Mind Over Psyche (10 page)

Deryl stood on the
slight outcropping of the cliff cave and looked over the scene with satisfaction. On the opposite side, archers worked in the caves, building natural blinds by transplanting the scraggly bushes that grew along the sides of the cliff. Ropes disguised as vines ran from the caves to the top of the mesa, some for climbing, some for hauling weapons down or injured up.

Beside him, Salgoud watched a vine that lowered a bush to one of the caves. He frowned, and Deryl knew he was worried that in battle, the motion of the vines would alert the Barins to the archers'
locations.

Deryl projected an image of a quiver of arrows being lowered slowly, with frequent stops at varying moments. It would be noticed by someone with the leisure to watch, but in battle, could easily go unnoticed, especially if the quiver were camouflaged. He further added an image of the archers in camouflage uniforms and face paint, all but invisible, until they started shooting—and if they timed the shots right, the Barins would have a difficult time pin-poin
ting them.

He felt Salgoud's grudging approval, followed by his doubt about how effective these tactics would be in general. Not everywhere had such convenie
nt cliffs.

Convenient.
Deryl snorted. The forty-foot climb down to the tiny ledge had been one of the most harrowing experiences of his life—and he'd had plenty. Once on the outcropping, he'd been relieved to find it bigger than it had looked from above, but it was still too narrow for his taste. He had a dizzying image of standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, looking thirty-three stories down, wind whipping his hair and threatening to swee
p him off—

He leaned back, trying to ignore the lurch in his stomach. Those were not his memories, he reminded himself. Salgoud glanced at him, but Deryl hid his feelings behind his shields. Instead, he replied that the ideas used here—camouflage, hide-and-ambush, attacks from angles the enemy didn't expect—could be applied anywhere. He never could get Tasmae to understand camouflage in the Netherworld. She kept insisting that the enemy would
know
they were there. Now, he understood the attitude: As psychics, Kanaan had the natural ability to
know
where some
thing was.

But the Barins aren't psychic. They have to depend on their eyes. You know, Salgoud, when you practice, even the Barin team acts like Kanaan
.
They need to act like Barins—with the same limitations. Then you'll see for yourself that you have a natural advantage you should
be using.

YOU HAVE A NATURAL ADVANTAGE OVER THOSE AROUND YOU. USE IT! The words of the Master came echoing back into Deryl's mind, and he suppressed a shudder that he should be repeating that advice.
Just because he was an evil manipulating megalomaniac doesn't mean he was wrong
. He glanced at Salgoud, relieved to find him focused on relaying the Ydrel's ideas to his people, and n
ot on him.

Get with the program, Ydrel. Concentrate!
Deryl told himself and stepped forward out of the shadows to see how well he could spot the now-hidden archers hunkered down in the holes in the cl
iff walls—

—holes in the walls. Spiders crawling out of the holes in the walls. They're coming
after me—

—They're after me. They want the secrets I know. I'll never give in, never! I'll die first.
I'll kill—

—kill them all. Who do they think they are? Don't they know I am God? I'll make them bow down or they can die, the insi
gnificant—

—Insignificant. That's what I am. No wonder no one wants me. Why didn't they just let me die? Why'd they stop me
from jump—

—jump. I could, you know. It's okay.
I can fly—

A hand on Deryl's shoulder jerked him back to reality, and he spun, causing Salgoud's grip to tighten lest he fall. He realized with a start that he'd been poised on the edge of the cliff. His heart thundered in
his chest.

Voices. Images. Feelings. Vaguely familiar. Not his. And they'd struck without warning. That hadn't happened with such intensity since he'd first been committed, even before his transfer to SK-Mental. What was
going on?

He searched Salgoud's face. Had he realized what had
happened?

Fortunately, Salgoud had picked up on his fear, but not the thoughts behind it, and had come to his own conclusions. He peered over the edge and spoke in English. “It's not the fall that's so bad, but the sudden stop at th
e bottom.”

Deryl laughed incredulously. “We have the same joke
on Earth.”

“So our people share something. Not all are comfortable with heights. Let us see the caves from the other side. If you wish, you may bind yourself to me.” He made the offer matter-of-factly and continued in English to c
alm Deryl.

Although grateful for his concern, Deryl nonetheless shook his head. He'd come down halfway on his own. He could handle the rest solo, too. Better not to show weakness to the commander-in-chief of the world's defenses. He took a firm grip on the rope and lowered himself over the edge, and all the thoughts about voices or the Master vanished in the need to get to the ground in one piece, avoiding any “sudden stops at th
e bottom.”

*

With effort, Tasmae pulled herself away from the drooping fronds of the Remembrance, away from the anguish and confusion. She looked around for the person who she thought had set a hand on her shoulder; but finding no one, she sank back onto her heels, then fell to one side, curling up into a tight ball of misery. Images and emotions continued to overtake her: spiders and people who hated her, feelings of unnatural power and of falling into endless night. Helpless against them, she was dimly aware of Leinad and the healer watching her, even more aware of how neither offered her aid or support. Loneliness and fear crashed down on her. Sobs escaped h
er throat.

I'm not ready for this! I don't know what to do—no one taught me how to handle this. Did my mentor know? Did it die with her? Why didn't you
teach me?

Tasmae grabbed her hair, pulling at the crown, as if she could tear the experiences out with each yank. She remembered the agony of first experiencing the pain and motions of Kanaan. How nothing those were.
There's too much—too many emotions, too many insanities.
Too much!

Too much crowding her. The walls too close, cold and windowless, square and an unnatural pink. She wanted to run, and couldn't. Her arms wanted to wrap themselves around her waist. Lying on her side, she trie
d to rock.

She thought of the other Miscrias, screaming uncontrollably, falling unconscious for weeks, forever changed.
It's happening to me! No, worse. I'm half trained, half skilled, and all alone. No one wil
l help me.

Stop it
, she scolded herself.
I may be a half-trained Miscria, but I am a fully trained warrior. I will fight this! I am not alone. My people are here, and they need me. The Season of War approaches—there is no time for self-indulgences of pity.
A wave of despair washed over her but she fought to its surface.
They need me. The Ydrel is here. Deryl. I must find out what
it means.

The panic died, leaving exhaustion. She reached for the Remembrance, but her hand trembled violently and she let it drop. Her tears had stopped; her eyes felt gritty and oh-so-tired. She closed them. She felt her responsibilities call to her, but she couldn't make herself move. Maybe if she just rested
a moment…

She sensed a stern command to wake up and felt the toe of Salgoud's boot dig into her side. She rolled over on the hard ground, psychically muttering a plea for just a few more minutes. They'd marched half the night…taken shelter in this cave. It was so cold and close and the rosy color of the rocks frightened her for some reason. She hadn't been able to sleep before, but was unwilling to wake now. A rock pressed into
her side.

Salgoud's urgings sharpened. She had a duty. She was the Miscria, and a warrior for her people. She had no time for self-i
ndulgence.

Again, she protested, shifted away from the rock, which had dug into her painfully. Salgoud's boot found the same spot. Pain lanced through her, tearing her side, a ripping of
the earth—

Tasmae's eyes snapped open. An earthquake! She reached out with her powers to heal the wounded land, but she was too drained from the Remembrance. The earth did not obey her command, refused to be gentled by her psychic touch. She sent out an alert, but the shielded room rebounded it upon her. She turned to Leinad and the healer, but they were as shielded as
the room.

“Please!” She rasped. “An earthquake—in the sea—a tsunami—the villages on the coast must b
e warned!”

She watched them look at each other, surprised at her coherence, suspicious of
her words.

“Listen to me!” She said desperately. “They have to be warned. They have to run!” She forced herself up. The room spun and her knees threatened to buckle, but she'd fight the two watchers and escape this room if she had to. “I have to t
ell them.”

Tell me
, the healer finally said.
I will relay th
e message.

Tasmae leapt upon the offer, ignoring the healer's fear. She shared the location of the earthquake, the movement of the waves as they grew to deadly strength, the villages that lay in their paths. She watched, trembling, as the older woman relayed the information. After a moment, the older woman nodded.
It is done. The villages have been warned. It is evening there and the boats are in. All should be safe. Rest now, but you must
continue.

The healer returned to her seat against the wall and fell into a cleansi
ng trance.

Tasmae staggered the few feet to her sleeping mat and lay upon it. She felt Leinad's worry. Something had gone wrong again. Twice now, she had ended the session prematurely and recovered enough to be coherent, even to perform her duty. That had never happened before that the
y knew of.

This has been thrust upon me out of time. I should do this in the Season of Calm, not now
. She rebelled against the interference to
her duty.

She felt the building tsunami as if it were of her own blood and turned her meager energies to her own cleansing, banishing the warnings now that they had been recognized and dealt with. Even as she did, she realized how close those warnings had come to being useless. She opened herself to the Divine, thanking God that the healer had agreed to send out the warnings, then reaching out for strength and wisdom for what lay ahead. The disasters would only get worse. She knew that from her own experience and the experiences of the other Miscria. If the Remembrance's pull became stronger, would she be unable to sense the
m in time?

She looked around the room. Her eyes saw a regular sleeping room, large and airy with curved green-gray walls. Yet her mind kept insisting it was cold, sharply cornered, and pink. If she returned to the Remembrance, that would become he
r reality.

She
shivered.

*

Deryl was climbing down the cliff when his vision blurred and he imagined himself back in the high intensity ward at SK-Mental. Then pain lanced
his side.

He let go of
the rope.

Too disoriented to remember his shields, he hit the ground hard, crying out in real pain as he landed in a bush. His uniform kept the brambles from scratching him, but clambering out, he discovered it did not protect him from bruised ribs. He ended up on hands and knees—or rather, elbows and knees. His hands stung with tears and r
ope burns.

Someone grasped his shoulders and helped him sit. He tried to smile his thanks at the healer, but the grin turned to a grimace as she laid hands on him. In a moment, he could breathe more easily. That's when he realized he wa
s shaking.

Enough. You are not a warrior.
Deryl felt her disdain, not for him, but for the way the warrior class expected everyone to share their prowess. She directed him to go to the baths to soak his bruises, and he felt her wishing for the sam
e herself.

A stallion with a gentle demeanor carried him home, and he went straight to the baths, his mind focused on the strange visions.
First, the thoughts of fellow clients at SK-Mental's H-I ward, then the appendicitis? No, wrong side. What, then? An
d why now?

*

Tasmae drowned in cold, heavy waters; bathed in fire; was torn from the inside. The whole time, images and emotions pounded up on her: anger and hate, despair and confusion, passion and
ambition.

Make it stop! Make it stop! M
akeitstop!

That's enough!
Her warrior self shouted into the maelstrom.
Gardianju! Tell me what this means. We don't have time
for this.

Too many signals, all in conflict. She hung by a thread over an abyss, but when she blinked, it turned into a padded pink box. She screamed and tried
to climb.

The rop
e snapped.

She fell.

*

Tasmae was again flung from the Remembrance, this time full of adrenalin. Taking advantage of her guardians' surprise, she dashed from
the room.

She ran through the empty compound thinking only that the walls were too close, the air too heavy, the shadows full of phantoms poised to ambush. She cried with delight to see the sun burning bright. She drank in
its heat.