Mind Over Mind (9 page)

CHAPTER 12

It was just after two in the morning when Ydrel awoke—although “awoke” was the wrong term.

The Miscria had just released him from a Calling.

For a moment, he lay blinking in the darkness, as the world of air conditioning and man-made comfort replaced the natural beauty of hers. Before it all faded to dreams and compulsions, however, he snapped on the lamp on the side table and reached under the bed for his notebook.

It’d become his habit this past week: write down what she’d told him, memorize the pages, then sneak them into the cafeteria trash can before breakfast. He’d realized after showing his list to Joshua the other afternoon what a risk he was taking. No one would believe he’d suddenly decided to become a fantasy writer. Drawings were safe enough; he’d been drawing all his life. He’d call more attention to himself if he stopped or if they caught him disposing of his work. Besides, after Roger confiscated his sketchbook to take to Malachai, they’d be expecting more. He just had to stay within their expectations.

For now, though, words. He scribbled hastily:

Weather/Don’t Remember/Controlling Natural Disasters (!)/S

Castle Construction/histories, architecture/Don’t Build, but Grow fortresses/?

Triage/EMT/Field Med/books, ‘Ko, Dr. Daniels/healers use mind, not meds/S

Weaponscraft (swords)/books/Fight back—why no guns?/?

Swordfighting/The Master/why work vs. High-Tech?/S

New tactics/books/too high-tech for Kanaan/?

It took him ten minutes to scribble it out: what he’d taught them, where he’d learned it, what they did with his knowledge. Ten minutes to summarize four hours of conversation. Ten minutes. Four hours. Five years of his life.

Five different Miscria over several hundred of their years.

That’s what he’d learned last night: that her people had been relying on him for generations; that certain Miscria were gifted with the ability to contact him with questions; that they contacted no one else. At first, she’d been surprised to discover he was the only Ydrel, but she’d brushed off the knowledge with a casual acceptance that irritated him.

“If God has arranged it so, then that is how it should be, though I do not understand this newest development,” she’d said.

“Your people believe in God, then? Never mind,” he’d added when he felt her confusion.
What’s not to believe, right?
He tried to hide his bitterness.

Fortunately, her attention was elsewhere. “You’ve saved my people. Your knowledge, even couched in riddles, has given us the tools we need to survive. Why do you withhold it now? Why do you insist on questioning me about the past instead of helping me prepare for the future?”

“Look, I just want to understand. Maybe, maybe if I know your world better, I can give you better answers. Just, show me your world.”

So she had: a beautiful world without pollution, without machines. Huge buildings made of immense living plants woven together. Sentient animals working in concert with humans. Food growing in abundance. Healers who cured by encouraging the body to heal itself. And at the center of it all, the Miscria, who could sense the changes of Kanaan—their world—as easily as Ydrel could read a book.

There had come the time of the second suns, when Kanaan was nearly torn asunder, and the Miscria’s mind as well—but the Ydrel came to her, soothed her, taught her the mysteries of the changing weather so that she could heal her world. The second sun moved on and the world calmed, but a new world shared their sun, and its people hungered for Kanaan’s abundance. The invaders came in metallic ships and brought guns, but anyone who fired a gun found himself denied breath by the very air of Kanaan. They soon switched to more primitive weaponry. They fought while their planet, Barin, loomed large in the Kanaan sky—weeks the first time, then longer with each successive orbit, then months. When Barin grew smaller in the sky, they boarded their ships and fled in thunder and flame. They’d destroyed nearly a third of the Kanaan.

Again, the Miscria turned to the Ydrel for protection and defense. And the Ydrel taught them to design their cities so the people would be safe. A new race of Kanaan was born, bred for war and able to kill without succumbing to the mind sickness of watching another die, and the Ydrel provided them with the knowledge of the sword. Healers, by their nature, had to join the minds of their patients, but too much pain or too many minds and the healer would lose his sanity; the Ydrel taught them alternate means of caring for the injured and how to quickly assess battlefield injuries.

Each Miscria brought new questions to the Ydrel and each time the Kanaan learned from him, they learned to better handle the invaders.

“Now, it is my turn,” Tasmae concluded, “and I no longer wish to merely defend. I wish to destroy them utterly or deal them such hurt that they do not return.”

Deryl had crossed his arms. “That’s bloodthirsty.”

She shrugged. “The Miscria talent manifested late in me. I am trained as a warrior. My mentor was killed before I was half-trained, shot through the throat by a traitor who rotted the city walls with his touch. He was my father’s best friend, driven insane on the battlefield while trying to heal both Kanaan and Barin. I am sick of war. I am sick of killing and I am sick of seeing people die—my people and the Barin. Teach me to end this war.”

“Can’t you talk to them?”

She shivered. “Their minds are chaotic. To communicate with them is to share their insanity—only healers dare try.”

“So
talk
. Don’t they have language?”

“We know their words. Some have tried. The Traitor...” Her thought trailed off, replaced by sadness. “They believe we are demons. They believe God intends our world for them, if they prove their strength by annihilating us. They are relentless. Teach me to stop them.”

And he’d awakened with an overwhelming desire to do just that.

Only he didn’t know how.

Ydrel rubbed his eyes. They felt hot and dry. His mind felt dry, too. He wished he could go back to sleep, but he was afraid. He knew where he’d learned the skills he’d passed on to the warriors. The Master.

He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Why would God pick him for this stupid calling, anyway?

He wanted to help Tasmae. He wanted her people to go back to the peaceful time she’d shown him. Maybe, if he got her through this, she’d release him, and he could get on with his own life. Never see her or her kind again.

Suddenly, that didn’t seem as attractive as it had a few days ago.

He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots.
What kind of idiot am I? First, I’m desperate to do anything to block her from my mind, now I’m enjoying her company? I enjoyed the Master’s company, too, until he tried to turn me into a killer.

Tasmae isn’t like that, a part of him said. She said herself she’s sick of war, sick of killing.

She also demanded I teach her how to destroy her enemies or hurt them so bad they’d never come back.

Did Perry ever come back? Had he learned anything from what happened?

Ydrel sighed and released his hair. There was no way he’d get to sleep now. Besides, what if the Master came to him? No. He’d wash his face with cold water and stay up drawing for the rest of the night. He could get a nap later, then see what he could do for her.

He ripped the page out of his notebook and took it with him to the bathroom to flush it. Standing over the toilet, he looked the list over once more, feeling his heart sink at the brief summation of his life.

Even if he got out of the asylum, what could he possibly do with himself? All he knew how to do was fight ancient wars.

CHAPTER 13

At 11:00 Monday morning, Joshua stood at Ydrel’s half-open door. Instead of his usual suit, he wore jeans and a t-shirt. He had a backpack of books across one shoulder and a bucket of cleaning supplies in one hand. He raised the other hand to knock.

“Why do you even bother, Joshua? Just come in.”

Joshua rolled his eyes and did as he was asked.

Ydrel was leaning against a pile of pillows on his unmade bed, his nose in a huge black-bound book with the title
Air War
in gold letters on the spine. Scattered across the bed and floor were dirty clothes, books and sketchpads and a tray of something half-eaten and dried. Oblivious to Joshua’s attire or the things he carried, Ydrel continued to read, flipping through the pages at an uncanny rate.

“You engrossed in that book or can you put it down awhile?”

“Just let me finish the chapter.”

Joshua kicked aside a pair of shorts, set the bucket in a corner, then sat on the edge of the bed and idly picked up one of the sketches: the same winged dinosaur-creatures he’d seen Ydrel painting earlier. This time they were flying, some carrying things and others dropping objects on the people below. He only had time to think,
There’s a happy scene
, before Ydrel closed the book and tossed it aside. It landed badly on a lopsided pile of notebooks, which toppled off the desk. Ydrel glanced at the spill, then shrugged with annoyance. “What’s up?”

“You really read that fast?”

He nodded. “Photographic memory.”

The intern grunted. “Well, that’ll make things easier. I brought you presents.” He pushed the sketches into a neat pile, then placed the backpack in front of Ydrel. With a quizzical smile, Ydrel upended the bag. Books spilled out and he picked up the largest:
Preparing for the GED
.

“What’s a GED?”

“High school equivalency test, in lieu of a diploma. There are lots of practice tests in it you can take. I figured we’d try a test or two first just to see what subjects you need work on. Then we can arrange a study schedule. I took this test when I was fifteen. If you have a photographic memory, it should be a piece of cake. What’s wrong?”

Ydrel was staring at him oddly. “I…nothing. Does Malachai know about this?”

“Sure. Edith, too. I had to discuss it with them; this could become a major part of our routine. The test prep, I bought for you. The rest of these books are from the library. You don’t have to read them all the way if you don’t want to, but at least give them a try. You need to expand your horizons.”

Joshua watched while Ydrel looked them over: a book by a humorist named Dave Barry,
Phule’s Company
by Robert Asprin,
The Idiot’s Guide to Dating
(Ydrel rolled his eyes) and
Arrows of the Queen
by Mercedes Lackey.

Joshua tapped the Lackey as he spoke. “Some are just fun, but a few might have useful information.”
The main character’s an empath like you, and it overwhelms her, too
, he thought hard, feeling slightly foolish as he did so.

Nonetheless, Ydrel nodded slightly and put the book on top of the pile, which he placed on the end table, pushing aside a half-full glass of juice to do so. “OK. And the bucket?”

“That’s one of what my great-great-granpappy called ‘The Pillars of Survival Educatin’.”

“Your great-great-grandpappy?”

“Yeah. Survived slavery, the Civil War, life as a cowboy, even clawed his way out of a cave-in of the silver mine he worked. Lived to be 110, and was lucid to the end. Used to say all the fancy schooling in the world didn’t amount to much if you didn’t know the four pillars of Survival Educatin’: reading, writing, ciphering, and keeping yourself clean and fed. Now, I know you can read and write. I don’t know how you are with finances, but we can work on that later. I’m guessing you can’t cook. And you obviously don’t know—or don’t care—about keeping your room clean.”

“I’ve got housekeepers for that!”

“Sure. Here. What about when you leave? Think the staff is going to come and clean your house out of the goodness of their hearts? Believe me, you have not endeared yourself to them that much.”

Ydrel snorted. “Do you know how much money I have?”

“No idea. Do you know how much a good live-in housekeeper costs?” Into Ydrel’s silence, Joshua added. “Listen, if you can prove you have the money for it, along with everything else you need or want, for the rest of your life, we’ll skip the cleaning. Personally, I can do without looking at your toilet.” He waited, trying hard not to laugh at the sullen look on the teen’s face. He was sure he’d worn that look when his mother pulled the same challenge on him.

“I thought you were going to help me get out of here.”

Joshua sighed. “You know I can’t do that. But I can teach you some skills to help you handle life on your own when you do get out. And as you learn, you’ll be showing people around here that you are ready to live on your own. That could make a difference in how people look at you.”

“I’ll bet Malachai thinks this all rather amusing.”

“He supports the idea,” Joshua said neutrally, then played his trump card. “As does Edith. She was actually a little embarrassed that no one had thought of it earlier. Especially the school part.”

Ydrel’s expression softened, and Joshua knew he’d won. “Once I prove I can do this, do I get my housekeeper back?”

“We’ll see.” Joshua rose. “But first, we’re going to the kitchen. I’m going to give you weekly cooking lessons—unless Mr. Moneybags is sure he can afford a full-time chef?”

Instead of rising to the bait, Ydrel said, “I’m surprised they’ll let me near all those knives.”

“I’ll be with you at all times. Besides, you’re not planning on running amok brandishing one, are you?”

“Only if absolutely necessary.” Then, more loudly: “That was a
joke
, Malachai.”

_*

Ydrel looked at the empty, stainless steel kitchen as if it were heaven. “This is so great! We can talk freely here, too. How did you talk Malachai into it?”

“It wasn’t easy.” In fact, the display of mother-may-I he’d had to show still had his teeth on edge. Even harder had been convincing Malachai that his humility was genuine without looking like he was trying to convince him of anything. But he’d done it.
Score for the Joshaham.
He noticed Ydrel giving him an odd look. “Never mind. Let’s see what they got, then we’ll decide what to make.”

What they had was an abundance of everything. Overwhelmed, the two finally decided on grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. While Joshua sliced cheese and buttered the bread, Ydrel set a pot of water and milk on the gas range to boil.

“Thought we were making tomato soup. Where are the tomatoes?”

“We’ll use tomato sauce, but you get the water and milk boiling first. Then you put in some baking soda.
Then
you add the tomato. This is an old family recipe. No messing with the order, got it?” When the intern looked up, he found him staring intently at the flames. “Something up?”

“What kind of plant doesn’t burn?” He didn’t seem to be addressing the young intern, but Joshua answered anyway.

“All things burn, if you get them hot enough. Why?”

“So it’s a matter of density?”

“I’m not good at hard science, but I think it has to do with chemical composition, too. And green wood is harder to burn than dry wood. Why the interest?”

“Something Tasmae said this weekend, about growing fortress walls…Does that sound cr—odd?”

“Crud?” Joshua teased, then answered more gently. “It’s not as odd—or as crazy—as you might think. There’s a Star Trek episode where an alien culture grew its starships. And look at what we’re doing now, stuff our ancestors would’ve never imagined. You know, really fireproof materials would be really useful. If you could figure out how to do it, you and I could make a fortune. We could even afford our own housekeepers.”

“‘You and I’?”

“And what were you going to do with the idea except brood that someone might think you’re hallucinating? Someone’s got to be the moving force in this duo. And you may as well get used to the word crazy. People say it a lot; it’s not a bad word, you know.”

“It is here. But thanks for at least pretending to take me seriously. The water’s boiling. What do I do next?”

 Joshua reached into a drawer. “Half-tablespoon of baking soda, then the tomato sauce. This is a measuring cup. Use this kind for liquids. There’s another kind for flour and dry goods.”

Ydrel snatched the cup from his hands. “I do know some stuff. My mother used to let me help her.”

“OK. So, um, when did she die?”

“A long time ago.”

Joshua waited, but Ydrel didn’t elaborate, just grabbed a large can of tomato sauce from the back shelf.

“And your dad?”

Ydrel answered with an annoyed tone. “He’s from another planet. A little hard to contact. If he’s alive. Aunt Katie and Uncle Douglas are my guardians. OK? Now, how much tomato sauce do I add?”

_*

They made the meal, then took it to the small table in the back of the kitchen. “So how do you know your dad’s from another planet?” Joshua asked as they sat down. He was asking more out of curiosity than for any professional reason—curiosity, and the desire to do as Edith asked and “just treat him like someone you’d met in the dorms.” Yeah, right.

“My mother told me. She told me everything she knew about him, which really wasn’t much under the circumstances. She was in the woods, camping. Hunting, I guess, since she said she was all ready to shoot him until she noticed he was already injured. He’d just sort of appeared—”

Ydrel stopped, the fist holding his sandwich resting against his mouth.

The joke Joshua had thought to make died in his throat, and he waited while the young man remembered, watching the movement of his eyes for the cue that he’d moved from memory to brooding.

“He must have made some impression,” Joshua finally said.

“She didn’t think I’d understand. No one else did, for that matter. Anyway, she tended his wounds, I was conceived, and he disappeared, same way he appeared, I guess. He was there, then he wasn’t.”

“Really.”

Ydrel glared at him from under his brows. “Yes, really. That’s what she told me.” It was almost a challenge.

So Joshua took it up. “You know, it sounds like a bad movie.”

Ydrel glared at his soup. “Better than my grandfather’s version,” he muttered, then met the intern’s eyes directly. “What isn’t a movie is the fact that I’m not a standard
homo sapiens
. My brain is shaped different. Even my DNA has—quote—abnormalities. And I have psychic abilities. Real abilities. My mother had them, too, after that encounter with my father. She started to be able to ‘read’ people. She could heal with a touch. I remember once, I sliced my finger with a knife. I was making a bug cage; sliced it clear to the bone. She wrapped her hand around it and the cut was gone. She actually made a living as a psychic, like you keep thinking I should do. Her clients loved her. She always knew what they should do.” He looked at his half-eaten bowl of soup and sighed. “She’d know what I should do.”

He didn’t speak again until they were doing dishes and Joshua asked about how things were going with “She-Who.”

“Tasmae.”

“OK. The Tasmae-nian She-Who Devil,” he said, and Ydrel laughed. “So? No more calling you at odd times or making obscure demands? ”

“Well, every answer just breeds more questions, so we’re going back over the stuff I already taught her, tactics and weapons and stuff.” He dried the last dish and put it on the rack. “So what’s next?”

By his tone, Joshua knew he wasn’t talking about chores. “Why don’t you read that Lackey book first?”

“The one about the empath? Oh, come on, you practically shouted it at me. What’s a fantasy novel going to do for me?”

“In that one, and in the sequel, she’s learning to control her ability and block things out and such.” The intern shrugged. “I just thought there might be some hints in there you could use. I mean, really, psychic abilities are a little beyond my experience.”

“What?” Ydrel sneered. “You can’t just apply that NLP you swear by? I thought it was one-size-fits-all-psychoses.”

Joshua could hear the hurt under Ydrel’s sarcastic tone and paused to choose his next words carefully.
Screw it. The world doesn’t revolve around him.
“Yeah. I could use NLP. We could do it right now. And if we got caught, I’d lose my internship—maybe even any chance of getting my license. You tell me: Is Malachai that influential?” He barely paused. “Even if he isn’t, I need this job so I can pay for college next year and have time to concentrate on my grades. I’m here for two and a half months. Why don’t you give me a couple of weeks to convince the staff I know what I’m doing, and maybe I can broach the subject professionally and we can do it right. OK?”

“Yeah, OK.”

Maybe I overdid it.
“Here,” he said, handing Ydrel the knife he’d used to cut the sandwiches into triangles. “Second drawer to your left.”

“You’re trusting me with a knife?”

“Any reason I shouldn’t? Put it in its sleeve; it’s in the drawer.”

Nonetheless, Joshua watched him. Ydrel pulled open the drawer. Then he stopped, staring at its contents.

“Uh, problem?” Joshua asked.

For a moment, Ydrel didn’t answer. Then, “Just how many knives does one kitchen need?”

Joshua laughed. “Who knows, here? A bachelor needs four: one for cooking, one for bread, and two for eating.”

“Why two?”

“Gotta have one for your date. Women are funny that way. C’mon. I’ve only got an hour before I have to meet with Edith, and your room is a mess. Most women don’t go for that, either.”

“I told you I don’t think that way,” Ydrel groused as he put the knife in its sleeve and shoved it into the drawer. “Let’s go tackle my room. You’re going to help, aren’t you?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

_*

Cleanup went quickly, although Joshua’s idea of “helping” was little more than bossing Ydrel around as he did the folding, dusting and sweeping.