Chapter XI
Zezilia
“Have a seat,” Korneli instructed as he closed the study door behind him. Errol and Eldivo were using the kitchen for their testing so that we could use the study. Choosing my usual place at the desk beneath the windows, I obeyed.
Korneli didn’t immediately take Errol’s place behind the desk in the center of the room. Instead, he crossed to the bookcases and scanned the orderly rows. “Errol says you have been having difficulty with doing multiple tasks at once,” he sent without looking my way. Taking a book from the shelf, he opened in and began flipping through the pages.
“I am easily distracted,” I confessed. “I have practiced sending while levitating an object and I always end up dropping the object.”
Finding what he was looking for, he set the book down on Errol’s desk and met my gaze with a smile. “Don’t look so frightened.” He took a seat. “I am not going to hurt you. I am going to test you on your knowledge and then your capabilities. I already know that you are well versed in the etiquette rules of talents. Now I am going to test you on your knowledge of the code. What is the one instance when a talent can touch and manipulate a non-talent’s mind without prior permission?”
“When at the death bed of the High King, the Sept Son is allowed to ease the High King’s passing.”
“Correct. From what I understand, that is what the current Sept Son had to do for High King Honorus. Define Elitism for me.”
“It is the belief that talents are superior in every way to non-talents. Elitists do not conform to the Talent’s Code because they believe it is restricting and unnecessary. Seeking to produce more pure talent in their offspring, Elitist communities mate talented males with untrained talented females.”
“Why untrained?” he asked abruptly.
“I suppose it is because they cannot defend themselves from mind control,” I offered hesitantly. Errol and I hadn’t really discussed it, but I had wondered the same thing.
Korneli’s dark eyes watched me. “So you believe that the Elitists use mind control? The history doesn’t record anything about such practices.”
“I find it difficult to believe that they could not use it, master,” I replied. “Without it, they wouldn’t be able to integrate the untrained talented females into the community so quickly. I would also expect more of their non-talented servants would rebel.”
He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, how would they hide such activity? Mind-altered talents tend to display signs of memory loss and physiological evidence of abuse. If their minds are invaded and memory changed often enough, parts of their brains quit functioning. So, why hasn’t this been detected?”
Recalling the readings from the histories, I frowned. “Weren’t all the Elitists destroyed before any of them could be studied? Then there would have been no chance for long term observation of the Elitists or their servants.”
“An interesting theory. Now quote for me what the Code has to say about mind control.’
“On talents or non-talents, master?”
“Both,” he replied as he leaned back and closed his eyes.
I spent about a half hour quoting parts of the Code for him. This was that part of the testing that I didn’t mind. I was proficient with sending and getting much better at sending only what I wanted to; in this case, words. Also, my memorization of the Code was almost finished. There were only a few sections on the Sept Son’s duties and interaction with government that I hadn’t gotten to yet. Next, Errol was promising that we would be discussing theory, and I would be writing papers on ethical situations.
Korneli was leaning back in the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, playing with Errol’s glass paperweight. Suddenly, while I was quoting the section on when not to use mass moving, he held up his hand. “That is enough of that for this testing. Now I am going to test your reflexes.” Then without warning, he tossed the paperweight at me.
I was slow reaching for my amoveo and caught it only an inch from the floor.
“I didn’t hear a crash; so, I assume that you caught it. Now hold it there.” He took up an ink pot from the desk and tossed it from hand to hand. “Since you are having difficulty with multiple objects, I am giving you warning. I am going to toss this into the air in a moment and I need you to catch it without dropping the paperweight.”
I tried to prepare, but it wasn’t helpful. He tossed the ink into the air. I tried to latch onto it with my thoughts while still holding the paperweight. My grip on the paper weight eased and it settled on the floor with a thud. The small jar of ink, however, obeyed my thoughts and stopped in mid arch, suspended between Korneli and me at eye level.
“Good choice.” He walked around the desk and held out his hand before him. “Place the ink here.”
That was easy. I smoothly moved the jar from its place hanging on nothing to Korneli’s palm without a problem.
“I am pleased to see that you don’t just drop everything.” He set the small black jar back on the desk before turning back to me. “If you did it would be a sign of a much bigger issue. All I think you need is practice and a little work on your technique. Nothing terrible.” He smiled at me. “Now I understand that you are a great storyteller.” He resumed his place behind Errol’s desk. “Tell me a story.”
I chose one of the tales of the Revelation about the king who rented out his vineyards to some caretakers for a share of the crop. I used all the techniques I was learning for sending only emotion, thought, or images, and every combination of
