Shards of Hope

Chapter 39

THE SECTIONS FOR the first of the new buildings in the valley arrived faster than Zaira had expected and were put together at speed. The DarkRiver changelings had shared their expertise with a generosity Zaira wouldn’t have understood if she hadn’t spent that time in RainFire. It was about the children.

Changeling young were the packs’ greatest weakness.

Yet Zaira knew she’d never use that knowledge to harm them. They were allies and they were becoming friends. Remi and Aden, in particular, had kept the lines of communication open.

“He says we’re in remedial alpha school,” Aden had told her a week earlier. “It’s good to speak with someone who’s facing many of the same challenges, though it may not appear that way on the surface.”

The sane part of Zaira was glad for him that he was building another friendship, but the rage part of her was jealous as always . . . because she missed him. He had so many calls on his time, and though she was now his partner in this new life he wanted for the squad, it felt as if she’d barely seen him since the meeting ten days ago. And the aloneness, it was nibbling at her again though she was in the Net. This time, it wasn’t isolation that haunted her; it was going to bed without Aden by her side. Her body had learned to crave him even after so short a time together.

Her hands curled into fists as she stood on a cliff that overlooked the valley lit by the orange-gold rays of the late afternoon sun, memories of her screaming madness in the desert a piercing echo that reverberated in her skull.

That’s who I become when I step outside the box.

Accept your anger, Zaira, and you’ll strip it of its power.

A crackle sounded from behind her, small feet crushing fallen leaves.

“You’re not permitted up here,” she said to the child who stood a short distance away.

The solemn boy with creamy skin pinked by time in the sun, his sandy brown hair neatly combed, and his uniform spotless, stayed in place.

“What’s your name?”

“Tavish.”

“How did you get up here?” It was a difficult hike even for an adult.

In answer, the boy raised a leaf off the ground without touching it. So, he was a telekinetic with teleportation abilities. No doubt he’d broken the psychic leash on those abilities, at least on some level, if he was here. While Zaira abhorred cages, she’d been forced to accept that some were an unfortunate necessity. Children didn’t always understand why they shouldn’t ’port somewhere.

And it wasn’t always about making a fatal technical error and finding yourself in the middle of a city street in front of traffic that couldn’t slow down in time or ending up buried in a house that had been crushed by an avalanche but still functioned as a visual lock. When Zaira was twelve, a boy Tavish’s age had broken free and ’ported to his family home. He was shot dead by his much older brother, a telepath who’d barely survived the last time the Tk lost hold of his abilities.

After being in RainFire, being so close to the fragile forms of children, holding Jojo in her arms and feeling her small arms wrap around her, Zaira couldn’t understand how an adult could so coldly execute a child, or how her own parents could’ve treated her with such brutality. It made her question if she had in fact inherited the madness as she’d always believed; if she had, wouldn’t she be as cruel?

“Come here.”

“I broke the rules,” Tavish said after reaching her. “I’ll be punished.”

The words crashed into another memory.

No biting. Bad Jojo.

The little girl had displayed dejection at the memory of misbehavior, but her body and face had held none of the stoic endurance Zaira saw in Tavish. “You did break the rules,” she said. “Explain to me why.”

The child bit down on his wobbly lower lip, his Silence clearly imperfect despite his attitude. “You want to know why?”

“Yes. Why did you come up here when you know it’s out of bounds?”

His eyes flickered, frown lines forming between them. “I wanted to see the houses from here. Aden told us we’re going to live in them.”

“Come stand next to me.”

His steps were hesitant, his shoulders hunched in. Yet he came, though he could’ve ’ported away. Zaira didn’t like that indication of how his spirit had already been so crushed, but those wounds would take time to heal. And they would, she vowed. Tavish and the other children had a chance, had hope.

Thinking of how her body, her spirit, had soaked in Aden’s touch, how little Jojo had flowered under affectionate contact, she put a hand on Tavish’s shoulder. He flinched and her rage at what had been done to him was a violent roar in her skull. Holding it inside because Tavish didn’t need more violence, she pointed out the layout of the homes being built, how they connected to one another via the pathways being laid even now, and how the central area was to be left open as a gathering point.

There were no military straight rows, the houses set in small groupings instead, the pathways between them curving lines.

“No final decisions have been made on the individual elements in the communal space,” she said, “but there will be a playground, along with trees to climb and provide shade.”

Tavish’s face lit from within before he shot her a scared look and stifled his innocent joy.

Zaira realized at that instant that she hated seeing fear on a child’s face when he looked at her. How had her parents not felt the same?

“You must have control because you are a Tk,” she said with a conscious effort at gentleness. As she could permanently damage or suffocate an opponent’s brain, the harsh fact was that Tavish could break someone’s spine with a thoughtless tantrum or an accidental slip.

His face fell, water gleaming in his eyes. “I know. My father said I was too dangerous to be around my sister.” A hiccuping breath. “I didn’t mean for the wood to hit her and hurt her. I was just practicing.”

Zaira went down on her haunches. “I believe you,” she said. “But I want to tell you that Aden has been speaking with Vasic, Abbot, and Judd.” He’d also met with Stefan, a Tk who’d broken Silence not long after the first high-profile defections from the Net, but managed to keep it a secret. “They all say that control doesn’t have to mean a complete lack of emotion. It means learning to be aware of the effect of strong emotions on your Tk so you can throttle it back before it slips the leash.”

Seeing the wide-eyed and uncomprehending expression on Tavish’s face, Zaira realized she was speaking at too high a level for his childish mind. She changed her approach, ran her hand over his hair. “It means you’re allowed to be happy or excited.” Allowed to be a child. “You must simply never forget your abilities—as a changeling cub can never forget his claws or teeth during play.”

This time, the frown was deep. “I’ll be punished for showing feelings.”

“No, you won’t.” Never again would an Arrow child be hurt for simply being. “You will be punished for violating the boundaries, but only because those boundaries are there for your safety.”

He flinched again, brownish hazel eyes stark and skin going white beneath his slight sunburn. “Oh.”

And Zaira realized she had to answer Aden’s question right now: How did you punish a psychically powerful child? Especially a child who, as yet, had no privileges in his life, and thus couldn’t lose them? Yet to allow this infraction to go unpunished would set a bad precedent—Tavish needed these boundaries, needed rules to follow so he’d learn the necessary psychic and personal discipline.

It was the lack of such conscious discipline that had led to powerful Psy accidentally killing in the time prior to Silence. While the Protocol had been a mistake in many ways, in this the architects of Silence had been correct: psychic discipline had to be ingrained in childhood, until by the time the children reached adult age, they would temper their powers automatically.

Zaira had to get that across without further breaking this small boy’s spirit.

“Your punishment is to be this,” she said, knowing she was probably doing the wrong thing, but unwilling to leave him in painful suspense until someone better qualified had the time to handle the situation. “Go far enough back that you can no longer see the view, then sit down on the ground with your legs crossed.”

Quickly accessing the boy’s files by using the small organizer she had in her pocket, she saw he had consistently low grades in science subjects. “While you’re sitting there, you have to write an extra paper on one of these three topics.” She handed him the organizer to use, the three topics listed at the top of the open page. “I also want you to think about why you shouldn’t have teleported out of bounds.”

Giving her a dumbfounded look, Tavish bent his head to the organizer. It was a bare three minutes later that he looked up. “Can I ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to hurt me?”

The question made her rage roar red-hot. “The rules have altered,” she said when she could breathe past it. “Pain isn’t always the answer.”

“Oh.”

Fifteen minutes later, when Aden walked up to the clifftop and glanced at Tavish, who was frowning as he painstakingly wrote his essay, Zaira telepathed Aden an explanation of events. Did I make a mistake? Had she done damage when she wanted only to help?

No. Aden’s gaze spoke to the seed of madness inside her, took away its loneliness. You’ve given me the answer.

I don’t think extra homework is always going to work. It wouldn’t have for me. At the start, she’d just have thrown down the organizer and stomped on it.

Aden came to stand beside her, the ankle-length leather coat he wore over a formal suit, blowing in the wind. The answer is that each punishment must be tailored to the child. Tavish doesn’t enjoy science and so it is a punishment. Another child may be changeling-like in enjoying outdoor exercise, so to be told to sit in a room inside during an exercise period will be sufficient. We’re used to rules, but children aren’t interchangeable and we can’t treat them that way.

Tavish looked up right then, saw Aden. His shoulders grew stiff, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I broke the rules,” he confessed in a trembling whisper.

Aden crouched beside him. “I see Zaira has already meted out your penalty for that. Have you finished the paper?”

A shake of Tavish’s head.

“You will.” Pausing, Aden said, “Was the view worth the punishment?”

The boy took time to think about it before saying, “Yes. But only this time. I won’t do it again.”

“Good. Do you understand why we need to limit your teleportation right now?”

This time the nod was immediate. “I could go somewhere and not be able to get back. Or I could ’port myself off the cliff and not react fast enough to save my life.”

“Then you understand.”

As Zaira watched, Aden touched the back of the boy’s head with a gentle strength that did things to her heart she didn’t understand. “Finish your paper, so you can return to where you should be.”

A tremulous hope in Tavish’s expression, he bent his head to the organizer again.

ADEN and Zaira walked Tavish down together when he admitted he’d overstrained his psychic muscles and couldn’t ’port back. The boy kept sending them furtive hazel-eyed glances from under his eyelashes, as if waiting for them to change their minds, but he didn’t shake off Aden’s hand when Aden ruffled his hair as they reached the compound.

“Go and get some more nutrition,” Aden told the boy. “That trek and your ’port will have burned extra energy.”

Tavish began to walk inside the training facility, stopped after only a few steps. It was obvious he was building his courage. Then he blurted out, “Do we really get to live in the houses?”

“Yes.”

“You said we’d have families.” A quaver in the question, the hope in Tavish’s voice painful.

“Yes. Each child will be assigned to an adult Arrow or Arrows.” Aden would slowly bring in non-Arrows to help balance the population, but the vetting process would take considerable time. At least one empath was already happy to settle in the valley—Abbot’s Jaya. But as for the non-Es and those Es who didn’t have such deep connections to the squad, none would be permitted in until they’d been cleared by both the squad’s background checks and by an empathic panel.

Tavish’s shoulders fell at Aden’s answer. “Oh.”

Not understanding the reason for his distress, Aden went across to him and, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, crouched down in front of him again. “You don’t wish to live with adult Arrows?”

“I’ll follow the rules.”

“Tavish.” Aden put a hint of steel in his tone, aware from watching Remi that giving affection and protection was only one part of being alpha; the children also needed him to continue being the person who had the final word in any given situation. “You mustn’t lie to me. Answer the question.”

Muscles stiff under his hand, Tavish looked him in the eye and Aden saw the strength beneath the fear, knew this child hadn’t been irrevocably broken. “The grown-ups hurt us.”

Sensing Zaira going motionless beside him, Aden continued to maintain the eye contact. “The ones who hurt you won’t be living with you.” The known child-focused sadists in the squad had been erased from the world; Aden had never trusted them and he’d had no compunction in taking care of the matter himself.

Those men and women had been beyond redemption.

A few others, like Blake, were on probation because they’d never harmed a child, but had other dangerous and possibly indefensible tendencies. Some might even be murderous psychopaths, but Aden needed evidence before he made that call. If he acted without it, he’d be no better than Ming. Regardless, he’d permit no one on that list near the innocent.

The third group was the most problematic: good men and women who hadn’t been strong enough to refuse to follow terrible orders. He had Ivy, Jaya, and his own senior people keeping a close watch on several, because now that Ming was gone and Silence had fallen, those men and women had begun to buckle under a crushing wave of guilt. Only two days earlier, Cris had stopped a suicide before it occurred and the Arrow in question was now in intensive counseling with an empath.

Tavish didn’t need to know all of that. He needed to know only that he’d be safe.

“You’ll be assigned to Arrows in the field.” Arrows who, even if they’d taken a class or two, had never tortured or otherwise harmed the children. “Like me and Zaira and Vasic.”

The boy’s eyes grew bright. “Vasic? But he doesn’t live here.”

“Some children may train here and live elsewhere.” Vasic’s teleportation skills made location a nonissue and the security at the orchard was even more airtight now because of Ivy’s position as president of the Empathic Collective. “Regardless, you’re to live with those of us who do not hurt our children.”

“But I’m not yours.”

“Yes. You are.”