Silvered Midnight
Talek Dyn Sioc hesitated at the bottom of the steps leading up to the wide, double doors of the Institute. The Admissions Board were about to announce the results of the entrance examinations. Other candidates hurried past him, hints of eager pinks and excited tangerine escaping their empathic wards. None showed any signs of being plagued by the clouds of anxiety and doubt that had tormented him for the past ten days.
A shove from behind. Talek lurched forward, the toe of his boot catching on the lip of the first step. Laughter followed his ungainly sprawl.
‘Out of my way, Dyn.’ A purple tinged sneer coated the last word.
‘No point in you attending,’ called another.
‘That’s right,’ a third joined in. ‘There’s a strict “No Royalist” policy.’
They swirled past him, shards of bright laughter ricocheting off his wards. The Institute doors closed behind them with a soft thud.
Talek pushed to his feet, scowling. There was a time when he would have given anything to ditch the honorific ‘Dyn’—meaning ‘beloved of the emperor’—but now he clung to it with a kind of fatalistic determination. During the rebellion, his grandfather had supported the emperor to the bitter end. His family had lost everything. Beloved. The irony twisted in his gut.
He winced as he brushed the dust from the knees of his trousers and made a concerted effort to tighten his empathic wards. No way was he going to let anyone sense the depths of his anger and frustration.
‘Don’t mind them, they’re idiots.’
He turned to find Nayeli, his younger sister, smiling up at him. At sixteen, she was full of a bubbling energy, silver hair curled around her shoulders, sunshine summer dress a perfect reflection of her mood. Talek’s mother had remarried when his father died, ditching the royalist slur for the respectability of a mercantile House. The only good thing to come out of that union was Nayeli. She chased away his darkness, sweetened the bitterness rooted in his bones, laughed away his rages.
She held up a flat, palm-sized box. ‘I bought you a present. To celebrate.’
‘We don’t even know if they’ll accept me.’
‘Of course they’ll accept you. You are ranked in the top one percent of this year’s graduates.’
‘That just means they’re forced to consider my application.’
Graduates of the Institute had their futures assured. Amongst the Coalition of planets, the empaths of Dalharra were in constant demand. He’d worked hard to meet the Institute’s entry requirements—now, the Board just needed to say ‘yes’.
‘I’ll not have your storm clouds today,’ Nayeli said and pushed the box at him. ‘Open it!’
Talek couldn’t help but smile. The box contained a plain, silver ring. He raised an eyebrow. Silver represented Truth in all its painful, sharp-edged aspects.
‘Read the inscription,’ she said.
He angled the ring to catch the late afternoon sunlight. On the inner surface, graceful letters spelt out: Light. Life. Love. The guiding tenets of the Healers’ division. It was a philosophy she seemed to effortlessly embody and which she tirelessly encouraged him to follow. Eyes closed, Talek fought to contain the liquid-gold rush of emotion that threatened to bring tears to his eyes.
‘I try my best,’ he murmured.
‘Try harder. I can’t always be around to keep you out of trouble.’
Talek slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. It was a perfect fit. He clenched his fist around it. ‘Come on, we don’t want to miss the announcements.’
Nayeli grinned up at him as they climbed the steps. ‘I can’t wait to see the looks on those idiots’ faces when the Board offers you a place.’
Talek pushed open the double doors and led the way to the main lecture theatre. It was a familiar route; he’d spent the last ten days undergoing assessments in various seminar rooms, lecture theatres and laboratories. The last were the worst, but the other candidates had been just as shaken as he was by the invasive, hands-on empathic tests.
The five-hundred seat lecture theatre was almost full. They slipped into a gap on the back row, not minding the absence of cushions on the smooth wooden bench. The members of the Admissions Board, all five of them, were sitting behind a long table near the front of the stage. Arrayed behind them, seated in ornately carved chairs, were senior members of the Institute’s three divisions: Healers wrapped in bone-white robes, Mediators tailored in cyan and silver, and dour faced Interrogators in their midnight black uniforms. All wore gloves. No one would risk accidental skin-to-skin contact with a fully trained member of the Institute.
A low hum of conversation filled the lecture theatre.
‘I wonder which division brings in the most funds?’ murmured Nayeli with a wasp-orange sting of mocking humour. The expensive fabrics and glitter of jewellery amongst the Mediators said it all. ‘Are you sure you want to be one of those braggarts?’
Talek grinned back at her. ‘Mediators get to travel around the Coalition. Can you imagine the colours, the tastes, the textures of so many alien cultures?’
Nayeli frowned and pinched his arm. The Chair of the Board chose that moment to stand and address the audience. The words of welcome and the pompous recitation of the Institute’s proud history rolled over Talek like distant thunder. It was the occasional flickers of emotion, escaping the wards of prospective students and anxious parents alike, that caught his attention: hints of vanilla hope, smudges of charcoal doubt, even the occasional smear of greasy fear. He wasn’t the only one in an agony of suspense.
His mother and stepfather had not accompanied Nayeli to hear the announcements—no surprise there. At the age of twenty-one he was expected to contribute to the family business, not sign up for a further five years of intensive study. It wasn’t as if it would cost his stepfather anything. The Institute did not charge tuition fees. Instead, it tied its students into a contract that committed them to paying a percentage of their earnings for the rest of their working lives. Earnings that would far outstrip anything he could make working for the family business.
Nayeli touched his hand, skin-to-skin contact allowing her to read the complex interweaving of his emotions. ‘You were never meant to be hidden away in some dusty old office,’ she said.
Hidden away. Out of sight. No doubt exactly what his stepfather intended.
Talek fixed his sister with a determined look. ‘You will make a great Healer,’ he said. ‘When the time comes, don’t let them stop you applying.’
The Dean of Health and Wellbeing stepped up to the lectern. The reading of names seemed to take forever. Talek listened with mixed emotions, not wanting to train as a Healer, but not wanting to be passed over either.
‘Congratulations and welcome to all our new students.’ The Dean smiled and retook her seat.
The Dean of Trade, Disputes and Off-world Relations was called up next. He smiled, giving the politely applauding Senior Mediators a nod of acknowledgement before taking the stand. Talek’s heart quickened; he pulled in a breath, tightened his wards. If anything, this list was even longer, but for Talek it came to an end too soon. He was still staring, lips parted in protest, when the Dean strode back to his seat. Despite what Talek had said to Nayeli, a part of him had believed the Institute would take him, that he would be given a chance to prove his worth.
He pushed to his feet. Fists clenched.
‘Talek. No.’
He ignored his sister’s frantic whisper, but he could not ignore the burst of lime unease transmitted through her touch. She pulled him back into his seat, and he let her.
The black-garbed Dean of Internal and External Security strode up to the lectern. ‘Let me start by thanking all of the upstanding young men and women who applied to take on the demanding role of an Interrogator. I applaud your integrity and sense of self-sacrifice. In these challenging times, it’s more important than ever that we pull together to defend our peace-loving society from the growing threats posed by criminal elements.’ The Dean paused, gaze raking the silent crowd. Seemingly satisfied that he had their complete attention, he began listing the successful candidates.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Talek muttered.
Smiling apologies at anyone who glanced in their direction, Nayeli followed his lead. The closing door cut the Dean off mid-word. Talek could feel his sister’s ‘buts’ and ‘what ifs’ building up.
Hoping to cut off her protests, he said, ‘No way am I working for the Security division.’
‘I know. You’re right. They follow a dark path. But leaving early doesn’t create a good impression, does it?’ He stopped and stared. Nayeli stared right back. ‘You can always reapply next year,’ she insisted.
Talek spun away from her. She didn’t understand. How could she?
‘Go home, Nayeli,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Give your father the good news.’
Striding to the exit, he slammed the doors open and almost ran down the steps. The last thing he wanted was Nayeli’s naïve optimism. Reapply next year?Just so the Board could throw his hopes back in his face again?
Lengthening shadows stretched across the street. The sun set early at this time of year, leaving a bloody smear along sharp-angled roofs. Talek turned down the first narrow street, losing himself amongst the flurry of last-minute shoppers. He slowed as a couple of Interrogators strolled past—second years, judging by the two silver stripes on their shoulders, the only adornment on their black uniforms. Talek suppressed a shudder. Healers helped you work through your emotional trauma, brought you back to the light, to your life, to the love around you. Interrogators, on the other hand, used your trauma as a weapon. Digging into your psyche, amplifying the pain and horror, forcing compliance. All for the greater good, of course. No doubt the Dean of Internal and External Security had finished by pounding the lectern, issuing dire warnings about subversive elements and the need for increased vigilance both at home and across the Coalition as a whole.
Talek paused at the crossroads. He needed to work off his bottled-up anger, and yes, grief at having his last chance to escape snatched away from him. The fight club, then.
Fate intervened before he got there. Yet another loaded roll of the dice.
Loving Life in the Rain 