Jackson was washing the dishes. All of the dishes. These days, he got stuck with every single chore his mom could think up.
It was only the third day into his suspension, and he was surprised to feel that he couldn't wait until he could go back to school again. That was a new feeling.
Even school was better than working all day on tedious—and seemingly useless—tasks.
After he was finished with the dishes, Jackson would finally be able to go to his room and do homework. He scrubbed at the last pot, but the grime just wouldn't come off. He put more elbow grease into it, finally starting to see the gray metal beneath.
He heard a knock at the door. Someone else would get it. He scrubbed off almost half of the burned crust, then his mom called him.
"Jackson!" She yelled. "The door is for you!"
Jackson turned off the sink, confused. Who could have been at the door? He didn't have any friends. He dried his hands on the towel before walking to the door, passing his mom. When he inched the door open a little wider he blinked in surprise.
It was Ryan.
"Wh— How do you… know where I live?" Jackson asked, realizing how blunt it sounded, and cringed.
"W-well," Ryan said, "I saw it written on your backpack. There's a tag on there with your address."
Jackson thought. He did have a tag with his address on it. He made it in elementary school and thought if his backpack ever got lost, someone would return it. That was a stupid idea; he had to take that thing off as soon as possible.
"Okay…," he replied, "and you memorized that?"
"I-I… not on purpose," Ryan protested. "I just have a thing for numbers… and I've seen your street name a million times. I only live a few blocks down that way," Ryan said, pointing behind him.
"Oh." Jackson looked off behind Ryan and then pulled his eyes back to look at the boy. "What's up?" He asked awkwardly, looking down at a notebook Ryan was holding.
"I brought some study notes to fill you in on some of the classes you missed. I'm not in all the same classes as you but I thought, you know… I could help. You were only suspended because of me."
"That's not— Well," Jackson said, trying to decide what to say. "Thanks." He took the notebook from Ryan.
"We still have to start the science project. I looked at some of the requirements, and it's going to take a while…"
"Yeah… how about Friday? You can get out of school early and come here. I'm still suspended, but my mom should let me do homework at least."
"Sure, sounds good!" Ryan said. "Okay… see you Friday." He turned and walked away down the driveway.
Jackson closed the door, then walked back to the kitchen. He placed the notebook on the dining room table as he passed and started cleaning the pot again.
He grinned slightly. It wasn't because he wanted to work on the project, but he knew his mom was planning an extra diabolical chore for him to do on Friday. If Ryan came over to work on the project, then Jackson could get out of it.
Some might call it selfish, but Jackson called it compromise.
Once the pot was completely clean, Jackson left it to dry and went to his room. Thanks to Ryan's notes, the homework was a lot easier. He would have to thank him on Friday.
Jackson finished his homework early, at about six thirty. He closed his books and pushed them to the side, laying his head on the empty desk. He accidentally lay on his bruise and winced.
That still hadn't healed completely. Going to The Interim would relieve him of that pain.
Sairia had mentioned that Jackson's connection to Taft was getting stronger. When he was kidnapped, there was an incident with the alarm. The alarm that forced him out of his body as Taft and into Jackson.
Maybe there was some way to do the same here. Could he force himself out of Jackson and into Taft? But… if there was no alarm, how could he do it? He thought about the feeling he had when the alarm went off.
At first, Taft thought the sound was real, but it was actually coming from his own head. There was a pounding sensation from somewhere, too. It was in his brain, but what part?
He tried to remember the feeling, exactly as it was. It might have been the top of his head… but no. He could feel something there at some point, but it wasn't immediate. It was somewhere else… Jackson put a hand on the back of his neck and slid his fingers up.
There. Right at the base of his skull. That's where the sensation was emanating from.
Jackson got up from the desk and lay down on his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. Focus on that spot on his head—the base of his skull. Focus, but not touch.
Nothing existed but that spot. Nothing at all.
Except the itch on his leg. He scratched it away.
Again. The base of his skull, right where his spine met his head. Focus.
Another itch. He scratched.
Jackson sat up. He wasn't doing very well at focusing. Why? He'd always seen meditation on TV and it looked so easy. Clearly, he was wrong.
He lay back down to try again. Focus. He tried to block every other sensation out of his mind. He imagined that he had no arms. He had no legs. He had no torso. He had nothing. Nothing but that spot on his neck.
It's all there was. It's all there ever would be.
Jackson noticed another feeling creeping up. A distinct one.
It felt like his hand was hanging off the bed. His concentration was broken and he opened his eyes. He moved his hand to put it back on the bed.
It already was on the bed. Wait.
Was it not hanging off a moment ago? He swore he could feel it—like a weight, pulling on his arm. It wasn't his imagination.
Could it have been Taft's arm? That made sense. The bed in Sallion's house was a little bit narrow—clearly made for a child younger than Jackson.
Jackson noticed the street lights were now shining outside. That meant it was past 7 PM. He closed his eyes again and started meditating.
This time, when he felt his arm hanging off the bed, he would shift his focus to that. Maybe by doing so, he could awaken in The Interim.
He meditated for a while before he felt that sensation again. His arm. It was definitely hanging. He tried to resist the urge to open his eyes. Not yet.
Jackson's focus shifted to that arm. Only focus—he didn't want to move it just yet. He could feel his arm pull at him. The pull wasn't physical, it was mental.
It was like a thought, like an idea, like a dream. He decided to wiggle his fingers—just to see if he could. Jackson felt the fingers swipe together. It was working.
He moved it more, twisting his hand. Then again, lifting the hand up. He kept lifting it until he could feel his arm outstretched. He couldn't open his eyes, not yet. Then he felt a single pulse at the spot on his neck.
◄——————————————————►
Taft opened his eyes. His arm was outstretched upward. He made a fist, then sat up. He was in the bedroom at Sallion's house. Sure enough, Taft had done it.
He jumped out of bed, thrilled to have discovered a quicker way to The Interim. He was there much earlier than usual. Sairia might not have even begun to prepare breakfast. He decided to check if she was in the kitchen already.
Taft opened the door to his quarters and looked to the right—where Sairia's quarters were—and saw the door ajar. He looked to the left and noticed some flickering light in the main room.
It was a larger light than the torches produced. It might have been the fireplace. He heard some movement of wood and more crackling of a fire. Definitely the fireplace. He left his room and walked down the hallway to the main room.
Sairia was poking at the fire with an iron rod. Taft wondered why she needed to use an iron rod if she was immune to burns. He cleared his throat to get her attention.
"I knew you were there," she said without looking up. "Though I wonder what you're doing up so early."
"I learned how to come into The Interim without sleeping."
Sairia's eyes grew wide. "You did?" She asked incredulously.
"Yeah, I just focused on a spot on my neck and then I could feel my arm in The Interim. Then I focused on that, and it brought me here."
"That's… incredible. I've never seen an Alma Ni's connection that was so naturally strong. It took me at least a year before I could pull that off. And it took you how long?"
"Like an hour," Taft said, pretending like it was no big deal. But inside he was feeling a new sense of pride well-up.
"That's insane…," Sairia said. "You have some true talent…"
"Thanks… what are you doing?"
She turned back and poked at the fire a bit more. Then she turned to look at Taft again. "Just stoking the fire a little. It's starting to get cold, and you don't know Swelter yet."
"What's that?"
"A kovak skill. You can bring heat from within your body out to your skin. It keeps you warm in cold environments."
"I didn't even know about that one! That's awesome!"
"Yeah, but you can't really perform it while you're asleep. And you can't heat up to any temperature that you haven't built a Resistance to yet. So it has its drawbacks."
Taft thought about that. He could see how that might cause problems.
"Doesn't your family think it's strange that you sleep so much?" Sairia asked out of the blue.
Taft shrugged. "I'm a teenager, I don't think they're surprised. Besides," he said, strolling to sit on one of the sofa chairs in front of the fire, "I'm grounded. What else am I going to do?"
"Grounded, huh?" She asked, also taking a seat in front of the fire.
"Yeah, I got suspended for something I shouldn't have been suspended for. I tried to explain that but they didn't believe me… even my dad. I freaking hate my family. Coming here is a nice escape."
"I see…," Sairia said thoughtfully. "Maybe it's not my place to give you advice on this, kid. But if I were you, I would try to change my perspective."
Taft furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her. Then back at the fire.
"I've been in your shoes. I felt like the world was against me. That my own family was against me, at times. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that no one really knows what they're doing… or… what the right thing to say is. Even adults. Even your parents. We're all just students of life, trying to find a meaning. A drive.
"Most of us are ruled by our emotions. We become blinded by rage, or stifled by fear, or crippled by sorrow. But it doesn't have to be that way. If we first recognize our weakness, both the weakness in ourselves and in those around us, then can we truly begin to change. Only then can we become masters of ourselves. It all just requires a change of perspective."
Taft sighed. "I don't know, Sairia. I don't think you realize how bad my family is."
"Every family has a dark side—a side they would rather keep hidden," she said, gesturing up to the portrait above the fireplace. "Even them."
Taft looked again at the portrait, lit by the fireplace and the windows—the dawn was soon to come.
Sallion had his iconic thin mustache. His wife had that thousand-yard stare that gave Taft the creeps. Sallion's son had a bland expression. The painting depicted wealth more than happiness. Taft could definitely imagine the problems within Sallion's family.
"It's strange," Sairia said.
"What?"
"The colors are a little bit off on the painting. The red cloth on their arms seem too vibrant, like the painter kept going over it again and again. The same with his wife's eyes and one of his son's eyes—the left eye. Do you see that?"
"No," Taft said warily. "How can you tell?"
"I used to paint when I was younger. I've had an eye for it ever since," she said, still reflecting on the painting. "You would think Sallion hired one of the best painters in the nation, but those kinds of mistakes seem so apparent to me."
"Did you paint families?"
"No… I painted the sky. You'd be surprised how many colors are actually in the sky. Especially at sunset or sunrise. I learned a lot about color composition."
"Huh, well maybe his wife's eyes were even more red?"
"I don't think so. Shades of eyes don't vary much among Obenites," Sairia said, rubbing her chin. "He mentioned his wife had died… during that meeting before coming here. I wonder how…"
"You think he murdered her?" Taft asked.
"I didn't say that. I don't trust the guy, but that doesn't mean I think he's a murderer. Maybe while we're here… we can discover more about his past."
"What? Like… go upstairs and snoop around?"
"Ah, forget I said anything. Let me worry about Sallion. You should worry about your training," Sairia said, then switched to Ihmonic. "Don't you think?"
"Yes, ma'am," Taft said back in Ihmonic. "I am worried… that I make little progress."
"You're making great progress. More than you think. Especially in kovak. Try sticking your hand in that fireplace."
Taft looked at the fire. He remembered that Sairia was using the iron. "Why don't you? You used the iron pick instead… of your hand. Aren't you Resistance?"
"Don't I know Resistance," Sairia corrected. "And yes, but Resistance doesn't protect me from soot." She raised her hand, which was clean. "Just put your hand on the flame, not the wood."
"But I haven't touched fire before."
"We've reached hotter temperatures than most fires already. Try it," she urged.
Taft was still hesitant. He inched closer to the fireplace, stretching his arm out. He could already feel the warmth. It was warm, but not hot.
He got a little closer. That tingling feeling started up again. That meant kovak was protecting him. He scooted closer, still no pain.
He continued to move his hand forward until it was right in the flame. He could feel a lot of tingling, and some cold licking as the fire danced around his hand. There was no pain.
"Whoa," Taft expressed. "I really am immune," he said in English.
"No English," Sairia said.
"I mean—I really am immunity," he said.
"Immune," Sairia corrected again.
"Does this mean I can learn a new skill?"
"I would say so," Sairia said. "There's still a little way to go on Resistance, but in three days you should be at an acceptable level. In the meantime, it should be no trouble to start on the next skill."
"What's next?" Taft asked excitedly.
"What do you think?"
Taft thought back to when she was explaining about the basic skills all Obenites knew. There was another one besides Resistance. What was it?
"Spark?" He asked.
"Precisely," she said, snapping her fingers and sending several sparks flying.
"How do you do it?"
"Let's have some breakfast first."
. . .
After having rations for the sixth day in a row, Taft was really starting to get sick of it. However they couldn't leave the house, and there was nothing else to eat, so he had stopped complaining… mostly.
They went back to the fireplace and Sairia used Extinguish to snuff it out. It was still cool to watch all the flames get sucked into her hand like that. She cleaned up the fireplace with a brush and shovel that were there next to the iron poke.
"Okay, first things first," Sairia said, "how do you feel when kovak is being used? What does it feel like when something is incredibly hot but it doesn't hurt you?"
"My skin tingles," he said.
"Of course. Good description. The objective we have now is to bring that same feeling into your hands, and then snap your fingers."
"Oh… I don't know how to snap," Taft admitted.
"Okay… Well, then let's start with that, kid. You see where my fingers are? The middle finger and thumb?" Sairia held out her hand, with her middle finger almost fully extended, but pressing against her thumb—which was also extended.
Taft did the same.
"Now apply pressure," she said, her thumb growing red from the pressure now applied to it.
Taft repeated the action.
"Perfect. Now all you need to do is continue applying that pressure, but suddenly slide your middle finger off of your thumb. It will slam into your palm and snap." She snapped.
Taft tried it, but it sounded more like a thud. He tried three more times with the same result.
"Slide your finger in another direction. Try inwardly."
Taft tried that a few times until he heard a snap. It wasn't very loud, but it was a snap. He tried it over and over again until the sound was more defined.
"Hey, look," he chuckled, snapping three times in a row.
"Right, good. Now, as I was saying, snap while you have the tingling feeling in your hand. That's all there is to it," Sairia said nonchalantly.
"Okay," Taft said. He snapped… and nothing happened. He snapped over and over, but it just wasn't working. "How am I supposed to cause that tingling to come back? Doesn't it only appear when I touch hot things?"
"Not necessarily. That's just a natural reaction, but there's a way to force it out. It's kind of like sweating on purpose."
"But that's not even possible!"
"Well, maybe that's a bad metaphor."
Taft tried to imagine he was touching something hot. Maybe that would trigger his kovak.
It did not.
"Agh, this is so frustrating. Why can't I do it? What if I have no talent for kovak?"
"Every Alma Ni has a talent for kovak. You included. You're just learning the basics, but once you get the hang of it, the rest will come to you very fast. Faster than any other kovakir.
"Not only that, you will also have a capacity that dwarfs everyone else's. The Alma Ni can perform skills that other people can only dream of. It's part of what makes us so special."
"Man, that just makes me nervous that I'm gonna fall short," Taft said, looking down in defeat.
"Don't be so sure, kid. You'll drive yourself crazy with that kind of thinking. Just do the best you can, and you'll find yourself doing things you could only dream of. Trust me on that."
"Even lead a nation?" He asked doubtfully.
Sairia sighed. "That's a big job. Especially because the nation is in shambles right now. But if you break the job down into smaller tasks, it becomes a lot less daunting."
"What are the smaller parts in leading a nation?"
"My suggestion? Let's start with bringing an end to The Embargo."
"That doesn't sound like a small task, Sairia," Taft said condescendingly.
"Maybe not, but it's the most urgent right now. If we don't bring an end to The Embargo, the people will starve. There won't be a nation left to save if that happens."
Taft sighed. "How did The Embargo start? Why is Ep Liam treating us this way?"
"I know… and I have a plan to help you end it... But I'll have to tell you later. For now, focus on your training. That's a small task, right?"
"But I can't use Spark. It just doesn't come out," Taft complained.
"Here," Sairia said, raising her hand out in front of her. "Hold my hand until you feel the tingle, then let go and snap."
"Okay…," Taft said. He grabbed her hand and could feel it heating up. It kept getting warmer, but he felt no pain. The tingling sensation was there. He waited another second just to be sure, and then let go.
Taft snapped. Sparks flew out from between his thumb and finger. They fizzled out before reaching the ground.
"I did it!" Taft shouted in amazement. "I made fire!"
"Not fire, exactly… But yes. You did it, kid."
Taft's mood was almost spoiled by that comment, but he didn't let it. He had just made some progress.
"Now I just have to learn to do it without you holding my hand… literally," he joked. "Let's keep practicing."
"Yes, another hour of this and then we'll go back to your writing lesson."
Taft grumbled.