Authors note: This is the longest chapter I have ever written. Ten pages, and I'm still not sure if I like it or not (problem described at bottom A.N.). Don't own Valdemar, that immense pleasure goes to Mercedes Lackey. But I do own this story, AND EVERY OTHER STORY I WRITE!!! (sorry . . . just found someone copying my stuff on this damn site . . . still bitter about it . . .) (that's not to say he just borrowed some of my characters . . . I'm fine with that . . . she copied stories I have up, word for word, and took credit for them. One of her reviewers e-mailed me, saying that I was the one coping her, even though all of her stories are dated months ahead of mine . . . as I said, still bitter about it, and when I'm bitter I am Ramble Goddess . . .)
Blood and dirt blended into the blue tunic until it was just one unrecognizable shade. Neoka Marron, the boy unlucky enough to be in the tunic at the time, gritted his teeth and glared daggers at the boy on the other side of the puddle.
"For the last time," he bit out angrily, "I did not even touch your sister! She was the one hanging all over me! For a future Herald you sure are dense!" and he knew he was loosing it, because as a Nobles first-born son he had been brought up with impeccable manners, and that last little insult had been a slip of the tongue.
The Trainee across from him narrowed his eyes, and Neo knew that insults weren't the way to settle the fight, at least to both boys' satisfaction.
"Don't lie! She told me the whole story, coward." Even the boy's voice sounded caked in mud. His gray tunic was even worse off then Neo's.
"What story?! When I came into me room she was already there! I was trying to persuade her to leave, when you showed up!" his sharp dark eyes flicked to a corner of the 'battlefield', where a white Companion was dancing worriedly in place, reaching her neck out towards her fool Chosen as if trying to call to him.
If anyone could talk some sense into the prideful Trainee, it was her. Well, he finally had a way to end this fight without hurting himself or the boy . . . too bad, anyway.
He stumped right up to the boy and grabbed him by the elbows before he could try anything, staring into his eyes until he was sure the boy was listening.
"Look at that gods-damned horse of yours, man! Look, and tell me what she is trying so damned hard to tell you!" the boy's face grew indignant, but he fixed his gaze on the Companion anyway. The instant he did Neo didn't have to hold his elbows. His whole body froze and his breath creaked out loudly.
Neo shook his head and took a step back, immediately replaced by the Companion.
Free at last from the prideful rage of an older brother he looked at the people who had gathered to watch the fight.
No blue tunics among any of them. He snorted at himself and returned to examining the mess he was.
The fight had been long; lasting all afternoon, of course none of the Nobles would spend the day watching a brawl, even if it was with one of their "friends" and a Gray (their favorite). He stole another peak at the crowd, disturbed by the flash of gray and shimmering white.
Had every single Trainee and Companion come out to watch? Well, another reason why no Blues came . . . there wasn't any room, and the crowd wasn't one to be caught in.
But why had all of them come? It was only a fight between students and the Collegium, nothing out of the ordinary. What did they want?
He diverted his attention back to himself and began to run fingers through his black hair, praying that it wasn't in as much a mess as his clothes. It would take all night to wash then!
A mud covered boot stepped into his range of vision, and he recognized it as the boot he had previously been dodging.
"I'm . . . I'm sorry about . . . jumping to conclusions." He said, seemingly through clenched teeth. Neo raised his gaze.
"Don't say things you don't mean." He said tonelessly, and continued before the boy could try to deny it, "And I told you to tell me what your horse said."
He ignored a derogatory snort from the boy's left, where his Companion stood watching, and crossed his arms. The boy lowered his gaze.
"She said you were right about my sister . . . and to thank you for opening me up to her again." Once again, it sounded forced. The boy obviously didn't like apologizing.
"It was more to save my hide then to for her gratitude." Neo said, relaxing into a laid back posed. The boy's lips twitched.
"Yeah . . . yeah, she knows that." Neo smothered a smile.
"Neo! Well? Did you beat him?" Neo's back straightened almost painfully and he sent a quick glance at the approaching group of Blues.
The Grays and Companions had yet to disperse.
"We want all the details!" chimed one of the girls. Neo felt like his back would shatter if it got any stiffer. He took a couple of steps before the Blues could reach the little Gray.
Gods only know what would happen to him then, even with a crowd watching.
"And you'll get them, though all inside by a warm fire. I'd ask for my cloak, but I don't think it would go with my uniform." The group seemed disappointed at not being able to jeer at the Trainee, but followed him back to the Collegium with no more then narrowed glances and muffled curses.
Trainee and Companion watched them go with confused gazes, each thinking the same thing.
Did that Blue actually draw the others away, before they could do harm? How un-Blue-like . . .
***
Neo collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes, weary from the battle almost as much as he was from the Blues that had followed it.
He entertained the idea of taking on a few of the Blues that had promised to help him next time (because he knew they wouldn't, even if there was a next time), before glancing at the mirror.
A solemn face stared back at him, all sharp angles and Aristo blood. His dark ebony hair, which usually shot out in every direction, seemed as tired as the rest of him.
Only his eyes stayed sharp, as they always did, even when he was dead tired.
All of it put together usually made him look imposing and dangerous . . . but with that ridiculous dirt smudge on his nose he looked like a stubborn little, who had spent the day playing in the mud.
With a snort and a groan he rubbed the spot away with his fist and got up from his bed. Cautiously, so as not to pull anymore muscles then necessary, he peeled his ruined uniform off and grabbed a random robe from his chest of clothes, pulling it on with equal care.
His thoughts wandered back to how he had acted during the fight, as he settled down for a long awaited sleep.
His tongue didn't usually run away like that, he usually left blatant insults to the other party. But things had been getting a little weird lately.
Looking back, even before the boy's sister had come into his room, he noticed that things had definitely been out of sort.
A week before the fight, for example, he had been trying to go to sleep in his room. Completely relaxed and drifting off, he felt his thoughts drift . . . and then . . .
And then, in the blackness of his mind, there were suddenly presences. Other things that could not be mistaken for anything but another human mind.
They had different qualities, sounds that he could not hear, and colors that he could not see, but knew were there none-the-less.
It had surprised and scared him so much that he had snapped violently away from it, back into his room and bed.
He had to have dreamed those things . . . those other minds . . .
No one could hear another's thoughts.
It hadn't occurred to him that that was exactly what Heralds say their Companions could do. He hadn't thought about the Heralds who claimed to have such ability.
He had only known that he had seen other people's thoughts, feelings . . . their entire mentality . . . and he didn't know how he had done so.
So instead of trying to explain it to himself, he claimed it a dream and attempted to forget about it.
But he couldn't disregard the taste of each mind, each thought. They had been so real.
Too real.
He only prayed that it wouldn't occur a second time, and sought to exhaust himself utterly before going to sleep, hoping that he would not dream something like it ever again.
And so far it was working like a charm. He just never relaxed, and it never bothered him again.
So far, anyway.
And with that last thought firmly planted into his mind, he glided into slumber too deep for dreams. Real of otherwise.
***
Amaro leaned against the fence that lined Companions Field, large white body reflecting the sun set, and turning into a rosy orange.
Personally he felt he looked better just white, but his mind was elsewhere.
There was a soft noise in the back of his thoughts, almost like another heartbeat. Instead of shaking his mane and snorting at it, he listened.
Yes, it did sound like a heartbeat, a beautiful instinctive music that echoed his own.
He knew it for what it was, a beginning Call. It had started no more then a week ago, and was steadily increasing.
But it wasn't time. His mother had said that when he Chose, it would not require anything from him except his hooves. That it would tell him, clearly and loudly, when it was time, and not a moment before.
With a soft sigh he lowered his head and scratched his neck on one of the posts. He didn't want to wait. He had turned ten a couple of months ago, the age when almost all Companion's Chose their Heralds, and when he finally heard the Call it was too weak and not ready.
Another sigh escaped him. Once the Call decided it should put him out of his misery, he would take it out on his Herald.
And with that happy notion stuck firmly in his mind, he left the fence and trotted over to a nice looking tuft of grass.
***
The group of students in gray uniforms huddled closely together, their whispers rising and falling gradually.
"Greg won't tell anyone what the Blue said to him after the fight, he has too much pride for his own good." Said a male voice. Murmurs of agreement before a female voice spoke up.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he threatened him. Just like a Blue to do something like that. We had better watch this one." More agreement.
"Yeah, before he gets it into his aristo head that he can go pushing us Trainees around like that all the time." And the unofficial meeting dispersed, all with their hearts set on protecting their own kind.
***
Neo tossed under his sheets, eyes clenched and teeth gritted shut. Sweat formed on his head. He was dreaming again . . . only this time it was much, much worse.
They were all around him, and it was so noisy he couldn't even tell which "voice" was his. He tried to fight them back, tried to do anything to get them to just shut up so he could hear himself think, but nothing he did worked.
They screeched at him, and from the jumble he could pick out some of the louder thoughts.
I wonder if she likes me . . . I hope she does . . .
He is such a jerk! Next time he comes near me I'll step on his foot . . .
Oh . . . I am so hungry . . .
And they were all like that . . . all so trivial that Neo felt like being sick.
Why would they waste his time with such stuff?! What did they want him to do about it?!
In a desperate attempt for some silence he sought out the quietest of them all, the ones near the back, with some sort of shield around them.
Thoughts still leaked through, but at least they weren't screaming, at least he could sort out which voice was his own.
For a while he just waited and drifted amongst those minds, picking up random bits of thoughts.
If I don't see a Healer about this damn leg soon I'm going to cut it off myself.
Not another month until we're back on the Section riding . . . I think I'll just sleep till then . . .
These thoughts were not so trivial, actually more interesting than anything else, and they didn't come so quickly or deafeningly. He could stand this, until he woke up.
He stopped beside a particular presence that had thoughts so slow a quiet that it must have been a sleeping mind. Neo listened, and one thing he heard made him jump in shock.
Who's there?
He floated a little ways away, and then returned. He studied the presence until it was vividly imprinted in his memory, and then waited for it to talk again.
I know you're there . . . what do you want? How did you get past my Shields?
Neo didn't know if he could communicate with this presence, but he tried anyway.
Can you hear me? He asked after a moment of concentration. The male presence (it felt more male then female, and older then most of the others) drew back as he had, but returned quicker.
You're nothing but a child! He accused. Neo ignored the insult in favor of his discovery.
You can hear me! Do you . . . do you know how to make the voices stop? Can you tell me, so I can go to sleep again? It seemed like a well phrased question considering his anticipation, but the man seemed more shaken then anything else.
You . . . you're doing this in your sleep?! Are you a Trainee? No, no of course not, you'd have been taught how to Shield yourself, if you were.
Neo's own thoughts were whirling away inside his head.
What if he can't help me? What if this thing I can do is something that no one else can?
Instead of a pride that would usually surround originality, only fear came to him.
Will I have to live with it forever?
And then, before he could stop it:
Not if I get rid of it . . .
He blinked mentally at the firm, unbidden, thought. He knew that he had no control over the power, so the only way to "get rid of it" would be to get rid of himself . . .
I've never really thought of suicide before . . .
That sounded so offhand and observation-like that Neo almost laughed at himself.
The male presence stopped him from doing any such thing.
As well you shouldn't have! This is not something to kill yourself over! It's a Gift! An extremely powerful Mind-Gift.
Neo jumped from the reminder of the man's company, and then went over what he had said before responding.
A gift?! A gift?! I don't want to be able to know what people are thinking! I have enough trouble with my own thoughts, without other minds to look after! What kind of gift is that?!
Anger welled up inside him, so that everything seemed to be caked in a red light. The man was surprised into silence, but only for a moment.
I know, I know boy! For most people, the name for Gifts is most ironic, just wait for a moment, will you, and listen to me?!
Neo struggled to calm down to a point where he could pay attention to what the man had to say.
There are places where you can be taught how to control this Gift. You are in the Collegium, aren't you? Gods help me if you're doing this from outside Haven . . .
Neo felt like raising an eyebrow.
. . . I'm in the Collegium.
He felt the man's relief before he "talked" again.
Good. Now, as I was saying, I'm going to seek you out, alright? I'll take you to a few teachers, who will show you how to erect Shields and the like. Don't. Do. Anything-until then. He said firmly. Neo agreed quietly, and then asked how he could get back to his room.
Awareness will take some conscious effort on your part, he said; just concentrate on your body and where it is. Your mind will know what to do then.
Neo glided away from the man, and concentrated.
It did take some effort before he could puzzle out how to do it correctly, but eventually he got it right.
He awoke in his room, flesh cool and sweaty, breathing a little faster then usual, but everything in working condition. He sighed in relief and eased out of bed.
He glanced out his window, where stars twinkled like shards of diamonds in the bruised blue of the night sky, and took a deep shaky breath.
The fire in his hearth was low, but still burned merrily, and made the room comfortably warm.
He sat down heavily on the sofa in the corner and grabbed a random book on the end table beside him. Flipping through the pages with eyes focused elsewhere, he reflected over what had happened.
It wasn't a dream . . . I know that much . . . but the man . . . when he offered help . . . did I create that in my desperation? Did I make the man up entirely?
He frowned when he felt an oncoming headache.
He had never been one to have headaches, so he did not know from its warnings if it would be terribly painful or just a little echo of what his mind had been putting him through.
He prayed silently for the later, while glancing around for pain killers incase the former decided to show up.
No items made themselves visible to him, and the headache was not slowing in its approach. He shut his eyes and carefully placed his arm over his face.
"Why me?" he groaned out, before the pain escalated, and he could only shudder in total submission.
I don't think even a Healer could do much against this . . . he thought vaguely, trying desperately to ignore it.
But focusing on anything else hurt. Opening his eyes hurt, breathing was beginning to hurt, even thinking threatened to harm him.
He had never had much pain in his life, beyond the usual emotional ups and down that regulated teenage lives and occasional fights they led him into, but nothing that made him want to just pass out.
Just pass out and never wake up.
***
Menith snapped warily out of his induced trance and shot to his feet.
He had been a Herald too long to take things like powerful Gifts lightly, and if he was right in this account (which he usually was) the boy that had entered the minds of every person in the Collegium was going to either be a most powerful asset to Valdemar, or one of its most dangerous secrets. . .
Either way, he had to find someone who could teach him Mind-Shields in so short a time, Shields that would keep the entire Collegium from coming in, and anything from going out.
He ignored the twinges in his shoulder as he opened door after door roughly, and stomped with sternness written all over him into his friend's room.
Kara looked up from her desk, raising an eyebrow silently, before sweeping an elegantly decorated arm to offer him a seat opposite her.
"We have a problem." He said shortly, taking the offered chair heavily. She fixed him with her blue gaze, the one that said "I know" as clearly as if she had said it, and Menith shook his head.
"You might have sensed him a moment past . . . but there is an un-Chosen and most definitely dangerous Gift about to be unleashed." He fixed her with his own strong amber gaze and waited for her to answer.
That was the thing with Kara, it seemed that she didn't concern herself with time, and time likewise didn't concern itself with her.
She had been a Herald even before he had been Chosen, been through more life endangering rides and arrow points that it would have given all of the Trainees gray hair.
Yet she had not a spot on her head. Not a single gray hair amongst her wine-red locks.
Even her Companion had more wrinkles then she did. Menith always wondered how she did it, but somehow never had the time to ask.
"It seems like a problem indeed." She said simply, her voice the as young as the rest of her. Sweet as a song bird's, but still holding age and command in its notes.
Aging gracefully was an understatement . . . but not aging a day . . . he could agree with that one.
"I was trancing, like I always do before I get to bed," he explained, sensing she wanted information before she offered her opinion, "and then he was there . . . I swear, I could almost feel him breathing on my face . . ." he suppressed a shudder at the ghostly thought.
"Go on." she prompted after a silent moment.
"Well . . . I approached him; I asked him who he was . . . damn-it all Kara, it was no more then a boy! It takes time for Mind-Gifts like those to develop! And he said he was loosing sleep over it! He wanted me to tell him how to keep all the voices out . . . to make the Gift disappear . . ." he had never been good at hiding his emotions, never saw any reason to, but Kara's face remained carefully blank throughout his frustrated speech.
"I was too shocked to do anything . . . and he went back to his own thoughts . . . Kara, he seriously considered suicide to get rid of it! He said it like he didn't mean it, like it was just a subconscious suggestion, but he was Projecting enough that I know he'll not drop the possibility."
Kara nodded, looking down at her entwined fingers. Both stayed quiet for an extended time.
In the end it was Kara who broke it with her sweet singing voice.
"Yes, a very large problem. Menith, you know what it feels like when one of the Heralds who Project die . . . particularly close to you . . . if he committed suicide he could very well take half the Collegium with him." Menith choked.
"H-half the Collegium?! Oh gods!" this certainly made things harder. Menith groaned and shoved his face into his hands.
:Little brother . . .: his head raised a bit at the sound of his Companion's voice.
:You heard, Hyatee?: he asked. Hyatee confirmed it wordlessly, but seemed to have something on his mind.
:Chosen, you know who this boy is, don't you?: he asked in a knowing tone. Menith drew himself up haughtily.
:Of course I know-: he cut himself off the false statement and growled lightly at his amused Companion, :Well, I'd have no trouble recognizing him. He's got a pretty large presence.: he said with a little huff. Hyatee's amusement grew, but his "voice" remained in the same tone it was always in.
:You should try looking for him, and perhaps finding out more about him before you throw him into the midst of all this. He probably isn't ready for any of it.: Menith had been through enough of life to know when a point was offered. He didn't argue.
"The only way to solve this problem lies within this boy." He said allowed to Kara, "so I will go and warn him of what's to come. I need you to think of someone who would be good at teaching him the basics and the details. Someone that can put up with most everything. An Empath maybe-" he shut himself up at the glance Kara gave him.
"I think I can handle that much, Menith. Go fetch us our boy, and try to keep him from doing anything drastic . . . and don't do anything drastic yourself." She looked at him with one eyebrow raised and Menith scratched his head.
"Well . . . I'll be sure not to let him . . . or me." He added when she prompted him with another glance. He left the room hastily, and walked down the corridor.
He wouldn't need to go into a trance to find the boy, he was probably unconsciously aware of him already, but he wouldn't be able to concentrate in Kara's presence.
Hyatee sent a soft teasing pulse through their bond.
:I think someone has a crush . . .: Menith's mouth twitched as he turned a corner.
:Be quite. I need to concentrate.: a solitary snort was his response.
Before they either could make another noise, audible or otherwise, Menith was hit with the strongest Projecting pain he had ever felt.
He almost crippled himself falling forward before he could get his Shields in working condition. In the end Hyatee had to help him.
:Chosen! Are you alright?: he asked, once Menith had finally come back up to his knees.
:I-I'm fine, Hyatee . . . tell me that wasn't Projection.: he groaned aloud, knowing the answer already.
:I'm afraid it was, Heart-brother. And it had the same taste as that boy.: Menith shook his head to rid it of any side effects and got to his feet.
:Great. A Reaction headache for the whole Collegium. We have to find him fast.: he closed his eyes and reached cautiously out of his Shields to find the source of the pain.
Only a few rooms away. A couple steps in his direction and Menith already Sensed him with the Shields on full force.
Gods help the people in the rooms next to him . . .
***
Neo was screaming . . . or at least he thought he was screaming. Wither it was his mind (and others) or his mouth letting out the shattering resonance, he would never know.
All he knew then was that the headache was going to kill him, split his head open at best.
He was crouched on the floor, clutching his head like his life depended on it. His whole body shook with agony, pined for release.
A knife . . . a knife, my kingdom for a knife!
Anything that would have ended it, or at least dulled it, he would have done anything for at that moment. Passing out, Healers, death . . . it was all the same to him, he wouldn't have preferred any of them, he would have taken them all one by one in order if it meant release.
His bleak emotions (because thinking in words was beyond him at the moment) took his head by storm. Accompanying the torture hand in hand like some twisted portrait of young lovers.
Something happened then, he couldn't pinpoint what exactly, but someone else was with him, was trying to talk to him.
He certainly didn't want to be found like this, crumpled and begging for weaponry. He made a heroic struggle to try and sort out who it was and what they wanted.
If it's that damn girl again, wanting to be held, I'll kill her! I don't care what her brother does to me!
But it was no girl, for strong male hands had clasped firmly around his shoulders and he felt himself being dragged and carried out of his room.
But that was all he could gather, before pain struck him full in the face, and he cried out silently or audibly again.
***
Menith sat outside the Healers room, trying to unclench his jaw.
Being so close to the boy as he dragged him there had rendered his Shields to mere pebbles.
He had never been in so much pain, and he had been through a lot. The poor boy . . . for a mere Dream-Walk to affect him so . . .
Gods only know what a real exercise would do to him . . .
His bleak thoughts were cut off by the approaching footsteps of the boy's Healer. Healer Y'von.
He rose from the bench and fidgeted while she approached.
"Be at peace, Herald Menith. The boy will be fine." He felt his shoulders sag in relief, but he didn't lose all of his tenseness.
"Is he awake?" she brushed a loose lock of silvery-blond hair out of her sparkling green eyes and smiled for a moment.
"Yes, and just like any other boy, wanting to know when he can get up and go. Why every Herald Trainee thinks this way is beyond me-" Menith raised his eyebrow.
"Trainee? He-" Kara's voice stopped his flow of words.
:He is to be called so at least for now, Menith. I spoke with King's Own Jhaspar, and he agrees that we should keep his identity secret.: Menith frowned.
:For Haven's sake, why Kara? It doesn't matter to the Healers who they Heal! They judge by soul, not by class. And he is a child, Kara, souls don't come purer then that.: he didn't notice when Y'von slipped away back to the boy.
:He is a child, yes, but he is also a Blue. From what the Trainees have told Jhaspar, he is one of the cruelest.: Menith gaped.
:Cruel?! But . . . oh, I'll argue with that later. We have more important matters to see to. Why must he be passed off as a Gray?: he asked, frustrated.
:You have not been listening Menith. Healers judge by soul, and if a cruel soul resides in his body, the Healing isn't worth the energy. If the Healers should know this, their Healing won't be full, and the next time he has a Reaction Headache, it could be much worse. Don't you see, Menith? If he is posed as a Herald, soul searching isn't necessary. We can't have him dying on us when his Projection might take everyone with him! He must be Shielded, and then we can know for sure if he is cruel or not . . . if he isn't Healed correctly now, there will be no Healing later.:
Menith sighed and sat back down on the bench.
:Alright, alright, I see your point.:
:Do you agree with it?: she persisted.
:If I must.: he growled back.
:You must Menith, for it will be you that will teach him to Shield.: Menith floundered, his concentration broken and the link between them severed for a moment. He restored it swiftly.
:Me?! I am no teacher, Kara! What could I lecture him on?!: she sighed lightly.
:You are wisest and most suited for the job. You will not be awed, or angered by his Gift. You will finish teaching him to Shield before it is too late.:
Menith once again dropped the connection in his shock. When he got it back he didn't think he could hold it for long.
:You don't expect him to survive past the next Reaction.:
Silence followed his statement, and then . . .
:No.:
Authors note: Ack! Days and day's of non-stop writing! I hope it pleases the eye more then my mangled mess of a desk top does. Coke cans . . . food wrappings . . . papers with notes on them everywhere. I think I even have my cat under this chaos. Hope its not living off junk food, even though I am. I plead contemporary insanity . . .
The only thing I think this fic needs is some more character depth. Tell me if I didn't introduce everyone correctly. I could always do it again . . . *passes out at thought of re-write*