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Zodak followed Seer to his stone perch then halfway around it, his electrical circuits curious and eager. “I need to show you something I saw while praying,” Seer said once they were hidden from eyes.
“Okay,” Zodak said, eager to learn all he could about him.
“You’ll need to use your gift,” he said.
Zodak obliged him quickly, stepping close. “May I touch you?”
“You may.”
Zodak flipped up the lenses and took hold of his head, diving into his serene gaze where he spotted Seer, standing in a span of light some distance from him.
“Come see,” Seer called.
Zodak was suddenly next to him as though his words controlled his movements. He looked in the direction of Seer's gaze and saw a woman great with child in a tent, laboring.
“That’s your mother,” Seer said.
Zodak took a step closer, staring intently at the beautiful woman. Seeing her pain and fear as she brought him into a world that would become a lonely prison brought an instant tightness to his chest.
Seer moved his hand and flipped the scene like a page in a giant book. “This is you at one year old.” In this mental space, Zodak felt the affection in Seer’s words as a myriad of images flashed across the book-like screen. All highlights of the plague he’d been gifted from birth. He watched himself as a child, absorbing emotions from those around him. Crying, laughing, raging, fearing, daring, loving and caring, loathing and hating.
The page turned again.
“This is you at five,” Seer said, his affection moving over him like a warm wind.
This time his mother’s face drew his gaze. Joy and devotion filled her beautiful features when Zodak looked upon her as a child then turned to fear and sadness whenever he looked away.
“What a stirring love your parents had for you,” Seer marveled, Zodak's gift picking up a painful longing.
Again, the page flipped and Zodak’s breath left him at seeing his younger siblings. They were so real he reached out to touch them. “Seer,” he gasped, suddenly struggling to breathe.
“Your brother and sister,” he whispered. “You protected them even from yourself.”
“I made them think I hated them,” he remembered.
“They didn’t believe it,” Seer assured as the page turned.
Heat filled Zodak’s chest at the images flowing. His brother and sister sneaking into his tent and sleeping at his feet. Them fighting with neighboring nomad kids in his defense. He sucked in several breaths, again reaching out, aching to touch them.
The page flipped and terror struck him, drawing his hand back. “Seer,” he croaked, watching as he killed seven men in cold blood with a single blade.
“I know, Son,” he whispered. “But you were only sixteen. You didn’t understand.”
“I killed all of them,” he heaved.
“You saved your familiy’s life.”
“They were forced to send me here, to protect me.” He turned to Seer. “They were supposed to come and find me, but they never did.”
“Look,” Seer said, pointing.
Zodak turned, watching his siblings and mother and father on a boat. “They came,” he whispered. “Where are they?” he shot out, desperate to see them.
“We will find them.”
“We?”
He nodded then turned to the story book again. “Look.”
