by K. F. Breene
The mention of the time constraint meant the Captain knew Sanders was back and wanted a damn good reason for it. Fine. Sanders would have to have an audience with him, anyway. He just wished he could’ve rested for a second or two before he walked into the next battle zone.
Chapter 5
The haze was returning, which meant consciousness was close. A cool liquid trickled past her lips. It tasted fresh and delicious, though it had no taste at all. Water. That was okay. Deft, soft fingers placed a cool rag on her forehead, dabbing twice before moving away.
Forcing calm, relaxed limbs, Shanti kept her breathing steady and rhythmic. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Not without knowledge of this room or that beyond. She waited patiently, eyes lidded, for the woman to adjust the sheets and then move away.
Mentally peeling a thick film from her Gift, she groggily opened her mind. Needing to know what lay in wait, she let her feelers trickle into the room, and then reach beyond. Without warning, shooting pain stabbed through her temples and down through her gums. Flashes of discomfort pulsed behind her eyes. Hastily, not able to help a sharp intake of breath, she reeled her power back in.
Ouch.
Okay, that wasn’t going to work. She’d severely strained her Gift along the way. She’d have to settle for getting to know one person at a time. It was more personal, anyway.
She focused in on the hazy mind-path of the woman in the far corner. On a normal day the person, so close, would be a crystalized bunch of motives and feelings, intents coloring her mind-path as loudly as speaking across the room. While she couldn’t read thoughts, per se, she could read the motivations behind them. The average person she’d experienced in her travels, however, not raised with knowledge of mental power and all its branches and nuances, would usually advertise their intentions so grossly that it might as well have been reading thoughts. It was great for her cause, but very noisy if she didn’t actively work to tune it out.
Sweet and fairly dense, the woman continued about her day in dull monotony; she had no real expectations, and no real desires. She had no drive to do anything but her simple occupation, which was folding sheets.
Well, that was good.
Shanti allowed her eyes to open slowly, the gloom of soft light coming from a drawn shade in a window to her right. The window was big enough to slip through. No bars covered the outside. She wasn’t a prisoner. Not yet, anyway.
Her body lay immobile in a small bed with crisp white sheets, the frame not much wider than her body. Two landscape paintings hung on the wall she faced. The artistry was second rate but the frame gleamed, made from a well-crafted, polished wood.
Ugly art housed in exquisite word-working. Strange. Shanti wondered if a family member had done the paintings, and this woman was too kind to say the painter should take up another hobby…
The sting of cleaning detergent assaulted her senses, and there was no sound outside of the room. No coughs of the sick or the murmur of voices from jailers. The furniture and dressings, though slightly worn, were clean and well taken care of; everything here was loved. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was in a room in a home.
Shanti let her head fall slowly so she could see the woman on the other side of the room. She had a pleasant disposition and unruly brown hair. Her shoes were worn, like the furniture, but of similar quality. This woman had wealth; too much food eaten often, expensive wood purchased to house lack-luster art, leather shoes? Wealth didn’t fit with her current occupation, though.
As though realizing she was the subject of scrutiny, the woman glanced at the bed while folding a white sheet. “Oh!” she gasped with a delighted smile, dropping her chore and taking a few steps closer.
Suddenly apprehensive, Shanti hastily clutched the stranger’s mind, sweat blossoming on her brow with the effort. Trying to work through the sludge of her consciousness, Shanti fed a pure shot of terror into the woman’s emotions, and she hesitated immediately in her advance.
“Where am I?” Shanti asked with a thin voice that was supposed to be intimidating.
The woman stared at her, uncomprehending.
How about use the correct language, you idiot!
She wracked her fraying brain, trying to remember which land she was in and what they might speak. She had ten languages in her arsenal. It would be a rare thing if she couldn’t find one they both shared.
If only her mind wasn’t so slippery.
She switched to the Forest Region’s formal dialect. “Where am I?”
The woman shook her head again, forehead lined, trying to understand by sheer will alone.
She’d wandered off path, somewhat. That wasn’t good. Mountain region? “Where am I?”
The woman’s dark hazel eyes sparkled even as she wrung her hands. “In my home, my lady. We need to get you stronger. You nearly starved to death!”
Shanti dropped her mental stimulation. This woman was not capable of harm, thank the Elders.
“Am I the only one here? How were you—“
The woman nearly bounded to the bed, stopping Shanti mid-word. “How do you feel? You gave us all quite a scare! How did you come to be in the middle of nowhere by yourself? You must have traveled a long way…”
Barely resisting the sudden urge to feign a light coma, Shanti took a deep breath and let a brief smile grace her face. She needed information about this land. She needed a reference point from which to plan the next leg of her journey. She also needed to know what they planned to do with her. If the Graygeul had their hands in this society, she and all her people were as good as dead. This woman was obviously a great resource.
A great, chatty resource. Who would probably want to talk all day.
Nothing was ever easy.
“I was just passing through,” Shanti answered vaguely. “I did not realize the forest was charred. Where—“
“Oh, yes!” the woman cut in, moving back across the small room to fold her clothes. “That’s because of that filthy Mugdock! They’re jealous of our lands and our ability to trade. They’re a poor nation. Of course, that’s their fault, the lazy swine! A few years ago they got the bright idea to burn as much of our land as possible. I don’t know why—“
“Molly?” A male’s voice spoke from beyond the room.
Shanti’s attention snapped toward the door, pushing her mental net out as far as possible. Pricks of pain stabbing behind her eyes, she could barely feel a man’s presence just beyond the wood. A sharp mind, if she had to guess, probably honest. Curious and wary at the same time.
Now why would that be…
“Oh!” The matronly nursemaid bustled into the other room, closing the door with a soft click. Through the thin wood paneling Shanti heard the woman continue with, “Hello! Come to look after your charge?”
“Uhmm, n—yes. The Captain wanted me to check in and see how she was? But I don’t need to see her, you can—“
“Nonsense!”
Molly opened the door a second later, dragging in a boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen. Steering him with hands on his thin shoulders, she deposited him in the center of the room, facing Shanti.
Immediately, as if a bright spotlight had focused on him, his head dropped toward the floor and his shoulders hunched. His thick mop of curly brown hair fell over his eyes. Obviously shy, yes, but Shanti could sense fear, also. It rolled off him in waves, drenching the room in anxiety and uncertainty.
“This is Marc,” Molly announced proudly, patting the youth on the back. “He was the one who got you started toward health! He’s training to be a doctor!”
Shanti didn’t know what the term doctor meant, but judging by the woman’s sparkling eyes, and the context, it meant healer. And was exciting in some way.
Marc’s bronzed face turned scarlet as he stared at the floor.
“Well, I’ll just let him ask his questions, then,” Molly continued, giving Marc an encouraging pat on the arm. “No doubt the Captain will want a full report. Just don’t tire
her out, mind—but then you know that!” The door clicked shut once more, cutting off Molly’s merry laughter.
An uncomfortable hush rolled through the room. Marc stood, motionless, looking to solve mysteries in the floorboards. How a guy could remain so still, while under scrutiny, was a testimony to steady hands. A good thing in a healer. Not great as the initiator of conversation.
As if he heard the thought, he slowly brought his hands up to his stomach level, and began picking his nail. It seemed like, to him, movement was noise. Interesting.
After another stagnant pause, the youth cleared his throat. His gaze drifted up until he glanced at her from under his eyelashes. Here came the burst of action—his mind was ablaze with it.
“Are you feeling better?” he managed.
Shanti barely suppressed her laugh. She wasn’t sure he had it in him. “I am, yes. Thank you for your concern.”
The boy nodded, his dark eyes darting around the room. “You nearly starved.”
“Yes, I am aware. What part did you play in my recovery?”
He shrugged, dropping his head again. “I just tried to get you to drink water is all. And some broth…”
“Were you the one who found me?”
“Um—I’m not supposed to…I mean, I just came to check… your eyes, uh… I just…” His words fizzled out as he scrubbed at his nail nervously.
She’d never met anyone so shy in all her life. It was fascinating. His sharp intellect dulled by the fear of expectation. The fear of being noticed. His mind was blazing one second, calculating and deducing, and the next he was pulling all his feelers in, tucking them away like a turtle.
She’d love to work with him. To coax that sharp intellect out and see what he could do with it. But she didn’t have the time. That wasn’t her job anymore.
Pushing past the pain, Shanti envisioned wrapping him in a warm blanket of security and seclusion. Her power played and tinkered with his mind, turning her illusion into his reality. He wouldn’t see a blanket, but he’d feel the comfort of being wrapped in one. The mind was a strong persuader.
As his face relaxed, she said, “I just hoped to know the situation surrounding my…rescue, and what will now become of me.” She brushed his mind with comfort, like his mother’s arms wrapping him in her bosom. “You do not have to fear, I will not betray your trust.”
The boy glanced up, dark eyes in a plain face. “Gracas found you by a tree. Commander Sanders and I cleaned you off.” He swished his hips to the side, boy code for extreme embarrassment of a sexual nature. His face blushed a deep crimson to match the movement.
Inexperienced and insecure. No guilt. No remorse.
Shanti let a shallow breath roll passed her lips. He’d probably just seen her body, and nothing worse. It bespoke this culture’s modesty, which was a good thing. For her, anyway. She didn’t care about nudity—she was glad he did. It was a small step in the direction of safety.
“Thank you.”
His nail must’ve had a high polish with all the attention he was giving it.
Shanti increased the amount of comfort, imagining him in front of a crackling fire, completely alone in a familiar room. “Then what happened?”
That extra dose was all it took. In a torrent of words, she got the full story: His desire to cure her in an attempt to rid him of the pain of losing his mother to disease. The fear of Commander Sanders’ attention. How he didn’t fit in with the other Cadets, but focusing on her made him at least feel needed. Liking some girl called Canella but too shy to talk to her.
Shanti held up a hand to stop the verbal flood when he started talking about his first kiss.
His face dropped immediately, allowing her a few minutes to pick through the tumult of strange words—slang, most likely. If only she wasn’t so tired, or using precious resources to mentally manipulate these people. She wasn’t up for any of this.
“When you first came in the room,” Shanti said softly, trying to get back on track, “you seemed afraid of me. Why?”
He gave another blush. “Well, I thought you hurt Xavier somehow… He screamed, then dropped you. Your eyes were open. And…and glowing…”
Frost crept up Shanti’s spine as those words sank in. Her muscles tensed. Did he know what it meant? Who she was?
As she attempted to summon strength she didn’t have, her hold on his mind wavering, he laughed to himself. “But that sounds silly, of course. I mean, eyes don’t glow, right?” He scrubbed at his nail and lowered his eyes, shrugging. “Commander Sanders blames it on my love of stories.”
Sweat beaded her brow. “Did anyone else see my eyes glow?”
“Oh no. No one believed me. And now, after having met you, I can see I don’t know nothing—“
Shanti shook her head and cut him off. “Don’t know what?”
“I mean, I can see that I was wrong,” he clarified. “That Commander Sanders was right. I just wanted to be sure, though. I thought I’d check, you know?”
The small muscles in her back started to relax. The ice in her shoulders thawed. Air worked into her lungs. She backed off her mental touch.
“But you do have weird eyes,” Marc blurted.
“Yes. Compared to you, I do have weird eyes.”
“Are you albino?”
Shanti shook her head again, not understanding the term.
“Do you have skin and eye…you know, problems?” Marc tried. “No color in them? Is it a genetic thing, I mean?”
Shanti nodded slowly. It would lead to uncomfortable questions if she told him that a huge release of power at five years old permanently burned her retinas. Incriminating questions. With the Graygual marching east, conquering, pillaging, and destroying along their way, all they needed was a whisper, a rumor, and the Being Supreme’s dogs would be on her trail. They’d already gotten closer than she wanted to admit, and that was when she’d been in perfect health. At this stage in the game, she was ripe for the plucking, vulnerable and defenseless in some strange land.
No, the less this kid knew, the better. It had been a long, lonely road so far, but she was almost there. She could confide in someone when the journey was done.
“Oh, so that’s it.” Marc gave a relieved smile, completely missing her inner contemplation. “Genetic problems. Well, that makes sense. Anyway, I should probably go. I have to get back to training. I’m failing, but they keep trying.” His chest heaved in a sigh. “I’ll probably end up cleaning toilets or something. Goes to show intelligence test scores aren’t always accurate.”
“Do you know what happened to my things?”
Marc’s head tilted. “That nasty dress you were wearing?”
“My baggage. My knives and weapons. My personal affects. My ring…”
Mark scrunched up his face and shook his head. “We only found you. I don’t remember a ring… You had that sheet, and some holey leather shoes—not well made, either. The leather was ruff—“
Startled, Shanti sat up. “You did not find my bag?”
The bed dressings fell to her waist. Marc’s eyes fastened on bare skin immediately, having a stare-off with her nipples. His face turned a furious shade of cherry. He gulped and stammered, unable to look away.
“Look at me,” Shanti commanded as she clutched his mind, feeding him a blast of urgency. Marc’s eyes slowly found hers, the blood in his penis fighting logic. Fighting any sensation she could supplant.
Wanting his undivided attention, and realizing the impossibility of that within this setting, Shanti intertwined lust with her urgency cocktail. It was a terrible time for that “can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” philosophy, given his age, but she didn’t have much choice.
It did the trick. Marc’s eyes were burning, slightly embarrassed, but staring at Shanti with fervor. She hiked up the sheet and said, “I need that bag, Marc. I need you to take me to it, okay? Please?”
“Yes.” It was more a sigh than a word. “I will. I will take you to it. Right now?”
Dangle sex in
front of a guy and he was like the walking dead. Typical. But effective.
In this situation, also gross.
Shanti’s mind raced. She was naked, she was starved, and her head was swimming from sitting upright. She wasn’t going anywhere. But she needed that bag. Badly. It was everything. Being without it meant failure.
Why were there so many ways to fail?
“Two days. Come back here at dawn. Don’t tell anyone and don’t let anyone figure it out. Do well in your classes, focus on what you’re doing, and don’t let them see your distraction. When you come, in two days, at dawn, bring enough provisions for a week and a map. Will you remember?”
Marc nodded again, glued to her hypnotic, slightly glowing eyes.
“Okay. Now get out,” Shanti said with a tight voice. She replaced lust with shame, as if a parent had given him a punishment after catching him masturbating. With any luck the next time he looked at her he would be mortified. Not the nicest of things to do, but definitely necessary.
She lay back down and pulled fistfuls of the sheet to her chin. Her people had never worried about nudity. The baths were public, in deep wells of a natural hot spring. One would have to go without bathing to avoid being seen naked. And when washing was as much a relaxing treat as necessary for hygiene, her people got callous to nudity quickly. She’d often walked through the village air drying, carrying on a conversation with someone completely clothed.
She wasn’t at home anymore, though. Home was destroyed. It was time she finally caught on.
Chapter 6
The next two days whisked by in a blur of Molly’s idle chit-chat while Shanti dodged her questions. Molly would do things like talk about her niece’s new baby, then ask if Shanti had a niece. Or a baby. Or a husband waiting for her somewhere. She would tell Shanti of places she had traveled, which weren’t many, and then ask if Shanti had traveled. How far. With whom. Every long-winded story had a question periodically popped in. Shanti, half asleep most of the time, had to keep herself from answering by sheer will, hypnotized as she was by the verbal linguistics of an accomplished gossip.