The Elementalist

14. Facing One’s Fears

Facing One’s FearsMuch to her surprise, Voi was able to sleep through most of the night, arising the following morning with a renewed sense of purpose. She reminded herself of the necessity of ensuring security for herself as well as other citizens of the League. The more time she spent cowering in the safety of her home, the more time she might be giving terrorists in hiding to grow stronger—giving the League less time to assess and anticipate potential dangers.

Well, if a pistol-packing, air-slinging pacifist pilot was what her fellow citizens needed, then by golly, she’d give it to them! As Voi saw it, the use of a pistol was not strictly required, so long as her primary objective in the skies was successfully achieved.

In any case, it was time she faced her fears.

After bathing, Voi put on a blouse and pair of slacks stuffed hastily into boots, her hair pulled into an incorrigible ponytail. Then she jogged downstairs to place a telephone call to the consulate.

“Good morning. Is the special envoy of Windsor available?”

“Ms. Furlan? I’m sorry, but she left this morning.”

“Left? Well, do you know if she’ll be returning any time s—”

Someone pounded on the front door.

“Never mind, thank you.” Voi hung up and rushed to the door. “Just a minute!” She undid the locks then threw the door open.

Troy stared back at her with a tired expression. “She’s already there,” he said.

Voi sighed. “Of course she is.”

Troy turned his back to her. “Come along. We’re already four days behind schedule.”

Rolling her eyes, Voi followed him out to the cab, and he opened the door for her. Apprehension crept upon her as she slipped inside. She eased herself against the leather seats, then took a deep breath. No regrets, Voi.

Once they’d put some distance behind them, Troy eyed her in the rearview mirror. “How are we doing today, Miss Román?”

Startled, Voi simply blinked. “I’m fine, thank you.”

For the first time, she saw a smile in Troy’s eyes. “The first few sessions are always the hardest,” he said. “Trust me, you’ll get through it. Heaven forbid you’ll get used to it.”

As they ventured into the countryside, Voi silently toyed with a particular question, weighing the likelihood of receiving an answer. “Troy, how much do you know about elementalism and mentalism?”

“Oh…” His tone was that of a veteran recalling his prime years. “I know just enough to get by to avoid trouble as a psychic driver for Ms. Furlan—which isn’t much, to be perfectly honest.” He sputtered out a laugh.

Voi sat upright, beaming with excitement. “So, you are one of us!”

“Of course I am, though I don’t possess abilities that are nearly as pronounced as yours or Ms. Furlan’s—or any other mentalist’s, for that matter.”

Voi cupped her hands on the shoulder of his seat, resting her chin thoughtfully on them. “You don’t seem to think very much of your abilities, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Oh, it isn’t that, Miss Román. I’m very practiced in the area of my expertise. It’s just that my abilities are precariously limited in comparison to most other Sector One agents. Many mentalists are gifted with multiple abilities within the psychic-aetheric realm. However, I only receive visions of things yet to come. That is my sole gift.”

“You mean precognition,” said Voi.

“Yes, that’s right. However, even elementalists, in their own unique way, possess this ability. It comes as standard in our kind, it seems—sensing things before they transpire.”

Voi tapped a finger on her lips, trying to recall if she’d experienced this phenomenon. “Hmm, I can’t say I’ve ever been able to see into the future.” It would have been nice to sense Mr. Callahan’s choking maneuver before that took place, though apparently, that was the whole point: to demonstrate that even elementalists, faster reflexes and all, were capable of being caught off guard.

And perhaps to show that Voi was in desperate need of self-defense lessons.

“Well,” said Troy, “I suppose elementalists don’t exactly see things before they occur, but rather they receive a strong feeling of dread, alarm, peace, or some such sentiment before an event; a presentiment would be the more accurate term.”

Now this Voi had experienced—like the day Mr. Callahan arrived unexpectedly at her townhome: the sickening feeling of change, the disturbance she felt in the air… Yes, that very much sounded like the sensation Troy was describing.

The driver pursed his lips, then said thoughtfully, “It’s almost as if mentalists are tuned into a different frequency than elementalists within the sea of psychic currents and vibrations that flow through the aether. Elementalists are more focused on the here-and-now, in the physical reality of things.” He chuckled. “They’re more short-sighted in their range, if you will.”

“I see.” Voi sunk back in her seat. This chat with Troy was beginning to restore a sense of giddiness and excitement about her training. She was still very much uncertain as to how successful she would be, though Troy’s unexpected sociability made the prospect of returning to the barn a bit easier to bear.

For the remainder of the ride, Voi noticed Troy looking at her in the mirror repeatedly with a peculiar look on his face. “Is there something wrong?” she asked upon his fourth glance, patting her head then examining her body for any hideous bugs that might have landed on her—or something equally upsetting. She leaned forward to check herself in his mirror, just to be sure.

He laughed—a hearty and joyous laugh. “Oh no, Miss Román. I was just thinking.” Still, he flashed her another look as if to invite further inquiry.

“Well, go on! Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He grunted. “Ms. Furlan would throw a royal fit if she found out I mentioned this to you, but… I think you’re worth it.” His eyes squinted fondly in the mirror.

Voi smiled.

Troy stared momentarily at the empty road ahead before replying. “You should know that Ms. Furlan harbors very high hopes for your development as an elementalist, Miss Román.”

She blinked. “Oh? How come?”

“One could only speculate, really. The mind of Ms. Furlan is a mystery even to me, and I’ve spent decades working alongside her. However, she did mention that you give off a very unusual amount of energy in your aura—more so than she was used to seeing in a pre-initiate, anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been the subject of many stray glances from onlookers most of your life.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “What makes you say that?”

“Because even though most non-emelesiacs aren’t especially attuned to these kinds of things, your aura is so present as to draw attention from even the dullest of specimens. It isn’t a brute power like Ms. Furlan’s so much as a subtle one—so fine as to slip through the recesses of one’s mind yet brush it in a peculiar way, noticeable only in hindsight. It comes as an afterthought to others, I think, hence the stray glances.

“Your handler, Agent Callahan, was the one who assessed your aetheric signature in the first place and recommended you to Ms. Furlan personally, as she was seeking a recruit to fulfill a role in a new operation she recently proposed to the League.”

“Aetheric signature?” said Voi, recalling a familiar term.

“Yes. We all have our own inherent signatures, which can be readily sensed by particularly aware non-emelesiacs as well as other adepts—that is, elementalists and mentalists.”

“I see.”

“But your signature made quite the impression on Ms. Furlan, and she’s come across some exceptionally skilled elementalists in her time serving the League. Due to her untraditional upbringing and sheer command of her element, Milia is widely regarded as one of the most powerful adepts amongst the order of Sector One—the most powerful, perhaps. Why, before you, she never had the desire to take on an apprentice, as is customary for experienced adepts; normally, she works alone. You are her first—which is quite an honor, if I do say so myself.”

Milia’s forceful aura was one of the very first things Voi had noticed about the woman. For someone of her caliber to feel so strongly about Voi’s aura, well, Voi could hardly wrap her mind around the implications. “I was under the impression that my signature was merely something to blink at.” She could distinctly recall how thoroughly unimpressed Milia seemed to be with Voi upon their first meeting. However, perhaps this was only a superficial front, Voi reflected.

Could it be that Ms. Furlan feared Voi’s potential?

“Oh no, not at all,” said Troy. “I could sense it as well. But, as I said before, your aura is quite strange because the pressure of it doesn’t immediately hit you all at once. It almost eludes you, in a way, in an effort to scout any targets of interest from many angles—a trait I’ve sensed only in mentalists, who tend to be subtler by nature to avoid drawing attention from other adepts. Yes, your energy seems to wander in every direction until it slowly creeps upon you. Then, once you are able to pick up on the source, it becomes evident that the individual to whom it belongs is quite formidable in her own right.”

Troy glanced at her through the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. “But she doesn’t view herself this way yet, does she?”

Voi pressed her lips together then lowered her eyes, choosing to remain silent.

“Upon first impression, many will see you as an unassuming and non-threatening character, Miss Román. Your opponents will underestimate you if they misread your signature. This may prove to be an advantage to you, should you ever come across our enemies.” He laughed. “Why, when Milia first told me about your Initiation, well, let’s just say she wasn’t expecting half the force that came with it!”

Voi leaned back, gazing wistfully out of the window, meditating on Troy’s words. Then her lips curled into a smirk as she reveled in the small satisfaction which came with knowing Milia’s true feelings about her.

* * *

Both Milia and Mr. Callahan were waiting for Voi inside the barn when she arrived, though this didn’t especially surprise her; the presence of the pair held force, and Milia was a forceful kind of woman.

Especially when she had a point to make.

“Surprised you even showed up,” said the diplomat, lounging on a bale of hay in one of her usual business suits. Mr. Callahan, in a button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up, leaned against the table. His arms were folded, his expression neutral.

Voi secured the doors then dusted off her hands before approaching them. “I presume we’re resuming my pistol training?” However, after a quick glance around the barn, she realized there was no target board set up.

Mr. Callahan passed Milia a vague look. “Actually, we wanted to focus on building your elemental skills today.”

“You don’t think I can handle it?”

He swallowed then scratched the back of his head, averting his eyes.

“Well,” said Milia, “after your little juvenile protest the other day, I’m not sure you can.”

“Oh?” Voi lifted her chin and folded her arms. “Well, why don’t we put that theory to the test?”

Milia quirked an eyebrow. When Voi refused to back down, she sighed and said, “Alright, so be it.” She gestured casually to her counterpart. “Callahan, hand over your firearm.”

His skeptical gaze flickered between the two women before his hand slowly traveled to the small of his back, procuring his revolver. “Milia, are you sure this is a good id—”

“Just give her the damn revolver.”

After flashing Milia one last look, he handed the g*n to Voi.

She checked to see whether the weapon was loaded. Satisfied, she closed the chamber then lowered her hand, letting the g*n hang at her side. The warmth from its wood grip soothed some of her nervousness—a remnant of Mr. Callahan’s calm energy, perhaps? Voi flexed her fingers on the grip, pondering this phenomenon.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up, scanning the barn. “Alright, what should I aim for?”

“Me.” Milia smiled, smug defiance lighting her pale blue eyes.

Mr. Callahan stepped back until he was leaning against the table again. He folded his arms in silence, removing himself from the situation.

Voi’s nostrils flared as her heart rate accelerated, priming her for action she was hesitant to take. Her vision brightened, straining her eyes. “You control metal,” she said, wincing from the rays of sunlight that pierced through the boards on the roof. “I can’t hurt you, not really.” Sharp, prickling sensations enveloped her body as her senses grew keener, and she shivered.

Milia stared at her, entirely unfazed. “Then you should have no problem pulling the trigger.”

Voi didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot me.”

Voi raised the revolver, gripping it with both hands as she slid her feet into an appropriate stance. Despite knowing the likelihood of Milia’s ability to defend herself against gunfire, she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Milia,” said Mr. Callahan.

“I don’t have time for your indecision anymore!” the woman yelled.

Shocked, Voi opened her eyes, spotting Milia’s briefcase as it rose off the ground. Sooner than she realized, the thing was flying at her. Mr. Callahan shouted for Voi as she dove out of the way and hit the ground. She quickly pulled her head up, spitting hay out her mouth.

“What the hell are you doing, Milia?” asked Mr. Callahan, taking a step forward.

“Teaching her a lesson.”

The briefcase, now to Voi’s left, suddenly unlatched itself and opened, revealing a set of three daggers. They floated from the case then hovered in the air.

Voi scrambled to her feet. Luckily, she still had the revolver clutched in her hand. She raised it apprehensively as the daggers wavered from side to side, eager to close on their prey. “What are you doing?”

“Hit the knives, and they’ll fall; miss, and they’ll come after you.”

Mr. Callahan spoke up. “Milia, you’re taking this too far.”

“The longer you wait,” she said, ignoring him, “the closer they’ll get to you.”

Voi fired off a frantic round, though she missed the nearest dagger. Still, they dispersed momentarily as if surprised by the shot.

“Only five rounds left in that six-shooter. I sincerely hope you don’t continue to miss.”

Voi tried to focus this time then fired another round at the center dagger, feeling a small funnel of air guide her shot. The other weapons wavered when her target fell to the ground, as promised. Surprised, she fired another shot at the rightmost dagger without thinking, and she missed. The blade swiped at her, though she jumped back in time to avoid it.

Mr. Callahan’s form blurred in the background as he ran for the table.

A slice to Voi’s left arm made her yelp and stumble, falling into the hay. When the dagger moved to take another stab, however, she swung the revolver up and fired.

The dagger jolted then plopped onto the ground. Two down.

Something shiny flashed on Voi’s right before she could react. She flinched then shielded herself with her arm and closed her eyes, expecting the worst.

Something clicked.

“This ends now.”

Voi peeked over her arm with wide eyes; the last dagger was frozen but a foot away, pointed at her stomach. Mr. Callahan stood next to Milia aiming a sleek, long-barreled pistol at her neck.

Milia rolled her eyes, giving a long sigh before the last dagger fell to the ground. “You would have found your pistol jammed, had you bothered pulling the trigger.”

“You’re out of line—and this g*n ain’t made of metal.”

She turned her head slowly, eyes squinting as if slowly realizing he spoke the truth. Even though Mr. Callahan was breathing heavily, he refused to lower his weapon. Milia faced him squarely then said, “Protecting her isn’t going to make her any stronger.”

He held his stance. “Leave. Now.”

Voi’s breath caught in her throat, hands shaking as she touched her damp brow in disbelief.

Milia strutted towards Voi, who was hunched over on her side. The woman crouched beside her. “Do you have any idea what a privilege it is to be considered for elemental training?”

Voi didn’t say anything as she stared up at Milia, catching her breath.

“Emelesiacs are institutionalized every year because they don’t possess a fraction of the potential usefulness you pose to the League. Yet still you continue to waste our time—my time.” She took Voi’s jaw in her hand.

“Milia!” said Mr. Callahan.

Voi groaned.

Milia spoke in a low voice. “Don’t ever let my sources catch you discussing sensitive matters over the telephone with your mother again. Do you have any idea what kind of cleanup was necessary after you placed that call? A poor woman lost her memory today because you weren’t able to keep your mouth shut.” She shoved Voi’s face away, causing her to wince. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

Voi kept her eyes averted, forcing down a dry swallow. “Yes.”

Milia shot back to her feet, staring down at Voi in disgust. She collected her daggers and her briefcase before charging out of the barn.

Unsure what to do, Voi remained on the ground. Mr. Callahan came to help, but she waved him away. “Don’t touch me!”

He stepped back. “There was no excuse for her behavior today. I’m sorry.”

“You’re no better. What difference does it make?” Voi swatted hay off her arms and legs.

“I’m reporting this to my superiors.”

A bitter laugh escaped from Voi. “Report? What’s that going to do? Clearly, she’s insane.”

The agent watched her cringe at the seeping wound on her arm. “Here,” he said, reaching for her. “Let me look at that.”

“Really, I’m fine. Just leave me al—” Choking back tears, she covered her face with her wrist, not wanting him to see her cry.

Mr. Callahan carefully reclaimed his revolver from Voi, setting it aside. He took her arm in his hands to look at it more closely then sighed. “I’ve got a first-aid kit. This should only take a few minutes.” He went away.

Voi hung her head, sniffling as she stared numbly at her lap.

When Mr. Callahan returned, he slowly extended Voi’s arm, causing her to bite her lip and whimper. “Sorry,” he said. He tore open a small packet with his teeth then sprinkled her wound with powder—sulfa, Voi guessed. Afterwards, he wrapped her arm gingerly with a bandage.

His touch left her feeling calmer, though her arm still stung something fierce.

“This is just a temporary treatment,” he explained. “You should let Dr. Moore take a look at it as soon as you get the chance. You may need stitches.”

Voi remained mute as she stared at the ground, feeling vulnerable.

As if sensing her discomfort, Mr. Callahan closed the kit then walked back to the table. “You should go home and get some rest,” he said, his back towards her.

“Should I come back tomorrow?”

He hesitated before looking over his shoulder. “If you want.”

Voi contemplated this momentarily before pulling herself to her feet.

As she left, Mr. Callahan called out with an uncharacteristic fierceness, “If you do come back, I won’t let anything like that happen to you again, Voi. You have my word.”

Voi paused at the door, making brief eye contact with him before slipping outside.

Something had changed in the way he regarded her that day. She’d seen it in his eyes. She’d never forget the intensity of the anger she saw in them.

* * *

Voi left Troy’s cab in a haze and stumbled into her townhome, blindly closing the front door. She locked it before putting her back to it, staring vacantly up the length of the staircase. Recalling the terror of Milia’s crazed rampage, she burst into tears.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand then sank to the floor as she tried suppressing her emotions, though the self-imposed dam soon gave way to an uninhibited wail.

The telephone rang, but Voi ignored it. She went to bed, sobbing intermittently into her pillows. Later, she stalked the house in search of something to do: sweeping the floors; rereading one of her Rogue Spy novels, whose oft-tragic endings only made her sob again; picking up the telephone under the illusion that she was ready to mend things with Paul, only to hang up and sob once more…

Realizing that the sun had cast the last of its rays, Voi put on one of her flannel nightgowns then lay down in bed. She stared up at the ceiling, pondering her mentor’s ruthless method for testing her resolve. She was determined not to fail again—for this was precisely what Milia was expecting her to do.

Resigned, Voi rolled over onto her unwounded side then fell into troubled slumber, waking throughout the night between scenes of capture and t*****e by foreigners who wore bandanas, their arms tattooed with the silhouette of twin scimitars—the unmistakable emblem of the Haran. For some reason, there was a recurring figure in her nightmares: a tall Kesh man with a narrow face who wore his long, straight hair in a ponytail. His intent gaze seemed to pierce through the illusion of the dream as if he was looking straight at her in the flesh…

Unable to sleep, Voi settled for staring at the ceiling, listening to her shallow breathing as she reinforced a promise to herself:

Never again would she fail her training, or her mission. Never would she give up.