Wild-born

by Adrian Howell

  “Look, Adrian, I can’t read your mind. If there’s something you don’t want me to know, I’m not going to find out, okay?” Cindy breathed deeply once and continued gently, “But Adrian, I found you, and I didn’t have to do that. And you came with me, and you didn’t have to do that either. I was kind of hoping that might be the start of a friendship. Friends have to trust each other.”

  “Okay,” I said, looking at her apologetically.

  “I’ll understand if you’re not ready to talk about it.”

  “No, I’m ready,” I answered, and I was.

  I told her everything. Everything I’ve told you and then some. The words just gushed out of me like a dam had burst. Sometimes I choked up, but Cindy patiently waited for me. At times, I must have been almost incoherent. I was jumping all around the story, adding bits here and there. I told her about losing Cat, and about Ralph and the berserker, and my escape from the hotel. When I finished, the dashboard clock read one o’clock in the morning. We were well beyond the city limits, driving down a dark, backcountry road past farmhouses and pastures that smelled of cow manure.

  “That’s quite a story, Adrian,” said Cindy. “Not the worst I’ve ever heard, but still, quite a story. I wonder how it’ll end.”

  I gave her a weak smile. “Cat once suggested, ‘And they all lived happily ever after.’”

  Cindy grinned. “Smart cat.”

  “She was,” I said quietly, touching my sister’s pendant.

  Cindy gave me a sympathetic look, saying, “It must have been hard for you, gaining your power so early. You’re a wild-born, like me.”

  “What’s a wild-born?” I asked.

  Cindy explained, “Psionic powers run in families, Adrian. In the thickest of bloodlines, almost everyone has some degree of psionic power, but with the lesser bloodlines, some people have it and some don’t. Then there some psionic bloodlines that are entirely dormant. ‘Dormant’ means sleeping or inactive.”

  “I know what ‘dormant’ means,” I said, feeling somewhat insulted. “But how does a bloodline become dormant?”

  “Usually through intermarriage with non-psionics. When a bloodline gets too thin, it can no longer develop psionic powers, and generations can go by without a single psionic being born. Wild-borns are people who don’t have any psionics in their families to help them adjust to their new powers. You don’t know anyone in your family who could defy any natural laws, do you?”

  I shook my head, and Cindy said, “Well, believe me, it was a shock for me too, when I first discovered what I could do. Wild-borns are considered to be a threat by established psionic factions. Threat and opportunity, actually.”

  I gave Cindy a blank stare, and she explained, “Most psionics don’t want normal people to become too aware of their existence. The problem with wild-borns is that they are more likely to do something that’ll compromise our secrecy.”

  “You mean like flying around a big city?” I asked meekly.

  “Exactly,” Cindy said with a smile. “But a wild-born also presents the opportunity to bring new blood into a faction. So whenever a solo psionic is discovered, there’s a mad rush by the surrounding factions to catch him and bring him into their group.” Cindy sighed once and added, “I’m guessing that the Guardians must have wanted you pretty bad if they sent old Ralph after you. That or they really wanted to kill the berserker. Either way, Ralph would be the man.”

  “You know him?!”

  “Ralph P. Henderson. Yes, I know him,” Cindy replied quietly. “I haven’t seen him in years, though.”

  The fear must have shown on my face because Cindy slowed the SUV considerably, saying, “Adrian, you’re not about to jump out of my car, are you? If you want out, just say so and I’ll stop. Ralph and I aren’t friends, you know.”

  Feeling embarrassed, I mumbled an apology. Cindy shifted the car back up.

  “Oh, and Adrian,” said Cindy, “I’m pretty sure Ralph was lying to you when he said the Angels wanted you dead.”

  I asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, it’s true that the Angels outnumber the Guardians now, but they wouldn’t have passed up an opportunity to get you to join them. Not with powers like yours.”

  Surprised, I said, “Ralph told me that my power wasn’t strong enough for the Angels to be interested. He said I was cannon fodder.”

  “Ha! Adrian, very few telekinetics can fly.”

  “But then why did the berserker try to kill me?”

  “He didn’t,” said Cindy. “He tried to get you to kill your family. That way, it would have been easier to get at you.”

  I thought about that for a minute. True enough, the first two attacks were on me. But if what Cindy was saying was true, why did the berserker use his power on my father the third time? Dad had tried to kill me and Cat. What had happened that night?

  First, I had heard the berserker’s voice, and then, just before the main attack came… the wire! I had drained myself before the berserker could hit me full force. The berserker could somehow sense that I was weakened, so he turned his attention to the next strongest person in the house who couldn’t block him. By then, I had dropped the wire, but the berserker didn’t know. He was perhaps hoping that Dad would turn against Ralph, and didn’t expect me to come out of my room.

  And Ralph had lied to me about the Angels in order to get me on his side. How many other people were chasing after me?

  “Cindy, back on the roof, you said that Slayers were after me. Ralph said something about them too. Who are they?”

  “Slayers? Oh yeah, they’re the church people,” Cindy said grimly. “It’s short for God-slayers. They’ve been trying to exterminate our kind, that’s psionics, for centuries.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re a danger to their beliefs,” explained Cindy. “They call us lesser gods or false gods, demons, and often much worse. They claim we’re of Satan.”

  “Ralph said Jesus himself might have been a psionic because he walked on water.”

  Cindy chuckled a little before saying in a serious tone, “One way or another, Adrian, Jesus had power. But whether Jesus really walked on water or whether he was just a great person with loyal followers and politically unpopular ideas… Who knows, really. One thing’s for sure, though: there are plenty of religious-minded people out there who, unlike Jesus, are neither good nor honorable.”

  I stared at her. I didn’t attend church regularly myself, but I had friends who did, and I never thought to criticize religion like Cindy was doing now.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Adrian,” said Cindy, seeing my expression. “I know many wonderful people who are church-goers. But the sad truth is that there are some very sick people out there who believe that God wants them to destroy anything they don’t understand.”

  “I’m not a church-goer,” I said quietly.

  “Neither am I,” said Cindy, “but have you ever studied the Bible?”

  “No.”

  “Really? That’s too bad. There are some good things you can learn from the Bible.”

  “Maybe.”

  Cindy smiled. “Tell you what, Adrian, let’s just focus on keeping you alive for the time being, and worry about your salvation later.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To my home-sweet-home, of course. I have a guestroom you can sleep in, and you’ll be safe there. No one has ever broken through my defenses. At least, not in the last fifteen years.”

  “So, um, what are you?” I asked, instantly regretting my choice of words.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, what are your powers?”

  “Oh, well, let’s see…” Cindy grinned. “I guess I’m mainly a cook.”

  “What kind of power is that?” I asked. “Can you breathe fire or something?”

  “No, but I can make wicked lasagna!” laughed Cindy, and added, “Adrian, people are not their psionics.”

  “You’re not a controller?”

 
; “Oh, good heavens, no. If you must know, I’m both a hider and a finder. Strange combination, really. And oh yes, I can also breathe fire.”

  I gaped at her, believing it for just one second before I noticed that her lips were twitching. We both laughed.

  Then I asked, “What’s a hider?”

  “I’m good at protecting myself and others from detection,” said Cindy. “You see, most of us can, with a little practice, sense power, but only if it is similar to our own. Power knows power. You are a telekinetic so you’ll learn to know when telekinetics and other types of destroyers are around you, but only a true finder can sense and find anyone. Anyone, that is, who isn’t a hider. A hider like me can conceal signs of power, making it pretty much impossible for a finder to locate me. That is, me, or anyone or any place I choose to protect.”

  I asked, “What did you mean when you said other types of destroyers? What’s the difference between a telekinetic and a destroyer?” I hadn’t been able to fully understand what Ralph had meant when he kept calling me by both names.

  Cindy explained, “‘Destroyer’ is just a general term for psionics who have potentially destructive powers. A telekinetic is only one type of destroyer, just like a berserker is a type of controller. There are others.”

  I wanted to hear what the others were, but there was something else much more pressing on my mind, now that I had met someone who I thought could help me find Cat.

  “And you’re a finder too?” I asked.

  Cindy nodded. “That’s right. Like I said, it’s a strange combination, because when you’re in my hiding bubble, even I can’t sense you unless I’m really close. But as long as you’re not psionically hidden, I can locate you from quite a distance away. That’s how I found you and… well, you’ll see. It wasn’t easy, though, finding you, Adrian. The city has so much metal in it. It’s hard to focus a search.”

  I tried not to let the hopefulness show on my face as I asked her, “Can you find anyone? I mean, can you find my sister?”

  “Oh…” she said uneasily. “I’m sorry, Adrian, but finders can only sense psionics. I can’t locate people who don’t have powers.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  Disappointed, I looked down at my knees, but then Cindy said, “Listen, I have some contacts in the police. As soon as we get to my house, I’ll call in a favor and see if we can’t find your Cat, okay?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks, Cindy.”

  “Can’t promise anything, you know. Hopefully, she’ll be with your uncle by now, like you said.”

  “Yeah,” I said, stifling a yawn.

  Cindy looked at me. “You’ve had a rough week. Try to get some sleep, little destroyer.”

  “I’m not little,” I said in an annoyed tone, partly because I was, in fact, small for my age, but mainly because I remembered that Ralph had once called me “little destroyer” too.

  “Sorry,” said Cindy. “But how old are you, anyway? Ten? Eleven?”

  “I’ll be thirteen in three weeks.”

  “Oh.” Cindy grinned. “Sorry again, Mr. Howell.”

  “Just call me Adrian, please.”

  “You don’t have a nickname or anything?”

  “No,” I replied dryly, “I don’t.”

  “Well, then Adrian it is, I guess.”

  I yawned again. Tilting back my seat, I turned onto my side as best as I could. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to sleep, but it certainly beat a concrete roof. And Cindy was right: It had been a rough week. A rough month, really.

  I dreamt I was flying madly through the night air while being chased by squadrons of giant helicopters. Then I saw Cat’s terrified face as she was lifted into the air by the wind. I tried to follow, but the wind was too strong, and I was pushed backwards into a dark tunnel filled with screaming voices. I could hear Ralph laughing as he said over and over, “I’m your friend, Addy-baby. You can trust me. You can trust old Ralph.”

  I woke with a start. It was still dark, and the car was still moving. As I closed my eyes again, I fell into a deeper sleep. If I had any other dreams or nightmares, I couldn’t remember them the next morning.

  The early dawn light felt cold on my face as I yawned and shook myself awake. Still driving, Cindy looked over at me and smiled.

  “Good morning, Addy,” she said pleasantly.

  I stared at her. “Did you just call me…”

  “So that is your nickname, yes?”

  “How did you…”

  “You talk in your sleep.” Cindy winked. “Addy-baby.”

  I groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Yeah, I think you said that in your sleep, too,” she said, grinning.

  “Well, no doubt I meant it in my sleep, too,” I said grumpily.

  “Okay, if you insist. I just thought it was kind of cute.”

  “So, I talk in my sleep?” I asked, desperate for a change of topic.

  “That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” replied Cindy. “Good thing your seatbelt was on. You started to levitate out of your seat. It’s amazing you never drifted over the edge of those buildings you were sleeping on.”

  Actually, I nearly had, once. This sleep-hovering was getting a bit worrisome.

  I rolled down the door window and felt the chilly but refreshing wind on my face. I remembered having woken up once in the car and wondered if Cindy had stopped at all during the night.

  “Aren’t you tired, Cindy?” I asked, resting my elbow on the open window.

  “Why, yes I am, actually,” she replied. “But remember I said I don’t have much time?”

  “Oh yeah… What did you mean by that?”

  “Well, I’m hiding my house. Actually, I’m hiding my whole neighborhood, and that’s a lot easier to do when you’re in it.”

  I looked at her questioningly, and she continued, “You see, Adrian, hiding protection is like a bubble. I create it around my house, and then make it bigger and bigger until it covers several blocks. But over time, the bubble shrinks, so I have to keep pumping more power back into it. I’ve put a hiding bubble around this car too, of course, but it’s much smaller, and moves with us.”

  I pictured in my mind a brightly glowing force field surrounding the SUV. In reality, however, Cindy’s hiding bubble was completely invisible, and I couldn’t see how far it extended. I hastily pulled my arm back into the car and rolled up the window.

  “I have to get back home soon so I can reinforce the protection there,” said Cindy, and then muttered to herself, “Besides, Alia will be worried sick by now.”

  “Alia?” I asked.

  “Another guest at my house. I’ll introduce you as soon as we get there. I wanted to bring her along, but she’s not really the going-out type.”

  When I gave her another questioning look, she said quietly, “You’ll see.”

  “One mystery after another,” I grumbled.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to solve them all once we get home. Like I said, you can stay as long as you like. I can give you better protection than almost anyone and, if you like, I’ll teach you some new tricks too. You can trust me, Adrian.”

  I huffed. “That’s exactly what Ralph said.”

  “Suit yourself,” replied Cindy, stopping the car.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Cindy nudged my shoulder and laughed. “I’m just kidding! I need to stretch a bit. It’s still a long road ahead.”

  Chapter 6: The Other Guest

  We arrived at Cindy’s house at around one o’clock in the afternoon. It was a square-ish white two-story in the middle of a row of similar houses, fairly spaced apart, each with neatly cut lawns and small flower gardens. The town we had come into looked very much like the one I had grown up in, and although I was painfully reminded of what I had lost, it was still nice to be back on familiar ground. Cindy parked her SUV in the garage, and the shutter closed automatically behind us as I foll
owed Cindy through a side door that led into the kitchen.

  “Ali, I’m home!” Cindy called out.

  I instantly heard the pattering of small footsteps coming from another room. The door on the other side of the kitchen burst open, and a little girl with long walnut-brown hair and unnaturally pale skin stood in the doorway for a brief instant. Then she jumped in fright, letting out a little shriek, and disappeared back into what I could now see was the living room.

  Cindy called out, “Oops. Sorry, Ali, I should have warned you. It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Come into the kitchen.”

  Then Cindy turned to me and said, “Sorry, Adrian, I probably should have warned you a bit more, too. No sudden movements, okay?”

  “Okay…” I said slowly, not understanding what the big deal was.

  Cindy called out again, “Alia! Come on now, we’re really tired, and I missed you. Were you okay by yourself? Come into the kitchen, honey.”

  “Maybe we should go into your living room,” I suggested.

  Cindy shook her head and whispered, “No, let her come to you. This will take some time.”

  Suddenly Cindy called out toward the living room, “No, Ali, he’s not!”

  A pause, and then she called again, “I swear, Ali! I wouldn’t have brought him here if he was. He’s lost, just like you. He needs a home.”

  Another pause.

  Cindy said sternly, “Alia, that is not going to happen! Please come into the kitchen and say hello. His name is Adrian, and he’s going to be here for a while.”

  The little girl’s face slowly appeared from behind the doorway. As she peered timidly into the kitchen, I carefully lifted my right hand and gave her a little wave and a smile. She ducked out of sight.

  “Come on, Ali, just say hello,” Cindy called again in a slightly exasperated tone. We waited for a moment in silence.

  “Hello,” I heard her quiet voice say inside my head, and I finally understood what was going on. Alia could speak directly into people’s minds!

  “She said hello,” I whispered to Cindy, and then called out, “Hi there, Alia!”

  “That’s a little better,” called Cindy. “But remember what I said, Alia? You have to speak the words too. With your mouth. And it wouldn’t hurt to come into the kitchen and say it directly to him.”