Alterant (Belador #2)(55)
Unusual for two Beladors in one family to be born under the PRIN star only, and only one generation apart. Little was known about those connections.
Opening the passage to Conlan’s present, which covered anything since he’d last slept, Quinn found nothing damning or helpful. When he moved beyond that to Conlan’s past, he tapped a flood of misery that washed through Quinn. He saw a grieving Conlan struggling to accept his father’s betrayal and death.
Conlan’s mother had abandoned the child early on, leaving him to be raised by their father.
Having been informed by a druid of Conlan’s powers, and after Conlan’s father had been revealed as a traiter, the Beladors brought the seventeen-year-old boy into their fold to train and protect.
The time had come to specifically dig for any hidden connection to the Medb, something that might remain as a shadowy image or telepathic conversation Conlan tried to keep to himself. Quinn searched for any memory the young man had of using his gift for splitting his image so he could travel—similar to an out-of-body experience. Quinn found nothing more than a few experiences from training exercises.
Memory after memory passed in front of Quinn’s eyes without a glimpse of even one impropriety. He slowly released a breath over the confirmation that this O’Meary was proving to be the upstanding Belador Quinn and Tzader believed him to be.
But with no irrefutable evidence of his innocence, Brina would expect a full report, including a search of the precognitive area of Conlan’s brain. Conlan had shown signs of precognitive ability several times in training, but no special gift with it as yet.
This area of a mind was where Quinn had connected to a spirit once before . . . by accident.
An encounter he didn’t want to repeat, but this area also gave access to the future and his report had to include a review of that as well.
Swallowing against the dread that crawled up his throat, Quinn felt his mind settle completely into Conlan’s and spread out to mentally finger one spot after another until he entered the zone for the future where one dark spot pulsed with energy.
Quinn hesitated, but he wasn’t surprised to find that energy in this murky area. Resigned to his mission, Quinn called out to Larsen O’Meary.
Nothing happened at first, but he hadn’t expected the spirit to just be hanging out waiting on him either. All at once, he could feel the temperature flash hot, then cold.
The spirit was reaching for the connection.
Powering up his energies, Quinn extended further, touching the connection.
He’d expected something bright and strong, but this felt cold and dead, disturbing. The last time he’d tried something similar, the spirit had connected back to the host mind, which would be Conlan’s, in this case.
This was where Quinn had to decide if he was going to release his spirit to travel to another dimension through the connection in Conlan’s mind.
A dimension that opened a path to any images Conlan might harbor of the future.
Quinn’s palms were damp, but he couldn’t back out now and clear Conlan completely. When Quinn released his spirit to travel, he felt light as he floated forward. He encountered muddled blobs of color.
Sounds warped in and out. Shapes shimmered in a kaleidoscope of psychedelic patterns.
He reached out to Larsen’s spirit twice but fell short both times. When Quinn gave his spirit an extra push forward, the spinning shapes and colors tossed him back, as if he were a polar opposite. He realized he’d have to drop his mental shields to go farther.
This was the real test of whether he believed in Conlan’s innocence, which he did.
Tzader would forbid the move . . . if he had a choice in Quinn’s decision.
Disengaging his shields, Quinn tried again and passed through a gateway this time.
He shifted from viewing to engaging with the actual vision, a metaphysic change that allowed him to interact with the beings in this step into the future.
He stood still, allowing the visions around him to reshape and take form. Images fluttered between blurry and almost in focus. The stronger the emotion, the more defined an image would be.
Where was Larsen?
He shouldn’t be able to ambush Quinn here, but nothing was consistent or static when probing the future.
Chanting came to Quinn from a distance, then grew in volume, but never louder than a normal speaking tone.
Quinn didn’t move or breathe, to prevent alerting anyone to his presence, as he was an interloper in this dimension.
Nothing good ever came from being discovered somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. And the less he interfered, the less influence he’d have on the outcome.
The mist slowly calmed and sank to hover at his knees, exposing ten figures dressed in gray robes. Torches lit the inside of a cathedral-like building. The figures all faced forward, to where a person draped in a bloodred robe stood on a stone platform in front of them.
A chill ran up Quinn’s spine.
The place where they were meeting resembled what his education had taught him of the great hall in T?μr Medb.
But it was the smell of decayed limes that confirmed he viewed a coven meeting of the Beladors’ greatest enemy—the Medb.
You seek me, Belador?
Quinn forced himself not to react at the voice so close to his ear. He turned his head to face Larsen O’Meary. Quinn controlled his gag reflex at the sagging skin falling off the dead O’Meary. He couldn’t allow an uncontained spurt of emotion to trigger a reaction and expose his intrusion to anyone else in this dimension.