Heirs of the Gods

Ch 39.3: The light of truth

WARNINGS FOR MENTIONS OF PAST VIOLENCE

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Councillor Bainor's order was final.

The scholars doubled their efforts and Ella closed her eyes as the pressure in her head built. The last she saw was his cold stare.

Ella grimaced as they hooked their tendrils around her mind. In an attempt to help them--and help herself--she conjured the image, leaving it to rest in the chamber of her mind, ready for access. Still, she could feel the way their powers pried open her mind forcefully, as if she wasn't collaborating.

It was a sensation akin to being pinned down. One of them forced her mind open, jamming their strength against her pliant barriers like one would crack open a clam. The other power barrelled forward, poking about, making her hackles raise.

Ella bit back a wince at the aggressive invasion. The way they barged in and pushed their way around her mind was making her barriers stir, screaming in protest. She could feel the sedative still coursing in her body, attempting to sedate her control.

"Careful," she gasped, as a particular poke to her barriers made her head throb and her mind shutter. She could tell the scholars analysing the evidence by the way it felt in her mind. Still, it was rough and tactless. If her control on the barrier snapped, it would be horrible for them to be ensnared in it.

"Do not interrupt the scholars, Lady Elowen," Councillor Bainor commanded. "They are working."

Well, they would for long if they didn't soften their approach. Ella could feel the way the restless well of power in her was spiking, lashing out like a caged animal. It was sedated, but it was still strong.

"The evidence is untampered, it is true," the apprentices said in unison.

"Cross-examine it with the statement," came the councillor's response.

Once again, the prodding began. Sharp and rough, as if they were handling a rock and not her mind. The ache in her temples swelled, a bead of sweat dampened her hairline, trickling down her face as Ella squinted in concentration.

It had been going on for too long, and she did not have the ability to control her power completely. Ella's powers were much like a child--capricious and unruly, still a bit unmanageable. It was difficult to keep it from acting up.

Finally, breaking free of the restraints, in her mind, fleeting images began to spill out.

Dreams she'd had, scraps of conversations, visages of colour, and echoes of memories.

The sandy beach of Gerrathea, cool salty wind whipping against her face. Her mother's soft humming, hands smudged with dirt as she gardened. Herself, smaller, chasing a laughing Cedric around a green lawn, wooden sword in hand, large gap-toothed grin. Vesper's coarse fur under her fingertips, her own laughter as she threw a stick and he ran after it. Aedion's golden eyes peeking over a book, dimpled smirk blooming as he quipped something witty and she grinned, playfully swatting at him. A half-finished game of chess in Callan's study, Callan's proud smile whenever she made a clever move.

All mementos from her days. All pouring out uncontrollably, straight into the stream of consciousness that connected her to the scholars.

"Master," brother Samuel called bleakly. "There is a problem with the connection."

Desperately, Ella attempted to rein in her thoughts and images, but it was futile. Like sand between her fingers, they slipped out of her grasp and barrelled down the connection. Private, intimate moments; moments she loathed for them to see. Moments that could inevitably turn more damning if they kept up.