To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (30 page)

Nihil continued. “When we first brought you here, you believed yourself to be devoid of any Wielding ability, isn’t that right?” He didn’t look up to see if Daro would answer. “I had my suspicions about Imarans, and I believe you have proven my theories correct. We may not see the Imarans as having the powers of Wielders and Shapers. In fact, my colleagues at the Lyceum seem to believe your father’s people are something entirely different from us, a race with their own abilities, completely separate from the understood principles of Wielding. I, however”—he raised his eyes to Daro, pointing with his quill—”have long believed that the Imarans are not so different as we think. They simply possess a different flavor of Wielding ability, and you have inherited this ability from your father.”

Daro shifted in his seat. It was unnerving to hear Nihil speak of his father. Sindre tortured him mercilessly whenever he mentioned his past, trying to drive any memory of his former life from his mind. He found those thoughts fading into obscurity, bubbling to the surface only occasionally. The only image he still clung to was that of his wife, a vision of her face, her hand reaching out to him, holding him steady.

“What ability?” he said, daring to ask a question. Number One didn’t react to his voice, his eyes still locked on the table.

“Augmentation,” Nihil replied, “considered to be the rarest form of Wielding by standard definitions. The Lyceum has long believed Augmentation to be so rare, it may as well not even exist. We only know of it based on some very old writings brought over from the Attalonian Empire.” He paused again to write in his notebook. “But I surmised the truth. Augmentation may be a rare trait amongst Halthians, even with the astonishing number of Wielders in the kingdom. But Imarans are natural Augmenters. I theorize that nearly every one of them has some degree of the ability, although I certainly can’t prove it, not from afar. But you, Number Fourteen, even with only half Imaran blood, you are filled with the capacity to Augment. We simply had to unlock it.”

Memories of the watchtower, of power flooding his body, came crashing back. His well of energy had saturated his body, making him stronger and faster. Was that what was happening? He was Augmenting?

Nihil had allowed him a question. Perhaps he would answer more. “What is the stone?”

“Ah, yes, the Arcstone,” Nihil said as he closed his book and put down his quill. “As you may have surmised from our time working together, I was born with the abilities of a Sensory Wielder. My gift allowed me to sense abilities in others, learning much about who they were. I was weak, not strong enough to gain entry into the Lyceum. I had thought I would find my place at the famed institution of learning. My father was Attalonian, and he abhorred Wielding in all its forms. The Lyceum was supposed to be my salvation, the one place a young man like me would be accepted, nay, celebrated for my contribution to the world. Alas, they did not believe I had what it took to be a candidate.” Nihil’s voice remained even, but Daro could sense the bitterness flowing beneath the surface. “I am a man who believes in progress above all else. I did not let the Lyceum’s rejection deter me. I simply found other ways to further my learning, and later, my research. I discovered this amazing piece of stone, deep in the catacombs beneath the Great Library, and it changed the course of my research. One could even say it changed the course of my life.”

He ran his gloved hand over the stone, an almost loving gesture. “This shard of Arcstone was left over from the days when the Imarans built the Life Tree. An incredible thing, Arcstone. Have you ever seen the Imarans bringing it upriver? It floats. It feels as dense as iron and it is incredibly heavy, yet it floats on the water. I can’t explain it. I suspect the Imarans have an enormous supply of the stuff. Most of the goods they bring to trade in Halthas are made of Arcstone. And if my theory is correct, they use their ability to Augment the stone, imbuing it with many interesting properties.”

Nihil paused again and looked over the stone at Daro. He guessed Nihil was considering how much to tell him. “Not all Arcstone is the same. The Imarans who built the Life Tree did something to their stone that made that incredible sculpture. But there is so much more to this wonderful stone. I discovered that I could enhance my ability with it. And it led me to the discovery that I could transfer abilities through it. I could greatly enhance the strength of a Wielder by imbuing them with the energy of another.” His eyes shone. “The possibilities are endless. And you, Number Fourteen, have unlocked more of the stone’s mysteries for me. So for that, I have to thank you.”

He pulled off a glove and laid it carefully on the table. “I brought you here today to test another of my theories.” He pulled off the other glove and laid it on top of its mate. “My ability is what facilitates the transfer. With the Arcstone as a conduit, I can draw the energy and ability of one into the body of another. There are limitations to this process, however, and I suspect my results will be even stronger with your help.”

He turned to his assistant and flicked his hand toward the source sitting in the chair. The man picked up the source’s arms and laid them on the Arcstone, using a length of narrow rope to tie his hands in place. The man’s head lolled to the side, but he didn’t resist. “Number One here has been one of my greatest achievements. He was the first to survive the process and has proven to be an excellent asset. His once-weak Absorption ability has been enhanced and modified to a generous degree.”

Number One’s eyes slowly rose to look at Nihil. His face was expressionless, but Daro could sense a great deal of tension in the other man.

“Today,” Nihil continued, “I intend to see if we can use your capacity for Augmentation to aid in the transference process, and if we can Augment Number One’s ability even further.”

Daro’s stomach clenched and his heart pounded. Number One continued to stare at Nihil, and his white-knuckled hands gripped the surface of the table.

“Number Fourteen, when I tell you, you will place your hands on the stone,” Nihil said, his hard voice allowing no room for protest.

Number One’s breathing was heavy. Sindre leaned down to whisper something in his ear. He flinched, his eyes blinking, and his shoulders clenched tight.

Nihil nodded to Daro and held his hands up, close to the stone. Every fiber of Daro’s being wanted to lash out against this, but Sindre flashed a look at him. He felt a jolt down his back from his implant. His hands trembled as they hovered over the stone. Number One’s shaking hands rose slowly, and his lips curled back in a grimace as he moved them forward.

“Now,” Nihil commanded and Daro felt unable to resist. He pressed his hands against the stone.

The blinding tunnel of light surged past him, but this time he felt as if he were caught in the side of the tunnel, rather than at its head. Energy flooded through him, flowing from the source into Number One. He could see the images and emotions rushing past, gliding through him as they passed quickly into Number One. Daro was hit with memories so strong he couldn’t separate them from his own. Emotions passed through him like translucent ghosts, rushing by and leaving him reeling.

He could feel his own energy being sucked along the river, pulled through him in a swirl of chaos. Echoes bounced back from Number One, the voices and memories assaulting him. He could hear the rending of the source’s soul, the energy forced into Number One. It was as if a great cry poured forth and lashed through Daro’s mind.

He cast around for an anchor, something to hold onto. He was drowning in a sea of turmoil. As he had done before when invaded with energy through the Arcstone, he imagined himself in a boat. He built the sides, the sturdy bottom, and hunkered down, letting the waves toss him.

Above him he could see Cecily. Her smile steadied him, a light in the turmoil. Through the madness, she reached down and called to him, assuring him she would pull him out of his misery.

Something bashed into him, like a piece of driftwood hurled by a wave. His vision blurred. Cecily reached her other hand out to him and called his name. His link to her felt weak, trembling as if it would tear apart. The voices tore at him, threatening to fracture his very being to pieces. He gasped for breath and clung to the sides of his boat. It was the only solid thing in the tempest that surrounded him.

Cecily’s mouth moved as if she called to him, but he couldn’t hear the words through the screams. Terror gripped him and he grasped the sides of his boat as the storm tossed him about. He crouched further down as the energy rushed past and nearly tore him apart.

He was losing his grip on himself. Cecily reached down, but he shrank away from her and clung to the sides of his boat. A wave crashed over him, freezing and boiling hot all at once. He couldn’t reach for her, couldn’t risk leaving the solidity of his boat. The voices pressed at him, calling him away. He covered his ears and sunk down, closing his eyes against the turmoil, to no avail. The voices only grew louder the harder he tried to shut them out. The energy surged past, as images from both the source and Number One beat against him, ripping him apart.

He hunkered down in his boat and took one last look at his image of Cecily. She called his name and reached out her hand, but he couldn’t take it. Instead, he held to the boat and turned away, shutting out everything outside. A roof materialized, snapping into place, cutting him off from the terror outside. He slammed up the wall, building himself into a box. The darkness was thick and he still felt the waves of chaos try to toss him about. He made the walls thicker until the voices no longer carried through, burying himself deep enough to escape the tempest and hold together the pieces of his fracturing psyche.

Everything crashed into deafening silence. His breath echoed in his ears and he felt as if he sat alone, in a room buried in darkness. The voices were silent, the pandemonium within replaced with a numb stillness. He felt no emotion, no surges of pain, or anger, or loss. He felt nothing.

He opened his eyes and found himself in Nihil’s laboratory. Number One writhed on the floor, moaning, as Sindre stood above him. Nihil sat in his seat, breathing heavily, and looked at Daro with wide eyes. He pulled on his gloves and reached a trembling hand toward his quill to write something in his notebook.

Daro’s body felt fatigued and his reservoir of power was nearly dry, the constant stream of energy temporarily abated. His mind had gone somewhere beyond clear. He had very little thought at all. Emptiness filled him and he embraced it, letting the void fill him.

The last traces of his former life drifted away. He had once been a man named Daro, but he let that man go, like a drowned corpse carried away by the sea.

He was Number Fourteen.

30. BREAKOUT

The pattering rain was a blessing, giving Cecily a reason to keep the cowl of her cloak over her head as she stole onto the Lyceum grounds. She wasn’t sure if Magister Evan would have the guards stop her at the gate, but she didn’t want to take the chance. She had learned in her days working for Hadran that often the best way to get into a place without being challenged was to act as if you had every right to be there. She strode right past the guards with her back straight, heading for the library without hesitation, and breathed a sigh of relief when no one stopped her.

The Great Library was open to the public during the afternoon hours, giving her access to the Lyceum grounds. She crept around the bookshelves, steering clear of any guards. There weren’t many and it was easy to blend into the throngs of students, staff, and magisters milling about the books. Her back and shoulder still ached from their encounter at the docks, but true to the healer’s word, she was beginning to feel better.

She knew the Lyceum of Power operated out of the lower levels of the library. There were at least six floors underground, plunging into the rock beneath the domed building. Most were for storage, books, and scrolls that were either very delicate, or considered very dangerous. The public wasn’t permitted in any of the lower levels without special permission. She had decided to come alone, knowing the difficulty of even one person stealing into the lower library. She didn’t think she’d be able to get anyone else down with her.

As the closing hour approached, she crept down the stairs. It took her several tries before she was able to make it past the guards and librarians. Twice she had Wielded, attempting to create a distraction, only to attract more librarians and clerks to the area. Finally the way cleared and she was able to make her way down.

Using her Awareness, she crept around, tucking into corners and around dusty shelves to avoid the clerks and librarians as they closed the library for the night. She crouched down between two large shelves, both heaped with scrolls and dusty stacks of parchment. The air was stale and dry, the scent of decaying parchment and dust heavy in the air. She leaned her head back against the wall and waited. She wanted to be sure she wouldn’t run into anyone.

Her heart thumped wildly and her limbs tingled with anxiety. Her dreams had gotten worse, leaving her jittery during the day. At first they had been choppy and confusing. It was easy to attribute them to the stress she was under. She was worried about Daro, so she dreamed of him. But lately she was beginning to think there was something else behind these disturbing dreams. She no longer dreamt only of Daro. Another face intruded on her, almost as if he was watching her sleep. She would jerk awake, half expecting to find someone standing above her, watching.