This man...he is famous to seers. History describes him as the final war’s architect...its greatest proponent. It is unknown whether he was a Rook, as we think of Rooks today. But he was definitely some kind of precursor to those that exist now...
His words cut me somehow.
Focusing back on the podium, I shake my head.
No, I tell him. That’s not right.
I feel Revik’s puzzlement, riding the edges of his bad mood. He looks between me and the man.
It is right. He makes an effort to be conciliatory. Do not be naïve about his words, Allie. He was a politician, a rich man who only claimed to be a humble scientist. He used his studies to further his social and political agendas...
It is not his words, I say, pointing. It is his light. Look at it!
Revik barely glances at the man, before frowning back at me.
Light can be disguised in many ways, Revik warns me. Do not be naïve about that, either. It is the oldest game in the Barrier, to impersonate light frequencies of one kind or another...I have done it, as an infiltrator. To pretend to resonate with someone or something safe or familiar to your target is often the easiest way to get them to lower their guard. As a Rook, I did this all the time, Allie. I would adopt the light connections of relatives or loved ones, simply to get the person to open to me...
I try to take this all in, shielding myself slightly from Revik’s emotions. But I cannot just go along, letting his words stand, when they feel so wrong to me.
No, I say finally. You’re wrong about him. You’ve been misinformed.
I feel Revik’s stare, even before I focus on him.
Allie, he says, and I feel him fighting the bad mood once more, the anger I feel under it. These scenes have been studied extensively by the clan elders. I’m not defending my own sight, but that of the greatest seers in the clans. He adds, sharper, I do not say this to cause offense, but you are a beginner, Allie...
Before I can think how to answer, the scene around us shifts.
It is difficult at first to tell where we are.
A dark organic platform has been erected in the middle of a ripped up town square. Looking at the broken pieces of estuary and volcanic glass, the piles of burning bodies and the mountains looming up above the remnants of the ancient city, feeling fills me without warning...it shocks me with its intensity.
Revik grabs my light arm.
Calm, he murmurs. Yes, it is the same square.
It affects him too. I feel his grief, but mostly I feel anger in him, unconnected to this place.
Before us stands the same man on the platform, but he is older now, and thinner. His eyes look haunted, hollowed-out. Someone has tied him to a pole at the center of the platform. Bruised and cut, his face hangs over a dark-colored robe spotted with blood. His feet are bare and look like they’ve been beaten with sticks; blood drops down on them from one leg.
A man on the young side of middle age with a dark beard stands next to him.
Feeling explodes in me...unfocused, irrational.
Love, regret, grief...they tangle my light. I can’t tell if they are my feelings, my memories, or some imprint I carry with me, something handed to me from somewhere else. It is all too strong to sort out, too intense to do anything but try to absorb, or at least let pass through me.
The younger man raises his hands to silence the crowd. They look up at him, and I recognize that look, at least. They love him. They positively adore him.
Haldren, I murmur.
I feel Revik’s light focus on mine.
Just then, the bearded man’s voice rises, whipping in the wind.
“Kardek will die!” He speaks with passion, raising his hands as he shouts. “Yes! He will die...but his death will not save us. It is too late...the sickness will take many more. We will starve. We are almost out of water. Our enemies will kill us!”
Moans rise from the crowd, cries of pain.
I flinch away from them, feeling a part of me crushed into pieces like the volcanic rock, unable to feel without feeling too much. I know myself as connected in some way to what happened here. Not responsible, exactly, but more sad than I’ve ever felt in my life, even after my dad died. Even after my mother got murdered by the Rooks.
“...And for those of us left behind, there is no justice! Not for your families! Not for friends and neighbors! He cannot cure you! He can never bring back your joy!”
Haldren’s dark eyes fill with emotion.
“...But I can promise you this! He will harm you no more!”
Shouts rise from the crowd, screams. Fists raise into the air.
I make myself look at them, at their faces, and at the city that had once been so beautiful. Flowers no longer bloom from balconies, though. The stones are broken like jagged teeth, strewn instead with fingers of dried sticks from dead plants and mud and other filth. Instead of ornate tapestries and curtains, rags are crammed in cracks to keep out the icy wind. Blankets covered in ash and blood flap in smoke-filled wind, warning passersby away from the disease hidden inside the walls of those dwellings.