[Moonshadow]

A hulking soldier encased in leather and metal looms over a pair of bald, clean-shaven men in soft robes and hoods. The two men kneel in prayer. The soldier shifts his weight from foot to foot, rearranges his rifle grip, and stares down at them through the bullet-proof visor of his helmet.

"C’mon, Just do something. He’s not worth all this hand-wringing."

It's dark… they're in a basement in an abandoned farmhouse near the battlefield. Someone tried to fix it up at some point after The Fall, but whoever they were, they’re not here now. A single diffuse shaft of light from a grimy window lights the whole room.

The older of the two men, Enoch Rameel, opens his eyes and looks up at the soldier. "Quiet. We need to concentrate."

More impatient than ever, the soldier stretches his neck to relieve tension. One of the privates guarding the door furrows his brow.

" We need to get the location out of this *******. Now!"

"Brother Keeley," the older man says patiently. "You asked for the Lightbearers' help. Let us do as you requested." He closes his eyes and continues his soft, low, nearly inaudible chant.

"You’re wasting valuable time and--"

"We told you, when we agreed to help, that we must prepare ourselves. Meditation is how we prepare. Have you ever tried to touch another person's mind with yours? No? Well then... Either leave or calm yourself, lieutenant. Those are your only choices."

Keeley’s face burns and builds to a fierce red. And then as if a valve has been turned, he exhales and motions his men to the door. The two soldiers snap to attention and leave the room, the lieutenant following close behind. Just beyond the threshold, he stops and turns back to the two Lightbearers.

"The people that kid was with...we don't know them. We don't know anything about them. They just showed up, all these freaks in gray. Smashed us flat, dragged off half our men, and never said a damn word. You better know what you’re doing, Enoch. Dozens of lives depend on it."

The door shakes the frame as it closes.

The elder Seeker pauses to look at the younger initiate at his left, who returns the knowing glance. They don't need to say anything.

Together they kneel at the side of a man: he's breathing heavily, tied to the ground, staring up at them. A boy, really, but covered in the scars and grime of a veteran, a small trickle of blood running down his left temple over his pale blond, almost-white hair. He's naked except for a filthy loin cloth, and a pile of blood-soiled gray clothes lies in the corner.

After several long moments of murmured chants, the two men lift their heads and stop.

"The time for exercise and training is over, David," the older man says. "You came to us with strong gifts, and through our methods we have strengthened them and turned them into skills. Are you ready to begin your first field study?"

"Me? You think I'm ready?"

"Without a doubt."

"I’ve only tried it a few times. Practice only, and on people I know well. Do you think this is wise? Especially with lives at stake?"

"This dying warrior needs to tell us something, and we need to hear it. You don’t need me to hold your hand any longer. I've already used my gifts to soothe him... you just need to open your mind and persuade him to cooperate before he dies. Tell his mind that you're his friend. Follow your training. And if you do get into trouble, I’ll be here. Watching."

David stares into the deep, cold eyes of the silent boy on the ground, breathing slowly. He lifts his hands, palms toward his target, using the physical act to help him focus his mental energies.

"David, you’ll do fine."

"Thank you, father."

And he opens his mind to the stranger.

----


David sees nothing, but the air tastes hot. The heat of a nearby fire and the smell of burnt flesh press in at him from all sides. Screams buzz around him like a swarm of angry bees.

He hears rapid thumping overhead, and someone shouting for others to remain calm. David starts to see small flashes of light in the darkness.

"Everything will be okay. Remember your training," says the voice of a calm, reassuring old man amid the screams.

Father?

The vision clears further, starts to become rough forms, light and darkness.
Nothing like this ever happened before. During training, using his gift of persuasion felt more like solving the riddle of another person's mind. There was no vision. Everything was abstract. This is something entirely new.

"You're connected very deeply, more deeply than you've ever experienced. You will be uncomfortable and scared, but don't worry. I'm guiding you. You know what you have to find, so find it."

David concentrates all of his energies, pulling on the strands of his new-found confidence and courage. His mind sharpens and pushes forward toward the memories of the day's battles.

When his eyes open, he sees a new scene, full and clear, more vivid than his own memories of hours ago. Tables covered with the dishes of a recent but sparse meal. A bulletin board displays dozens of children’s drawings. A once-cozy rug, now soot-covered, claims the middle of the room. Around the center of the rug, several children have their faces buried in the chests of their caretakers’ grimy blouses. They are all dressed humbly, but not in a manner that David recognizes, and the place looks like no building in the area. Smoke billows around him towards the children. One of them looks up in his direction, eyes pleading for escape.

Flames lick at his heels and engulf the walls of the room, surrounding the children and their caretakers. A sudden pang of instinct forces him to jump out of the way, avoiding the perception of flame.

"There is no need to fear. Though we are apart, we are one, and you with each other."

David closes his mind’s eye.

I’m not really here. This has to be some kind of projection, or construction. I must be in too deep.

Gunshots. Men’s screams. His eyes open again, and they’re greeted by the intense brilliance of daylight.

He’s on a ridge overlooking a vast plain filled with tall grass and grains, with only a few burned-out, ruined buildings breaking the monotony. A company of soldiers outfitted with Enforcer gear break down a field operations camp, unaware of the hundreds of gray-clad armed men and women standing at David’s side above them. Without a single word spoken as an order, the silent group of warriors begins moving down the slope into the valley towards the soldiers, and he peers into the scene through the eyes of one of them.

How is this happening?

Ahead of them, the Enforcers realize their mistake and begin organizing a defense. David can see his own arms go up, raising a rifle to fire. One Enforcer down. Another follows. The scene boils and twists with flying debris, weapons, and the blood of young warriors, but there's a lyrical quality to the movement. The unnamed attackers move and fire with what appears to be a highly-organized and well-trained choreography, trumping every attempt the Enforcers make to improve their position.