by Dawn Peers
The longer Sammah spoke, the heavier the pressure became. “No! Stop! What are you doing to me? You…you don’t have an ability. You’re an apath. You’re dead inside. This doesn’t feel right.”
“This isn’t my ability, Quinn.”
Neyv. Neyv was behind all of this. Quinn dropped to her knees. The pressure was getting too much, and stars danced in her vision. It felt like every time she had passed out under the pressure of her ability. Quinn felt like her skull was being squeezed, and if Sammah carried on talking, Quinn would not be able to think. Neyv was twisting the way she thought. Were Sammah’s words starting to make sense? Was that how Sammah had been folding and bending people around his will?
“I can’t do this, Sammah. I don’t want to be this. Please. Don’t make me be something I’m not.”
“I’m not making you be something you’re not; I’m stopping you from turning yourself into a no one. You’re special, Quinn. Better than everyone else around you. Even me. I can’t change the way people feel. You can. You could make a timid farmer turn into a fearsome soldier. With the force of your will, you can turn cowardice into courage.”
“Cowardice is there for a reason! These people don’t want war. Farmers aren’t meant to raise arms. You’re forcing people into a conflict they haven’t asked for. This is exactly what Nerren did. I can’t be him. You’re not going to turn me into my father.”
“You don’t know your real father, Quinn.”
“No, but it would be bad enough becoming just…like…you.”
Quinn felt hot liquid run down her lips and chin, and looked down to see blood splashing on the floor. Whatever Neyv was doing to her, Quinn’s body was putting up a protest. Alarm danced in Sammah’s eyes, and Quinn could see doubt there. Had this ever happened before, with Neyv’s manipulations, or was something within Quinn’s empathic ability stopping Sammah from having totality over her? Is this what had finally changed? As Quinn had grown older, and her powers stronger, had she simply been able to resist Neyv’s ability? Had the growth of her own abilities caused Sammah and Neyv’s influence over her to wane?
“Neyv, leave us.”
Shadows danced in the corners of Quinn’s blurred vision. She barely made out Neyv standing and walking calmly out of the room, as if her adoptive sister wasn’t collapsing to the floor, bleeding profusely in resistance to the power she was wielding. Did Neyv even understand what she was?
As Neyv walked away, the pressure in Quinn’s head eased. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and could taste the coppery tang against her tongue. “Don’t. Let me.”
A rag wiped across her face. Quinn couldn’t believe it. Sammah was actually cleaning her. Was he that concerned for her? She didn’t recall many times he had shown this much compassion for her, not that Sammah had any real appreciation of what that emotion felt like.
Was Sammah that desperate for her help, that without Neyv’s influence working, he would stoop to being…kind? This was not the Sammah that Quinn knew and despised. “You can’t change my mind Sammah.”
“I can, Quinn. Not today, maybe. But Neyv will break you down, whether you want her to or not. She destroys everyone, eventually.”
“She hasn’t destroyed you.”
“No. She can’t. I’m immune to her power.”
“Like you were immune to mine? That will change when she gets older. She’ll get stronger, just like I did. She’ll become aware of what you are, and she’ll stop following your rules.”
“I don’t think she will. She’s not like you, Quinn, you see. Neyv doesn’t question my intentions like you always did.”
“I never used to, not when I was her age. She’ll grow up, Sammah.”
“Not if I don’t give her the chance.”
Quinn coughed, hacking up blood and spitting it to the floor. She looked up at her father through unbidden tears. “You’re going to kill her?”
“When she’s done what I need? Of course. Once her purpose is served, why would I want to keep alive a girl who could potentially overthrow me? I’m a manipulator Quinn, not a fool.”
“That’s the way you thought of me?”
“No. You’re special to me, I’ve always told you that.”
“Only once you’ve got your child. If I give you a gifted baby, you’ll kill me without a second thought.”
“Perhaps you’re right, that’s all I want you for. But you’d be alive far longer than Neyv, or Sirah.”
“And I should be honoured by that? Comforted?”
“I don’t know how you should react, Quinn. Like I said, Neyv will break you down. Eventually, I will get my way. In the meantime, it looks like you need your rest. Elias will see you to your rooms—and make sure that you stay in there.”
* * *
Neyv stepped away from the door, scuttling back to her little chair and sitting exactly as Sammah would expect her to. She had heard every word. Suddenly, her apathetic opinion of her father seemed dangerous. Without Quinn in her way, would her father love her more? It seemed that way.
Quinn had always been an obstacle. Neyv saw this now. Sammah had always ignored Neyv. As soon as Quinn left, Sammah had cared for her. Now Quinn was back, Sammah was ignoring her again. The solution was simple. With Quinn there, Sammah thought he didn’t need Neyv; that she was not an essential part of his life. Therefore Quinn needed to die.
22
“I know you’re capable of more, Quinn.
“I can’t trust Erran and Obrenn. They aren’t going to provide me with the men I need, and have abandoned our cause, so I need you to do something for me. I need you to turn farmers into fighters.”
Quinn looked up from her bed. Sammah filled the doorway. Neyv had left the room hours before, let out by Elias on a nameless errand. Quinn’s job, until Sammah needed her, was apparently to sit here and rot. For once, she was in demand.
“I’m not going to do that for you, Sammah.”
“You’re not doing it for me—think of it as an attempt to save their lives.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whether you turn them or not, Quinn, they’ll still end up fighting. If you help them, with your power, then you might at least give them a chance of surviving.”
“Shiver’s men will slaughter them.”
“Only if you don’t help them, Quinn.”
“You can’t put me in that position.”
“I already have, Quinn. The only question is are you prepared to try and save their lives? Isn’t that what you’re concerned about? Innocent people dying?”
“I don’t want anyone to die!”
“We all die, Quinn, sooner or later. You have a choice now, to save the lives of a great many people. They don’t stand a chance against Shiver, not if you don’t help them. So are you going to try?”
“And if I refuse?”
Sammah shrugged. “I’m going to have them train against some of Elias’s men. We’re long past play-acting. They’re going to be using real swords. If some of them die… well it might give the rest of them the impetus they need to train harder.”
The man was barbaric. This, here, was what Shiver described when he called the men of Sha’sek barbarians. Sammah didn’t care what he did to other people, so long as his own ends were met.
“Come and see some training, Quinn. If you see how much is really at stake here, perhaps you’ll be less inclined to sit by and watch people die.”
Quinn protested, but inevitably Sammah waved in two of his mercenaries. Neither was Elias, but both were large and threatening enough to make Quinn come quietly. “Why don’t you just try to get Neyv to convince me? That seems to be your favourite thing to do at the moment.”
“Having someone like Neyv to work the people around me is a great boon, but the satisfaction of breaking someone’s stance—forcing them into an action they would never have taken before—is gone. With Neyv, it’s everything I want with no compromise. When it comes to you, Quinn, and the troubles you’ve caused me, I t
hink I just prefer to see you go through some anguish before we get to our inevitable conclusion.”
“What did I ever to do deserve this?”
“Deserve? You think that has anything to do with what I’m trying to achieve here? No Quinn. If you like to think of it in those terms, then you’re just spectacularly unlucky. You were born in the wrong place at the wrong time. I only want you because you’re an empath. If you were anyone else, you would have never even come to my attention.”
“After how wrong everything went with Nerren, you still think I’m the future?”
“I know you are. No one else knew how to cope with Nerren. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near him. Why not? Who knows. I think my brother was still jealous that he wasn’t the apath. Pax was never good at dealing with competition. Why do you think I ended up here in the first place? No, Quinn, as soon as I knew I had an empath all to myself, I wasn’t letting you go anywhere. Even when you had a choice, you still came back to me. I think secretly you know what I want to do is right—that you believe that in the end, I will inevitably win.”
“I came back here to kill you.”
Sammah laughed. Quinn flushed with anger.
“Yes, so you said! Kill me how, girl? You’re not a killer, Quinn, and you never will be. You were born to be a tool, and that’s all you will ever be. Let’s prove that now, shall we?”
There were a cluster of men already waiting in the courtyard. Huddled together in a miserable group, they looked absolutely petrified. Quinn saw their heads twist to look at her, as she entered the courtyard with Sammah. She didn’t know if they had some idea of who she was or if it was Sammah that they feared, but the look in their eyes reminded Quinn of meat awaiting the butcher.
“What are you going to do to them?”
“I told you Quinn, they are training.”
Sammah clapped his hands three times. Quinn was jarringly reminded of Pax, the slap of flesh against flesh reminiscent of his silent authority over the people of Farn. The men grouped together had heard the noise before—it made them all jump in fright. Two mercenaries advanced towards the group, who put up swords reluctantly. Quinn could see immediately that this would be a slaughter. She cried out to them.
“Defend yourselves!”
One boy turned to look at her. He was younger than she—perhaps no older than Neyv, really. A sword, far too big, shook in a two-handed grip. She was surprised the boy could even hold the sword up. It would be impossible for him to defend himself, let alone attack anyone.
“Stop this, Sammah! It’s not fair!”
“Nothing about the world is fair Quinn. It is about power, and how those who have it wield it.”
“You don’t have to kill them!”
“And you don’t have to let them die.”
“I can’t stop this!”
“You can, Quinn. All it will take is a thought—nothing more than that. You can stop this, with your mind. Do you want them all to die? Do you want that boy to die? They will.”
“You’ll kill them all anyway.”
“No. If they can defend themselves they will survive. It’s you killing them now, Quinn. Look at that little boy. Do you think this is how he wants his life to end? Cut down by my men in a filthy courtyard?”
“No!”
“Then stop it! Get them to fight. Make them defend themselves!”
One of the mercenaries swung his sword. An old man twisted, crying out. An arc of blood splashed across the rest of the group as the man fell to the ground. The rest of the men began to wail, the boy, petrified beyond noise, dropped his sword.
Quinn started to cry, dropping to her knees. “You’ll slaughter them. I can’t let this happen.”
“It’s your choice, Quinn. Change it.”
Quinn covered her face with her hands. She tasted her own breath, and tried to block out the noise of death. She couldn’t. Sammah was going to do this to her again and again, and these men would needlessly die, unless Quinn did as he asked.
Whose fault was this? Sammah’s? Her own? The mercenaries, for swinging the sword in the first place? What could Quinn use to lever a change? Every time before when she had managed to change someone, it had been because she had wanted something to happen. Deeply within herself, caught in the Sighs, she’d wanted the mercenary to die. Similarly on the return crossing, she’d wanted Eden above all other things. What did she want here? She wanted the men to survive, she knew that much. Did she want anyone else to die, including those mercenaries?
What were the mercenaries feeling?
Quinn kept herself in a tight ball. The men were still shouting; the mercenaries still attacking. They didn’t fear Sammah, or his orders. They didn’t pity the helpless men they had been tasked with slaughtering. They were enjoying themselves. Icy anger settled over Quinn’s heart. Of the entire range of emotions possible, why that? How could they take joy in what they were doing? How could anyone delight in slaughter?
Quinn knew, resolutely, she could stop this now. She could give someone the power to defend themselves against this.
The boy. The boy deserved this the least. He would be desperate to survive. Quinn glanced up at him. He was cowering now, crouched down like Quinn, covering his head. If he didn’t move he’d likely be trampled by the other men around him, before the mercenaries got anywhere near him. Quinn found him with her mind. He was full of fear. The volume of it was massive, and Quinn thought it was almost impenetrable. There was a slim crack, though—desperation. Quinn would pour her own anger towards what was happening in that gap, and hopefully it would be enough for the boy.
Quinn concentrated. Desperately, she pushed her anger into that boy. He stood. Quinn’s heart beat faster. He picked up his sword. He was going to do it—he was going to fight back! He swung, but no matter what Quinn had done, the boy was too weak and the sword too heavy. His swing missed its intended mercenary, and with a soulless smile, the man cut the boy down. He didn’t make a noise, though Quinn did. Her mind was pushed violently out from the boy as he died. The shock and the impact of the brutal killing sent Quinn reeling. She had done it—he was defending himself, but he hadn’t managed a single blow, and had been killed.
Quinn was enraged beyond words. Had she made the wrong choice? Would the boy ever have survived? She could give him anger, but she could not give him strength. Sammah had given the boy an effective death sentence, and his mercenaries might as well have been laughing as they took to their tasks with joy.
There were three men left. Men not boys. Quinn knew she could save these men. She could give them her anger; they could fight back.
Quinn unleashed herself on them. The change was immediate. She could not give them skill, nor could she give them training, but she gave them the mindless fury to hit back. The three men swarmed one of the mercenaries. Blood sprayed everywhere. Sammah was laughing, clapping his hands together in glee. Everything blurred for Quinn. The shouts of all the men, Sammah’s celebration, came to her as if through a fog or water. She vomited before she passed out.
* * *
“We have received another message from Baron Sammah. He is requesting more assistance—it seems he has accidentally estranged his only allies. How are we going to respond?”
“Have I given you any indicator that I wish to change our plan?”
“No baron, but that doesn’t mean that circumstances have not potentially changed. Do you still believe in the future you could have predicted for us?”
“Fully. My brother has taken this fight, and he can live or die by his choice. He has picked this fight with Everfell, not us. Now is not our time.”
“Your intentions were that the men of Everfell would expend themselves on each other. It does not appear that that is happening. Shouldn’t we therefore reconsider our position?”
“I have re-examined our position, and I find my prediction is no different. You may take a vote in this matter, but my advice remains the same. We do not send assistance to Sammah—it is too dangerous, t
he battleground too far. We don’t have enough people. Now is not the right time."
“And if Shiver decides to recoil against us when he’s eliminated your brother? What then?”
“Does he still have his daughters with him?”
“He does.”
“Then all is not lost—not yet. He will most likely lose eventually, but it is not going to be a sudden as you might think. I repeat my recommendation that we do not change our decision in this.”
“We vote. All of those in favour of sending aid to Sammah, one of our own, in his fight against the aggressors from Everfell?"
Pax passed his eye down the line of councillors, pausing as six hands went up. He feared a seventh hand would rise, and the decision would go beyond his control. This, he could deal with.
“Then the vote is even. I decide—we do nothing.”
“As you wish baron, the meeting concludes. Do we have any other business?”
“We have one; Rall has come to us regarding the healer Maertn. He is close to death after expending himself in the hospitals. She believes the boy is homesick, and has absorbed himself in his work in order to forget his relationship with Quinn. How do you think we should proceed in this manner?”
“I don’t see how it’s any business of ours. Rall should deal with his own—that’s what the masters are there for. Why do you bring this to the council?”
“Rall believes that, if the empath returns here and finds her friend dead, she will blame us. This will cause a difficult relationship between Quinn and the council, and he wished to avoid such a situation.”