2.29 Scry of the Tiger

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Lhani lay in bed, covers pulled tight. Her mother sat in the sitting room. Lhani could sense her presence through the walls.

Or is it myself I sense?

The midwife had pressed baby-Lhani into mama-Lhani’s very hands, in that very room on the other side of the wall. If she peered through the doorway, who would she see?

Mama’s hands. Those were not my memories.

Lhani moaned. Papa Tom pressed a cool cloth to her forehead.

Lhani felt seasick, and moaned louder. No. Morning sick. She felt the fierce love of a mother and gripped the bedrail with an agonizing protectiveness . She felt the frustration of a warrior hunted, and gripped even harder, the wood bruising her palms. She felt absolute loss of home and kin. Hope. The insufferable weight of responsibility.

But most of all, Lhani felt fractured. As if she could no longer trust her own senses, or know her own mind.

“The first is one of the worst,” her father said softly.

Lhani did not trust herself to speak. The silence went on for a long time, until he spoke again.

“Do you remember your nightmare about being trapped in the rune maze when you were five? How real it seemed to you? I had to comfort you until sunrise, to prove you weren’t trapped. You didn’t believe me until you looked out the window the next morning.”

“I remember.”

“But then your mind figured out that it was a dream. This is the same way. Your mind will come to terms with it. Next time will be easier.”

Lhani stirred and moaned once more under the covers, weaker this time. “No. No next time.”

“Yes, next time. It’s not a question of ‘if.’ But when.”

“I’ll never see mama the same way again. Or myself.”

“That’s right. You never will. But also, now you know certain things. That she loves you completely. That you’re worth the sacrifices we’ve made. Can you imagine what would have happened if you’d scried a stranger’s mind? One with a dishonorable heart? Or one in the throes of madness? You saw into the heart of a woman who loves and cares for you, and even that was more than your mind wanted to bear.”

“She resents me.”

Lhani heard the soft rustle of clothing at the doorway. “I was frightened. There’s a difference.” Her mother walked into the room and sat on the bed. Her mind closed, but her hands warm as she took Lhani’s.

Lhani broke down at her mother’s touch. She felt arms wrap her up and press her tight, rocking Lhani as she cried.

“If that was our darkest moment, that’s not so bad, my girl. Did you see how cute you were when you walked?”

Lhani’s sob caught in her throat, and turned into a laugh.

“I was pretty cute,” she said, sniffling.

“You learned to walk. And then to talk. You will learn this, too. Learn to keep track of who’s thoughts are whose. Learn to tether your mind to yourself, and be only a feather in another’s mind.”

Lhani felt a sudden rush of fear.

“What did you see of me? Did I hurt your feelings somehow?”

“I did not scry your thoughts, Lhani. Scrying someone’s mind without their permission is akin to murder.”

“You couldn’t hear my thoughts?”

“That door stayed closed. I only knew my own thoughts and memories. I tried to steer them towards love. But the one being scried does not have complete control. Consciousness is fluid.” Her mother sighed. “It wasn’t resentment I was trying to convey, but the seriousness of what we fled from.”

“What will happen if they find you?”

“Probably nothing. Tomykas and I left on our own terms. Arguably with honor. But I’d rather not test it.”

Lhani now knew one thing very clearly: her mother was no one to be trifled with. Not in a mothering way, either. But as a royal descendant of Welkin Ring, with an awe-inspiring communion with the wind. One who, Lhani wagered, could turn even the sea against her enemies.

“I’ve turned my essentiæ inward these days,” her mother said wistfully, reading her daughter’s thoughts with eerie accuracy. “I’m not the wind warrior I once was. Our focus becomes our strength.”

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“I don’t think I can do this, mama. I don’t want to scry. I feel… broken.”

“That will pass quickly. You don’t need to become a scryer, Lhani. But you are a scryer whether you want it or not. So you have to learn the rules. To protect yourself—”

Lhani shook her head.

“—and to protect others. Arrad, for example.”

That sunk in. Lhani felt a flush of embarrassment when she realized how close she’d come to joining her mind with his as he tried to summon ice.

“What would have happened?”

Her parents looked at each other, sharing a concern. Perhaps some bad memory.

“For one thing,” Papa Tom said, “he would not have been ready for it. His mind would have revolted against yours.”

“Imagine the way you feel now,” her mother said. “Having consciously sought my mind, and with my cooperation. How do you feel now? Broken, you say?”

Lhani nodded, mutely.

“Imagine the fear and shame of having your mind pried open, and a stranger roaming through your secret thoughts. How far would you go in that moment to protect yourself? Would you fight? Perhaps kill, to get free of the intrusion?”

Papa Tom nodded in agreement with her mother. “He’d never forgive you, either. You’d never have the same relationship. He’d resent you. Maybe hate you.”

“And there’s something else,” her mother added, in a tone that made Lhani somehow even more distraught than she already was. Some hint of threat in her mother’s voice sent chills of trepidation through Lhani.

“What is it?”

“Icer’s minds seethe. Like lava erupting from a volcano. Or a maelstrom ripping trees up by the roots. You and I are both Winders. We share a view of how the world works.”

Papa Tom held Lhani’s cheeks between his hands and turned her to face him. His eyes blazed, then turned dark with concern. “Your mind might rip itself apart, faced with such intensity. A Cinder’s mind is easier to handle. We run hot, but forthright.”

Lhani did not understand. “But… Arrad is always so calm.”

Her parents glanced at each other again. “Show her, Tomykas.”

“I’ll be right back.” Papa Tom left the room, and then left the cabin.

“Where is he going?”

“To fetch a stick.”

“Why?”

“To show you how this works.”

Papa Tom returned, holding a smooth, straight twig in his hands. He stood at the foot of her bed and balanced the stick on his finger until it hovered in place, falling to neither side.

“This is how you and your mama’s minds work. If I let this end dip down here, the other end rises up. You ply central. Balanced. Now here’s how my mind works.”

He gripped the stick somewhere near the right end, and twirled it between his fingertips, waving his wrist around. One end of the twig made wide circles, and the one facing his heart made tight circles.

“These wide circles? That’s my outer world. You see it as emotion, or flamboyance. Charm. Bravado. Larger than life. Warriors of flame talk big, and act even bigger. What you see is usually what you get. We ply transparent for the most part. But we also seek the fringe. Cinders consume. Ideas. Sensations. We’re always burning outward from the center, looking for new experiences. Our centers are not as interesting to us as our horizons.”

“What of the smaller circles?” Lhani asked.

“That’s my internal world. Cinders are not internally focused as a rule. Our thoughts are more direct than most. Not less complex, or less intelligent, but plainer to read. When we want something, you know. When we dislike something, you know.”

Papa Tom stopped twirling the stick. He moved his grip to the other end, pinching it between his fingers and turning it so the heavier end pointed to the floor, and the small section above his fingertips pointed at the ceiling.

“Arrad’s thoughts are probably more like this.”

Her father began moving the twig in small, tight circles. The top part hardly moved at all, keeping a very small arc. The bottom part moved in a wider, but controlled way.

“The top part is Arrad’s external world. As you said yourself, he always seems so calm. He does indeed. Because his mind dwells in the internal. The logic of sun and sky, or the way numbers work. His emotions are not up here. They are down there. Circling away in their orbit, deep, deep within.”

Lhani frowned, not quite understanding the point. “But, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Now watch this,” her father said. He sped up the motions of his fingers, faster and faster, swinging the bottom end of the twig wildly. The baton became a blur as the pendulum careened around. “Notice the top part is moving around essentially the same as before. A small, tight arc without much variation or extremes. On the surface, this and this look about the same.”

He slowed the pace once more, dropping the bottom end towards the floor and making tighter circles. Then he spun it wildly again, with the stick nearly swapping him in the face from the magnitude of its arc.

Lhani saw what he meant. The top part did not give many cues as to what the bottom part was doing.

Her mother put her hand over his, stopping the motions, and faced Lhani.

“What this means is, if you scry an Icer when they are calm, it will probably go just fine. Strange perhaps, but understandable. If you scry an Icer whose mind is in turmoil, it will bash your mind to bits. You will do whatever you can to spare yourself. Retreat into a cocoon of silence until your mind settles itself. Perhaps weeks. Perhaps forever.”

Papa Tom, spoke, voice cracking with emotion. “If there is a mountainside nearby, you might leap from it to escape the pain.”

“You might stab yourself with knives to rediscover your own pain and distinguish it from Arrad’s.”

“You might become twisted, vowing to never again succumb. Inflicting pain on others to maintain your own sense of control.”

Lhani shot up from the bed, covering her ears. Her heart pounded. “Alright! Alright! I understand!”

She went into the living room, slumped into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.

“I can’t do this,” she cried. She heard her parents follow her and take their own seats. Lhani pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them.

“You can do this,” her mother said. “There are ways to protect yourself.”

“Like what?”

Her mother held Lhani’s fixed, intent. “You must learn to scry without scrying.”