The Elementalist

6. So, a Psychic & an Emelesiac Walk into a Café…-2

Voi licked her lips. “How do I know I can trust you? I mean you haven’t even told me who you work for—who ‘us’ even is.”

He looked away. “What do you recall about my offer?”

She furrowed her brow. “You mentioned flying experimental aerocraft. Scouting, I presume. Possibly over Darmoil.”

“Process of elimination, Voi: how many organizations do you know of that would be interested in hiring for that kind of work?”

Voi could only think of two, though the military option seemed highly unlikely, given her pacifist background. She swallowed and said faintly, “Are you asking me to spy for you, Mr. Callahan?”

He nodded towards the street. “It’s getting late. Why don’t I walk you home?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He smiled in his disgustingly boyish way then started walking.

Voi let the agent wander a few steps ahead as she considered his sincerity and, admittedly, his saunter. All this sweet-talk should be a damn crime… federal thug. However, seeing as how no one else was offering to help Voi with her condition, she took a deep breath then moved a few paces until she was back at his side.

Well, I’ve already come this far. What was a walk home with a mysterious man?

* * *

As Mr. Callahan led Voi back up Sixth Street towards Main, avoiding other pedestrians where possible, he explained some of the benefits of working for the government and, unofficially, a covert branch of the League called Sector One—benefits such as paid leave and vacation time, competitive compensation, once-in-a-lifetime travel opportunities… all the things Voi expected from a ‘Will you spy for your government?’ pitch. Most importantly, he explained how her suppressed abilities were the key to overcoming her symptoms as an emelesiac and, ultimately, becoming an ‘elementalist.’

“The symptoms you’ve been experiencing,” he said, “don’t exist because you need to be cured, Miss Román; they exist because you haven’t been using your abilities. Remember, urche is a suppressant. Its job is to keep emelesiacs in check. After today’s tests and some of my own personal observations—”

She started. “What observations?”

“I’m pretty sure your element is air.”

Voi sniffed. “A fine fantasy, Mr. Callahan.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

She counted two lampposts go by before speaking again. “Look, I still don’t understand how my flying is supposed to factor into this. What does that have to do with me being an emelesiac?” She shrugged from the cold, shrinking in her coat.

“What do you know about the Haran?”

Voi blinked in alarm. “Why, they’re pirates and brigands! Political extremists at their worst. Mostly South Darmoilen, by principle, though they haven’t been seen or heard from in a decade.” There was still so much to learn about Darmoilen cultures when so much had been hidden, due to their strict isolationist policy and only opening their borders less than a century ago. There was even more to learn about the Haran, some of whom terrorized League citizens during the Rapine War in a confused quest for political freedom and plunder. All of this was spurred by the new Trysteese ruins that were uncovered in Borellia—a promise of untold wealth.

The agent laughed, his expression a simultaneous blend of disbelief and amusement. “What made you think I was talking about pirates? I mean the political movement, Miss Román.”

“Oh.” It took Voi a moment to recognize her assumption. She put on her gloves. “Well of course, there are the less violent activists, as well—promoting secession from Darmoil, anti-imperialism, negative sentiments against the League…” She paused then added, “All things your Tribune seems to take a particular interest in, I’ve noticed.”

Mr. Callahan’s gaze lingered on her briefly before refocusing his attention on the path ahead. “Is that so?”

Voi bustled then offered, “I only assumed you meant pirates because, well…” She wrung her hands together, finishing in a hushed tone, “There was an incident at work recently.” She cringed.

Unable to see his eyebrows beneath his hat, Voi still got the impression they were arched. “Oh yeah? What kind of incident?”

It occurred to Voi that the curator might not like her talking about it, so she pressed her lips together, opting for guilty silence.

“Pirates come lookin’ for you?” Mr. Callahan joked dryly.

Voi laughed. “No, nothing like that. There was a mishap with an airship delivery the other day. A set of vases were on their way to the museum. Then, apparently, the entire ship just,” she flourished her hands, “disappeared.”

He didn’t say anything at first. “Hmm, that’s odd.”

“Yes,” Voi agreed, “though what’s even odder is that there was a similar incident only two months ago—and another one the month before that!”

“The Borellian cargo carriers,” said Mr. Callahan. “That’s right.”

Voi couldn’t ignore the seemingly artificial admiration in his tone. She peered at him. “You don’t think those pirates might have been Haran pirates, do you?”

He shrugged. “Can’t say. Wasn’t there.”

She slowed her pace, watching him more closely. “But you do believe there’s a possible threat. Why else would you ask me to spy on Darmoil?”

Mr. Callahan stopped then spun around, waiting patiently for Voi to come to her own conclusion.

“Unless…” Voi started pacing as she reasoned out the possibilities. “Unless this all has something to do with the induction ceremony. After all, Darmoil is slated to rejoin the League at the beginning of the new year.” She planted her hands on her hips, tapped her foot, then shook her head. “I can’t think of any other reason for the League to be concerned with Darmoil’s activities right now.”

“For someone who pretends not to like journalists very much, you sure seem to read a lot of our stories.”

Voi stood a bit taller, sticking her chin in the air. “I like to think it makes me a more responsible citizen of the nations, knowing what’s happening with the members of the League—its pending members included.”

Mr. Callahan c****d his head, looking thoughtful. “You know something, Voi? Your mother’s actually done some work for us before.”

There was a twinge in Voi’s chest at the mention of her mother, who she hadn’t spoken to since she’d left school to become a pilot. Shame was the last emotion she recalled experiencing while speaking on the telephone with Bambi that summer. “What does she have to do with this?” Voi asked defensively.

“Well,” said Mr. Callahan, “it wasn’t just her; your father had abilities, too—different ones, yet both served the community in their own ways. Both were very good at what they did.” Seeing her shocked expression, he added, “Think about it, Voi: your condition is hereditary.” He shrugged. “You could say the potential for talent runs in the family.”

Voi continued staring at him in disbelief.

“Not everyone who works for the League does so officially,” he said. “Besides, they don’t issue credentials for the branch we work for. Technically, it doesn’t exist.”

“Well, how convenient.” Voi wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver then decided it was best to keep moving.

“You know,” said Mr. Callahan, joining her, “this isn’t something they exactly train you for, recruiting elementalists.”

“Oh?”

“Foreign assets? Sure, but those are typically non-emelesiacs. As for the adepts, you get a couple of pamphlets on the science of emelesia and theory on psychic and psychokinetic abilities. After that, you’re pretty much on your own.” He gave her a half-smile then pointed to himself. “As for me, my domain is mentalism, see, the psychic realm. We have our own sets of gifts. Still, anyone who’s done this for as long as I have knows better than to underestimate the potential of an elementalist. In a way, it’s kind of my job to monitor these things—a bit like weather-watching, really. Some emelesiacs have real potential, but others are natural disasters just waiting to happen.”

After a long silence, Voi asked nonchalantly, “Do you think I’m one of these ‘natural disasters,’ Mr. Callahan?”

“Well, you’re already demonstrating some signs of talent, even at the pre-Initiation stage.”

“Pre-Initiation?”

“Meaning you’re already showing you can influence one of the elements, even though you’ve been on urche and you haven’t been trained in elementalism yet.” He glanced around. “Truth is I’ve been watching your house for a couple of months now, Voi.”

“I beg your pardon!” She sped ahead of him and stopped, cutting off his path.

Ignoring the baffled look on her face, Mr. Callahan squinted into the distance. “Ever notice how the curtains in your bathroom window seem to get more wind than the rest of your unit?”

Voi furrowed her brow.

He looked her in the eye. “I know what you’re doing in your bathtub in the mornings.”

She blushed.

“When you stop taking your meds, you’re opening your mind and body to the world around you. That’s how it starts.”

Voi’s eyes widened. “What starts?”

“Elementalism: the art form of manipulating the elements. But right now, you’re still a virgin to all of this; think of the Initiation as your rite of passage.” Mr. Callahan glanced over his shoulders, checking for eavesdroppers, though nobody was nearby. “Listen, I’d be more than happy to discuss the details with you, assuming you’re still interested. I just need your assurance that this information will be kept confidential between us. Besides, no one else would believe you anyway if you started gossiping about it. They’d just think you were crazy, right?”

Voi gave him a resentful look.

Satisfied that they had an understanding, Mr. Callahan began to explain why having an agent who was attuned to the elements was necessary for his mission. “For starters, the Apexian Aero Corps is interested in buying a new plane from the Borellians, but it doesn’t appear to be suited to conventional pilots. The engineer suspects that an emelesiac might actually have an easier time flying it.”

“Why?”

“That’s not something I’m at liberty to discuss with you now. Just know that the AAC needs a pilot who can fly this plane in any environment, including Darmoil—which brings me to my second reason: the League isn’t the only show in town with agents who can manipulate the elements or use psychic abilities. Some of the Haran do, too, so if the region we plan on investigating turns out to have radical operatives after all, then we’ll definitely need a pilot who’s capable of dealing with an elemental combatant.”

Blood drained from Voi’s face. “Are you saying this could potentially become a military operation, Mr. Callahan?”

“Not necessarily.” He stopped talking while they crossed the street. “You’ll receive some paramilitary training, though your primary mission is to obtain aerial intelligence that would otherwise be too risky to gather using traditional methods—namely infiltration or airship surveillance. Best-case scenario, you won’t come in contact with the enemy at all.

“Now, as for the machine you’ll be flying… well, the AAC wants a test pilot who can push a Borellian prototype to its limits. That means long-distance flights at some point. You see where I’m going with this?”

Voi gave him a gradual, mesmerized nod. All she could think about was the Rogue Spy stories. They could be a team like Agent Sullivan and Kyra Feruupa, only Voi would remain loyal to her country.

Mr. Callahan went on. “Now, having reviewed your history in detail, Miss Román, I’m convinced that you’re capable of completing this mission successfully—but I’ve got to be frank with you. You’re not just the right person for this job; you’re the only person for this job. No one else with your condition is flying flimsies today, which means you’re the best chance we’ve got at pulling this thing off.”

Despite her experience, Voi wasn’t sure she was the right person for the job. Shaking her head, she asked, “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else? Why not use a conventional plane or pilot?”

“We’ve already covered this, Miss Román.” He faced her squarely. “Look, the Apexian government and Sector One is practically begging for your help. We need insight on a situation that could mean the difference between a peaceful assimilation of cultures or an international catastrophe. What’s more, we’re willing to pay you handsomely for your service. You could be a hero, safeguarding world peace.” He reached out and gave her a friendly tap on the arm. “Whaddya say?”

She took a deep breath, considering her options. Seeing as how she only had two, she nodded. “Alright, Mr. Callahan, I’ll fly for your agency.” She aimed her finger at him, emphasizing, “On the condition that I’m cured of my emelesia.”

He smiled. “That’s the thing, Miss Román, you were never really ill to begin with.”

She frowned.

Mr. Callahan reached inside of his coat, procuring a pen and another one of his cards. He flipped the latter over and wrote on the back. “There are things I’m not qualified to train you in; elementalism is one of them.” He handed her the card. “That’s where she comes in handy.”

Voi read his note in silence: “Milia Furlan.” There was a local telephone number listed, as well. Recognizing the name, she looked at the agent in shock. “Why, she’s the special envoy who was attacked on the train returning from Darmoil a few months ago, if I recall correctly!”

“That’s her,” Mr. Callahan confirmed. “It seems Ms. Furlan’s been stirring up some trouble abroad. Anyway, she’ll be in Chandra City for the next few weeks on League-related affairs. If you’re serious about this offer, she’ll make time for you. If not…” He chuckled. “Well, let’s just say a woman of her status doesn’t appreciate having her time wasted.”

Voi looked up and noticed they’d just reached Blithe Street. Her home was only a few buildings away.

“A word of advice,” said Mr. Callahan, “don’t take any urche less than twenty-four hours before you plan on seeing her.” He moved to leave.

Without thinking, Voi reached for him. “Wait! Won’t I see you again?” She cringed, then retracted her hand, silently cursing herself for sounding like a love-struck sap from some hokey romance cinema.

The agent spun around, amusement lighting up his face. “Pace yourself, doll. Even if you do turn out to be of use to the League, you’ll still need to survive some pretty intense training with Ms. Furlan before you and I could accomplish anything.”

Voi wrung her hands, feeling hopeful. “That is… if we were to work together, you mean. As a team.” Like Agent Sullivan and Kyra Feruupa. Her eyes widened, her mind reeling with possibilities.

Mr. Callahan gave her an odd look. “Yeah, something like that.” After a moment, he leaned back on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The corner of his mouth twitched as she continued to linger. “Do I need to walk you to your door or something—kiss those pink puckers good night?”

“Oh!” She blushed then looked around, remembering how close she was to home, and his meaning dawned on her. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary, Mr. Callahan. But… thank you.” I think. Besides, she didn’t want to make a habit of being seen carousing at night with a journalist, of all people. Who knew what rumors would spread about them?

Even if it did make for a decent cover story.

He flashed her a rueful smile. “Alright. Well, goodnight then, Miss Román.” He tipped his hat to her then set off into the night.

Voi barely managed to whisper “Goodnight” as she watched Mr. Callahan stroll away, holding her breath until he disappeared around the corner.

Relieved, she exhaled and closed her eyes, taking in the heavy scent of dew-drenched leaves lingering in the air. The wind wisped softly against her skin, coaxing her senses to life. Slowly, she began to waver from side to side in a dreamy waltz, the night taking on a drowsy quality as she held out her hands on either side.

The wind seemed to speak to Voi in primal whispers now, hinting at some measure of cosmic providence as she reflected on Mr. Callahan’s words: “Your mind, emotions, and entire essence are drawn to one of the elements, as it’s drawn to you…”

“Drawn to the air, says he. Silly man.” Voi giggled, spinning in carefree circles. Oh, what beautiful, seductive nonsense he spoke into her ears; she almost believed in him. On second thought, for a life without urche… well, perhaps Voi ought to play along.

For now.

Finally, she stopped spinning, no longer oblivious to the lateness of the hour. Head still reeling, she stared at the blurry street then up at the whirling stars—reliving the ethereal sensation of falling away from urche, the feeling of melding with the great void. She inhaled and paused, exhaling when she regained a sense of stability. With each breath came the unshakeable notion that, perhaps, her surroundings were also breathing with her.

Discarding the thought as foolishness, Voi clutched her coat by the lapels, then shrugged and sighed. She approached the sidewalk, plopping one foot in front of the other, then another, and another—plop-plop-plop—reluctant to leave Mr. Callahan’s fantasy on the streets for the dull, safe life of an emelesiac.