Chapter 8 The Stranger #2
“Eyes like mine? The horse?” he echoed back like I'd lost my mind.
“Yes, the horse—blue.” I nodded emphatically, hoping to displace the skeptical expression on his face.
“Which direction did he go?” Caius asked, his tone suddenly sharp.
I watched him and Dani exchange a glance—brief, but meaningful. Then, without another word, Caius wheeled his horse and kicked it into a gallop, racing off in the direction the man had gone.
Dani dismounted and let the reins fall. He crossed to me in a few quick strides, concern etched into every line of his face. His hands settled on my shoulders before he pulled me against him, arms wrapping tightly around me.
I let myself breathe. Just breathe.
He didn't make my heart flutter the way Caius did, but there was a steadiness in him, a goodness that radiated from my friend. I took it gladly, grounding me while my heartbeat slowed. After a moment, he pulled back to look at me, one hand rising to cup my cheek.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?” Concern rang in his voice, and in the stricken way his eyes searched my face, my arms, as though he might find some mark he'd missed.
“Yes—no,” I said, hoping I was answering in the right order.
My body was unharmed, but my thoughts were still in disarray.
“He didn't hurt me. Not really.” I drew a breath, struggling to put it into words.
“But he got into my thoughts. It was as if he reached inside me and knew things—things I'd only just been thinking. He twisted them, turned them against me.” I hesitated, heat creeping into my cheeks.
“It frightened me,” I said at last, letting that be all.
I couldn't confess what the stranger had read in my thoughts, and I prayed Dani wouldn't ask.
He didn't respond right away. I could tell he was weighing something, choosing his words.
“Do you know who he is?” I asked, remembering the flash that passed over Caius's face when I'd described the horse.
“No,” Dani said. “But I believe Caius does.” His mouth tightened. “His father spoke of seeing a man with a pale horse recently. Thinks he is aligned with our enemies from the south.”
Dani let out a slow breath, as if he'd been scared too and could now let down his guard. “You're safe now,” he said, and somehow the words made it true. He took the basket from my trembling hands and slung it over his shoulder and mounted his horse. “Come—I'll take you home.”
When I returned to the cottage, I told Buna everything—about the man on the shimmering horse, and how he had somehow slipped into my thoughts, as if he'd been listening from inside my own mind. How he'd known things he shouldn't have—things I had only just been thinking.
“How do I protect myself from someone invading my mind?” I asked, the panic still hot in my chest—the awful realization that even my thoughts could betray me.
“You must first recognize it's happening,” Buna said, her voice low and deliberate. “And you did. That's a start. Most people don't feel the intrusion until it's too late…if they ever notice it at all.”
She paused, drawing a breath, as if deciding how much of the truth I was ready to carry.
“But with practice—when you learn to listen for it—you'll begin to sense it in the air around you.
You'll know when someone wields that kind of power. Sometimes the moment you meet them.” She tapped a finger to her temple.
“And that's when you raise your guard. Because that's what it is, Magda—a wall.
A barrier in your mind they can't penetrate. You must build it. Hold it. Defend it. Every time.”
Over the next few days we practiced. I wrote words on slips of paper, folded them into small squares, and dropped them into a basket. Buna would draw one out and hand it to me. I'd read it, memorize it, and press my hand over it so she couldn't see.
Then came the real work. I'd conjure the word in my mind—wrap it in color, texture, meaning—and then try to shield it, locking it behind the wall Buna was teaching me to build.
She'd close her eyes, searching for what I was hiding.
Then she'd tell me what the word was I'd been holding in my thoughts.
Sometimes she was close—too close. When my focus had slipped, or I'd let my guard drop, or when I was tired.
But other times…nothing. Just a blank void where my thoughts had once been laid bare.
I was getting better.
“But the place you need to get to,” Buna said, her gaze focused, “is beyond just building a wall.” She leaned in slightly.
“Because if someone reaches for your mind and all they find is a barricade, they'll grow suspicious.
The masters of this power—the truly dangerous ones—as I suspect the man you met was—they'll sense you're hiding something.
And they'll dig deeper. Harder. And if they can't get to your secrets, they will resort to torturing your body for them.”
Her voice dropped, nearly a whisper. “That's why sometimes, you must let them in. Just a little. Let them see what you want them to see—a decoy thought, something believable. You let them catch it, examine it, and walk away thinking they've uncovered the truth.”
Buna tapped her temple again, slower this time. “It's not just about strength, Magda. It's about cunning. Sometimes, the only way to protect your truth…is to feed them a lie.”