The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (12 page)

That leaves me. And I can say nothing. No one looks to me or my pack where they must know my notebook is. Wex just gives us assignments for tomorrow,
“
Start paying attention to who you are serving with,
”
he says,
“
they might not be accomplices but they could be allies when the time comes. None of us are with our Play Groups now and they will probably welcome a little friendliness, even from us.
”

I think of Zink. I don
’
t think he would run. And I
’
m not sure that he would help either. But I
’
m also making judgments based on a total of ten minutes
’
conversation over the course of one day. Not much to go on.

Frehn pulls a fiddle out of his pack and begins to tune it. Our mouths drop as we stare at it in disbelief- we have never seen one this close before. Music has always been a feast occurrence, not something to even dream of outside a Service performance.

“
What?
”
he asks in mock surprise,
“
Didn
’
t I tell you I spent most of my afternoon learning? Hursh says I
’
m remarkable.
”

We pounce on him, demanding an explanation,
“
Since I
’
m traveling on the mine rails, I have to learn songs to communicate with the miners. Different songs let them know what part of the mine I
’
m in, where I
’
m going next, what I
’
ve got with me, when it
’
s lunch time, quitting time and all that. I
’
m encouraged to practice in my free time.
”

“
Well, let
’
s hear something!
”
Doe cries, clapping her hands. While Frehn finishes tuning up, we all lean back into the cushions and get comfortable. This kind of treat is unparalleled and we are drooling in anticipation.

Frehn draws the bow across the stings and the fiddle emits a noise between a squawk and a groan. We all plug our ears with our fingers and shout in protest.

“
Hursh definitely wasn
’
t talking about your playing ability,
”
I say, horrified.

“
Well, what was she talking about then?
”
Frehn says, still trying to coax a single note off the fiddle.

“
Probably your green eyes,
”
chimes in Doe,
“
She thinks they
’
re
remarkable
.
”
She says the last word in a drawl as she clasps her hands and flutters her eyelashes.

“
No, no, she had to be talking about Frehn
’
s massive upper body strength,
”
sings out Harc.

Frehn flexes,
“
I am pretty remarkable.
”

Wex launches a sofa pillow at him, hitting him in the face and we all burst into laughter.

The next morning, I change into my black suit the second I reach my den. Stretching while I wait for Abbot to turn up for the promised strength training, I look around the room for evidence of changes. Even though this is the only door I have the ability to lock, I still suspect others have keys as well. Nothing is out of place. I notice a thin layer of dust accumulating on the low table in front of the sofa. That would drive The Mothers to madness, Zink must be right. The Mothers can
’
t enter the hall. I make a mental note to ask the Keepers in the Necessities Center for a lesson on cleaning and some supplies.

Abbot bangs on the door and opens it without waiting for my answer. Before he has even closed the door behind him, he begins to bark out a series of commands.
“
Ten pushups, run the mats five times, twenty squats, run the mats again!
”

“
Good morning to you too, Abbot,
”
I grumble under my breath while getting into pushup position.

“
I heard that,
”
Abbot says, not looking up from the notebook he carries,
“
and if it was a good morning I would have said so. You aren
’
t touching the floor with your chin, Keres. Start over.
”

Inwardly cursing him, I start the set of pushups again. While I
’
m obeying his instructions, he starts reciting the principles of muscle movement. He talks about how they are effected and affected by thoughts. I don
’
t understand anything he says. Partly because the blood is pumping in my ears so I only catch one in three words and partly because the concept makes no sense to me. He puts me through my paces for over an hour before he allows me to stop.

“
Did you finish the second section of your book?
”
he asks while I stretch to cool down.

“
Yes, I was going over it a second time when I had to leave for dinner,
”
I pant.

“
Anything you didn
’
t grasp?
”

“
Well, no, but there weren
’
t any instructions on how to apply my thoughts. It just covered the principle of application.
”

As he makes a mark in his notebook he grunts at me to
“
wait here.
”
He leaves the den for a few minutes and comes back pushing a large wooden contraption. There are red and white circles painted around a center black dot, like a target.

“
I
’
ve got a bet with some of the others that you will be the first person in our history to earn a tattoo in the first month of training. So don
’
t make me lose,
”
he says, placing the target at the back of the den.
“
Now, watch me and pay attention.
”

Abbot curls his fingers under, making the now familiar thumb-out fist,
“
I
’
m envisioning picking up that target and moving it to the left.
”
As his thumb moves across a patch of ink on his forearm, it swirls out of a looping pattern and into the image of a folded bird
’
s wing.
“
Now, I
’
m telling the nerve group right here to get instructions from my brain on how to execute my thought.
”
My eyes must be starting out of my head because he smirks at my expression.
“
And I take that action into my palm, then send it to the target.
”
He flings out his hand, fingers spread wide. There
’
s a rushing sound and the target neatly slides to the left a few feet.

“
Your turn,
”
Abbot says calmly.

I have no idea where to start. I have no ink on my forearm to use as a translator for my nerves.
“
We are practicing the principle only, Keres. Not the result. Start with movements,
”
Abbot says stepping back and watching my reflection in the mirror behind the target.

I pull up one of the orange patches on the sleeve of my suit so that the same place on my arm where Abbot
’
s folded wing tattoo is visible. I ball my fingers, thumb out, and imagine moving the target back to its starting place. Tracing some freckles on my forearm because I can
’
t think of anything else to do, I force my entire body to hear what I want it to do, then I fling my hand out towards the target. Nothing happens.

“
Good, your form is good. But you aren
’
t talking to the nerve group.
”
He walks back to the desk and retrieves the book.
“
This group here, isolate it. Send it the signal.
”
He points at the bracket labeled
Commotio
that surrounds a group of nerves around deep branch of the radial artery.

And just how do I isolate things I can
’
t even feel? I try to picture the bracket around my own arm and think of nothing but what is in that part of my body. I go through the motions again. As I trace the freckles, I can feel something inside my arm heat up and the palm of my hand becomes hot. When I fling out my fingers, a tiny puff of air and smoke appear. The target remains unmoved.

“
Hexes on FIRE!
”
yells Abbot at the top of his voice, startling me off balance.
“
On the second try!
”
He continues jumping and swearing around the room in triumph.

“
But nothing happened,
”
I say when he calms down enough to just punch the air in jubilation.

“
Nothing?!
”
He moves to within inches from my face, grasping my shoulders.
“
Didn
’
t you feel the heat? See the smoke?
”
His eyes are searching mine.

“
Well, yes, but it didn
’
t do anything. The target is in the same place. I didn
’
t even shake it.
”

“
You don
’
t have ink to translate the resulting action correctly so of course the target didn
’
t move,
”
he says in exasperation.
“
You just did what has taken everyone else on this hall months to build up to. You just threw your first magus.
”

I look at my hand, the palm is still red from the heat.
“
I think I need to reread that book,
”
I say.