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After two days of being trapped in the small room, Isem was almost glad when Domin appeared and summoned him first thing in the morning. The brief feeling of relief was soon quashed by the feelings of anxiety and fear that gnawed at him. However, he had little choice, so he threw on some clothes, grabbed his cloak, and followed Domin out the door.
The thoughts Isem had been dwelling on for the past couple of days flew to the front of his mind. What's the interview going to be like? Where is it going to be? What are they going to ask? I hope all Quis aren't like Farn...
One of his questions was answered as Domin led the way through the back door of the house and to a small shed in the back. The tools had been removed and rested either against the side of the shed or on the grass. Isem shivered as he saw the two men standing outside the door to the shed, and it wasn't entirely due to the chilly spring morning.
"Good luck," Domin said, clapping a hand on Isem's shoulder. The clack of the back door of the house closing told Isem he was now alone. For a few moments, Isem stood on the grass, taking in what might be his last morning. The dew sparkled on the grass in the first few rays of morning's light. A light breeze swirled, stirring Isem's cloak and making the new leaves in the trees flutter. His breath misted in front of him as he took a deep breath. He raised his eyes to the sky where a few stars still twinkled, fighting against the sun. He squared his shoulders, lowered his gaze back to earth, and marched toward the shed.
The taller of the two men held the door open for his companion, gesturing for Isem to follow. Isem stepped into the shed and felt the door close on his heels, leaving the tall man outside. In the middle of the room sat a simple wooden table with a few papers scattered across the top. Two chairs flanked the table, and the man who had led the way into the room was settling into the one furthest from the door. The shed was windowless, the only light coming from the gaps in the walls and three candles dripping wax onto the table.
"Please, sit," the man said. He picked up a strange looking object from the table, which appeared to be a piece of wire with two panes of glass set into it. He placed it on his head - the wire hooked behind his ears, leaving the glass in front of his eyes – and glanced down at the papers on the table. Isem sat in the chair, still peering at the odd device. Was it some kind of magical apparatus? The light from the candles reflected off of it as the man raised his head. Catching Isem's look, he tapped a finger to the wire.
"Glasses," he said. "They help me see. My eyes aren't what they used to be. Cost me a bloody fortune though. You have any idea how hard it is to find quality sand?"
Isem had no idea what sand had to do with the glasses, but he nodded in what he hoped was a knowledgeable way. The man grunted, then went back to shuffling through his papers. Isem took the opportunity to study the man in greater detail. Other than the glasses, there was little of interest about him. He was short, balding, and his plate mail seemed to bulge a little more across the middle than the man outside.
"The name's Todsen," the man said finally, gathering the papers in his hands and tapping them on the desk, trying to impose some semblance of order on them. "I'll be interviewing you today. How are you feeling?"
Isem twitched nervously in his chair. "I'm fine," he lied.
"Good," said Todsen. "I've just been looking over the reports of your little incident." He gestured to the papers in his hand. "Could have been a lot worse, boy. I just want you to know that. Some Psychopaths have destroyed entire towns."
"Psychopath...?" Isem asked.
"Yeah. The fire is a pretty good indication. Relax kid, it's not as bad as it sounds. Just means you can control the elements. You know - fire, water, air and earth."
Isem didn't reply. It all seemed a little surreal. The worst part was, he didn't even remember what he did.
"Well," Todsen said. "We'd better get down to work." He took off the glasses and set them on the table. "Now, this isn't going to be what you might think an interview is. I'm not going to be asking you any questions, and you don't need to say anything. You just need to sit still while I take a peek into your mind. It's entirely harmless, I assure you. Really, it's just a formality at this point, since I'm fairly sure you're a Psychopath, and I'm pretty confident you're not a Ratan."
"A what?"
"A Ratan." Isem gave Todsen a blank look. "You don't- well, I guess I'm not surprised," Todsen chuckled. "We do our best to eliminate them. They're far too dangerous to have wandering around."
"Why?" Isem asked.
"It's not that they're dangerous in themselves, you see-" Todsen cut himself off and sighed. "But it's not my place to instruct you," he said. "They'll do that at the Asylum. Anyway, we should get this started. I want you to close your eyes and relax your mind."
Isem closed his eyes, and tried to relax. He tried to focus on his breathing. In and out. In and out. In and - something touched Isem's mind. Not entirely sure what he was doing, he pulled his mind away from the contact. The invader pressed again, more insistently this time, and when Isem tried to back away, it followed. It hung there for a moment, making light contact with Isem's mind, before plunging in like a fish into water.
"No – stop!" Isem shouted, opening his eyes.
Isem tried to pull back again, but Todsen's mind clung to his like a leech. He jumped to his feet, his chair falling backwards and clacking against the ground.
"I said stop it," Isem growled. A voice floated through his head.
So, what are we going to do about this, boy? it said. The voice was male, deep and powerful.
Who are you? What's going on? Isem answered. He looked up at Todsen, and was surprised to see the man sitting perfectly still.
We are inside your mind. To you, it appears that time has slowed, but that is merely because we no longer have to deal with the burdens of external communication. We can speak at the speed of thought. The voice seemed to sigh. Unfortunately, that is the limit of our abilities at the moment. But we will speak more on that later.
Who are you?
There are few who remember our true name. Most simply call us the Madness.
The- Wait, how is that-
Questions later, boy. For now, we have this man to deal with. Fortunately, you have the power to stop him.
Surely he's blocked me. Quis can do that, right?
No doubt he has tried. The Madness laughed. But the fool doesn't know a tenth of the power you have. But I think he is beginning to realize.
Isem focused on Todsen again. His face was moving excruciatingly slowly, his expression slowly changing from one of concentration to one of confusion mingled with fear and uncertainty.
He understands you are different, the Madness continued. And for this reason, he must die.
What? No! I'm not going to kill again!
Quickly, before he calls his companion! We must be fast, and we must be subtle, so we do not draw unwanted attention.
But- I can't - I won't!
Do you want to be experimented on? Locked away in some cell before they decide to dissect you? Listen to us, boy. We have chosen you. You will not screw this up.
I-
Do not fail us.
The presence of the Madness left Isem's mind, and time sped up to its regular speed. Isem and Todsen stared at each other for a long moment.
Todsen took a deep breath, and Isem reacted instantly. Without thought, he reached out with his mind and grabbed a hold of the power of the Madness. There was a feeling of connection as his mind linked with the power.
A brief shout escaped Todsen's lips before he slumped over the table, knocking over the candles. Smoke trailed out of his ears, illuminated by the single candle that still burned. Isem stood still for a moment, trying to determine whether the man outside had heard. The door clicked, and Isem jumped, losing his control of the Madness.
The door creaked open, and Isem fumbled for the power. The last time he had done it, the connection had snapped into place easily. This time, it slipped as thoug
h on ice. A figure appeared in the doorway. The room was flooded by the light from outside. Isem dodged out of the path of the light, to the wall beside the door.
Desperate, Isem tried again to connect with the Madness. He cast his mind around in an attempt to touch something, anything. The man in the doorway blinked, and Isem quickly understood that he had a few brief moments before the man's eyes adjusted to the dim light.
After one last grasp for the Madness, Isem drew his knife from his belt. It wasn't much of a weapon against a swordsman, but if Isem could take him by surprise, it might be enough.
"Todsen?" the man called as he stepped into the room. Isem briefly considered fleeing out the door, but even if the man didn't catch him before he made it ten steps, he'd no doubt have little trouble following and claiming revenge.
Isem stepped forward out of the shadows as the man at the door finally caught sight of Todsen. With a swift motion, Isem brought his knife blade to the man's throat.
"Don't move," he whispered.
The man froze with his hand on his sword hilt. His eyes flicked to the side, then back at Todsen's body. His fingers tightened.
"Let go of the sword," Isem said. "And-" His words were cut off as the man's sword flew out of its scabbard and cut through the air. At the same time, the man moved back from the knife point. Isem barely had time to register what was happening before the knife flew away with a sharp clang. Isem's hand shook, and he resisted the urge to count his fingers. The man was impossibly fast.
His sword came up again, and Isem found himself staring down the length of the blade.
"I am supposed to bring you in alive," the man said. "But if you've killed him," he flicked the point of his sword to the table where Todsen was collapsed. "I may just have to forget that."
Isem licked his lips and glanced nervously around the room. Though he looked unconscious, Todsen was most definitely dead. As the man moved toward the table, his sword point still in Isem's face, Isem again tried to access the Madness. This time, his mind brushed against something. Not taking his eyes off the sword point, Isem struggled to grab at the power.
It wouldn't connect. The Qui poked Todsen's body, then deftly turned the man over and felt for a pulse. His face hardened, and Isem saw death in his eyes. Desperate, Isem's mind clutched frantically towards the power source.
With his inhuman speed, the man flicked his sword to the side, stepped closer to Isem, and slashed it back towards Isem's neck. Isem didn't even have time to react before the blade touched skin – and bounced off.
The Qui's eyes widened in surprise. "Impossible," he whispered.
The power of the Madness now flowed in Isem, and it only took a moment for flames to envelop the Qui. Isem breathed heavily as the charred corpse fell to the floor, breastplate half melted. The man had tried to kill him. Somehow, he had failed. Isem touched his neck. A small red line had formed where the blade had touched him. He had come within an inch of death.
Isem pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He had more important things to worry about at the moment. Like the two corpses in the room. Farn had said that the Quis would forgive much, but Isem suspected that killing two of their members might be a little bit out of the realm of forgiveness. Besides, the way they had reacted to him told him that he had done something unexpected. The one man had gone so far as to call it impossible.
There was only one choice now. Run. If Isem could just make his way south, to Lianti, he wouldn't have to ever deal with the Quis again. Of course, in Lianti they killed magic users on sight, so perhaps it was better to go east, towards the mountains, or even – the Wasteland. Yes, the Wasteland would be perfect. There was nobody there he could accidentally – or deliberately – hurt.
But he needed food for the journey. Shops were out of the question. Even if they weren't already notified of what he was, he had no money anyway. He'd have to go home and hope nobody was there. They'll just slow me down. Isem shook his head at the thought. I mean, I can't face them now, not after what I've done. And I don't want them to know where I've gone. No chance of them giving me away.
He ducked outside the shed and glanced around. A flicker of motion caught his eye from one of the windows of the house. Isem's head shot up and he stared at the window for a long moment before deciding it was just a trick of the light. Shaking his head at his paranoia, he faded into the nearest alley.
Ten minutes later, Isem ducked into the back door of his house and paused. Silence. He let out the breath he had been holding, then darted up the stairs to his room two at a time, barely managing to avoid cracking his head on the beam at the top.
He gathered some of his cleaner clothes and his firestarter, and flung them into a backpack. Speed took precedence over tidiness at this point. A few coins he had stashed followed. He closed the backpack and snagged his walking staff from the corner, slinging the pack over his shoulder. He needed food, but he could grab some from the kitchen on the way out. He turned, and started in surprise.
A figure blocked the door.
"Why did you do it, Isem? Why did you kill them? They wanted to help you." Arlin looked like death itself. His dark hair was matted to his head, and his eyes sunk into his head.
"You don't understand," Isem said. "They violated my mind." Isem paused and peered more closely at his friend. "You look terrible, Arlin. What have you been doing?"
"Oh, you know, nothing much," Arlin said with exaggerated nonchalance. "Thinking, I suppose."
"Certainly not sleeping," Isem observed.
"How could I sleep?" Arlin's voice increased in volume as he spoke. "I watched you kill a man! Burn him to ashes! And you don't seem to care."
"I-"
"And then, when these men come to help you, you kill them too." He lowered his voice to a normal volume as he struggled to gain control of himself. "I saw you. And now I have to be the one to turn you in."
"Listen to me," Isem said. "Those men, they forced their way into my mind like they were reading a book."
"That's what they were supposed to do!" Arlin said, his fingers tightening on the door frame. "Do you think they could do their job properly if they allowed you to hide anything?"
Isem's voice hardened, and he fixed Arlin with an icy glare. "I have to go, Arlin. Either help me, or get out of my way."
"It's too late, Isem. I've already sent my father to get Domin. He and Farn are probably on their way now." Arlin lowered his eyes, his shoulders sagging.
"They're going to kill me! They're not going to forgive this."
"Then maybe it's for the best," Arlin said. "You're not who you used to be. The Isem I knew wouldn't be running away. He would recognize he did something wrong and turn himself in. He never backed away from responsibility for his actions. I don't know who you are, but I'm not going to let you get away."
"Get out of my way, Arlin," Isem growled. We don't have time to be lectured.
"No." Arlin remained in the doorway.
"Move!" roared Isem. We must flee.
Arlin didn't budge.
Want us to take care of him? The voice of the Madness spoke in Isem's mind. We could go for some... entertainment.
No, I can handle this without... that. Those men back there were one thing, but this is Arlin! I am not killing him!
Then what will you do? Give up? Let them kill you?
No. I don't know!
Your 'friend' betrayed you, boy. He's willing to see you die.
Shut up.
He's killing you, as surely as if he held a knife to your throat.
Shut up!
It's time to go, kid. Now. Do or die.
"No!" Isem shouted. He pushed the Madness away from his mind. Startled by the sudden outburst, Arlin jumped.
Seizing the opportunity, Isem gripped his walking staff in two hands and swung it into Arlin's head. With a sickening crack, it connected and Arlin crumpled to the ground.
Fire.
Isem vaulted over his friend and fled down the stairs
, not even noticing the thick tendrils of smoke rising from the growing flame that sprouted in the middle of the room. Food forgotten in his haste, he flew out the front door. South.
Tears streaked his face as he sank to the ground only a few miles outside the village. Was Arlin dead? No, surely the Healers would be able to save him. Right?
For a few moments he lay beneath the trees, catching his breath. With a heavy heart, he forced himself to his feet. Now is not the time to get lost in regrets. Now is not the time to mourn for what is lost. Now is the time for action. The thoughts flowed through his mind, carrying his grief and guilt away with them.
Isem kept the village to his back, using his staff to support most of his weight. Can't go back. Can never go back. Only forward. The wind blew in his face as if trying to cleanse him of his sins. Because of this, he neither saw nor smelled the raging inferno consuming the village.
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