‘What is it?’ Reuben asked sharply, striding into the control room of Taskforce Delta. His blue eyes glittered.
With the power back on, Cleo’s face was now brilliantly lit by the four huge screens hanging on the wall. She pointed to one of them, showing a meteorite crater surrounded by blackened forest. Smoke billowed in a furious wave, centred on a dark “eye”: the meteorite.
‘The Spacefall Taskforce have finished their investigation of the meteorite that landed near Marsheton,’ Cleo said.
Reuben cocked an eyebrow. ‘And?’
Cleo bit her lip. ‘They found traces of an oulius pattern.’
Reuben cursed.
The presence of an oulius pattern meant for certain the meterorite had come from the Ynaev. All Ynaev-sent meteorites were cloaked in a pattern of oulius particulates, which helped protect and contain the magic artefacts contained within them. For every artefact, the pattern was different – and it was up to the Artefact Taskforce to decipher which artefact the oulius pattern was for. That could be rather difficult.
Reuben cursed. ‘Those blasted Ynaev…What happened to our agreement? They were supposed to let us know if they send down any artefacts. It must be properly registered.’
Cleo nodded, tapping on the keyboard hovering beside her. One of the screens on the wall shifted to show a detailed list of the Reaver Society’s taskforces. After scrolling past the lists of First Rank and Second Rank Taskforces, she sifted through the list of Special Rank Taskforces. Most of the Special Rank Taskforces were currently in London, where the Council of Masters and Reavers HQ was located.
She eventually found the Artefact Taskforce, bringing its data-logs up on the screen. ‘Says the Artefact Taskforce has been dispatched. They’ll let us know if they find anything.’
‘And the Council – what do they plan to do?’ Reuben’s voice was firm and cool, but his eyes were stern and sharp. She could almost see him bubbling up inside, like a geyser about to blow.
‘The Council has beamed messages through the Lunar Portal to each of the Ynaev clan convocations and the Ume’ere Conference. So far, the messages have been unanswered, though it is still early.’
Reuben cursed again – much harsher this time. Cleo winced. Reuben’s curse was an especially foul one. She had never heard it uttered in China – China’s Maoist Union had outlawed such foul swears – and even in the UK, she had heard it less than a handful of times. But, she surmised, Reuben’s response was justified. The Ynaev were a grave threat – one that couldn’t be underestimated.
‘The Council never learn caution, do they?’ Reuben exclaimed. ‘Val is too actionable – she needs to better measure her decisions. Sending a message to the Ume’ere Conference is fair enough – they are the Ynaev’s main governing body, after all. But sending a message to each clan only paints the Society as weak and frightened. We’re playing right into the Ynaev’s hands.’
Cleo nodded, stomach twisting. So much was happening – and so quickly too: George, the Red Dragon Warriors, and now this. It was almost like years ago, when they’d faced the aftermath of the Three Pandemics and an almost-war between the Reaver Society and the Ynaev too. That was also the year Sinchara Khan Turned, she reminded herself grimly, thoughts lying on George Marsh, the Ov’l currently in containment.
It was a mistake letting him live, that much she knew. But if he fails the Reaver Trials – as he will – then he will be executed anyway. That’ll be a pressure off our backs. George had only a week to train; most reavers had months. And without him, they could dedicate their efforts to resolving the other, pressing issues at hand.
#
Hugh winced, straightening himself up on the bed. He grabbed the holo-pad from his bedside cabinet and was just about to continue reading the newest “Mirror Squadron” novel when he caught sight of the little boy hiding behind the door of the hospital bay.
He sighed, forcing a kind smile onto his face. ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’ His voice sounded far gruffer and irritable than he would have liked, but it was about as kind and gentle as he could manage.
The boy poked his dark-haired head around the side of the door, mouth agape in a brilliant, toothless smile; he jumped back behind the door, giggling, as Hugh turned his head.
Hugh couldn’t help but smile. Oh, so we’re playing a game, are we? The game went on for a good few minutes, with Hugh pretending not to spot the little boy each time he jumped back behind the door. As the minutes passed, the boy’s giggles grew more and more ecstatic.
However, the game was soon cut short by the arrival of the boy’s mother. ‘Jonah,’ Cleo muttered, picking him off the floor. ‘What are you doing all the way out here?’
Jonah babbled some nonsense, then reached out a pudgy hand to squeeze her cheeks. Cleo laughed, but her expression turned cold as she fixed her eyes on Hugh. Her eyes, which had lit up vibrantly at the sight of Jonah, hardened to titanium. If her look were a hammer, it could’ve bludgeoned a tank to bits.
Before Cleo could speak, Hugh quickly interjected, ‘Not in front of the little guy.’ He nodded at Jonah. His voice was firm but absent of anger.
She narrowed her eyes, rocking Jonah in her arms, then turned away out the room. The door shut behind her.
Hugh sighed. Cleo never liked Sinchara – I doubt she supports my decision to spare George. She’s always been a “big picture” kind of person, never one for all the small little interactions in life. Once she decided – if she hadn’t done so already – that George posed a severe enough threat to the “bigger picture” she envisioned, then she’d betray Hugh in a heartbeat. It was a mechanical way of thinking – almost robotic.
Annabelle was similar. Always had been, even when they’d been together. However, unlike Cleo, Annabelle had been close with Sinchara – so close that, upon his Turning, she had refused to believe it. She had even tried to stop Hugh from confronting Sinchara out of fear the both of them, the two people she loved most in the world, would destroy each other.
Takes more than just an Ov’l to kill me. Hugh grinned to himself. The grin died, and he exhaled, thoughts straying to the fateful duel on the roof of Windermere Heights. The duel with Sinchara had been the hardest he had ever fought; that duel had taught him the true meaning of the Powers of the Ov’l.
Hopefully George can control his powers well enough that he won’t Turn. But first, Fi and I need to get him through the Trials…
#
‘You are an Ov’l, immensely strong in Psychic Weaving.’ Fi’s white dress glittered in the bright light of Taskforce Delta’s training centre; the lights gleamed, shining brilliantly off the whitened walls. ‘To use Psychic Weaving is to control the minds of others, projecting into them what you want them to see and removing what you don’t. But to control the minds of others, you must first learn to control your own mind by destroying the Pillars of Fear, Doubt, and Ego. The Pillar of Fear shall be our first foe.’
George bit his lip, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He had already faced his fears after his encounter with Rod in the delaeon. He didn’t think he could do anything like that again. To see his father’s death, to see his brother and sister, so fear-struck…even now, the bare memory sent shivers down his spine.
Apparently, Fi had sensed his fear. ‘George, I won’t let anything happen to you. I know how much you have been through, and I will not put you through anything unnecessarily.’ Her voice maintained its usual merry tone, but there was an underlying resonation to it, the barest of tremors. ‘I will protect you, but I cannot hold your hand through these things. You’re a man, or at least turning into one. A man should be able to stand alone and face his fears.’
George nodded. Hugh stood alone when facing Sinchara Khan. I’ll need to stand alone to beat the Trials. He inhaled sharply. I stood alone against Rod, but that was like a voidbeast standing alone against an ant. Against my Powers of the Ov’l, Rod had no chance. And not every battle can simply be won with a furious punch.
He shifted uncomfortably in his orange robe. At first, when he’d first been presented the reavers’ training robe, he’d thought it was cool, like something out of a holo-film; but the fabric was coarse and rough, chafing his skin. He grunted irritably.
‘George?’ Fi asked, biting her lip.
‘It’s nothing,’ he replied, tugging lightly on the robe. ‘I’m ready.’
She smiled slightly and nodded. ‘Good, George. Very good. Then we shall begin.’ She paused. ‘Sit.’
With a mote of hesitation, he sat on the carpeted floor. She stepped towards him, then rested her hands on his temples. Her hands felt cool and soft. He tensed, heart pounding. What – what’s going on?
‘Breathe, George. Breathe,’ she said softly.
He nodded, closed his eyes, and began the special breathing technique Hugh had taught him. At once, his beating heart slowed and his muscles relaxed.
‘Keep breathing, George,’ said Fi. ‘This won’t hurt a bit…’
The coolness in her fingers disappeared in an instant to be replaced by a blistering heat that seemed to burn through his temples. George yelled and tried to move away, but Fi kept him in his place. For one of so lithe a frame, she was surprisingly strong; as much as George fought to break free, she kept him fixed in place. He was barely able to budge an inch.
Sparks of lightning rattled inside George’s mind like metal balls inside a bingo machine. A flash of light overtook him; for an instant, darkness set in, then he could see it all: every pulsing neurone, every spark of thought, all interconnected into a sprawling web of pulsating light. The neurons and their connections gleamed milk-white, shining like connected stars from the dark shadows of George’s skull. His mind was as clear as the crystal waters of a lagoon. He tingled all over, buzzing with ecstasy and exhilaration.
His first breath dissipated some of the shock initially but heightened his alarm. His breathing did not seem to come just from his mouth and nose; it felt as though his entire body was breathing for him, the pores of his skin opening wide to greedily gobble oxygen (at least, he assumed it was oxygen, though it felt far more energising; a single breath seemed to light him on fire).
He became aware that he was moving down – or what he perceived as “down” – floating through the maze of white neurons and thoughts. As his shock gradually began to dissipate, he noticed a strong grip on his hand and turned to see Fi beside him.
His eyes widened and he let out a start. Her dress was gone, and she was naked, milky light dappling over her dark skin. Shadows hung in strategic places like black holes refusing to be penetrated. Her hair flowed behind her as if in water, its dark curls flailing like slow-moving serpents. She smiled at him with that dazzling smile of hers; George’s skin tingled all over.
It took him a second to realise he was no longer in that irritating orange robe: he, too, was naked. As he rushed to cover himself with his hands, he was thankful to the shadows, which had already covered him.
Fi’s smile was as broad and dazzling as ever; lightning danced down George’s spine. ‘Bit of a shock?’ She laughed, a crisp and angelic sound. ‘That’s fair. Welcome to your mind, George. The mind is the most primordial part of a human; it is where humanity’s essence derives. As such, we appear…’ She coughed. ‘…in our primal forms. But I thank you for the shadows, George. I did not wish to be exposing myself to you.’
His eyes bulged. He had already seen a lot more of her than he had bargained for. ‘Thank me? What do you mean?’
‘The shadows are your making,’ she answered. ‘Or at least, the making of your subconscious. A surprise, certainly, considering what boys your age spend their lives thinking about. A welcome surprise, though I had prepared a Mental Shroud just in case.’ Sensing his immediate questions, she continued, ‘With enough control, you can change how you appear in another’s mind, even disguising your appearance there entirely, provided you are considerably stronger than your opponent. Shrouds can be difficult to maintain, though – especially in a mind as strong and unpredictable as an Ov’l’s. Still, at least your shadows save me from having to worry about that.’
‘Can I…use a Shroud?’
She nodded. ‘In time. But first, there is something I must show you. Come. It is exciting!’
Tugging his arm gently, like a toddler tugging at its parent’s leg, she led him down through the spindles and wiry connections of his consciousness. They floated through the web, diving between milky strands until they finally came to a bulging, silvery mass at the centre of the web, as big as any planet and shining with intensity enough to rival a thousand supernovas.
‘The hesphyal, Psychics call it,’ Fi explained as they drew near; despite the strength of the silvery light, her nakedness remained draped in shadow. George almost congratulated his consciousness on its strength but caught himself. It was that strength, that innate power of his subconscious which made him and all other Ov’ls so dangerous. It was that same strength that earned him the dark looks so many of the reavers of Taskforce Delta gave him.
Definitely not something to– George cut his thoughts off, eyes widening maddeningly. He bit his lip, wincing sharply as the sonorous echoes of his thoughts – uttered in his own, dull-grey mental voice – rebounded through his mind, exploding through the dark recesses, reverberating between the axioms. George’s whole body shook with the force of his thoughts. Again, he was reminded as to the Ov’l’s great strength.
Fi glanced at him nervously, evidently slightly shaken, but her look faded to a smile. ‘The Powers of the Ov’l continue to astound me…with power so strong your mind can barely contain its own thoughts.’ Her eyes gleamed with admiration. ‘Brilliant!’
She returned her gaze to the silvery mass of the hesphyal, positioned at the centre of the mind. ‘The hesphyal is the centre of your consciousness, the focal point of your sanity and reason. It is here where you are bonded with the Psychic world – with other Ov’ls, even. You can detect other Ov’ls, George, and that is something no doubt the Captain will wish to exploit. The hesphyal is very vulnerable; it takes little for the compromising of one’s sanity. By the age of twenty, the average person’s hesphyal is expected to be compromised. That is just the effect of the modern world. In the past, sanity was the norm; now, we all stand on the brink. Even for Reavers and basic Psychic Weavers, protection of the hesphyal is limited. Look at Hugh, for instance: ever since Sinchara Khan’s attack, he has been teetering on the edge of insanity, the edge of oblivion. Occasionally, he has fallen, and it has taken a great deal of effort to drag him back.’
‘What about your hesphyal?’ George asked. The hurt that imbued her face immediately made him regret his question. ‘I’m sorry, that was very personal–’
‘It’s okay.’ Fi sighed. ‘Maybe some other time. This is about you – not me.’ She inhaled sharply and forced a smile on her face; George saw through it, saw the pain she was hiding beneath her dazzling grin, but didn’t ask any further questions.
‘Like I said,’ Fi resumed, ‘that is what an ordinary hesphyal is like. But you are an Ov’l. For you, things are different. You have certain…protections…in your mind…’ She pointed to a dark shadow lurking amidst the web of consciousness. It looked to be little more than a tentacled blob of black goo; it had red eyes, which gleamed furiously. As George looked, he noticed more of the tentacled things lurking between the neurons and axioms and cursed himself for failing to notice them. The very sight of them sent a shudder down his spine and a cold tingle across his body.
‘An avidrak,’ Fi explained. ‘A type of curse found only in the mind of an Ov’l. Yes, you heard me right. A curse inside your own mind.’ She grinned. ‘It’s very cool. While there are defences in normal minds, these pale in comparison to the avidraks.’ Her face sobered. ‘I remember first training with Sinchara, entering his mind. There were ten of us – only myself, Hugh, and Valiant escaped. We saw firsthand the Power of the Ov’l over its own consciousness…We must hope they do not recognise us as intruders.’
George eyed the tentacled avidrak with a mixture of awe and fear. Then one red-eyed gaze turned towards him and suddenly a thousand tentacled beasts rushed towards them…
--
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