Chapter 5 #2
“For now,” Noemi replied. “I’d give him the rest of the week to recover before returning to training. He’s full to the brim.”
Draven looked puzzled, as if this was not something that had ever occurred to him. To be fair, Task also never thought that this would be his power, that it would be a double-edged sword in so many ways.
“Very well,” Draven nodded, finally moving away from the doorway. “You may go.”
Task made his way to the archway of the training room, inclining his head toward Voss to follow. They’d made a hasty retreat, Task apologizing profusely along the way.
That evening, there had been a knock at his door.
He’d opened it to see Noemi standing there, her hair now braided but hanging loosely over the front of her tan healer robes, a satchel over her shoulder.
She’d never, ever come to his chambers before, and it felt a bit strange to see her there.
He’d wanted to hug her, but after the events of the day, thought it best to proceed with caution. He stepped back to allow her in.
She practically fell through the door, a tumble of hair and books and words.
“I’m so sorry about what happened earlier,” she rushed out.
“Draven shouldn’t be pushing you so hard.
He should be educating himself about your power, about what it can do.
I’m going to give him several books. It’s just that this is so rare, almost as rare as life force manipulation, and nobody knows much about it.
There hasn’t been much recorded. But since you manifested, I’ve been doing some reading and —”
Task put out his hand to stop her, chuckling a bit at her eagerness. “Noemi. Slow down.”
She grinned at him then, and it lit up the room, warmed him from the inside out. He felt it in the core of his being, even through the pain still simmering just under the surface. “Sorry, sorry,” she said. “I get excited. You know.”
“Of course,” Task laughed. He walked over to the two black leather armchairs in front of the glass-screened fireplace and gestured for her to sit. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here?”
“I thought that was obvious,” she said. “After today? I brought you some things I think will help.” She started to pull books out of her satchel, along with a tube filled with sparkling blue liquid, and a set of wooden blocks about the size and thickness of a coaster.
She set them all on the wood coffee table in front of her.
“We’ll start with weaving,” she said. “This is to help manage the pain, so it doesn’t overwhelm you. But you must be diligent about it. Do it more often than you think is necessary. Okay?” She shot a look at Task, as if she knew he would not be at all diligent.
“It’s still there now,” Task said.
She nodded. “I only siphoned the very top off. I didn’t want to go through all of this in front of Draven. I wanted you to have…privacy. And agency. Sit next to me.”
And so he had. They’d sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, Noemi showing him how to reach into himself, to draw out tendrils of the pain, which appeared as glowing blue strands, and weave them into shapes, which were then pressed into the wooden blocks.
She’d told him that the wooden blocks with the pain imbued in them could be used as weapons, sort of like explosive devices.
That ultimately, this would help him to manage the pain, take the edge off, make sure he didn’t overflow with it.
When they’d been at it for three hours, Task felt lighter, only a hint of pain still there. Noemi had looked him in the eyes, put her palm on his face, and said, “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t ask why, because he knew.
He’d kissed her then, tangling his hands through her hair, pulling her into his lap.
After all the weaving, her touch didn’t scald him.
He could still feel small rivulets of her pain when he moved his hand to her throat, but he was so focused on her mouth, on the little sounds she was making, that he could ignore it.
She’d left his chambers that night with her hair a nest and her lips swollen. And Task, for the first time since his power had manifested, felt hopeful, like he might be able to get it under control.
He didn’t realize how wrong he was. How instead of controlling it, it would be used to control him.
And then one day, he’d woken up before the sun rose, intending to go see Noemi in the infirmary to bring her a coffee, maybe kiss her in that way that made her cheeks go a bit pink, but when he’d pushed open the doors, she was gone.
He’d looked everywhere in Xaria, finally resigning himself to ask Draven.
Maybe he’d sent her with one of the ships, maybe she’d gone off-planet, maybe she was tending to a particularly complex case in the city.
When he’d finally knocked on his uncle’s door, his heart was hammering in his chest. Something was off. He felt it deep in his bones.
“Come in!” he heard Draven call. The metal door slid open, revealing Draven behind his massive obsidian desk.
“Where is Noemi?” Task gasped out, almost falling over the threshold to Draven’s study.
Concern flitted across Draven’s face at the state that Task was in. “Ah, your healer friend. She’s been reassigned.”
“Reassigned?” Task’s brows shot up. “Where? When?”
“These things happen. I’m sorry,” Draven said, coming around from behind his desk to place a hand on Task’s shoulder. “I know you were…fond of her.”
Task choked down something that may have been an astounded laugh. Fond, he supposed, was one way of putting it.
“Sometimes people aren’t who we think they are,” his uncle continued in an offhanded sort of way, his hand still resting on Task’s shoulder. Even though he intended it to be nonchalant, his tone turned Task’s stomach. Task’s eyes flicked up to his uncle’s, still looking down at him with concern.
Task shook his head a bit, swallowing thickly. He was being ridiculous. There was no way his uncle would have done anything to Noemi. She was one of Xaria’s best healers, but perhaps it was true. She’d just been reassigned.
Agony was swirling inside of him — his own this time.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek, willing his eyes to stay dry, to avoid crumpling like a sack in front of Draven.
He closed his eyes, taking a breath, opening up the reservoir inside of himself and shoving the fresh heartbreak inside.
He imagined himself putting a lid on the top of the reservoir, sealing it shut.
He opened his eyes again, his face blank, his eyes hard.
“I understand.” He nodded to Draven, turned on his heel, and vowed to never, ever let anybody get that close to him again.
Present Day
“We’re entering Lumarian airspace,” Captain Julissa says from his seat at the front of the Hopper. Voss, the ambassador, his Chief of Staff Grayson, and Task are seated behind Julissa and his first officer.
They’re all tightly strapped into their seats with over-the-shoulder belts.
Travel by Hopper is not for the faint of heart -- it completely fucks with the body -- though it is the quickest way to get from one point to another.
A Hopper could jump the space-time continuum, almost like stepping through a portal in one part of the galaxy and arriving in another.
An especially useful bit of technology when many of the planets in the Consortium were years apart.
They all do it often enough that nobody aboard has vomited or passed out, but Task sees Voss’ hands gripping the seatbelt strapped across his chest, his gaze fixed directly ahead of him, and he can tell Voss is trying not to hyperventilate.
Despite being a renowned fighter in the Nexarium Force, Hopper travel is the one thing Voss can’t master.
They’re being jostled about, heads moving left to right as they bump through the galaxy.
It’s incredibly loud, metal clanging against metal coupled with the roar of the engine.
If Task didn’t know better, it would sound as though the entire ship is about to fall apart, but… this is just how Hopper travel is.
“You good?” Task asks Voss. Task is seated directly behind him and Ambassador Remulus, and he leans slightly forward so Voss can hear him over the din.
“Fine,” he says, through gritted teeth. He is decidedly not fine, but also is not about to admit that in front of the ambassador and two seasoned Hopper pilots.
“We’re almost there,” Task says, trying for reassurance. Emotions are not really his strong suit. They never had been, but certainly not since the pain echo manifested.
Voss grimaces, either at Task’s piss-poor attempt at support or because they’ve just bumped over a particularly large air pocket on the descent into Lumaria, throwing the Hopper a good forty feet to the left.
The ambassador seems entirely unfazed by all of it, and continues to read the digital file he’s cast from the Chronogram on his wrist.
“Sorry about that,” Julissa calls. “Unexpected turbulence.”
“Yeah, we felt it!” Task shouts back. He’s thrust back in his seat as they hit another bump.
“Sorry again!” Julissa says. He flips the projected control panel up on the windshield and is tapping away, hopefully setting them on a smoother course into Lumaria. “We should be good for the remainder.”
“God willing,” Voss mutters. His forehead is slick with sweat, and he looks slightly green.
The ambassador finally looks up from the digital file he’s reading to shoot a glare at Voss. To Grayson, he mutters, “They’ve put a milksop on this ship with me.”
Ouch.
Voss ignores him, wiping the sweat from his brow. The ambassador, while a consummate diplomat, is also an incredible asshole.
Finally, Task can see the green and blue mass of Lumaria growing nearer. It’s a beautiful planet from afar, lush foliage and ocean. A heartbeat later and they’re descending into Aventia, making their way to Port Moriah.