The Quest (16 page)

“Are there any berserkers in Walnut Lane?” asked Terry.

“No,” replied Merlin. “And you’re not ready to practice with one anyway.”

I whispered to Terry, “You’re actually disappointed, aren’t you?”

Terry shrugged. “We’ll need to learn someday.”

To our surprise, Scott and I were better than the others at finding the elusive cracks in Merlin’s song as he slowly strengthened his psionic control on us each week. Candace was pretty good too, while the worst two were clearly Steven and Terry. I suspected that Steven who was often angry and Terry who was feeling increasingly impatient these days both lacked the calm that was needed to sense the subtle waves and rhythm of Merlin’s control. I couldn’t help feeling pleased that there was finally something combat-related that I was actually better at than Terry.

“Patience, Teresa dear,” I said teasingly.

“I’ll give you patience!” barked Terry, chasing me around the dojo and giving me something purplish for Alia to heal.

As the lessons progressed, we discovered that even within the cracks in psionic control, there were paths of greater and lesser resistance. Finding the path of least resistance could mean the difference between breaking free of the control and just feeling horribly queasy.

Furthermore, the lessons were a lot more physically taxing than I had expected. Merlin usually required us to find his cracks “amidst distraction,” as he called it, meaning that his students were a regular zoo, circus and freak show combined. The lessons always drew a large number of spectators, often including children from other Walnut Lane families who came here just for entertainment.

“We should be charging admission fees,” Scott joked wryly after his failed attempt to break out of a forced duck waddle left visitors breathless with laughter.

It wasn’t at all funny for the performers, though. The conscious effort it took to seek out the cracks in Merlin’s control often left us very emotionally spent. On days following our evening blocking lessons, I often had trouble focusing on my cooking and other responsibilities. Alia once caught me accidentally refilling the sugar bowl with salt.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Addy?”
Alia asked anxiously.

“I’m no worse than anyone else,” I said, and it was true, though I shuddered to think what might have happened over dinner had Alia not caught my mistake.

Near the end of November, probably due to exhaustion, Heather became sick and had to stay in bed for three days straight. Since her job paid by the working hour, Rachael agreed to fill in until Heather got over her illness. Alia’s healing power was useless for things like this.

It was also around this time that Walnut Lane struck its colors. Tiring of the two Guardian factions’ repeated demands for Knights, Mrs. Harding officially declared Walnut Lane an independent Guardian breakaway settlement. We were now the Walnut Guardians, or as some of the younger ones joked, the Nutters.

“There’s a danger to this kind of move,” admitted Mrs. Harding when she invited herself over for dinner to check up on us in early December. “Not only do we pit ourselves against the larger Guardian factions, but if we are attacked by Angels, there’s little chance we can ask for reinforcements.”

“You can get reinforcements from me,” Terry said confidently.

“How are your trainees doing, then, Teresa?”

“Quite well,” replied Terry. “The older ones anyway. If the Angels ever do find us, then between your Knights and mine, Walnut will be ready for them.”

“I’m happy to hear that, dear,” Mrs. Harding said in a slightly strained voice. “But please make sure they do nothing rash. We must keep the peace for as long as we can.”

“Yes, Mrs. Harding,” Terry said wearily. “We know better than to throw stones at a hornet’s nest.”

Lately, we sometimes heard rumors about Angel groups passing near or even through our town. I knew Terry was itching to take a few of her Knight trainees out on a patrol and see if they could take one back for New Haven, but Mrs. Harding had repeatedly warned everyone not to do anything that could jeopardize the secrecy of our settlement.

Ignoring Terry’s frown, Mrs. Harding turned to Rachael, who was also sitting at our table, and said kindly, “I hear that you have become quite a hider, Ms. Adams.”

Rachael smiled back, saying, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Harding. The house will stay properly hidden.”

“Arthur has every confidence in you,” said Mrs. Harding. “But please don’t hesitate to ask if you need any help, darling.”

“Of course.”

Rachael’s power as a psionic hider had grown fairly steadily over the last few months, and recently Merlin had stopped coming over except to teach us blocking. It was a big house, and Rachael still had to create her hiding bubble in parts, spending a few minutes on each floor repowering her protection twice a day. Technically, all the detectable psionics here lived on the second floor and below, but Alia sometimes visited Candace and Heather in their room up on the third floor, so Rachael was careful to keep the whole house hidden at all times. Rachael’s power was even strong enough now for her to create movable hiding fields around other people. However, not only did this require a lot more effort, but Rachael’s individual hiding protection wouldn’t last more than a few minutes at a time – a far cry from the two-weeks’ worth that Cindy could give. Thus Rachael continued to escort Alia in person to and from Patrick’s.

The dinner conversation moved on to our daily lives. I assured Mrs. Harding that everyone was getting healthy, well-balanced meals. Before going home, Mrs. Harding strongly suggested that our younger kids be given a little more time to study academics.

Terry shook her head. “I know you’re concerned about their school grades, but in this day and age, we do have to find a healthy balance.”

Terry’s idea of a healthy balance was that the kids go to school but not waste any time doing homework when they could be training to fight. This was the majority opinion in our house, and Mrs. Harding had no choice but to accept it.

With most of our Knight trainees either working day jobs or going to school, there wasn’t enough time to teach them everything they needed to know about surviving a heavy-duty firefight. We were instead giving them a crash course in CQC, teaching the most basic and essential moves such as how to roll and how to wrestle pistols out of people’s hands.

Down in the basement, Terry and I taught everyone how to shoot moderately straight and rapidly reload. “Everyone” not only included Susan, Max and Patrick, but also my very reluctant sister, who hated the noise of gunfire even more than I did. Terry had found a tiny pistol for Alia that, when fired, sounded more like a party popper than a gun. But Terry had left me the task of coaxing Alia into using it. Taking Alia down into the basement reminded me a little of the time back when I was desperately trying to teach her how to speak with her mouth, but Alia was older now, and I got her to shoot without making her cry.

But when we started running low on bullets and Terry tried to dip into the money that Alia made teaching kiddie combat, my sister decided that things had gone too far.

“I will not let you do it!” she shouted furiously at Terry over dinner, drawing stares from the other kids who probably never thought she was capable of anger until now. “The money I make here is for food and water and medicine! Not for stupid bullets!”

“Those stupid bullets are going to keep us alive, Alia,” Terry countered sternly.

“I’m the one teaching those kids. I’ll decide how we use that money!”

Terry stood and glared menacingly at Alia. “Don’t you dare forget who taught you those skills in the first place!”

But Alia refused to back down. “I don’t care, Teresa! If you want my money, you’ll have to fight me for it!”

Terry stared openmouthed at Alia for a brief moment, and then sat down, saying resignedly, “Alia, you are the one and only person on this planet that I’m afraid to fight. I’ll get our bullets somewhere else.”

The dinner crowd erupted into laughter and cheers for Alia.

Giving my sister a slap on her back, I called out to Terry, “I guess we finally know who the real boss around here is!”

Terry negotiated funding from Mrs. Harding the next day.

Mid-December. Merlin told us to prepare the house for possible visitors. The story was that a family of psionics belonging to the Meridian faction had escaped an Angel takeover of their settlement and was wandering this way. If they came close enough to Walnut Lane, Mrs. Harding might give the word to bring them in.

“We’ll have to give them Steven’s room,” Terry said to me in private. “If you have a problem with that, I’ll do it myself.”

“Let’s at least wait till the visitors arrive before bloodying Steven’s face again,” I replied. “There’s no guarantee that these drifters will ever make it this far anyway.”

Steven still refused to acknowledge Terry’s presence even during our blocking sessions. I couldn’t claim that Steven and I got along even moderately well, but at least he talked to me. If at all possible, I wanted to keep the peace.

A few days later, though it gave me no pleasure at all, I turned out to be right. If Merlin’s report was to be believed, the psionic family was simultaneously waylaid by a pack of Wolves planning to take them in for scientific experimentation and by a team of Angels intending to convert them. What happened to the family was unknown, but between the Angels and the Wolves, while there were casualties on both sides, the Wolves came off much worse in the engagement.

Terry said darkly, “If there are any Wolf survivors, they’re probably all locked up in some Angel stronghold by now.”

I shrugged. “Good riddance.”

I felt sorry for the poor Meridian family caught in between, but it gave me some grim satisfaction to know that our two enemy factions were doing each other in.

“You don’t get it, Adrian,” said Terry. “If the Wolves won, that would have been a good thing. Or at least acceptable to us. Sure, the Angels will torture their captives for information, but they won’t kill them. They’ll all eventually be converted by Randal Divine. Professional soldiers are a very valuable resource, you know.”

“Maybe we should hire us some Wolves,” I said dryly.

“Don’t be stupid!” snapped Terry, and then mused, “Actually, a team of decent mercenaries wouldn’t be such a bad idea, if we only had the money.”

“I doubt Alia is about to help you in the finance department.”

“Maybe I’ll go rob another bank.”

I stared at her. “
Another
bank?!”

“I’m kidding, Half-head!” Terry laughed loudly. “I’ve done some pretty horrible things, but I promise I’ve never robbed a bank. Not yet anyway.”

I laughed with her, shaking my head. “The things we do!”

Then Terry said seriously, “Honestly, I’d prefer a couple of decently trained and dedicated Knights over hired help. Money is a poor substitute for true loyalty.”

“Good Knights seem hard to come by these days.”

“How are your trainees doing, Adrian?”

“They’re coming along,” I said. “Slowly, but they are. Still, they’re not as good as yours, I’m sure. You didn’t exactly give me the pick of the crop.”

“Who’s your best? Not counting Alia, of course.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Steven is probably my best,” I said slowly, “and not just because he’s the biggest. He’s got some solid moves, and his pistol aim is almost as good as his fire-throwing.”

Terry snorted. “He should be good by now, considering he doesn’t work and hardly helps with the chores. Maybe he’s not a total loss after all.”

“Maybe,” I agreed quietly. “He’s good in training, but I don’t know if he has the stomach for a real fight.”

Terry shrugged. “No one knows that until they’ve been put there.”

That was for certain.

Chapter 8: The Betrayal

There was little to party about, but I directed a multi-course dinner for New Year’s Eve. Terry handled the midnight toast, saying, “To our great and loyal family. To the hope of better times ahead. And also to peace, may the Angels soon rest in it.”

But peace was in short supply everywhere. Terry used everyone’s winter vacation time to greatly intensify the training program. We had back-to-back combat training, exercise, weight training and pistol practice. It got so busy, in fact, that almost everyone was looking forward to the end of the holidays and returning to school.

Nobody was counting the days like Alia, though.

“I hate vacations!”
was my sister’s verdict. She had gotten used to the peace and quiet she had during school hours, and winter vacation meant that the chaos of our poorly disciplined family lasted from dawn to dusk every single day. As our dedicated live-in healer, Alia couldn’t often seek refuge at Patrick’s, so she took to hiding in our bedroom whenever she wasn’t absolutely needed.

Terry once said to her, “It really wouldn’t kill you to at least try to be a little more normal, you know.”

“Nothing in this house is normal,” countered Alia. “Why should I be any different?”

As much as I agreed with Terry, my sister had the right of it on that count.

Aside from the daily roughhousing and petty arguments, there were certain other inevitabilities to having so many teenagers under one roof. A week or so into January, we discovered that Scott and Rachael were dating. I have no idea when or how it started, but considering how difficult it was to get any privacy in our house, they probably hadn’t been a couple for very long.

“As long as it doesn’t distract them from their training, I don’t mind it in the least,” commented Terry. “And if they fight, that’ll be fun too.”

Scott’s only real crime was that he was keeping a portion of his salary – money that was supposed to be brought home for everyone’s needs – as spending cash for his outings with Rachael. It was no great amount, though, so Terry decided to give him a pass. Scott was still our top earner, after all.

Meanwhile, Susan seemed to be getting a little too popular with Daniel and Walter, but big-sister Felicity made sure nothing serious happened.