Whisper (Whisper #1)(77)

Skirmish is challenging enough without having to concentrate on all those things at once, let alone while doing them and making sure I don’t lose control of my intent. Without the dampening effects of the Karoel, there’s nothing pushing against me to limit my power, so I have to keep a tight rein on my words — something that I struggle with at the best of times.

Five minutes in and I realize I need a new plan. I haven’t managed to hit anyone yet, but I’ve taken a number of paintballs to my torso and limbs, smearing me in green. My teammates are starting to notice how little I’m helping, whereas Ward, Cami, Keeda and Sneak work together like a well-oiled machine. I wonder how many times they’ve played this game over the years, and I sullenly acknowledge that their close history gives their team another advantage that I hadn’t considered earlier.

But … observing the way they carry out their attacks gives me an idea.

I’ve been so focused on creating paintballs that shoot from my gun that I haven’t stopped to consider that the normal rules don’t apply to me. The others are all limited to using the physical ammo infused into their weapons. But I’m creating my own — and the paint doesn’t need to come directly from my gun.

Gleeful at my out-of-the-box thinking, I wait until I have a clear line of sight at Keeda, who is engaged in a fight against Crew. Then I raise my weapon vaguely in her direction and say, “Bang!”

It doesn’t matter if my gun’s aim is true or not, because my aim is. I could have been facing my weapon to the ceiling and still splattered the paint across her thigh, just as long as my intent was on the result I was after and not the complex process of making it happen.

And suddenly, it’s like something clicks in my brain.

For so much of my training with Ward I’ve been focusing on how to make my ability work, all the little things I’ve had to concentrate on with my intent. Really, it’s much simpler than that. I don’t need to focus on the how; I only need to focus on the what. On the actual result. Just like my first day with him when I said “cat,” and a cat appeared. I don’t know where Schr?dinger came from — whether he was someone’s pet or a stray, or whether he didn’t exist at all until I created him. All I did was call him into being, and he came.

With a smile stretching across my face, I raise my eyes around the room as I realize I can do this. I can keep control because I only have to focus on one thing. Not my aim, not my ammo creation, not my pressure … just my targets. And with an elated feeling, I take off again, shooting left, right and center once more.

This time I hit Cami, Keeda and Sneak, one after the other. Blue paint bursts onto their clothes, and I run and duck and hide as they retaliate. I can’t resist the temptation when I see Ward across the room in a skirmish with Enzo, and while I know he’s too far for anyone else to target, I don’t have the limitations of a normal gun. So I sneakily whisper, “Bang!” while he’s hiding around a pillar with no weapons trained on him, not even mine. His body gives a jerk when my light hits him and blue smears him, and he looks around in puzzlement at his lack of enemies in range before he glances farther across the room in realization.

I give a cheery wave. He never said I couldn’t cheat, just that he wanted me to keep control.

And right now, I feel more in control than I’ve ever been. It’s exhilarating. Breathtaking. Empowering … Intoxicating.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last.

As the time flies by with me running and laughing and shooting — and, admittedly, being shot — I start to grow tired. Physically, yes, but also mentally. It becomes difficult to keep my concentration, my aim going wide more often than not, or just not resulting in paint at all. The light stops bursting from me consistently, and the effects of my ability become scattered, to the point that I’m once again a liability to my team rather than an asset.

I’m beginning to become legitimately concerned, when Ward calls a halt to the skirmish.

The match is declared a tie — despite objections from both teams — and everyone disperses to go clean up, leaving me alone with Ward again. I follow him back into the Karoel room and don’t hesitate to ask what’s wrong with me, explaining how I was doing so well and then … not.

His answer surprises me.

“You got tired, Jane. Plain and simple. It’s harder to do anything when you’re tired — Speaking included.”

I almost want to laugh at how normal it makes me feel, to have a weakness that is so commonly shared by everyone in the world.

“It’s not a good thing,” Ward says, reading my expression.

I shrug, aware that he’s probably right, but still pleased.

“You need to take this seriously,” he says. “Fatigue makes you lose concentration — which means you, especially, become more dangerous than normal. Sometimes, like today, your ability will stop working consistently. Other times your intent could become muddled, producing unwanted and potentially disastrous results. You need to recall the signs and keep them in mind for the future.” He looks intently into my eyes. “You know how they say not to drive a vehicle while tired? The same goes for you and Speaking. Be alert to your body and recognize when you need to avoid using your ability altogether.”

I give him the nod he expects.

“Good,” he says. “Then on that note, we’re done for the day. You did well — even if you cheated.”