Bastial Energy (34 page)

Since meeting Rek, the decisions Cleve had made felt like his own, but now he was wondering how he could be sure. His best option could be finishing his original task. A quick elbow to the Elf’s head and he would be unconscious. Then Cleve could be sure his thoughts were only his. He started to consider it, glancing at the Elf and imagining doing it. Some part of him was already telling him to.
Just do it now. Don’t think about it anymore.
The voice grew louder.

Rek suddenly glared at him. “Is everything alright with you?”

He must sense my aggression.
Cleve’s fist tightened.
Do it now, before it’s too late—no!
he ordered himself.
If he had control over me I wouldn’t even have these thoughts…or would I?
Rek was still glaring, waiting for an answer.

Cleve felt the tension dissolve. He took a long breath.

“It’s just…psychics make me nervous,” he decided to admit.

Rek’s mouth turned in disappointment. “We do that to a lot of people.”

Chapter 37: Plan

CLEVE

Their entourage had grown to twelve with a wide gap between them and their guards ahead. Light leaked into the streets from the few houses with lanterns still burning, and the mages within their party produced a yellow glow from their wands that filled in the rest of the black space around them as they passed.

Rek held a sad expression ever since their last conversation. They didn’t speak for a while, walking with their group. But eventually, Rek pulled Cleve to the back with a tight grab of his arm.

“You’re concerned I have influence over your thoughts.” Rek spoke low enough for only Cleve to hear. “But what doesn’t?”

Cleve was surprised by the sudden question and didn’t quite understand it. “What do you mean?”

“What doesn’t have influence over your thoughts? Everything you see and hear can influence you. Think of the people peeking out their window at us, for example.” Rek gestured at the houses around them. “The sound of our group pokes at their curiosity, and the sight of guards escorting us fuels new thoughts. I don’t need to use psyche to influence them. If I wanted, I could just remove my hood and shout, ‘An Elf is here! The King wants my help!’ and nearly all would believe it.”

Cleve tried to frown at Rek, unsure exactly how it came out. His face was used to holding indifference, not showing disappointment. “But at least then they could choose whether or not to believe you. You wouldn’t be controlling their minds.”

Rek glanced ahead to check on the guards. He spoke even softer, but more forcefully. “Contrary to the rumors, I can’t control minds. I use a person’s own doubts to create a thought that’s realistic, just like lying. But there’s a lot I cannot do.”

“Like?”

Rek’s eyes squinted as his voice became utterly serious. “I can’t change love, for example. It’s an urge that we’re born with—same with the urge to live. I would never be able to persuade someone who wants to live to think otherwise.” He squeezed Cleve’s hands. “I couldn’t convince you that your hand was cut off or that you don’t remember how to use the bow. Such knowledge and urges are buried so deep I have the same chances of changing them with psyche as without. If you’re certain about something, I cannot change it.” Rek sighed. “But people have many doubts and even more secrets, which is why someone like me is considered to be so dangerous.”

It reminded him of Reela and their conversation when they’d first met, but there was conviction in Rek’s voice and desperation between his words while Reela had been playfully cheery.
He needs me to believe he’s not a danger,
Cleve thought
, but why? Maybe because no one else has?

Rek released his grip on Cleve’s hands and relaxed his shoulders. “I didn’t use psyche to get you here, Cleve, only when we first met, when you had intentions of killing me. The rest has been up to you.”

Cleve suddenly felt remorse for his accusations. He believed Rek. With a tight mouth, a straight back, and rigid shoulders, Cleve made a decision he was ready to stick by. “I’ll help you finish this.”

“Good.” Rek showed a warm smile. “And a bit of advice: Have more confidence in your strength, not your physical strength, but mental. I know I make you nervous because you’re unsure how to fight against psyche. Am I right? Do you know how to stop a psychic?”

Cleve shook his head. He didn’t know there was a way without being a psychic himself.

“Strength,” Rek answered. “Confidence. Don’t doubt your ability to fight back.”

Cleve laughed bitterly. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“True, it takes practice. But if you have a weakness, you improve it. I’m sure you do so here when you train with weapons,” Rek said, squeezing Cleve’s hands again. “So why not in here?” His fingers rose to tap gently on Cleve’s temples.

Cleve took a step back before he even realized he’d done so. “I can’t.” He’d tried thinking of his parents without pain but it had never worked. The memories would always storm through his entire body like a poison, crippling him from head to toe so that all he could do was lie down and weep.

“It’s not going to be easy, much harder than using your hands to learn something new. But the process is the same: practice, patience, progress. I’m sure they still teach you warriors that, don’t they?” Rek lifted his eyebrows.

Cleve nodded. “But I don’t see how that applies.”

“Practice is still repetition, even when the issue is purely mental. Put yourself in situations you would normally avoid because of the weakness. If you’re scared of the dark, put yourself somewhere tolerably dark but that you would normally avoid because of the fear. Be patient with yourself because progress is slow but inevitable. Find what works and stick with it.”

Cleve felt himself scowl. The example Rek had used discouraged him. “And if I’m not scared of the dark? How do I practice something I can’t talk about or even think about?”

Rek came to a halt, his hand resting upon his chin for a thought. The yellow glow from the mages danced on his knuckles and around his nose. His skin shined, even in the faintest of light. He drew his knife and held it over Cleve’s forearm. It wasn’t aggressive, somehow gentle even. Cleve knew the Elf wouldn’t harm him.

“If I stuck this blade into your body, how would you address the wound? Would you remove the dagger immediately?” Rek asked.

“No, I’d make sure a clean cloth or rag was ready, as well as plenty of water to make sure the wound didn’t become infected…I don’t see how this is relevant.”

Rek held out his hands. “Just stay with me for now.” He slid the dagger back into its casing on his belt. “You’re referring to stopping the bleeding with hard pressure and then cleaning the wound, which is correct. And how would it feel, after pulling out the dagger, to push on the wound with a cloth?”

“It would hurt, but pulling out the dagger would be far worse.”

“Right.” Rek pointed at Cleve’s forehead. “Right now you have a dagger in there. It’s been there a while, from what I can tell. You’ve probably poked at it, maybe even tried removing it, and that must have been painful. When you finally do manage to pull it out, it’s going to bleed and bleed and bleed, and you’re going to think it would have been better if you’d left it in, but that’s not true. The dagger needs to come out, then the bleeding needs to stop, and then the wound needs to be cleaned. It’s going to be painful, but you need to keep at it. Be patient with yourself and the wound will heal.”

Cleve thought of the monstrous scar that would form from the wound Rek described, even if he were able to stop the bleeding. The image sent a chill through him.

Although some part of him could tell Rek was right, most of him had no intentions of touching the dagger. He’d managed so far with it in.

He put it out of his mind for now, knowing it wouldn’t be the last time he thought about it, though.

Colimp shouted from the front of the party, “The King is on a balcony.” The old guard pointed high at the castle. “He seems to be yelling something to us, but I cannot understand it.”

Sure enough, King Welson was waving his arms about, pointing at them and making frantic gestures.

That can’t be good.

Rek pushed his way to the middle. “He’s frightened,” the Elf announced. Cleve didn’t need psyche to see that. “He believes I’m an enemy, but he’ll be relieved to find out I’m an ally and will thank you all generously for your assistance.”

There were nods within their group. People seemed to believe him.

Cleve found himself believing Rek as well, though something else made him far more nervous.
This is war to King Welson, an enemy storming his castle. What could await us within those walls?
It felt like they were about to enter the cage of a lion.

“Rek, how will we get past the door?” Cleve asked, suddenly wishing he’d asked earlier what the Elf had planned.

“That’s the easy part.” Rek’s voice trailed off. “It’s the heavy pots of boiling water I fear. The King’s Guard will drop them upon us continuously as we climb to the sixth floor. That and…” His voice became a whisper. “There’s going to be a battle within those walls. Some of our guards may even turn on us.”

Cleve examined the decrepit broom. There were teeth marks where it had been shoved into Colimp’s mouth.
This old thing looks about ready to shatter upon the first strike.

Rek took Cleve’s shoulder. “Come with me, we need to address our men.”

Cleve followed him to the front, where the hooded Elf halted their party with a hand. “Gather close for a moment.” The warriors and mages shuffled in, apprehension in their eyes. Cleve could feel terror dwelling in his stomach. He’d always felt prepared for battle if he needed to fight, but he’d never considered he would be storming his own king’s castle. He tried to think of the best-case scenario, where no one was killed…

Rek started speaking before he could come up with anything. “Kyrro does have an enemy, but it’s not me.” Rek spoke loudly, low and proud. “You are members of the King’s Guard, loyal to the defense of Kyrro and its ruler, and I’m just as loyal. There has been a terrible mistake that needs to be explained before I can fight for Kyrro, so it’s vital that I speak to King Welson. He’ll have guards ready to attack us who believe we’re the enemy, but once this is over they’ll see how wrong they were when I’m fighting beside them.”

Many nodded in agreement. Cleve bit his lip, knowing the issue was getting to the King, not convincing him once they were there.

“In case you don’t already know, this is Cleve.” Rek pointed a hand at him. “In that bag is a longbow, which he may need to use to ensure we’re not captured or hurt. So don’t be alarmed if he draws it. The King won’t be harmed. Regarding his guards, only maim, don’t kill. We’re all fighting on the same side. They just don’t know it yet.”

Murmurs of agreement followed.

They returned to marching in silence, their steps falling into unison without an order. Cleve calmed his breathing. Focus would be needed for each shot, and he’d only been given two arrows. “More than enough to kill one Elf,” the King had told him the morning before, with a tone like his task was to slay a fly. The memory tightened his fists in frustration.

King Welson had left his balcony to be replaced by a warrior clad in chain mail and a red-robed mage at his side. Another warrior and mage were stationed on the identical balcony to the other side of the entrance.

Rek pointed at them. “They’ll use knives and fire when we’re near the door,” he stated loudly for everyone to hear. “Any mages proficient with Sartious Energy?”

One raised a wand. With her short blonde hair in the dim light, Cleve hadn’t noticed she was a woman until now. She was tall with a round and friendly face. She wore a light green robe to represent her skill with the heavy energy. It was embroidered with the gold crown of Kyrro along her chest, outlined with silver.

“Are you familiar with the spell ‘wall’?” Rek asked.

She leaned back petulantly. The question must have expected too much of her. “I’m no master mage. I can cast ‘shell’ for a minute, maybe two, if I drain all my energy, but not ‘wall.’ ”

Shell is only a barrier against magic, not throwing knives
, Cleve knew. His eyes met Rek’s and his heart jumped.
Is he going to ask me to shoot the warriors who are throwing knives?
Cleve looked up and saw the knife throwers were shielded by the tall stone balconies so only their necks and faces were exposed. Their flesh was outlined by the light flooding from the castle behind them. The image of putting an arrow through them made Cleve cringe. But after a frightening long stare, Rek turned away.

“Other mages, raise your wands,” Rek said. Two others did, both men clad in red robes. “When we reach the door, you both cast fireballs at the balconies. Scare them into retreating. If they don’t frighten, aim better, give them a better reason to be scared.” He pointed back at the Sartious Energy specialist. “If the mages on the balconies do get to cast at us, we’ll need ‘shell.’ Save your energy, though. Only cast it when necessary. We may be out there more than a few minutes.”

The three mages nodded. Colimp hobbled forward. “What about us? Are we just bodies to you, expendable protection?”