ED of the Navigator

 

"Thunder and lightning and fire

Are guiding the trip of my life

Insatiable burning desire

As into the unknown I dive"

--Excerpt from Gamma Ray's Beyond the Black Hole

 

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 Psyker; a loaded word in the Imperium of Mankind. There are many homonyms for psyker: mind reader, wyrd, wizard, sorcerer and, the most commonly employed, witch. The psychic mutation that creates psychic humans is regarded amongst the vast bulk of humanity with doubt. Some Inquisitors say it is the next step of human evolution; from Homo sapiens to Homo Psychana, but few listen to them and the witch-hunters continue their purges. It is true, most psykers found are not powerful enough to be trained as useful of their kin, and so they are eliminated from existence. Therefore, a weak psyker's life is mercilessly short, once discovered. And these weak psykers is often ordinary people, how've been born with great powers. They might be able to bend spoons and foresee the weather, but not much more, but the Inquisition roots them out, and deletes them anyway. The reason is given later.

 Moderately powerful psykers are often taken into training for use in the Scholasta Psykana, should they be young enough, but even here, a great many are deleted by the Inquisition. A few promising are taken up as Inquisitor Acolytes, if worthy. Those moderately powerful psykers, who are discovered in the puberty or later, are however always deleted.

 The most powerful psykers are the Space Marine Librarians. The lowest ranking of these psykers, Lexicanums, are easily capable of bending steel girders with their minds. They can call forth raging thunderstorms with a gesture. The Codiciers are even more powerful, capable of perceiving the outcome of a battle, keeping things floating in the air for days by sheer force of will.

 Next in line comes the Epistolaries, ranking only lower than the Chief Librarians (or the Master Lexicanums). The Epistolaries can see decades into the future, taking courses of action to make sure the outcome sees to their, or the Imperium's, needs. The most powerful Space Marine psykers, and therefore even human, are the Master Lexicanums, the Chief Librarians of the Space Marine legions. These individuals can perceive the future in the mesmerising web it is, and chose the right course. They can destroy lesser deamons with a single word of power, alter the weather with a flick of a wrist and even guide ships through the eddies of the Warp. Few Space Marine psykers are of true Master Lexicanum level, though. Not more than one per regiment.

 There are two special kinds of psychic mutations, however, which humanity takes great care in protecting: the Navigators mutation and the mighty psykers Astropath.

 We start with Astropaths. Astropath is an abbreviation of astro-telepath, and it describes a psyker capable of sending a message through the Warp. As the great distances between the stars make all other means of communication worthless, the Astropaths are highly regarded. They are the only ones able to send and receive messages over the Warp. Nearly all people with the Astropath mutation are recruited in the Imperium's use, and countless are executed, because they are too dangerous to let live. 90 per cent of the Imperial psykers are Astropaths. And with this number, it means those in Imperial service. The untrained mass is probably three times as many as the Astropaths.

 Navigators are different. Their mutation goes through families, just like the Space Marine mutation. However, the gene only shows up if both parents are Navigators. They have a strange 'third eye' which enables them to navigate through the eddies of the Warp. However, they have no other psychics than this ability, and this renders them almost immune to the inhabitants of the Warp.

 Which brings us to the next subject: Deamons.

 Deamons. Etherworlders. Warp beasts. Chaos spawn. They have many names. And they all differ greatly in size, power and looks. But they all have one in common; they reside in the Warp and they are our worst nightmares given form. They are the minions of a myriad of Gods, and the four most powerful Gods are brothers, and they control the most destructive deamons. These gods are (in power order) Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle and Slaanesh. Each god is very different from the other, as well as their minions. Khorne's warriors are powerfully set, muscular fighters; Tzeentch's wizards are very sly and intelligent beings, relying on guile instead of brute force; Nurgle's forces are bloated, rotting abominations, carrying horrendous contagions and lastly there's Slaanesh. His minions are trans-sexual creatures, both male and female at the same time, beautiful beyond mortal imagination as well as fanged and horned grotesques. The link these creatures known as deamons have with psykers is that a deamon can't materialize in the mortal realm, unless it does so through a psychic mortal of corresponding power. Thus, the most powerful deamons can only materialize through the most powerful psykers, and the most powerful psykers must therefore be trained and watched rigorously by the Imperial Inquisition. Lesser deamons can materialize through virtually any sort of psyker, whilst the deamon lords can't materialize through anything else than an Astropath or such powerful psyker. Many are however the occasions when Chaos cults have summoned greater deamons through rituals, and these greater deamons have then called forth lesser deamons. Without a psyker even featuring. Common are also the times when untrained psykers have been suddenly possessed by deamons, torn apart from the inside to give way to the beast.

 Hence, this is why the Inquisition carries through with its purges of psykers. Although they know humanity is evolving to a psychic race, humans have not the knowledge to protect themselves from deamons as effectively as Eldar do. So for the time being, removing young psykers is considered the only way, and the Inquisition has forced this into the Imperial Religion as well. Psykers are abhorred by most Imperial citizens, as are the mutants. Not to word too much about mutants, but they are amongst all Imperials considered as deviants, marked by Chaos for some sin committed by their parents. They are either killed or used as slaves. End of story.

 There has been many famous psykers through time, most of them Space Marine Master Lexicanums. The most powerful of these Space Marine Master psykers and most famous is without doubt Edward McKenzie. Though not born in Space Marine family, he was born with extraordinary psychic powers, and it is rumoured that he matches Eldar Farseers in his powers. He has proved judicious and wise in his use of his powers and like one would expect, he has never used them to achieve his own ends.

 A famous non-Space Marine psyker was Lord Astropath Zebulon. He was a mighty psyker, one of the mightiest, capable of sending a message through the entire Imperium, without relay. He was lastly stationed on Armageddon, when the last war broke out. He remained there until the Siege, when the psychic scream of the Emperor's mortal death rippled through the Immaterium. As Zebulon was so close to Secondus, the force of the psychic ripple destroyed his brain.

 A famous Inquisitor with psychic powers was Inquisitor Felix Rovannion. He was not as powerful as the before mentioned, but he was more than well capable of using his tricks. As an inquisitor, he had to use his powers to achieve his own ends. He is rumoured to have been closely involved in Rolf Yarrick's early days, but this is just hear-say.

 These three form in a way a good example of the Imperium's finest psychic warriors, a breed shunned by its fellow humans, but regarded highly by the Emperor himself. And who is the Emperor if not the most powerful psychic entity in the Galaxy, rivaled only by the Hive Mind.

 In the Imperium, people are split as to where the Emperor comes from and what he is. He is not human, that is for sure. There are those that whisper the word C'tan, but this is often dismissed as insane ramblings. There is only one person that knows, the Emperor himself, and he's not telling.

 But it is in the Emperor's service one finds psykers and witch-hunters, Navigators and Space Marines, judicious Astropaths and zealous commissars.

 

 The group of fourteen men and women stepped out of the large elevator and into a huge hall. Torches dimly lighted the hall, but sodium lamps glowed in the roof, high above their heads. All, except Tanya and Rolf, stopped dead before the sight that met them: two lanes of five metres tall marble or bronze statues, all depicting famous commissars in the glorious service of the Imperium. Charleston let out a low whistle.

 "And here I've considered them religious lunatics all along..." McGranth whispered. He didn't want Tanya or Rolf hearing him.

 The group moved down the line of commissars until Tanya stopped before two. One was tall and athletic; the other one was short and stocky.

 "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Commissar Mischkin and Commissar General Timoschenko. Founders of the Imperial Commissariat."

 The Terrans looked up at the two statues. The two men seemed very different, but Tanya explained. "They were best friends, united by chance but also a common goal, on the Industrial World Moskva. The statues are nearly half a million years old. Unbelievable, perhaps, but it is true."

 McKenzie walked forward and read the inscripture on Timoschenko's pedestal. "'Where Mischkin left, Timoschenko took over. The first Imperial Commissar General.' Doesn't seem like a fighter, does he?"

 "Not quite," Nazz said, frowning. "But then again, he might been the type that's short and chunky, but really strong." She threw a side-ways glance at Eddy.

 "Yes, I believe he was." Tanya replied.

 "'Timoschenko took over...'" Edd repeated to himself. "What happened to Mischkin?"

 "He died of cardiac-cancer." Tanya simply replied. "Before the Imperial Commissariat became what it is today."

 "How did the Commissariat come to being then?" Marie asked, surprised at her own question.

 Tanya explained. She told them about the crisis on Moskva, the Narkoms and the Siege of the Winter palace. As she spoke, Charleston, McGranth, McKenzie and Rolf slowly removed themselves from the group and walked down the line of statues. McKenzie stopped at a tall, powerful man. To scale, he would've almost been as tall as Charleston. He looked down on the inscription.

 "Commissar General Delane Oktar..." he read. "Enormous guy..."

 With that, he moved on.

 Charleston had stopped at the man just next to Oktar. He read the name inscripture, took a few steps back to look at the man's face, and then read the name again.

 "What's the matter, commander?" McGranth asked, walking up behind his friend.

 "This guy is almost a joke..." Charleston mumbled. He looked up at the man's face again. McGranth did as Charleston had done; read the name, and then looked at the face.

 "Oh..." McGranth said silently. "I see..."

 They both stared up at the blade thin face of the tall and powerful colonel-commissar. Simultaneously, they raised an eyebrow and then looked at each other with dubious looks. Then spoke in unison. "Colonel-commissar Ibram... Gaunt?"

 "Make's reason for his name..." Charleston said and scratched his nose, trying to suppress a smile.

 "What a horror to be mocked by your own family name." McGranth said and moved on.

 "Or the other way around." Charleston said smartly. "Having your family name mocked by your looks."

 Rolf had stopped by the statue of Sebastian Yarrick. He was looking up at the statue of the old man with ork-designed battle claw and bionic eye, with tears welling in his eyes. McKenzie came up to him.

 "Rolf, are you alright?"

 "It's happening again, McKenzie..." Rolf silently mumbled.

 "Memories?"

 Rolf nodded. "I just feel pain when I see Sebastian. I know he was slain by Kharn. I've known it for the better part of two years now..."

 "I know... Wait a second! Two years?"

 Rolf nodded again. "Don't you remember, I told you so when you patched my arm up."

 McKenzie looked taken aback. "I must've forgotten... Denied it, even..." He shook his head slightly. "So, these memories, what are they about?"

 Rolf tried to gather himself enough to speak. The memories had scored deeper wounds than he'd thought or even dared to believe. "I just see a flash of bright light and I feel this stinging pain in my chest. Then I see Sebastian's face as a young lad, no older than I am now... wet with tears..."

 McKenzie looked down on the ground. He knew what it was about. Not many others knew the true reason to Rolf Yarrick's death. Most Imperial citizens had believed he'd died of age. McKenzie knew that that was a lie, a lie necessary to protect the Imperium from anarchy. He put his hands on Rolf's shoulders and led him back to the rest of the group. Charleston and McGranth had already rejoined them, as Tanya finished her story.

 She noticed the look in Rolf's eyes immediately. "Maybe we should go back up? You all seem in need of sleep, my friends." She tapped the vox-link attached to her head like a headset. "Tomas, darling, fix thirteen more beds for our friends. Yes, separate rooms for girls and boys, what did you think? Show some decency, man! All right... We'll be back up in 15 minutes. What we've been doing? I've showed them a piece of history. One, out."

 She looked at the others. "He's really a nice guy, boring, but nice. So, off you go to the lift!" Tanya herded the group back into the lift and they went up. As they came back out up there, they split up in two directions, directed by junior officers of the Guard. Tanya stopped Rolf.

 "I need to talk to you,” she said simply.

 The two removed themselves soundlessly and seamlessly from the others.

 "Rolf, what happened down there? You were weeping."

 "It's a really long story, Tanya. But you know I'm not the original Rolf Yarrick, right?"

 "Yes, I know that, but how can you weld the sword then?"

 "I don't know... But see, I still have your ancestor's spirit."

 "Now I don't understand. What do you mean 'spirit'?"

 Rolf sighed. "It's a bit hard to explain. But technically speaking, Rolf Yarrick is dead. Psychically, he's not. He lives within me..."

 Tanya looked shocked. "How's that possible?"

 "The Eldar had a technique of storing souls in gemstones. McKenzie managed to copy that technique, although crudely. But it was enough to spare the soul of damnation and to let him fight again. He lives on, in me... I believe that's why I can weld the sword..."

 "And with his soul comes-"

 "His memories. Yes, Tanya, that's right. And they hurt. They hurt very much. You can't imagine what pain he went through. A Hero of the Imperium, indeed, but he was almost constantly in physical or psychological pain."

 "Deary me..."

 Rolf nodded, silent. You need not words any more. Tanya understood perfectly. She was silent for a while, and then looked up in Rolf's eyes.

 "Maybe you should get to bed." She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Come, I'll show you to your quarters."

 Rolf followed obediently, and soon enough, he was fast asleep, just as his friends.

 Charleston, however, nudged McKenzie lightly, as the other boys were fast asleep. "Edward, wake up!" he whispered.

 McKenzie groaned and looked round at Charleston. "What?"

 "Ya know when that Gretchin said that Ghazghkull was killed by Metallix, and so did Tanya."

 "Mmm, so what?"

 "The Grot said that it had been on Ichar... But when Tanya spoke about it, it seemed to be on some central world that he got killed. This messes things up for me..."

 McKenzie was suddenly wide-awake. When information got mismatched, he was soon awake. "You're absolutely right, Ed... Maybe Tanya tries to hide things from us? She didn't even mention that Necrons had gotten to Ichar..."

 Charleston seemed ponderous for a while. "Maybe... Maybe there was a Necron pyramid under one of Ichar's hives? Armageddon had one in the middle of a jungle... And to a grot, everything is big, right? He could have taken the Necrons leader for Metallix and the Ork Warlords for Ghazghkull and Nazdreg. Easy to mix up, right?"

 "Good explanation, Ed..." McKenzie mumbled. "But we'll never know the truth, will we. This is just a theory, right?" And a flawed one, McKenzie thought.

 "Yeah."

 "Good... Good. Go to sleep now, commander."

 Charleston did as he was told and rolled over to his other side, and soon enough, he was sleeping too. McKenzie, however, contemplated what truly was the truth for a long while, until he fell asleep without noticing it...

 

The morning the next day, McKenzie had taken Johnny out of bed early, as he wanted to avoid problems. McKenzie had a pack with him, which he'd slung over his shoulder. It was full of food for Johnny and him and some other things that McKenzie deemed necessary for Johnny's psychic training. McKenzie was still pondering Charleston's comments from yesterday, when Johnny brought him back to reality on Secondus.

 "Where are we going, McKenzie?" Johnny asked.

 "It is time for some serious psyker training on your behalf. So, therefore, we are going a bit away from the base. I'd like it so, as there are rituals and such that blunts aren't meant to know of."

 "Blunts?" Johnny asked.

 "Psyker-slang for none-psychic minds. Don't voice it aloud in their presence, okay?"

 "Sure thing."

 McKenzie did want to voice that his real reason to conduct the training away from the base was if Johnny accidentally blew something up or, even worse, conjured a deamon.

 "So," McKenzie said, showing the basket. "We'll be gone most of the day. Won't be back till afternoon. I have the grub, but are you prepared for this, Johnny?"

 "Yep, all set!"

 McKenzie smiled softly at the teenager. "Good. Follow me."

 Johnny followed McKenzie to the motor pool of the big base. It was about a quarter the size of the Death Angel's Armoury, but still immense. There were tanks and other mechanical things strew about, in pieces, everywhere. Tech priests in their murky red robes milled about. Most had at least some sort of mechanical implant. Johnny saw several chatting away with each other in Lingua Technis, their mechadendrites repairing the vehicles they stood by. Mechadendrites was what McKenzie called the octopus-like arms that were attached to the tech priests' bodies. They freaked Johnny out a bit, to say the least.

 McKenzie moved between the down-mounted tanks and approached the magos in command of the tech priests. To McKenzie's dismay, Masterson was with the half-mechanical magos.

 "Commissar Masterson, what are you doing here?" McKenzie asked, genuinely surprised at the short commissar's presence. He lost some of his potency next to the powerful magos.

 "Tough times. We all do what we have to do, and thus I am the military arm supervising that Arilla here does things right." Masterson replied, gesturing to the tech magos. McKenzie greeted himself to the magos, exchanging courtesies in Lingua Technis.

 "May I ask, Master Lexicanum," Masterson said, wiping sweat from his brow as it was a warm day. "What are you doing here?"

 McKenzie indicated Johnny in his flowing Eldarain robes. "I'm taking Johnny here for some... training. I will request the use of a bike."

 "Well, I can't see any..." Magos Arilla began, but was told to shut up by Masterson, who pointed a meaning finger at his brow, as to indicate that both McKenzie and Johnny were psykers. Masterson turned and stared poisonously at McKenzie a minute. Then he picked something up and stalked over to the Master Lexicanum. He held out his arm and pointed the large wrench in it towards McKenzie's chest, as if it was a blade. It almost touched the Marine's chest.

 "You come back with that in one piece, witch." Masterson snarled. "Anything fall off that bike, I'll pull something off you and not even Arilla here will be able to replace it! Understand?"

 McKenzie studied the wrench aimed at his chest and raised an eyebrow, before running a hand through his thick black hair. "Very well, then," he said in a calm voice.

 As McKenzie led the bike out, under the watchful gaze of Masterson, Johnny glanced over his shoulder at the glaring commissar.

 "Charming type, that Masterson," Johnny whispered.

 McKenzie dared a glance over his shoulder as they came out, but a truck moved from one end of the machine shop, to the other, luckily obscured Masterson. "No kidding?" he said with a sigh.

 McKenzie tucked their stuff onto the bike, produced a helmet for Johnny and clicked his own Space Marine helmet in place. A few powerful kicks of the ignition and the twelve hundred cubic centimetre motor roared into life. McKenzie knew how to do things and soon the two were off at an alarming speed. McKenzie liked high speed. As they sped along, he couldn't help himself but to think of his BMW on Terra.

 I miss the BMW, he thought. Wonder if it is possible to make a copy here? I miss the feeling it had. This bike, give its due, is fine, but it has no true... feeling.

 McKenzie shook the thought away and concentrated on driving. They soon enough reached their destination, as McKenzie preferred to keep at a speed of a hundred kilometres per hour. McKenzie had studied several maps the night before, just before bed, and found the perfect spot, nearly twenty kilometres from the main base. It looked, from the air, like a shallow bowl about seven hundred metres across. There were several fair-sized boulders strewn about in the pit. At the northern part of the pit, the gentle slope of the pit became a steep wall from which a waterfall fell. The water from it collected at the bottom of the pit. A small stream ran from the pond, due south, and ran through the south slope of the pit where a small wooded area took the pit's place. As to compensate the cliff on the north, the south part had no slope upwards, though downwards.

 "Perfect," McKenzie said silently to himself as he removed his helmet. He turned to Johnny. "We're here, Johnny. Unload your gear and we'll start."

 Johnny did as he was told and was soon ready. McKenzie led Johnny to a clear area in the pit.

 "The first thing every psyker has to learn is to ward off daemons. And the only way to learn that is to live through the real thing: possession." McKenzie put unnecessary stress on that last word, but he got the desired effect. Johnny winced slightly.

 McKenzie sat down best he could in his power armour and made the sign of the Aquila as he intoned an Imperial Litany of protection upon himself. He then closed his eyes and started murmuring in a tongue Johnny did not like one bit. McKenzie suddenly made a sweeping gesture towards Johnny, as if pointing guilt to him. The young Terran suddenly felt he wasn't alone in his head anymore. There was another presence in it. It had a strange voice. Sugar sweet but hoarse at the same time.

 "Hello there," it spoke. Johnny shuddered. It was cold, soulless.

 "Sweet little Johnny," the voice whispered. "I am prepared to give you whatever you want, just ask, and I will grant you that. Want money? I'll give you that. Want a longer life? I can grant that too."

 McKenzie suddenly brought Johnny from his reverie with the strange voice. "Fight the voice, Johnny. It is the voice of a Tzeentchian deamon. Fight it, Johnny!"

 "Don't listen to him. What can he give you? What can he do?" the voice continued. "He's afraid of you, Johnny. He's afraid you'll become a greater warrior than him. A greater psyker than him! He doesn't want that. But I can help you rid the world of such a coward. I can make you achieve whatever goals you want. I can wake your slumbering powers, but that fool McKenzie wants not to!"

 "Fight it, Johnny!" McKenzie's voice rang out to Johnny from an eternity away it seemed. "Fight it, Emperor damn it! Fight it!!"

 "He claims to be your friend," the voice continued to whisper in Johnny's mind. "He's not. He wants to stop your powers from evolving. But I am your friend, no? I want you to become powerful, but he doesn't."

 "Frekkfrekkfrekkfrekk!" McKenzie swore from somewhere. "Fight, damn it! You won't ever get a second chance if you fail, Johnny! He wants nothing but your soul!"

 "He's not your true friend," the voice continued calmly, soothingly. "But I, I am your true friend, isn't that so?"

 Johnny seemed to come to a conclusion in his ravaged mind. "No," he said quietly, but very firmly. "My true friend is not you! It is not you, deamon filth!!"

 The presence in his mind recoiled a few seconds, but soon came back. It didn't speak soothingly now. It screamed, wordless screams mixed with a cursed language, and it tore and bit at Johnny's mind. Impossible pain, incorporeal pain, raged through Johnny's head as the deamon attacked again and again, trying to weaken the resolve of the human's mind. But Johnny endured; fighting the etherworlder back, knowing what awaited if he was to give in. He felt the deamon at the very borders of his mind as he fought it back. McKenzie's mind was suddenly there again, and he once again spoke in the cursed tongue of Tzeentch.

 "An'du ssa'ade Gzoag'gilph'ulfduak!" McKenzie roared and the deamon disappeared. Johnny fell to the ground, but McKenzie was soon beside him, pouring water into the young lad's mouth.

 "Was that a real deamon?" Johnny whispered. He felt drained, worn and generally out of sorts.

 "Yes, a lesser one. I am amazed that you were able to withstand its temptation without any training whatsoever."

 "What was that you spoke?" Johnny asked as he regained somewhat.

 "Tzeentchian..." McKenzie looked around. "It is always good to know some. Most Librarians shun it utmost, but I'm not so orthodox in my ways. Some Dark Tongue is always useful. I have banished many a deamon by uttering a banishment curse in the Dark Tongue and their true names."

 "Was that name its real name?" Johnny asked astonished. "What did it mean?"

 "I can't really tell you that, as there aren't human words for it. Though the name it hides behind in this realm is easier understood: Pain Wight."

 Johnny nodded his assertion. The two sat silent for a long while.

 "Now," McKenzie broke the silence between the two. "We shall go on to the next level. You have already shown you possess some knowledge in telekinesis. Let's see how it is in the reverse. To attack with psychic force."

 "How do you do that?" Johnny asked interested.

 "Like this," McKenzie said and without warning a large force swept Johnny off his feet and he landed several metres away from McKenzie. The tall, slender Marine walked over to the prone Terran. "That is what I mean with offensive psychics."

 "Wow!" Johnny exclaimed. "What a ride! How did you do that?"

 McKenzie just tapped his forehead. "I can perform such menial things as that with a nudge of my head, but you'll need words and moves, Johnny. Until you reach a higher degree of power, that is. Then you might just nudge your head to send your enemies sprawling."

 "So, what's the word?" Johnny asked eagerly.

 "Many Imperial psykers of lesser power use High Gothic, though I prefer Eldar, as it gives a better effect. And it is what I'll teach you. The word is 'ruuma' and you must focus on the objective to be forced back."

 "Alright," Johnny said and turned and held his hand out towards one of the smaller rocks. "Ruuma!" he shouted and the rock did move, though not far.

 "Don't be disheartened, Johnny," McKenzie said happily. "No-one can do it the first time they try. It is always try, try, and try again. One more, and some more force into the word."

 Johnny nodded sternly and focused all his will into his outstretched arm. "RUUMA!" he shouted and the rock flew backwards, knocking into another, larger rock and splitting in half.

 "Not bad!" McKenzie said and grinned. "Not bad at all." McKenzie paused and Johnny saw how he fixated the large rock that had been banged. A few seconds later, it cracked open like an egg.

 "Imagine that to be an enemy's skull, Johnny, and you will get some measure of what power we possess," McKenzie said grimly. The Marine walked down to the pond and Johnny followed obediently. McKenzie stopped by the shore to the pond and extended a hand. What Johnny saw happening, he scarcely believed. The water in the pond suddenly raised upwards, turning and twisting in impossible forms. It took Johnny a while to realize, but McKenzie was forming a gigantic water-serpent with the fluid, like a sculpture. McKenzie turned to Johnny.

 "Although we psykers are extreme warriors when put to it, most of us prefer to lead quiet lives and to develop other skills than those of war." McKenzie spoke softly, without strain. This didn't take much of his concentration it seemed. McKenzie suddenly pulled back his hand with a snap and raised the other hand. A ball of water came out of the pond. It hovered before the water-serpent a few moments, until McKenzie sent the ball flying straight into the serpent, shattering both in a cascade of water. The serpent sunk back into the water with a splash that made Johnny's robes wet all the way up to the knees.

 "You try," McKenzie said simply.

 Johnny nodded and focused. It was all a matter of focusing your will to one point. Johnny had realized that early on. But it was much harder than it seemed.

 "Try whispering the words 'linque oro'," McKenzie whispered softly.

 Johnny uttered the Eldarain words silently and the water began to rise. He could not form a serpent, but he made one big sphere of it. On McKenzie's command, he let it go and it fell back with a splash far greater than McKenzie's. It showered them both with water. Johnny found himself with robes soaked in water and that clung distressingly to his armour. McKenzie wiped his wet hair from his face.

 "We might need to practice on that part a bit..." he said and smiled warmly. McKenzie walked a few paces away from the pond and sat down, cross-legged, wringing his hair of water. He motioned to Johnny to take a seat opposite to him.

 "Now what?" Johnny asked eagerly. He wanted to know more.

 "Telepathy and scanning," McKenzie said and grinned.