Iridian

12. CAVANLEIGH

.memory (fragment #11)

It was my first winter at Ashbrook. The oaks had all shed their leaves though the yew retained its glorious green glory amongst the dry, twiggy starkness around it. I still wasn't used to the cold and snow. Why did snow have to look so soft and fluffy when it was actually damp and chilly, the pervasive cold managing to creep into even the warmest gloves? Stupid notion, since ice in the fridge was never soft and fluffy either.

However today, I was going to use that cold to my advantage, or disadvantage, depending on which point of view one chose to take.

I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the studio, dressed in little but a tank top and thin cotton drawstring pants, the windows wide open to let in the frigid air. Seven steel ball-bearings—each slightly larger than the next—rested on a velvet mat before me. One by one I floated them into the air, spinning slowly about two feet above the ground. It was a split focus exercise, concentrating on doing something intricate while maintaining a basic need. Sweat broke over my brow with the effort to control them while I also attempted to use the Nexus to keep my core temperature stable. Goosebumps prickled my skin as the cold invaded my body.

Telekinesis was one of the earlier lessons that were taught—apart from shielding one's thoughts and emotions—mostly because an uncontrolled telekinetic ability was hazardous to objects and people around the person. It was a difficult concept for me grasp, having to discard the laws of mass and gravity, and simply replacing it with the belief that I could lift something without touching it. It wasn't about the mass of the object you were trying to move, but about breaking down the boundaries that quantified mass at all. Before you could move something, you had to believe that you could. Of course, the larger the mass of the object being moved, the more of the Nexus you had to channel and that was where the true limitation lay because everyone was different, and therefore so was the capacity to touch and wield the infinite plane that was the Nexus.

I'd progressed much faster once I'd settled down at Ashbrook, though the first few days were spent getting comfortable with Llewellyn as my instructor more than anything else. I found that learning was easier for me if I was mentally linked to the other person when they showed me, but linking required trust, and the tall, blond Llewellyn was patient with my reluctance to open up to him.

Much of my initial training was taken on by him as Dante was often away on some task or another, returning and leaving at odd times. I never questioned Dante where he went since he never spoke of it, but I could see that he was tired, his face becoming thinner and shadowed with fatigue. I'd even caught him sleeping over the kitchen counter once—in a t-shirt that had seen better days, pajama pants, with a glass of half-finished milk to one side, and the novel I'd been searching for high and low used as his pillow. I'd wondered where that book had gotten to.

In those moments when he had the time to teach me, he was a demanding task master, focused and bordering on ruthless, that I was often relieved when Llewellyn took over. Where Llewellyn often let me take my time to adjust to a concept and practice, Dante pushed me to the limits, testing me, until I ended up literally flat on the couch, the floor, the grass, or whatever horizontal surface was available from pure exhaustion. Yet, when I was learning from Dante, I learned faster, my grasp of the Nexus becoming stronger. Maybe our affinity for each other allowed him to transfer information to me quicker.

Llewellyn had been proven correct though. By the time Dante returned after my initial arrival at Ashbrook, I had managed to control my 'shouting' almost flawlessly. I knew this because Dante commented that he was not used to the silence, to which I flung a cushion at his head in response. By the time Paige returned, I didn't even have to exert myself anymore. The shielding came naturally.