Martin's New Power

The advantages of no longer working 14 hours a day. I get writing done! Review: Martin has arrived at Evan's Stand, met up with a good friend Glen the theif, Tyler the sailor shows up, and Martin discovers that he can feel the city. Now what?
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Martin wanted to escape the city and the people who worked within it. To get away from the chaotic beating he now felt within him of their emotions. But he didn’t. No, he had to get control of this power. Uncontrolled power was a disaster waiting to happen. Just as he had when he first discover that strange dream state, he began to practice using his unknown magic.

Instead of running from people, Martin found the most populated area of the city, the Merchant’s Market. People from all walks of life could be found at the Market. Nationalities gave way to the one true power in a merchant community: money. Perhaps that was why he sought out these people. They cared only for the basics. He only spent the afternoon there, but had learned enough to ease his apprehension of his magic.

For one thing, he could not manipulate emotions. Martin had nearly sobbed in relief when he discovered that. Spotting a child throwing a tantrum, he tried to press magic on the kid to calm down. If anything, the girl only screamed harder about how she wanted that doll. He tried on several different people, old and young alike, with the same results. None of their emotions changed.

Martin could just feel emotions, and even then, he never felt just one person. He got a general sense of what others felt around him. As he watched an argument ensue between a merchant and a customer, people had begun to gather to watch the scene. Without even knowing what the cause of the argument was about, he could tell that most sided with the merchant.

Interesting, he thought, as the debate ended and the people dispersed to whatever they had been doing. While some still thought of the argument, most returned to their normal emotions. The pressure of right and wrong he had from them moments before had lifted and he had the sense of normal.

It seems, Martin thought, that the more people sharing the same emotion, the more I can sense them. It would explain why the Santers were rumored to know the opinions of the general public.

There was, however, another discovery to his skill. Passing by an unused ally way, he nearly stumbled as an emotion overpowered his senses. It was demanding! Glancing into the ally, he felt blood rush to his face. There in a secluded corner, a young couple was in a romantic embrace that was soon to become something much more. Blushing furiously, he fled as quickly as he could. The farther he got from the couple, the less demanding he felt. Finally, down a street later and surrounded by more people, he could no longer feel the passionate emotion.

As he walked through the throng, he wondered why he was able to feel that emotion with only two people when he was now surrounded by people with not nearly the same pressing demanding that emotion had. It sparked an idea. He made his way down to the docks, certain he could find a different powerful emotion.

When he got there, Martin found exactly what he was looking for. Two merchants were arguing over the price of goods. Unlike the argument at the Market, no one cared as the two men yelled at each other. Martin found a spot close by to watch the two. Just as he suspected, he felt his senses overpowered by their current emotion of hate and distrust.

They’re going to come to blows soon, he thought as the emotion escalated. He himself could not muster the same emotion for the men, but he could feel it. It made sense now to him why he felt the couple and these two men now more than the general public. These were high emotions, brought about by either passion or hate. Martin cringed as one merchant struck out at the other and the fight begun. It was hard to not notice someone who was that passionate about what they were about. Shaking his head at their petty dispute, he went back to the Market.

It was getting dark when Martin decided he had enough of it. He had been beaten with nearly every emotion as he had walked through the Market. However, he had made one last discovery before he left.

He could block the emotions from him.

It was as simple as wishing not to feel them. The chaotic rhythm he had felt earlier wisped away as soon as he wanted it gone. Surprised by how easy the emotions left, he was equally surprised to have the emotions brought back in force the moment he wondered how he could get them back.

I’m going to have to be careful about what I want, he thought as he made his way back to Glen’s apartment. A casual thought of wishing to know what a person was thinking could bring everyone’s emotions to his attention. This could become a problem if he was suddenly hit by a powerful emotion when he needed to concentrate. Oh, well, he thought as he approached Glen’s door. Just another thing he had to learn to control.

“The battles got worse after the news came,” Tyler, Glen’s cousin said. Martin paused at the door, with a sinking feeling that he knew what news the sailor was talking about.

“Terk lets things upset him,” Glen pointed out. “I’m guessing he’s mad that the prince escaped him and now we’re trying to find him.” Martin let out a low moan. Of course they would be talking about the prince.

“Has Martin talked about what the spies are doing to find our wayward prince?” It figured Glen would talk to Tyler about everything. The two cousins were practically brothers, closer even; they didn’t have any secrets between them.

“He said the information was classified,” Glen snorted.

“Makes sense.”

“Not the way he said it.” Glen sighed. “I’ve known Martin since Pop and Chief brought him here. He only says things are classified if he doesn’t want to talk about it. He probably doesn’t realize that I figured that out.”

“But what if it is classified?” Tyler asked, his tone amused.

“Then he would have diverted the conversation to another topic.” There was a scuff of chairs. “If anything was classified, he would have made sure I didn’t think too much of it. No, he only says classified to keep from talking.”

“Then why would he tell you this prince business was classified?”

Glen sighed again, a chair creaking as if he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. Could be anything. Could be politics that he’s suddenly found himself in since he became Alex and this prince business came up. Could be he’s not happy with how the investigation is going. Could be that he’s just plain jealous.”

“Jealous? Jealous of what?”

“He may not admit it, but he’s always wanted to find out who his family is. Somewhere out there, one lucky young man is going to be part of a family while he’s left wondering what his real name is. I wouldn’t blame him if he’s jealous.”

Martin stared down at his feet. Once, he would have felt that way. But I might be that lucky young man… Strange. He didn’t feel lucky. Fixing his expression to a tired, but satisfied look, he opened the door.

Glen and Tyler sat at a table the thief had brought in after Martin arrived, both of them looked up from their drinks as he walked in.

“Speaking of the spy,” Glen smirked. “Where have you been all afternoon?”

Martin opened his mouth to say classified, only to remember that the thief knew it was his way to stop talking. Best if Glen doesn’t know that I know. “Personal business,” he replied. “You know, think things through.”

Glen raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked, leaning forward on the table on folded arms. “And what did you think through on your personal business.”

Martin graced him with his best fake smile. “What I’m going to do here.”
********

Aaron Gillian watched the sea churn far beneath his window, the waves crashing heedlessly against the cliff his prison fort was built on. There was a sea storm coming, he could feel it, and it was going to be a harsh one.

“Commander Gillian?” a random soldier asked, saluting. “I have a delivery.”

“Leave it on the table,” he said distractedly, his gaze over the ocean. Oh! How he wished he could become a sailor again! But he knew he could never return to the sea. Sighing, he turned away from his love and dismissed the soldier. The package the messenger brought was nothing more than a letter. An unmarked letter.

“Suit,” Gillian grumbled. Now what did the spy master want? He had already taken a third of his spies away from some mission. Expecting even more bad news as he tore it open and read the message, he was mildly surprised. It was short and to the point, like the efficient Spy Master was. Reading through it a few times, he found himself staring out over the ocean.

The proud man had finally made Martin his Alex and the young spy was here to keep out of trouble. Gillian wasn’t expecting to see the young man while he was at the Stand. The poor spy would be scared stiff half way up the cliff side path; he could never make it up.

He read the last few lines of the letter, explaining exactly why his spies were reassigned and why Martin was now to keep a low profile. Glancing up, he watched the approaching storm. It would hit by tomorrow morning.

It would be ironic, he thought as the waves crashed below him. If it was him.
**********

It wasn’t the clash of thunder that woke him, but the first flash of lightening. Martin sat up in his bed as the room lit up, excepting an attack. Tyler sleeping in the bed across the room shot up as the thunder shook their room.

“Oh, hiethery,” Tyler swore, flopping back down in his bed. “Just want I wanted for vacation. A storm.” Before the second lightening could hit the city, the sailor was snoring again.

Martin took a deep breath to relax his nerves, knowing he couldn’t go back to sleep. Leaving his sleeping roommate, he decided to see if the shared kitchen had anything to offer him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Glen stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes. Martin only grunted in the affirmative. “Know how you feel. Had to get up anyway. Where’s Tyler?”

“Asleep,” Martin yawned. “He’s one heavy sleeper.”

“I envy him,” Glen grumbled. Looking out of the window, he sighed as the rain attacked his windows. “This is going to be a bad storm. We’ll be dealing with this all day. I hope you brought something to do.”

Martin shrugged. He had hoped to spend the day practicing more with his magic, but he supposed it didn’t matter where he did practice. He just didn’t want anyone who knew him around. “I’ll think of something.”

He opened himself to the city, surprised by how many were still sleeping after the loud arrival of the storm. Yes, there were some sense of fright, but it was accompanied by annoyance. Must be parents up with their kids, he thought, following Glen into the kitchen. The other two men who shared the kitchen weren’t there as they prepared breakfast.

“Wow,” the thief whistled as another clash of lightening shook the building. “This is a really bad storm.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “it’s true. It’s going to be a harsh winter.”

Great. Just what he needed. Sitting down to eat breakfast, he kept his mind open to the emotions of the city. It was strange to feel as the Stand woke up to the storm, to have the same dread of having a harsh winter coming. But despite the grumbling they went about their work.

“Humph,” Glen snorted. Martin looked over, surprised to see the thief reading yesterday’s newspaper. “Can’t they give the queen a break? She’s doing the best that she can.”

“What’s happened now?”

The thief folded the paper up, slapping it down on the table. “There are already rumors that the prince is actually dead and that glove of his is a hoax. Whispers are going around that the queen has lost her mind because of grief and stress.”

Martin grimaced. Queen Abigail was having a hard enough time with trying to find her son without those types of rumors. I could end those rumors, he found himself thinking. Realizing it, he shook his head to rid those thoughts. No! He wasn’t sure yet!

“You’ve taken this prince business badly, haven’t you?”

Martin looked up to meet Glen’s searching gaze, forcing his face to an outward calm though his insides squirmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” he snorted. “You’re not the only one who can observe others. You’re bothered by something. Is it this prince business? And don’t even bother lying to me.”

The spy searched the thief’s face, wondering if he could pull off lying. But the way Glen sat forward, his expression dark, Martin knew that even if he lied, the thief wouldn’t believe anything but the truth. “You could say that,” he finally sighed. Why did it seem his friends were determined to push him this way?

“Care to clarify what’s going on?”

“No.”

His bluntness caused the thief to lean back, surprised slapped across his face. For a full minute the thief studied him, searching for something. Martin ignored the sanction. Glen had no reason to know the truth.

“Alright,” Glen finally said. “It’s a sore spot. I won’t touch it again.”

Martin jumped. This was not what he was expecting. “I can tell you’re troubled,” Glen went on in a soft voice, “and I can tell that it makes you uncomfortable. I just wanted to know if it was about the prince or not.”

“And why did you want to know if it was about the prince?”

Glen gave him a lopsided smile. “That’s for me to know, my young spy.”
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I actually had more written but the next section isn't done yet. I didn't feel like leaving off in the middle of a paragraph. But here's a preview. That storm isn't natural.

At Evan's Stand

Yeah! I've gotten a lot written since school started and now I can pass it on. Review: The poison has been destroyed and Martin has been reasigned. Now, I'll like to welcome you to Evan's Stand!
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The cold salty winds of an approaching winter caused Martin to shiver. Pulling his coat tighter, he wished the ferry would hurry up and land at Evan’s Stand. Glancing back to the mainland, he could make out the village of Samon, one of the many inland towns that supported and traded with Evan’s Stand. Thinking of the sea port, he switched his gaze across the channel. The city was built on a large island just off the Aeternan shore, the entire island was packed with buildings of the thriving port. There was talk of expanding the island by dumping dirt into the sea until the island grew bigger. The idea was fool-hardy, but he wasn’t going to argue. The Stand didn’t have a shore anyway. The once sandy banks were now covered by large buildings on stilts. Except for the southern end of the island.

Martin’s gaze was immediately drawn to the prison of Evan’s Stand. It was built on the only high ground of the island, towering over the port to remind those in the city as well as those at sea the authority that reigned. The prison was black, a sharp comparison to the light tan of the city below it. It was rumored that none could escape the stone prison, Commander Gillian was ruthless when it came to securing his prisoners. Guards patrolled the battlements at all times, even during harsh sea storms, and the single gate had double guards. Martin shuttered, glad his time here did not require him to take the steep road leading up to the prison.

“Hey, kid!” the ferry master called. “We’re nearing port, get out of the way!” Martin rolled his eyes; he knew how to work on a ferry, but he stepped out of the way as ferry hands started throwing rope to the awaiting shore hands. He went for the center of the ferry, where the other passengers and cargo were waiting. Finding his horse, he patted Rowan’s neck and waited for the command to get off. There was a sudden lurch as the ferry finally docked.

“Alright,” the ferry master bellowed, “All ashore!”

Martin untied Rowan from the horse line then walked down the ramp onto the creaking dock. Around him bustled the ferry workers, unloading the cargo, the other passengers sped off to their destinations. He lingered for a moment, trying to figure out what seemed different about the port. It looked no different, the way everyone kept moving, the same salty air mixed with the scents of other goods, even the swears of the sea men didn’t change. Shaking his head, he tugged on Rowan’s reigns to lead him out of the busy port and into the busy streets.

Suit’s orders were simple. Stay at the Stand and not get into trouble. Oh, he was permitted to help Commander Gillian with rooting out thieving nests. He could try to ferret out any enemy spies that could have come. He could even offer his talents to the small navy stationed there. He could do anything that kept his mind busy and him out of trouble.

Like I want to draw attention to myself. Several of the thieving nests knew him, a few even knew he was an Aeternan spy. It was those few he had to watch for. They vowed revenge in the most painful way they could think of. And that’s why Suit sent me here. He would be kept busy trying to escape the thieves, leaving him little time to get into any real trouble. He sighed. He didn’t want trouble; he had enough on his hands already.

“Well, look who dares show his face here again.” Martin laughed, turning around to see the person who called out. The man was leaning against a wall, grinning as well. Expertly, he flicked his caving blade around his fingers. If Martin hadn’t been watching carefully, he wouldn’t have seen where the man sheaved the blade inside his vest.

“It’s nice to see you too, Glen,” Martin said, shaking the thief’s outstretched hand. Glen laughed.

“Better to see me first than anyone else,” Glen agreed. Martin knew that to be the truth. Though a thief, Glen was notorious for working with Aeternan spies. He was a patriot all the way through, with a soft spot in his heart for the less fortunate. He was one of the few thieves who actually drew a line on crime and what was morally wrong.

“Speaking of which,” Glen went on, nodding to something beyond the young spy. “I’d suggest we’d go else where. Don’t turn around. They’ll think you’re a relative of mine as long as they don’t see your face. Come on, we’ll get you unloaded at my place.”

“Thanks,” Martin said, truly grateful. He let Glen lead the way to his home, knowing just what danger the thief had helped him avoid. Absently, he ran a hand through his short hair. Glen was right. He could pass as the thief’s relative. Of all the people Martin had met over the years, Glen was the closest he came to resembling. Same dark brown hair, mischievous hazel eyes, they even shared the common brow and chin.

The only real difference between us is our height. Glen was a foot taller than most anyone. His height gave him the advantages of seeing things before others, including the several backtracks he made them take before they finally made it to the thief’s home.

Like many of the homes at the Stand, his was found in a building that housed many different families, though his building housed more single men then families. Martin raised an eyebrow when Glen opened a door that was not the front door.

“Moved up in the world?” he asked, handing Rowan’s reigns to a stable boy who came running. Glen helped remove his pack from the saddle.

“Moved down,” the thief chuckled. “I’m no longer on the third floor.” Martin rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” he snorted, taking his pack back. “No more going through the front door to get your place?”

“Thankfully no!” Glen gave a fake sigh of relief. “When the semi-old captain finally got himself a wife, he told me to take his place before anyone else could.” Martin tried to remember the man who used to own the apartment, only to remember the man had a good aim at anyone drunk.

“Quick tour,” Glen said, waving his hand around the small front room. “Those two doors,” he pointed to his left, “are the sleeping rooms. Yours will be the left one.” His finger moved to directly across from the front door. “That leads to the rest of the building. And that door,” he pointed to the last door to their right, “is the bathroom.”

“What?” Martin asked, putting his pack on the floor. “No kitchen?”

Glen chuckled. "Actually, I share it with two other apartments. It’s also behind the one leading to the rest of the building.” Martin shrugged. Glancing to his left, he saw the threadbare green couch Glen had in his previous apartment.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” Glen encouraged. “I’ll grab something to eat. You relax.” Grinning, the thief went through the door leading to the rest of the building. Martin sat, sighing. Glen was an interesting thief, to say the least. Unlike his peers, Glen had a tendency to steal whatever fit his fancy then sell it. The other thieves in the city tolerated his habit only because he could get certain items that they themselves could not.

Looking around, Martin saw the weekly paper. He picked it up, wondering what the current news was at the Stand. The headline made him groan.

Crown Prince! Where is he?

He read the article, curious despite himself to know what the press thought of him. He stopped reading when it became more political. Sighing, he read the headline again.

“That prince business,” Glen said, coming back. He tossed a roll across the room to him. Martin had to drop the paper to catch it. “Don’t know really what to think of it myself.” He flopped down on the couch beside him. “I mean, the prince was kidnapped. How could he have survived all these years?”

Martin picked at his roll, wishing Glen would find another topic to discuss. The questions he asked were the same he battled with. Why was he kidnapped? It didn’t make sense. Any heir to a throne was worth blood. The Mad General could have had anything he asked for.

“What do you think of it?” Glen asked. “All this prince business?”

“You don’t want my opinion,” he answered, trying to keep his voice neutral. The thief had no reason to know the truth. “Besides, it’s classified information.”

Glen gave him a confused look. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re meaning to say that the spies are trying to find him?”

“We have the best researchers,” he replied, shrugging and trying not to think about the head researcher and her motives. “And we have a habit of finding people’s secrets. But the information is classified.” Glen caught the subtle hint that the subject was not a welcome topic.

“Is what you’re doing here also classified?” he asked, taking a bite of his roll.

“Not really,” Martin shrugged. “Suit wants me to keep out of trouble.”

Glen snorted. “Like you can keep out of trouble. What did you do now?” Martin almost smiled. The thief knew of this punishment Suit usually gave him, to come to the Stand and stay.

“Oh, I interpreted an order to fit my liking.”

Glen burst out laughing. “Figures you would!” He paused to catch his breath. “How long are you staying with us?”

“Until I get a summons to elsewhere.”

“Wow,” the thief whistled. “You got in deep trouble. I’d like to hear the story.” Martin allowed a smile. There was a reason why he didn’t protest coming here.
********

The spy had been at the Stand two days and surprisingly nothing had happened. Not that he was going to complain, but the only reason he invited the spy into his home was because of the adventure the young man brought with him.

Glen made his way back to the port he found Martin at, wondering about the spy he agreed to house. He knew Martin had left out some information about his mission at Fort Mesa, and he wasn’t offended that the spy hadn’t told the whole truth. However, there was something amiss. He just couldn’t put a finger on what seemed wrong.

Glancing up to the sun, he noted the time to be about noon. Good. Today was the last day he had given his cousin to come. Watching as the ferries unloaded, he strained his neck to see over the heads. If his cousin didn’t come today, it would be another year before he would be able to come again.

“Sticking out like a sore thumb again!” laughed a familiar voice. Glen smiled. Ah, his cousin had made it! He saw a similarly tall man looking out over the heads of the others at port. There he was! Weaving through the crowd, he found his cousin. Tyler shouldered his pack, grinning as he approached.

“Sorry about the delay,” Tyler said, smoothing the front of his sailor uniform. “We had an unexpected battle.”

“How annoying,” Glen laughed, shaking his cousin’s offered hand. “Battles can be so demanding. You’d think people would get enough of it.”

“Well, you know how Venterians are,” Tyler shrugged. “They’ve got to be equally demanding. Ach! But, cousin, I did not come all this way to visit you for my leave just to talk about the war. Where’s the food at?”

Glen laughed and led the way back to his house. “Oh,” he said as they weaved through the throng of people, “you’re either going to sleep on the couch or live with a roommate. Hope you don’t mind.”

Tyler snorted. “Sharing a room with one person is more private than the bunks on ships. Who you housing now?”

“Remember Martin?”

His cousin frowned, thinking as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “The same kid from three years ago? Newly made spy?”

“That’d be him,” Glen said, glad Tyler had remembered. It was before his cousin had signed up with the navy when they met the spy. His teachers had asked them to house the new spy for his first mission. It wasn’t the first time Glen had met the boy, but it was Tyler’s.

“I liked that kid,” his cousin muttered. “Quiet, but he had a spirit!” Glen shared the laugh. Martin did have spirit. When Suit had come to pick the boy up and make him his apprentice, Suit had said Martin was determined. He had said the boy would go far.

And he had. Martin had told him that he was made the Alex, at an age most thought nearly impossible. Now Aeterna had two spy masters to achieve it at such a young age. Martin had what he wanted, but… There was something wrong.

“What’s he doing here?” Tyler asked, breaking Glen out of his troubled thoughts.

“He’s to stay out of trouble,” he joked. “Like that’s going to happen.”

Tyler frowned, but did not pursue the matter. His cousin was smart, he knew when to stop asking questions. Unlike myself. Glen was curious about nearly everything. Perhaps that was why he was a professional thief. An ordinary job just seemed too boring. Even Martin’s life as a spy was boring. All those rules and regulations to keep creativity down. No, he would rather make up the rules as he went and not get punished for interpreting orders.

They arrived at his place and the usual questions of moving up in the world followed. Giving the same story he had told Martin, Glen proceeded to give the quick tour.

“Where is Martin, anyway?” Tyler asked, dropping his pack in the same place the spy had two days before. Glen frowned, looking around his small apartment.

“You know,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I don’t really know.”
*********

Martin wandered the streets of the Stand. After two days of sitting, he couldn’t take the inactivity anymore. Glen had left to try to find his cousin, so he took the chance to get away without anyone noticing. No one needed to know what he was doing.

He needed to try something. Seeking out one of the less busy streets, Martin found a place that would work. The old warehouse was in current use, but no one bothered him as he climbed up to the roof. Why should they care if he was there? He wasn’t going to steal anything. Martin didn’t want to use the roof, but he didn’t want anyone seeing him either.

The cold fall wind whipped through his jacket, but he just shivered and ignored the howling wind. Putting a firm step down on his fear, he carefully sat at the edge of the building, so he could overlook the street below him.

I always knew what was happening around me, he thought as he gazed down at the people working below him. It was rumored that the Santers had such powers, and though Martin would much rather deny the fact, he seemed to have the same powers. It had taken him two days to gather the courage to do this.

Taking a deep breath, Martin closed his eyes and blocked out the cold wind and the warm sunlight on his face. He blocked out the cry of the seagulls, the sounds of the Stand going about its daily life. He blocked out everything but himself.

He was acutely aware of himself, as the spy masters had taught him to do. The rough cloth of his clothes blasted against his skin by the unnoticed wind, his short hair also whipped around by the source. The knives he kept strapped to his legs and arms felt comfortable in their places. His breath came slowly and measured, his heart began to beat calmly. He felt his muscles finally relax from all the stress he had been carrying.

Suit said that meditation was one of the spies least used tools. “Most spies don’t like mediation,” the Spy Master told him. “They think it’s useless. Don’t ever think that, Martin. Mediation clears your mind of trivial facts, it gives focus to thoughts. Any problem can be figured out once your mind is clear.”

That was what he needed. A clear mind for this experiment. Taking several deep breaths, he let his mind relax, only to notice himself. He could hear the beating of his heart, slow and rhythmic. He almost dismissed the second sound, a more chaotic one. He had always felt that second source, but had dismissed it as nothing. It had no importance. Like how his visions had no importance. Frowning, he focused on the chaotic sound. No, it wasn’t completely chaotic.

Different beats, he realized. He couldn’t tell how many beats thumped along with his own. But it pulsed within him, giving him energy he hadn’t realized he was missing.

I wonder if I can focus on just one… Martin took another deep breath, trying to focus on just one. However, it seems as if the other rhythm had no intentions of letting him single out only one beat. Sighing, he almost broke his mediation when he heard it.

I can’t believe him! a masculine voice grumbled. He’s a complete idiot! Asking me to do this when he knows I can’t. Ugh. This thing is too heavy…

BANG!

Martin jumped out of his meditation. Looking down at the street below, he saw an older man argue with a younger one, between them a broken crate. Though their words were lost to him, he could tell the younger man was the one under blame.

“You’re a complete idiot!” the young man screamed. Martin froze. It was the same voice he had heard just moments before.

“No,” he whispered, knowing exactly what it meant by hearing what that man’s thoughts were. Shivering, he ran to escape the roof.

No, he thought desperately, rushing away from the scene. I shouldn’t be able to do this! But he had. He had heard the thoughts of others. And now he also knew what that other chaotic rhythm was. The beats of an entire city.

He could feel the people of the city.
*********
I'm not making Martin's life any easier. I don't know when the next post will be, but hopefully it will be next Friday. Enjoy!

The Aftermath

*******This has been cut out of the story. Read if you like or skip it*********


It's been a long time, and I appologize. But in the week since school started, I've gotten a lot more written. Review: Martin has managed to destroy the poison, and Tracker has been introduced. Now, on with the story!
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Martin watched as General Terk and his Tracker escaped through a side entrance. Good riddance, he snorted, though disappointed that General Sanders hadn’t come in time to capture them. Beside him, Peter was cheering loudly.

“We won!” he yelled, giving him a slap on the back. “We’re got those Venterians on the run!”

“Sure,” Martin muttered so the captain wouldn’t hear him. “Go on and believe that.” The spy knew General Terk. The mad man could have defended the fort and won it. No, he had left because this place was no longer useful for him. They have the formula. That could be the only reason why Terk had victory written across his face as he galloped away.

“Why are you so glum?” Peter asked, waving up at the other fort guards cheering on the battlement. “We’ve taken back the fort and destroyed the poison! And best yet! We’re still alive!”

“You have no idea how close to death you came,” Martin said quietly. Peter frowned.

“What do you mean? They didn’t even put up a fight.”

Martin continued to stare at the gate which Tracker left. It was his first real glimpse at his rival in the spying world, though the fire light couldn’t quite illuminate him enough for Martin to easily pick the man out the next time they met, but they did meet gazes. Tracker’s grey eyes were full of hate and rage, he was someone who despised the world and vowed to make everyone pay.

“I’m surprised Terk saved our lives,” he said, finally turning away from the gate. “Tracker was of mind to kill us.”

Peter paled and began to tremble. “Tracker?” he stuttered. “Do you mean…” He couldn’t finish his question.

“My equal in the spying world?” Martin finished for him. “Yes. Tracker was going to kill us both.” Martin couldn’t worry about it though, gazing around at the chaos he created. Healer Hanna would be after him for destroying the lawn.

“What happened?”

Turning around, Martin saw the healer herself, followed by many of her fellows. Sona’s part of the plan was to free the healers in case there were causalities. The research spy walked along with Hanna, trying to hide her grin. Martin quickly looked away. She liked him?

“What happened?” Hanna asked again, shocked at the destruction. She turned to him. “Young man…” she said darkly. “What trouble did you manage this time?”

“Oh,” Martin tried to laugh off, “just doing my job.”

Hanna threw her arms up in the air. “Ugh! You’re too much trouble!” With a spryness he did not expect, the healer dashed to him and began pounding her finger on his chest. “You’ve better got to help us clean this up or else!”

Martin looked around at the surprised faces. There were very few people who could upset the head healer in any way. He felt his face burn with embarrassment to see Sona’s amused expression.

The healer grabbed his shirt collar and shook his attention back to her. “Well?” she demanded. “Are you going to help?”

The spy sighed. “Yes. I caused this mess. I’ll clean it up.”
*********
Several people had volunteered to help him clean up the mass of burned boxes, including soldiers from General Sanders’ camp, which had taken up defensive positions outside the fort. Martin was grateful for the help. It took less than a day to clear the debris away, when if he alone had done it would have taken at least a week. Watching as the last cart rode off with the last of black timber, the spy wiped the sweat from his brow, glad he was done. The fort’s gardeners refused to let him work on replanting the grass.

“Good riddance,” Hanna said behind him. Turning around, he saw the head healer and Sona survey the lawn. Martin sighed. What had Sona told the healer? After he had been punished to clean up, the research spy had taken it upon herself to tell Hanna about how the bonfire had happened. He couldn’t help wondering if she had embellished his heroics of the mission, knowing that she liked him.

“What a horrible tactic,” Hanna spat. “Using one’s own memories as torture.” She snorted, folding her arms tightly. “I’ll have my researchers begin immediately to find any antidote.”

“I destroyed all the poison,” he pointed out. The healer waved his comment away.

“He used our wounded,” she rebutted. “There would be poison still in the soldiers they used. Sona told me you saw them administer it, correct?”

Martin tried to give the research spy a pained look, but seeing her sly smile made him look away, his face burning. “Yes,” he muttered, unsure why he couldn’t look Sona in the eye.

“Then take me to him,” Hanna said, grabbing his arm and leading him to the main building. “We’ve got to get started on the antidote!” Martin sighed, resigning himself to the task.

“This isn’t hard to do, Alex,” Sona said as she joined them. “No need to look sour.”

Martin somehow managed to smile. That’s what you think. He wasn’t sure how to approach this man. He had seen into his mind, he had felt his pain. “The second floor,” he told Hanna, finally regaining his arm back from her grip. They walked up the stairs in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Hanna said when they reached the top of the stairs. Martin just shrugged, not needing to ask what she was sorry for. She was a gentle person and rarely got upset, but he was one of the few who could bring out her temper.

“I destroyed your courtyard.”

“But you did it to destroy the poison.” The healer sighed deeply, looking around the hall with loving eyes. “I love to help people. I’ve seen what horrors we humans inflict on ourselves. They come from all walks of life, from all ages, from all races. I see the hate through those who come. But I hold nothing back to help them.” She laughed weakly. “Not that you don’t already know that.” Martin said nothing. Yes, he did know. She was the one who cared for him when he first arrived, even when he refused any help. She and Fred worked hard to teach him that not everyone hated him.

“And now I see that you’re from the same cloth as me,” she said, patting his arm. “You’ll go through anything to help others.” He gave her a skeptical glance. “I know you don’t believe it now, but you will eventually.”

Martin sighed. Hanna had always seen so much in him, she saw so much good in everyone. He rubbed his wrist again. It had stopped stinging, but he remembered the pain. “His ward is right there,” he said, pointing to the door to their right. The healer smiled at him again before opening the door and walking in. Beside him, Sona also patted his arm, smiling, though her eyes questioned. He just shook his head. He was not ready to answer those questions.

Inside, the man was still in bed, moaning in his sleep. Martin’s hand jerked when he glanced at the soldier’s own missing one. He hid the spasm by pretending to scratch his arm. Hanna sat softly down on the bed and shook the soldier’s shoulder. “Sean,” she said gently. The man woke up with a sharp breath and wide, terrified eyes, a look that Martin was too familiar with. Sean sat up and looked around frantically, breathing hard.

“Sean,” Hanna repeated, running her hand soothingly across the man’s brow. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” Tears sprung from the man’s eyes.

“I still dream of it!” he cried, laying back down. “I still dream of my hand being taken!” He lifted up his arm, exposing the stub for them to see. “I felt it being taken again and again!”

“I know.” Hanna laid a gentle hand on the arm and pushed it down. “I’ve been told of the poison they used on you. But they’re gone now. And the poison too. You won’t have to go through that trial again.”

Sean nodded, the terror in his eyes calming down. He sighed deeply, then noticed the two spies standing at the foot of his bed. Giving Sona only a passing glance, he stared at Martin. The spy didn’t squirm under the sanction, but oh! How he wished he could.

“I know you,” Sean said, using his one hand to point at him. “Somewhere. I know you.”

Martin smiled weakly. It could have been possible, his work had taken him all over Aeterna; he had met several people who saw him “somewhere.” However, this man could also be different. Martin had invaded this man’s mind, not purposefully and most certainly unwillingly, but still, they shared a scarring memory. A memory that took the soldier’s hand.

“You know my pain,” Sean suddenly said when he didn’t answer. “Don’t you?”

It took all of Martin’s control to not gasp in horrid shock.

“You have that look,” the soldier went on. “The look of being hurt. What did they take from you?” He smiled feebly. “Not a hand I hope?”

Martin finally let out a quiet laugh, though he was sure it came out like a sob. “No,” he answered, shaking his head. “Not a hand.” He paused, looking up. There was a window at the head of the bed, and in it he saw the reflection of the top of Hanna’s head. Sona’s reflection was also there, she stood with her arms folded, watching curiously at what was happening. But where he stood, he saw strait through. He remembered the last time he saw his reflection, arguing with the wrong one. He remembered the words his own voiced told him.

It’s time to create your own image. Just remember, Martin Santer, this is what you wanted.

No, he did not want this, to be left without a reflection. No, he did not want to question who he was and what he was to do. He didn’t want any of this.

The man spoke of his own physical pain, and Martin remembered the painful memories that he was forced to relive as he worked with the poison. But now, he knew as he stared at the window outside, that the pain the man was asking about wasn’t what he had endured on the streets or the ridicule he met, but rather what was taken to make him no longer whole.

They took my face, Martin finally admitted. They took my life.
********
Sona watched quietly on as Sean questioned Martin. They were such strange questions. Knowing his pain? Having something taken? She watched the Alex carefully, though knowing she would gain nothing from his stony expression. She glanced briefly at the window he chose as a focus point, was there something outside? However, before she could see past his reflection, he finally spoke.

“My childhood,” he finally answered, looking down to the wounded soldier. “My childhood was taken from me.”

His childhood? It was not the answer Sona had been expecting. She thought back to his locked file and Hanna’s subdued refusal to let her see it. Obviously Hanna knew the contents and agreed to its removal from records. Perhaps what Martin was referring to was in that locked file. She wanted to be angry that she couldn’t be trusted with the information, but at the same time, she wondered if she should be glad they locked it away.

“Who took it from you?” Sean asked, frowning. Sona jumped, surprised by the question, though she too wanted the answer.

Martin laughed. “Those who thought an orphan couldn’t amount to anything.”

“I thought you’d amount to anything you put your mind to,” Hanna said sternly. She turned back to the soldier. “I need your permission to take some of your blood. The poison is most likely still inside you and we need a sample to create an antidote in case Terk tries making it again.”

“There’s no more of it?” Sean asked, grinning.

“That’s what that bonfire was last night,” Hanna said, throwing another stern glance at Martin. Though she had apologized for yelling at him, the healer still blamed him for the mess. “Do we have your permission?”

Sean held out his arm still with a hand. “Take as much as you need!” Hanna laughed, standing and walking over to a cabinet will vials. She paused beside them.

“You two can go,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

Martin bowed slightly and walked from the room. Sona returned the healer’s smile before following after him, still thinking over what she had just witnessed.

It was evident that Martin wasn’t comfortable talking with the wounded soldier and his cryptic answers only raised more questions in her mind. What was he so desperately trying to hide? In the years she had known him, and since she had begun to notice him romantically, this was the first she had seen him at ill-ease. Even as she gazed at him now, she could tell he was truly disturbed.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” she asked, knowing there was no need to tell him what “it” was. Martin paused, sighing deeply, then turned to her.

“No,” he answered with a weak smile. “I doubt I’ll ever be ready.”

Before she could argue about it, someone walked up the steps. The someone was not a person she had not been expecting to see.

“Well,” Suit said as he reached the top and found them standing there. “I shouldn’t have been surprised by the damage outside, now that I know you’re here.”

The expression on Martin’s face could have been comical, as he tried for the innocent-but-still-caught look, but to her, she could still see the pain in his eyes. “Well,” the Alex said through his not so innocent grin, “I didn’t have many options.”

Suit sighed, looking at his former apprentice. “Chief was right about you,” he grudgingly admitted. “If you don’t have anything to do, you’ll find it. And something usually ends up destroyed.” The spy master shook his head. “I’ve talked with General Sanders. I’ll be sending back his original spy and take you back under my command.”

“Great,” Martin muttered. “Going to have me head strait back for the Tree?”

“No,” Suit shook his head. “Chief was right. You need something to keep your mind busy. I’m assigning you to Evan’s Stand.”

Martin perked up, a half easy smile forming. “Really?”

“I might regret it, but if I’m going to keep you from doing something drastic again, I’ve got to send you somewhere that you’re not likely to get bored.” Sona wanted to frown. The sea port was a known thieves nest. How was that going to keep Martin out of trouble?

“But now that I have my wayward Alex back on track, I’ll get to the business I came here to do.” Suit held out a folder to her. Surprised, she took the folder.

“What’s this?”

“It’s Martin’s locked file,” Suit replied. “I realized after you left that you’d have problems getting to it.” Sona was shocked and looked down at the file she was sure she was never getting her hands on.

“Sir!” Martin stepped forward, his expression far more troubled than before. “You know why my records were locked up!”

“I know,” Suit sighed. “But, you’re on the list, Martin. If we’re to find the prince, we’ve got to search all possible records, including your recovery. And you can’t dispute this. You’ve always wanted to know who your family was.”

Martin turned his head aside at the accurate comment, his face ashamed. Sona was a bit numb by the sudden turn of events. She had honestly not expected to delve deep into his past. She looked down at the folder, noticing how thick it really was. Much thicker than any recovery folder should have been.

“When you read it,” Martin suddenly said, grasping her attention as if he had grabbed her arm, “I just ask that you don’t start talking about it with anyone.”

She gazed at him, though he refused to look her in the eye. He was resigned to the fact that she was going to uncover one of his darkest secrets, something he had so carefully hidden from the world. She doubted even Thomas or Luke knew what was found in this folder.

Emotions snapped at her then. She longed to know the information now in her fingers, but… I also want Martin to see me as a friend… She sighed. There didn’t seem to be any middle ground in this situation.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, handing the folder back to Suit. “But Martin’s already told me there’s nothing of use in there.” Martin’s head snapped up, staring at her with surprise… and a bit of uncertainty.

“Did he now?” Suit asked, slowly taking back the folder. “Well, he might be right about that. Besides,” he stared down at the folder in his hands. “This is a difficult read. I even had trouble…” He shivered. Suddenly, Sona was glad she returned the folder. If it made the Spy Master shutter… “I’ll make sure this gets locked up.” He turned to go, but gave Martin a stern stare. “And you’d better thank her for passing this up. Meet me down in courtyard when you’re done.” Nodding to them, he left back down the stairs he came.

There was an awkward silence after the Spy Master left. “Well,” she started to say when Martin said “I…” Both stopped, staring at each other. Finally, Martin chuckled, shaking his head.

“Thank you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you for not reading it.”

She smiled, blushing despite herself. “It was locked up for a reason.” Suddenly she laughed. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t get the information I want.”

Martin frowned, the uncertainty creeping back into his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She laughed and stepped up to him. He took a step back, only to find himself between her and the wall. The panic in his eyes made her chuckle. She tapped his hard chest, causing him to blush. “I’ll get the story out of your own mouth, Martin. Be prepared for it.”

“Uh,” he croaked, pushing her hand away. “Suit wants me! Ex—excuse me!” He stumbled his first step then flew down the stairs. Sona watched him go, wanting to laugh again. Only a matter of time before he saw a challenge in her!
********
Martin breathed a sigh of relief as Fort Mesa finally disappeared from his view. After he had gotten his instructions from Suit about what he could and couldn’t do at Evan’s Stand, he packed his things and left. But not before Sona cornered him again. She only said her good byes, but the look in her eyes was full of determination that matched his own.

“She is very persistent,” he muttered, not entirely sure how he was going to deal with the pretty research spy. Absently, he rubbed the spot she poked, trying to sort his feelings. He had no time for romance; he had his reflection he had to get… somehow.

And if I’m the prince? The evidence was heaping against him. He could sense the emotions of others. His dreams reflected the real world. He had no reflection…

But it could also mean I can use magic, a part of him argued, the part that still didn’t believe he could be the prince. There were plenty of magicians who could use their magic to read emotions and enter a parallel world. True, he might be late in age for finally displaying his powers, but it was known to happen.

Ah, pointed out the other part, but these powers didn’t show up until after the Inhibitor was disabled. And there were also those visions he had before…

Martin shook his head hard. This debating with himself was getting him nowhere. He glance back in the direction where Fort Mesa stood, thinking about the pretty research spy pouring over the records.

“I’m sorry, Sona,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “I don’t know what to do.” Sighing, he commanded his horse to go faster.
************
Oh, things have gotten awkward. But enough of that and on to the next adventure! Next post: Evan's Stand.