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Chapter VII

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Zezilia

By late Cadeomea, the time when the leaves turn brown, orange, and red in preparation for winter, I was sending instinctively and Errol proclaimed me ready to attempt using the second talent.

“I have high hopes for you in this aspect, Zez,” he informed me as he led me up the trail to the meadow. Selwyn was to join us there to observe my first lesson.

“Why?”

“Of the trained females to date, all of them have excelled in mass moving above their abilities at sending.”

I frowned at him. “Why?”

“The theory is that women produce more energy than men.” He pushed aside an overgrown bush and held it back for me to pass. “You see moving objects without touching them takes a different skill, completely separate from the brain.”

I nodded. Force or Thought had explained in sparse detail what happened when one tried to move matter. In order to move matter, a talent must have two things: a functioning amoveo, an organ located beneath the breastbone; and a capio gland. The capio gland produced an energy completely undetectable to the normal human senses which the amoveo then manipulated to interact with the physical world around the talent.

All of this had been accepted and known from before the Great Loss. When our people were forced to disburse from the great cities in the far north after the land soured, they left most of their knowledge behind. A few scholars had thought to bring texts of information, but it had all been so long ago that only a few texts had survived. Everything known was traced back to those few sources and observations.

“It is theorized that the female capio gland produces more energy for their amoveo to utilize, thus it takes less effort from their amoveo to move something.”

“Is this why we are having the first lesson in an open field?”

Errol paused to laugh. “No, that is because I learned my lesson teaching Ilias. He literally lifted every object in the entire room on his first successful try. It took me months to teach that boy to focus. I don’t want to call down my wife’s wrath over an overturned room again. So, you shall have your first try out in the open where the worst that can happen is dirt hanging in the air.”

At the mention of Ilias’ name, I stored away this new information about him. The man’s name came up every other lesson, and the whole family spoke of him with great affection. Candra told me stories of camping trips with her father and Ilias, Eloine spoke of his singing, and Galatea compared every man she met to the mysterious former student. Though I knew that Errol tried not to compare his students, Ilias’ name came up often when discussing what he expected of me, or what to do or not do in different situations. Apparently, Ilias had been his best student before me. Frequently of late, I found myself wanting to ask someone abruptly who this mysterious student was and see if I could startle information from them.

“Ah, here we are,” Errol announced as he pulled himself up the last rise. “Oh, good, Selwyn is already here. We can begin at once.”

Selwyn lay in the grass near the edge of the field. Sprawled out on his back with an arm flung over his eyes, he looked like he had been napping while he waited. A grasshopper was perched in his dark hair and a many legged bug crawled up his bare foot. Errol crossed to him and nudged his side with a sandaled toe.

“For the last time, Candra,” Selwyn muttered.

“Candra isn’t here.” Errol informed him. “Has she been bothering you?”

“Oh, greetings, Errol.” He blinked up into the afternoon sunshine. “She hasn’t been too bad. Just wanted me to help with her tree house since Zezilia wasn’t available.” Rising to his feet with the fluidity of a man used to sitting on the ground, he inclined his head. “Good to see you, Zez.”

“And you, Master Selwyn.”

He smiled and something tugged at my memory. Annoyed, I pushed it away.

“Thank you for coming to assist.” Errol nodded his red head to him.

Selwyn shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. A first lesson in moving matter is always eventful.” He winked at me.

A thrill of nerves slithered down my back. This sounded bigger than Errol had led me to believe.

Don’t be nervous.” Selwyn’s wild, smoky taste flickered over me tongue. “I am only here because Errol isn’t much of a mass mover.

So, you are here to stop me from hurting him?

Or yourself.

“Come over here, Zez,” Errol called. I turned to spot him in the center of the meadow, a frizz haze of hair above the tall grass. “Selwyn, would you mind mowing this field before the next lesson. I cannot see worth anything through this jungle.”

I followed the sound of Errol’s voice, wading through the grasses. They towered almost as tall as my head.

“I will see to it tomorrow morning,” Selwyn replied, his voice coming from off to the right. “What do you want for an object?”

“A stick or pinecone will do nicely,” Errol informed him as I emerged into a hollow of flattened weeds. Errol was stomping around in an ever widening circle. I joined him until we had cleared a circle about ten feet in diameter. Just then Selwyn appeared from the opposite direction. He carried an assortment of objects which he dumped into a heap on the edge of the circle.

“I got a whole selection. Are you ready?” he asked as he brushed his hands off on his britches.

“I am. Are you, Zezilia?” Errol asked.

I looked at him in surprise for a moment. “I guess so. I am still shaky as to what to do.”

“The experience of moving, unlike the experience of sending, is unique to each talent.”

“So, you cannot tell me how to do it?” Panic formed in my middle. The text book had given me nothing on how to move things and if Errol wasn’t going to help... I suddenly envisioned us standing in this field until sundown waiting for me to figure out how to access my amoveo and sense the energy.

“Don’t look so scared,” Selwyn admonished. “All he means is that your way of doing things is going to be different than mine or his. We can still give you hints on how to access your amoveo.”

“Stand here,” Errol instructed, indicating the center of the open space. I obeyed as he crossed to the pile of objects. After selecting a leaf, broad and crimson, he set it on the ground three feet in front of me. “This will be your first object.”

He and Selwyn took a stance to my right and my left. “Would you demonstrate, Selwyn?”

I looked up to find Selwyn concentrating on the leaf. “Look at the leaf, not him,” Errol instructed.

I turned to where the leaf had been, but it wasn’t there anymore. Instead it floated three inches before my face, twisting in an invisible breeze.

“Hold out your hand,” Selwyn instructed.

The leaf settled in and nestled my fingers before ceasing all movement.

“The first step is to sense your amoveo.” Errol lectured as he retrieved the leaf and returned it to the ground. “It is located beneath your breastbone. Now look inside and tell me when you locate it.”

Closing my eyes, I focused my mind inward. I still wasn’t sure what I was looking for, so I started with what I knew. Using the technique I used for visualizing in the beginning of my training, I imagined a gray space. The glimmerings that represented Errol and Selwyn beckoned to me to touch. Looking down past the glimmerings in the direction that I guessed to be my feet, I began my search.

“You won’t be able to see it like you see minds,” Errol commented.

I frowned. So, how was I supposed to detect it?

“Visualize your form,” Selwyn offered, “and look where it should be in the picture.”

I thought of the image I had seen briefly in the mirror that morning, skinny and long-limbed. Adreet constantly predicted that I was going to be tall, but I still hadn’t grown more than an inch or two since leaving my parents. Once it was firm in my thoughts, I looked where the book said my amoveo should be. Something glowed. I was so startled I almost lost the image. “I found it. I think I found it.”

“Touch it,” Errol instructed.

Reaching out mentally, I touched the glow. A warm essence filled my mid section and seemed to flow outward to fill my arms and legs. Then, last of all, it reached my head.

Good.” Errol’s presence brushed against my consciousness. “Now open your eyes and touch the leaf with the energy.”

I opened my eyes and focused on the leaf. The crimson sheen and the light construction flickered through my thoughts. Lifting my arm, I reached out and did something. It was unlike anything I had ever done before, almost as though the essence within me called to something within the leaf. Whatever it was, suddenly the leaf was in my hand.

“Very good,” Errol said as he took it from my hand. “Now do it again from the beginning.”

“I did it right?” I asked. I was a little confused. From what they had been saying up to this point I had expected to do something amazing the first time. True, the calling of the leaf had been amazing, but I hadn’t lifted all the leaves in the field or something like that.

“Perfectly.” Errol smiled and then returned the leaf to its place.

“But...”

“Perfectly and on the first try. I am impressed,” Selwyn added. “You should be proud.”

“But you said that Ilias raised everything in the room on his first try.” I gazed in confusion from one man to the other.

Selwyn laughed.

Errol didn’t laugh, but his lips twitched slightly before he explained. “It wasn’t on purpose. He tried for three days to find his amoveo unsuccessfully. So, when he found it on the fourth day, he didn’t pause to focus the energy and just lifted. Everything in the room went flying. Now back to work. You still have a great deal to accomplish this afternoon. I replaced the leaf; now do it again.”

I turned my thoughts back to finding my amoveo, but a small part of my brain rejoiced in the fact I had done something in less than an hour that had taken Ilias four days. I couldn’t wait until Candra heard this.

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Hadrian

A TAPPING AT THE DOOR brought my attention from a letter before me. I reluctantly tore my concentration from the foolish actions of a talent trainee as related by his trainer. Focusing on the young man standing in the doorway, it took me a moment to recognize Renato’s worried features.

“Yes?” I asked.

“There is an message from the king.”

“Please place it here.” I motioned to the shrinking stack of letters to be answered and turned back to the missive in my hands.

“The messenger has instructions to hand it into your hands himself, Master.”

I frowned. That meant it was serious news. The only thing I could think of serious enough for this formality was the High King’s death.

“He is waiting in the gatekeeper’s office. I came to fetch you.”

“Very well.” I lay the paper on the desk and pushed back my chair. “Renato?”

“Yes?”

“How well do you know the Talents Code?” I shot a glance in his direction as I rose to my feet.

“My trainer had me memorize it cover to cover, master.”

“Mine too,” I replied. I crossed the room and lifted a cloak off the clawed cloak tree. Hibernus, winter, was in full fury and I was not about to walk across the compound without protection against the wind’s icy fingers. “Some of the trainers in the west are not demanding the same of their students. In fact, I have had at least four challenge me to find a reason why they should.”

Renato frowned and shook his head sadly. “Without the Code, trainees would have no reason to not touch the unprotected minds. They could manipulate those without defenses.”

“They would gain a taste for the terrible possibilities of their power. And without knowledge of the Code, they would not know that what they are doing is wrong.”

Together we stepped out of my study and crossed the reception area. I informed the man on duty at the desk that I was leaving for the gatehouse.

“How long has this been going on?” Renato asked as we stepped out in to the icy wind and whipping snow. The wind whipped his voice away.

For five years, if I am reading the signs correctly. I received a letter yesterday from your brother, Blandone. He reports that a rebel group of talents have formed a settlement close to the Western coast. So far they are peaceful, but his impression is that they are seeking talented females for intermarriage.

Elitism?” Renato’s musky taste was stronger than usual and a wave of fear came with his sending. I peered at him through the driving snow.

He had a right to be alarmed. According to talent recorded history, Elitism plagued our nation in the past, almost bringing about its collapse. The last rebellion of Elitists rose about three centuries ago, resulting in the present structure of the Sept Son and the Talent Code, memorized by every talent before his acceptance and the granting of permission to use while not in the presence of his trainer. At each level of testing, the trainee’s knowledge of the Code as well as his skills with the talents were poked and prodded.

Doesn’t the testing prevent Elitists from rising in the ranks?” Renato asked.

Someone was cheating or, even worse, not submitting to testing at all and training young talents outside the system.” A twinge of guilt tugged at my heart. Wasn’t that what Errol and I were conspiring to do with Zezilia? I didn’t have time to contemplate it now, but on initial glance, it did look that way. How could I condemn someone for doing what I was also doing?

What are you going to do?” Renato’s taste interrupted my thoughts.

We have time. Their plans of creating greater talents by intermarriage are going to take generations to come to fruition. However, I need to begin working on a counter plan now. That is why I am speaking with you.” I stopped in the center of the path. The gatehouse rose before us, a gray solid shadow within the world of white. “Will you help me?

Of course,” Renato replied as he squinted at me through the snow flecks on his eyelashes.

You cannot speak to anyone about this.

He shrugged. “I figured as much. What do you want me to do?

I don’t have time to study the previous movement’s tactics and philosophies. Study them and report to me anything of value. I need to understand them before I can find a way to defeat them.

He nodded. “Consider it done, master. I will make my first report tomorrow.

I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my mouth. “I knew you would be a help to me.” We shook hands and then turned to enter the gatehouse.

A rush of warm air greeted us as we crossed the threshold. The senior gatekeeper, a wizened old talent in his late seventies, closed the door behind us. Across the broad wooden floor at then end of a long trail of puddles, the High King’s envoy stood with his back to the fire.

“This way, Sept Son, sir,” the gatekeeper instructed. I looked down on his wrinkled face and tried to recall his name. “Do you wish me to take your cloak?”

Hume,” Renato supplied.

“No. Thank you, Hume. I prefer to keep it.”

As we approached, the envoy stepped away from the fire. Executing a formal salute, he simultaneously produced a heavily sealed packet from a worn leather satchel. “Greetings from the Mesitas in the name of High King Honorus, may he live forever.”

“May your message be good news, Envoy. May I ask your name?” I asked as I accepted the packet from his hand.

“Orthius, master.” Surprised flickered behind his eyes, but he kept his features schooled into an expression of solemnity.

“Hume, please take Orthius to the kitchen and see that he is fed well.” Then turning back to the messenger I said, “I shall review this immediately so that by the time you return I shall have an answer. Enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you, master.” He saluted again before trailing after Hume in the direction of the stairs to the kitchen.

Not waiting until they were out of sight, I broke the seven seals on the outer parchment and began unfolding. Three letters were enclosed: one with the seal of the Mesitas, one with the seals of the six lower kings, and finally, one with the seal of High King Honorus and the seal of death. The seal of death was affixed to both the inside and outside of the High King’s last wishes to be carried out after his death. As Sept Son, I was to be the one to see that his wishes were carried out.

“Then it is time.” I looked up to find Renato staring at the last missive and the black wax seal.

“It appears so.” Tucking the High King’s last wishes beneath my cloak in the pocket of my overshirt, I turned my attention to Mesitas’ letter.

After two long paragraphs of the usual diplomatic wording, he finally got to the point. The High King was dying and would pass at any moment. He urged me to make great haste to the capital as soon as possible, for if I should miss the High King’s death, he would be forced to take on the role of proclaiming the next High King.

The second letter from the six lower kings declared their intention to follow the Mesitas’ leadership until my arrival. They also requested that I notify someone who would be the next High King, so that they could begin preparations for taking the high throne.

I was still mulling over all of this and trying to understand what it could mean when my eyes fell upon the date at the top of the kings’ letter, Hornatat III. It was Hornatat XX, three days to the high holy day of the goddess on the XXIII when the High King, ailing or not, observed the rituals in the temple of the goddess. If High King Honorus rose from his death bed to fulfill his duties, he would surely return to it dead or on the brink of death. I had three days to reach the capital.

“Renato, inform Giles I leave immediately. Tell him to pack lightly for only two days of travel and then follow with everything else.”

“You are leaving?”

“I am returning with the envoy. The High King is dying and the Mesitas is attempting to strip me of my duties at his death bed by informing me too late.”

“In that case, are you sure it is safe to travel with the envoy?”

I lifted my face to find him watching me with worried brown eyes. I smiled. “If you are concerned for my safety, you may accompany me. I would welcome your company.”

“I would be honored, master.” An eager light shone in his eyes.

I could not help the smile. “Then do as I instructed you and then pack for yourself. Pack light for I intend to travel quickly by horseback. You do ride, yes?”

“Practically grew up with a horse between my knees.”

“Good. Now go. After I inform the envoy of my intentions, I shall return to my study to gather a few things. Meet me there.”

With a swift salute, Renato gathered his cloak about him and rushed out into the cold. Left alone to my thoughts, I immediately reached out to my own Master. Almighty. You know the path that has been laid out at my feet and You see the end of every decision. Please grant me wisdom that I might choose Your will. May all this be to Your glory. Amen.

Seeking out Orthius, the messenger, in the kitchen, I found him devouring a warm meal of stew and bread. Upon seeing me, he quickly rose to his feet, almost knocking over the chair in his haste.

“Please be seated,” I entreated him. He shook his head as he attempted to swallow his mouthful. “I only came to tell you not to rush. I shall be accompanying you as well as a friend of mine on your return trip. It will take me a little time to pack; so, enjoy your meal and lay down for a short rest. Someone will come for you when my friend and I are ready.”

“Very well, master,” he replied and bowed, but did not return to his seat until after I had left the room.

After a brief trot across to my study, I shook off my cloak and began the preparations for departing. I was just stacking the last of the letters that needed my immediate attention when Tristan and Horace both burst through the door.

“What is this about you leaving?” Horace demanded.

“You cannot leave without an escort,” Tristan informed me, as he pinned me with his piercing eyes. “The prophecy alone is reason enough to be cautious.”

“If the goddess wants him dead there is nothing he can do to prevent it,” Horace contested, turning to Tristan. “However he cannot be leaving now. It is the middle of the yearly hermitage. The Sept Son has never left the compound during the hermitage in all of our history.”

“Forget the hermitage, Horace, and the goddess has no power here. That prophecy was just a cover. The Mesitas is just using it so he can assassinate Hadrian and then call it the goddess’ will.” Turning back to me, Tristan thumped his fist down on the desk, sending pages flying. “I am telling you, Hadrian, this is a plot to kill you off. How do you know the envoy isn’t an assassin?”

Meeting his worried gaze, I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t Tristan. I told you already, my life is in the Almighty’s hands.” Horace made the sign of the goddess before his forehead and took a step back.

“You know I believe in the Almighty, to an extent, but faith doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use your head, Hadrian. At least take an armed guard.” Tristan leaned forward. “Please, for my sake.”

“I am taking Renato with me. He should be enough. I don’t want to seem arrogant, but I am an adult. I know how to handle myself.”

“But can you watch your back?” Tristan asked.

I met his worried gaze and smiled slightly. “I told you. I am taking Renato to do that.”

Straightening, with a sigh, Tristan frowned. “You always were a stubborn one, boy.”

I grimaced at him. He was twenty years my senior, enough to give him right to call me boy.

Seeing his chance to further his argument, Horace jumped into the fray again. “The Sept Son never leaves the compound during the winter hermitage,” he proclaimed.

Closing my eyes, I sat down in my desk chair. “You are telling me that a High King has never died during the winter before? That seems hardly possible. The winter is called the dying time for a reason, Horace.”

“At least not in his first year as Sept Son,” he protested weakly.

Leaning forward, I looked up into Horace’s thin face. “I am leaving to attend the High King’s deathbed, Horace. If I do not do this, there will be no next year for me as Sept Son. Mesitas will flay me raw and then lay me on the altar before the goddess as a sacrifice, and the lower kings will cheer him as he does it. This is my final word. I am leaving and I am leaving now.” Buckling the flap of my watertight document pouch, I rose. “Farewell to both of you and pray that the Almighty will bless me and keep me.”

Horace frowned, but he nodded his farewell. Tristan offered a formal salute. “May He guide your steps, Sept Son.”

I recognized his blessing. “Thank you, Tristan. I shall see you both soon.” Then before either of them could offer another word of comment, I left the office for my quarters after leaving a message for Renato to meet me there instead. Tristan and Horace were only the first in the long line of differing opinions I would receive if I waited for Renato in my office. At least this way I would only have to deal with Giles’ complaining until he showed up at the door.