all thought, all emotion. Even the constant wind of chert through his mind seemed to fade.
Connor glanced around, suddenly chilled, but somehow not worried. He was locked into the gray, fog-filled expanse of his own mind.
Student Eighteen’s voice called to him,
echoing down from directly above. “Connor? Connor, can you hear me?”
“I can.” His voice seemed to roll in endless echoes through him. It would be fun to test how long he could keep the echoes going.
Before he could, she said, “Close your eyes and will yourself to come awake.”
When he did so, light seemed to explode into his eyes and he rocked back in his chair, blinking at the unexpected brilliance. For a second he felt dizzy and nearly toppled over, but Ivor’s strong hand caught him.
Student Eighteen still sat close, facing him. She looked exhausted. Sweat streaked her brow and had dripped down her cheeks. Dark circles clung under her eyes, and she sagged where she sat.
“Are you all right?” Connor asked.
“I will recover,” she said in a tired voice. “The question is, are you?”
Only then did Connor realize he was free of the raging need for porphyry. The absence of that hunger was like a heavy weight released from his heart. He felt alert and completely himself for the first time since the fight with Martys in Alasdair. He hadn’t realized porphyry had affected him so much.
Connor laughed. “I feel amazing!”
“So it worked?” Ivor asked.
“I think so.” He glanced at Student Eighteen. “What exactly did we do?”
“While you relived those memories, I directed them back into a different part of your mind. The process is sort of like emptying a cupboard in the kitchen and dumping everything into the barn.”
Connor poked the side of his head. It didn’t feel different. “So I partitioned my mind?”
“Nothing so dramatic. To manage a full partition, one of us would have to be ascended. No, I just helped you relocate those memories to a less immediate retrieval location. If you really focus on porphyry, you can access them again and re-establish your affinity. But if you’re careful, you should be fine.”
When he risked thinking of porphyry, he realized she was right. He found no clear memories, but sensed them buried deep, little more than hints of distant shapes in a thick fog. Something was there, but it was almost entirely invisible. He made a point of turning away.
“So could you use a similar approach to help people remove other painful memories?” Ivor asked thoughtfully. “I’ve known people who are all but crippled by painful memories or experiences. That trick could give them a new chance at life.”
Student Eighteen’s features shuddered and softened to Aifric’s. “We should discuss the potential healing application when we have a little more time. It might help in the short term. The problem is that many who feel broken by their pasts refuse to let the past go, but choose to define themselves by it. Even more important than chert-assisted dulling of memories is the mental shift people need to undergo to release the past and embrace a future defined by who they are now instead of who they might have been.”
“Perhaps helping reduce the strength of those memories could help them learn to change their focus,” Ivor suggested.
Connor wanted to ask who he was thinking about. It seemed important enough that the person must be close to him.
But at that moment the speedcaravan rounded a long slope, and the city of Donleavy came into view. As they slid smoothly along the eastern reaches of the city, heading toward the magnificent palace and the long, streaming waterfall that plunged into the center of it, the three of them fell silent.
In a moment they would know if their mission had any chance of succeeding, or if their arrival at Donleavy would spark a fight they couldn’t hope to win.
20
Mind Over Matter
When the speedcaravan came to a halt at the lower level of the palace, a squad of soldiers waited for them. Beside the captain stood an elderly fellow, dressed exactly like Aifric.
Ivor exited the speedcaravan first, but when the elderly courier spotted Mariora, he rushed forward, looking ecstatic.
“Mariora, what are you doing here? I haven’t heard any reports of you in nearly a year.”
Mariora saluted, then gave the man a quick hug. “It’s good to be back. I was injured and out of commission for a while, and then working the outer realms.”
“You picked a terrible time to return,” the man said, leaning closer and speaking softly.
The captain of the guard saluted Ivor and said briskly, “State your name and your house.”
Ivor gave the man a cold glare. “Since when do you give orders to a high lord?”
The man looked startled and snapped another hasty salute. “My apologies, my lord. Things are very tense right now and some of the old norms have been dropped until people pass the interviews.”
Ivor huffed, “That’s why things are so tense. We must maintain structure and discipline, or chaos lies at the door.”
That was a pretty good line. Too bad Ivor wasn’t a Sentry. He could have thrown out a bit of cryptic Sentry speak to top it off.
Ivor glanced dismissively at the guards arrayed behind the captain. “I know the way to the throne room. You and your men are dismissed.”
The captain hesitated. “Our orders are to escort all new arrivals to their interviews. There have been a number of attempts to flee.”
Ivor made a disgusted sound. “Fools and cowards. I have no time for either. Dismiss your men. I will not be escorted to the throne room like a criminal.”
The captain looked like he planned to argue, but Mariora said, “I’ll escort them.”
“You need to be interviewed too.”
“Then we accomplish two things at once.”
Ivor did not wait for a response, but strode purposefully toward the huge staircase that spiraled up toward the main level of the palace. Mariora and Connor fell into step flanking him. Connor tried not to look nervous, but he already had a piece of marble under his tongue and a piece of quartzite wedged into his cheek. He’d downed a vial of soapstone before they stopped. With all the water nearby, he could make a spectacular mess in a matter of heartbeats.
Several of the soldiers reached for weapons, or swelled with granite strength, but the captain gestured them back. He rushed after Ivor and fell into step beside him. “I understand your point, my lord, but I have orders too. I will escort you personally. That should accomplish both of our objectives.”
Ivor acknowledged the words with only a glance and a hint of a nod. They ascended the wide staircase without speaking, but paused at the main level to stare. Not even Ivor in his guise as a disgruntled high lord could ignore the fantastic sight of the waterfall thundering down into the rear of the enormous atrium, shielded by towering windows.
“I take it this is your first visit to the capital,” the captain guessed.
“The first in some time.”
Connor was glad no one asked him anything. He’d experienced many wonders in both Obrion and Granadure, but that huge, vaulted atrium with its waterfall plunging into the loch beneath them shook the building with its power. He touched soapstone and the falls glowed bright in his water senses. The air was laden with water, and the billowing clouds that rose up around the palace allowed him to feel it all and get an amazingly accurate picture of the entire structure in his mind.
The captain led them across the enormous atrium. They approached the third of the nine towers that supported the throne room high above and entered the staircase concealed inside. Connor’s sense of wonder evaporated as he realized the captain intended to lead them directly to the queen.
As soon as they started to ascend and were clearly alone, Ivor paused and turned to the captain. “I think I owe you an apology, Captain. I’m rather in a hurry to see my fiance. Will you be so kind as to tell me where I can find High Lady Alyth?”
The captain’s expression, which had begun to soften, shifted back into careful neutrality, but his eyes suddenly looked nervous.
“You know where she is, don’t you?” Ivor demanded.
“I think we should speak about her after your interview.”
Ivor’s bulk didn’t change, but
he grabbed the captain and slammed him against the outer wall of the stairway. Connor couldn’t tell if he was tapping granite, or just that worried for Alyth.
Flames danced in his eyes and his expression turned fierce. “You will tell me where she is right now.”
The captain raised his hands in a placating gesture. “The interview process is merciless. I lost someone too.”
Ivor growled and raised a fist to strike, but Connor grabbed his hand. “He’s not the one to blame.”
The captain looked from Connor to Ivor questioningly. “Since when does a servant speak that way to his lord?”
Connor gave the man an apologetic grin. “Like you said, some of the old norms no longer exist.”
He curse-punched the man in the chin. The captain’s head bounced off the wall and he crumpled into a heap.
Aifric checked him and gave Connor a disapproving frown. “You broke his jaw and possibly cracked his skull. I can stabilize him to ensure he recovers, but I would expect better control from you, Connor.”
“Sorry,” he quickly apologized. “But like he said, he has orders too. We need to make it clear that he did his best to follow them.”
Ivor clenched his fists and asked angrily, “Now how am I supposed to find Alyth?”
“Leave that to me.” Aifric shifted back to Mariora and disappeared down into the atrium, leaving Connor and Ivor in the stairway with the unconscious captain.
Connor took a moment to prop the man against the wall, with his hat down over his eyes, as if he was sleeping.
“That won’t fool anyone for more than about a second,” Ivor said.
Connor shrugged. “Did you see how people are acting? No one is looking at anyone. Everyone is terrified. They look like a bunch of linn trying not to be noticed by a taskmaster. The queen’s got everyone terrified of being noticed. I doubt anyone will give this fellow more than a glance and then hurry past, convincing themselves that they saw nothing.”
Mariora returned less than five minutes later. “I found her.”
Ivor asked eagerly, “Is she all right?”
“I don’t know yet. She’s in the west palace, second floor. People I spoke to seemed nervous to say anything, although they seemed to know who I was talking about. The person who finally told me where to find her said only that she was receiving training for her new duties.”