Rogue Powers (2 page)

Bedlam ensued, the terrified villagers all stampeding toward the door behind the Royal Guardsmen on the opposite wall from the roaring flames. Scooping up her bulky son, Anson’s mother tried to push through the crowd as best she could, though it was soon obvious several minutes would be necessary for everyone to orderly exit the structure.

By now, however, smoke was billowing throughout the church. Columns of flame roared among crashing timbers and flying sparks. Clearly, they would burn to death before ever reaching the door.

Sensing his mother’s terror, Anson concentrated on an intact section of wall some twenty feet down from the single-file door through which everyone was trying to squeeze. With no effort at all, Anson mentally punched a human-sized hole through the wall, earnestly directing her attention to this new portal.

Without hesitation, Anson’s mother streaked through the impromptu exit, collapsing with her son a hundred feet from the now merrily burning church. Moments later the roof collapsed entirely, bringing the walls down into a huge, flaming pyre.

Whisked out the door by his bodyguards at the first sign of trouble, Prince Tenen stood near where Anson and his mother lay gasping on the grass. Seemingly unaffected, the young prince off-handedly watched the catastrophic results of his own impulsive actions.

Frowning, Tenen glanced over at Anson. Instantly their eyes locked, attention focused completely on one another, the screams and roar from the church somehow blocked out. Clearly it was the same instinctual recognition that had led Anson to be wary of Jeni Lenk, though he hadn’t recognized its exact meaning. Shivering, Anson tried not to shrink before the intense gaze of the impetuous young royal.

But the connection was soon broken. Tenen was grabbed from behind, a hulking bodyguard roughly throwing him over a shoulder. Futilely, the young prince raised his head, trying to maintain contact with Anson as both he and the Guardsman lumbered off. Soon, however, they both disappeared behind the additional safety of a thick stand of trees some distance off.

Twelve villagers died in the Hylen church blaze, including the unfortunate Todd Lenk. Prince Nant himself and two Royal Guardsmen also perished in the disaster.

Anson’s grandmother also never made it out of the church. All that afternoon his mother cried bitterly over the loss of her own parent, the weeping gradually dying away over the course of the next several days.

***

Years later, after eventually escaping from the Kingdom, Anson realized he’d never seriously entertained the idea his ability was evil. Despite the dire warnings and fervent sermons, Anson knew his power sprung not from the Dark Master, but somewhere deep within himself. It was as natural as using an arm or leg. In fact, it would have been easier to separate one of those appendages than to ignore his innate mental energy.

Anson never told his mother of the recognition he’d shared with Prince Tenen after the church fire. Even at such a young age he recognized she’d gain nothing from the knowledge, except an additional, burdensome layer of intense fear and angst.

Still, for the next several weeks he’d quavered when hearing horses canter by at night, though they always continued on their way. Perhaps the young prince, accustomed as he was to frequent association with powerful royals, had not entirely understood the nature of their encounter? Possibly he didn’t care? In any event, the Royal Guard never came knocking at their door. Within several months, life in rural Hylen returned to something akin to normal.

Except, of course, for Anson. Increasing attuned to the mental energy of others, he became adept at sensing special gifts in those around him. Throughout his childhood, in fact, Anson encountered nearly a dozen adults with ability, though they were well accustomed to muting themselves in public. Seamlessly blending into commoner life, they all lived the same type of dual existence as Anson himself.

Unfortunately, he also came across several other empowered children. Most of them were eventually caught, discovered through incidents like the one betraying Jeni Lenk. Taken away by the Royal Guard, no one ever saw these “degenerates” again.

In those early years, Anson rarely came into close proximity with the Lords themselves. Once he turned ten, however, there was no way to avoid traveling with his class to the capital city of Brenlaw for the annual Royal Parade.

It was fascinating to stand at the edge of the wide boulevard, behind ropes and frowning Guardsmen, clearly sensing the varying strength and clarity of the minds passing before him. Without anything to hide, mental power burst from the royal family in almost boorish confusion, the monarch’s kin seemingly unaware their abilities were broadcast on some unseen level.

During one of these events, watching the royal procession slowly ride by, it first occurred to Anson the need for caution actually made him a much more skilled telepath than those officially blessed with the gift. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone to whom he could brag of this accomplishment.

CHAPTER TWO

S
OON AFTER ANSON’S 18
^TH
BIRTHDAY, he and his mother traveled to Brenlaw for his official registration. Required by law, this would necessitate Anson completing three months of basic training in the King’s armed forces, followed by periodic exercises as a permanent member of the royal reserve.

“What nonsense,” his mother muttered. Both were on horseback, ambling their way toward the capital city.

“Mom, I’ll be all right.”

“You must be careful!” she snapped. Of course, this was the same plea any mother would give a son upon entering military service, though both knew the deeper meaning.

Thoughtfully, Anson stared off into the distance, catching a flicker of lightning on the horizon. Usually one couldn’t see the Outlands during the daytime, though occasionally on cloudy mornings the frequent electrical storms buffeting that mysterious area burst into view.

Few people traveled into the Outlands, and even fewer lived to tell the tale. As far as anyone knew, it was inhabited entirely by an aggressive species of smallish, wild humanoids called Kardens. It was to combat the occasional Karden incursions into the Kingdom proper that the King primarily maintained his infantry battalions.

The secondary rationale for a military force was domestic suppression. A century before, the northern third of the Kingdom had attempted to secede and set up an independent, democratic government. Led by an empowered local woman, the insurrection was eventually put down and all of its leaders executed. Hylen, Anson’s home village, lay on the border between the lower Kingdom and the upper, rebellious territories.

“Mom, relax,” Anson replied. They were passing a small farmstead, a young boy staring at them from a nearby field. “You know I’m careful.”

“But this is different.” Mouth firmly set, she stared straight ahead. “During training everyone will be watching you, judging you. There will be spies everywhere. The slightest...” Trailing off, she was clearly searching for a suitable word. “The slightest inconsistency, shall we say, will be instantly reported! You know that, don’t you?”

Of course she was right, but by this point Anson was well aware of his own measure. He wasn’t worried about inadvertently revealing himself.

“Mom, I’ll be okay.” Tugging on the reins, Anson’s horse stopped in the middle of the lane. “Before you know it, I’ll be back in Hylen, helping you take in the harvest. It’s going to be a good one this year.”

“Yes, it is.” Pulling up herself, Anson’s mother tried to smile, though the tension almost instantly returned. “But honey, you know there are many dangers.” Fearfully, she looked away. “There are others you need to be aware of. They are the greatest threat of all. Do you know who I mean?”

Anson did. It was whispered, on rare occasion and in the upmost confidence, that a small, secret sect of empowered royal agents, called Demons, operated throughout the Kingdom. Perhaps they were young commoner children with ability, caught and brainwashed to do the King’s bidding? Possibly they were royal outcasts, or somehow created by a royal whose particular ability allowed them to do such things? No one knew for sure.

But it was said these Demons, operating in utmost secrecy, traveled the two hundred mile length and one hundred mile breadth of the Kingdom every day, rooting out empowered commoners hiding among the population.

They also served as assassins, should the King detect any serious resistance within the royal ranks themselves. With over fifty of his dearest relatives possessing talents of wildly varying strengths and applications, some of which might even be harbored in secret, the Demons were a powerful deterrent to any potential royal plotters. Though outwardly one big, happy family, Anson suspected the loyal force of Demons was the only thing keeping the King on his throne.

“Anyway, Mom,” Anson continued, stirring his horse once more into a steady walk. “There’s no choice. I have to go to Brenlaw and serve in the King’s army.”

“I know.” Sighing, she followed. “But I don’t have to like it.”

The two traveled on in silence, reaching the outskirts of the capital city in the early afternoon.

***

Anson’s mother might have felt more at ease had she known of her son’s secondary ability. It was a subtle power, difficult to assess or even fully define. But since only becoming aware of it himself some six years before, well after his mother’s fear of such things had been amply established, Anson had never shared its existence with her.

This was during a brief period when, amidst much maternal urging, Anson had attempted forsaking his primary ability completely. In fact, his mother had become obsessed with the idea, convinced it was the only way to avoid accidental revelation.

Anson had tried to comply, yet would quickly become nervous and disoriented without any mental activity. It didn’t have to be much. Tossing a sock into the air. Juggling books or moving furniture. But clearly the young boy had an inner need to reach outside himself, touching the world around him.

Thus, despite his mother’s pleas, and the occasional unrealistic promise extracted by her persistence, Anson knew complete suppression was impossible.

So, one day during the summer he was twelve years old, Anson was idly bouncing things around his bedroom. Considering it a sanctuary from prying eyes and anxious mothers, Anson would often spend an hour or so by himself, fully indulging his inner energy. What danger of discovery could possibly exist in this private enclave?

Still, this particular afternoon an odd feeling of dread suddenly came over him. Sitting on his bed, lounging back against the wall, Anson suddenly froze, instinctively allowing the three shoes he’d been mentally juggling to fall. For several seconds Anson tried to identify the bolt of...something...that had flashed through his head, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

But then a movement caught Anson’s attention. Glancing up, the smiling young face of Jaron, a friend from school, slowly rose up outside his window. Laughing, Jaron knocked on the glass.

“Anson!” he called out. “Come on! We’re all playing ball by the church today! You must come!”

“Sure.” Still breathing hard, Anson smiled weakly. “I’ll be there soon!”

“Don’t be late!” And with that Jaron was gone, running off to knock at the next boy’s window.

Had that inner voice not somehow called out, within his own head, Jaron would have seen Anson for who he was. With warning, he’d been able to protect himself.

But what had it been? Though he didn’t remember doing so, Anson soon became convinced he must have simply heard Jaron’s approach. Anything else just didn’t make sense.

That evening he draped heavy curtains over his window, plunging the room into dank, comforting darkness during the daylight hours. Thinking the matter closed, Anson put it of out his mind.

That is, until a similar incident two weeks later.

Along with the rest of his class Anson stood watching Mr. Reed, the blacksmith, pound a glowing horseshoe in his shop. The Hylen village elders thought such vocational trips beneficial, hoping the children would better understand the hardships their neighbors faced once adults themselves.

Again, a stab of dread welled up within Anson’s mind. Petrified, he somehow knew to focus in on Mr. Reed’s swinging hammer, even now coming down onto the half-molten horseshoe atop the anvil.

“Get down!” he yelled, tackling two other students beside him, all three landing hard on the dirt floor.

With an awkward clank, a quarter of the horseshoe broke free and went sizzling through the small crowd, thudding into the wooden wall by the door. Had Anson not acted immediately, he and the other two students would have been struck.

With a curse Mr. Reed dropped the hammer, grabbing a huge bucket of water waiting nearby. “Get out of the way!” he roared, dousing the small flickers of flame coming from the impact point.

The unfortunate Ms. Klane, clearly flustered, corralled Anson outside. “By the King, Anson, how did you react so quickly?”

“I don’t know. When I saw it coming I just got everyone out of the way.” Shrugging, he smiled at her. “I hope that’s all right, Ms. Klane.”

“Hope that’s all right! Why...” Running a hand through her hair, the teacher took a deep breath. “Of course. You did wonderfully. It’s just...” Helplessly, her voice trailed off.

“Yes, Ms. Klane?” Anson did his best to look innocent.

“Oh, never mind.” With a peremptory double hand clap, she demanded everyone’s attention. “Come on, class! Let’s head back now.”

This inner clarion was clearly attuned to his telekinesis, flaring most strongly when something threatened discovery of his primary talent. After all, without warning at the blacksmith’s shop, Anson might well have instinctively caught or deflected the jagged piece of horseshoe mid-air, thus betraying himself.

It occasionally acted up at other times (like when an alliraptor tried to sneak up on Anson and a few friends swimming in a lake), but still in a manner designed to forestall the necessity of using telekinesis in public.