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Kate shakes her head slowly. “No idea. Sounds like something out of some esoteric physics book.”
I have to agree. There’s a list of formulas, which mean nothing to me, and the rest is a bunch technical jargon that I’ve never come across before. What I can glean from it is that there are certain types of energy that humans can’t normally sense. They seem to have something to do with odeon, interacting with it. This energy appears to move in waves but can change its pattern, becoming weaker or stronger. And apparently, it’s possible to change the wavelengths to a certain extent and cause vibrations.
“If I need to master these energy patterns in my test, then my chances aren’t great,” I say as I skim read the other notations. But it all seems to be the same subject matter. All I find are more formulas and calculations. “Maybe the other books will be more enlightening.” I bring up the next photo on my phone. It’s from the second book.
Kate and I stare at the display and inspect the next few photos. These excerpts mention people and their gifts.
Mary Clark, born 1904. Telekinesis. She is able to move objects weighing up to 20 pounds and transport them approximately three feet. This was tested in numerous attempts. Under great physical and mental stress, these values could be exceeded in all areas. Suddenly, Ms. Clark was able to transport objects weighing 100 pounds across distances of 50 feet.
We find other examples and names. They all demonstrated better performance under stress. This all sounds pretty harmless. I can’t help wondering what form the physical and mental stress might take. I doubt it’s anything too bad. But then a short summary at the end alarms me a little.
The after-effects lasted up to 5 weeks in 40 percent of cases. Five percent were unable to recover and had to be eliminated from the test group. It is assumed that the damage is irreversible.
“What damage?” I wonder. I scan the next few photos but can’t find anything more specific on that. “What were they doing to people in this study?”
Kate shakes her head. “I don’t know. But if this series of tests has anything to do with your test, then I guess it’s not as safe as they claim.”
I recall Mr. Cunningham’s words, and the way he looked at me, which seemed honest and open. He said it wouldn’t be easy or pleasant, but that I wouldn’t come to any serious harm. Was he lying to me? Or are these tests only distantly related to the destiny test?
Hoping that the last book will be more elucidating, I bring up the last of the photos. My eyes scan the lines, reading faster and faster, until I catch my breath.
To force him to show his true colors and his powers, five ambassadors were selected. The room was dark and stuffy, the examiners’ presence felt rather than seen. The key spirits attacked quickly, as intended, and appeared to come out of nowhere. The test subject was driven around the room. It was the task of the ambassadors to push him to his physical limits. They were to give him no opportunity to counterattack. The energy level was continuously monitored by the judge. Finally came the summons. It was perceived by everyone present, so it had to be done at exactly the right moment. The test subject reacted as anticipated, and not only did his power manifest, it was also measurable. However, it quickly became clear that he had no control over it, and he failed.
I keep staring at those lines, reading them over and over. This sounds more like the destiny test. The test subject was attacked by the ambassadors, whatever they are, and by key spirits. The aim was to push him to his physical limits. This insight brings me a sense of relief. I don’t like fighting, and I figure I’m not all that good at it, but at least it’s something I can practice. But the rest of this excerpt is worrying. What’s the summons? And what does it have to do with the gift? It’s clear that the test subject struggled most with this part, and it’s what caused him to fail in the end. Will it be the same for me?
I hear the bell and check the time. Lunch is over, and it’s time to go to training. I’d rather stay here and devote my attention to the photographed pages. But I guess that will have to wait until evening.
Kate and I don’t say much on the way to the gym. We’re both absorbed in our own thoughts. What happened to that test subject? And what could he have done differently to pass the test?
“We’ll figure it out,” Kate reassures me. “There’s still time.”
But that’s another point that concerns me: we don’t know that. They could call me up at any time to do the test, and I expect I won’t be given a lot of notice. This test is about catching me off-guard and triggering the part of me that will fight for survival and nothing else. And to do that, I guess they have to put me under as much stress as possible.
At training, I try to push all these thoughts out of my mind and fully immerse myself in the exercises. It’s now more important than ever that I make rapid progress and get as much out of this class as I possibly can. Physical fitness seems to be a prerequisite. And being able to defend myself and attack.
It’s after midnight. I’m still sitting with my phone in my hand, reading the text in the photos. There has to be something useful in here. Kate spent the whole evening racking her brains with me. She went to bed half an hour ago. I reread the passages from the third book, which has a few sentences about a ritual.
Bright flashes were seen in the otherwise dark room. The ambassadors only hesitated briefly and didn’t let up. The atmosphere changed, became more tense, energized. We all knew what was happening before us, but we couldn’t see it. The judge’s voice faded, and suddenly there was nothing to be heard but screams.
A shiver runs down my spine, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. I only have one question: what happened during this ritual? I read the next few pages, hoping to find an answer. Finally, I come to Mr. Brian’s memos. On one of them, an arrow points to the paragraph about energy fluctuations. Here he’s written the words “distorted perception.”
The short excerpt that I’ve photographed is about the ambassadors. Figures dressed in black who melt into the darkness.
Only their attacks cut through the darkness, illuminating their outlines. They were all exceptionally strong, merciless, and highly trained for such a test.
It makes it sound like they’re horrible creatures from another world. Beside this is another one of Mr. Brian’s memos. More opponents. See Elliot study. And then on another memo, Create unpleasant environment. Tense situation. And then, From Elliot study: hallucination or reality? Energetic fluctuations seem to open a portal. Images of alien creatures and eerie chants.
I read these words again and feel extremely anxious. I’d be lying if I said I’m not afraid of this test. But I won’t give up.
I read through it all again and again, racking my brains over every hand-written note, and come to the conclusion that they do everything in their power to make it as uncomfortable as possible for the person undergoing the test. I read over Mr. Brian’s annotations one more time and catch my breath. There’s one memo that I almost overlooked. It’s partially hidden behind the note about the Elliot study and hallucinations. I have to swipe the photo back and forth to read it. It says: Creatures feed on fear. It makes them stronger. Their spell is broken through touch.
I run my hand through my hair, feeling exhausted. Is this maybe the answer I was looking for? I’m still unclear about what to expect from the test. But honestly, these few hints only make me more scared. Ambassadors, a judge, spectators, darkness, and a ritual that apparently triggers hallucinations or distorted sensory perception. Could the Council have come up with anything worse for me?
Chapter 10
Islowly inhale and exhale and try to ignore my trembling legs as I command my lungs to breathe evenly. I can’t get enough oxygen, and I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs. Every fiber in my body is crying out: this is too much. Yoru is sitting beside me. He’s breathing heavily too and looking at me inquiringly with his dark eyes.
“We can’t give up,” I say. “They’ll make us do this test soon, and we can’t afford to fail. Just imagine having to go live with the Fabricis…”
