“I know that,” he said, frustrated. “I cannot understand what it is. Each time we try, I am perfectly willing, and yet some part of me seems anxious to prevent it. I try my best to be receptive, but...” His voice trailed off, and he simply shrugged helplessly.
Varanna had a sudden intuition. “Let us try it the same way it happened with the balls. Do not attempt to be receptive. Simply give up and relax. Empty your mind.”
“Very well.” He slumped slightly on the bench and lowered his head, emptying his lungs with a heavy sigh. Before Varanna could attempt to make her probe, however, he abruptly raised his head and stared at her with a challenging gaze.
“Why do you persist in attempting to invade our thoughts? What do you want of us?”
Varanna suddenly realized that it wasn’t Sorak speaking. At least, not the Sorak she had known up to that point. The voice was the same, and yet the tone was completely different, more demanding, more mature, more self-assured. Even Sorak’s physical demeanor had undergone a subtle change. The language of his body, a language that often spoke more eloquently than words, had become suddenly defensive. “Who are you?” she asked in a soft voice, leaning forward slightly.
“You may call me the Guardian. I know who you are. You are the mistress.”
“If you know who I am, then you should also know that my only intentions are to help you,” replied Varanna. “All of you,” she added.
“With this?” the Guardian said as Sorak indicated the fallen balls with his outstretched hand. Suddenly, they rose into the air and hovered there.
“With that, and other things, as well,” Varanna replied.
“The boy is confused,” the Guardian said. “You are causing him distress. You make him think he can do this, but he cannot. He does not have the ability.”
Varanna suddenly understood. “But you do,” she said, with a nod. “I see that now.”
The balls leaped over one another briefly in midair, then fell bouncing to the floor. “I fail to see the point in this. It is meaningless and serves no purpose.”
“It is not meaningless, and it does serve a purpose,” Varanna countered firmly. “It is an exercise designed to sharpen telekinetic skills.”
“I have no need of such exercises,” the Guardian said curtly. “I have only cooperated to ease the boy’s frustration, which you and others cause.”
None of the other priestesses would have dared to speak so to the high mistress, and Sorak would certainly never have addressed her in so challenging a tone. Then again, Varanna thought, this wasn’t Sorak.
Even though she had some understanding of what it meant to be a tribe of one, she had to keep reminding herself of that. This entity seemed much more mature than Sorak, she thought, more confident, and certainly more combative. Then with a flash of insight she suddenly realized that this was precisely its role. The name alone should have alerted her, and she mentally castigated herself for not seeing it at once, but the shock of the Guardian’s emergence had thrown her.
“You seek to protect the boy,” she said. “I only seek to teach him.”
“He cannot learn that which you would teach,” the Guardian replied. “And the rest of us have no need for such instruction.”
“Then there are others among the tribe, beside yourself, who possess psionic talent?” asked Varanna, leaning forward intently. Here, at last, was the explanation for Sorak’s failure to display his psionic powers. He did not really have them, in a sense. The other members of his inner tribe did.
“Tribe?” said the Guardian. “Why do you call us that?”
“You are many who form a tribe within one body,” said Varanna, “a ‘tribe of one.’ It is rare, yet not unheard of. I, myself, have known two others, though it was many years ago. And you are doing Sorak no service by sheltering him from his true nature. He knows that he is unlike others, and not merely because he is an elfling. He knows that he possesses powers he cannot summon forth, yet he does not understand why. This is what confuses him and causes him distress. You cannot protect Sorak from the truth about himself. If you persist in your efforts to shelter him, then you shall only cause him pain and suffering.”
“The boy suffered when he was abandoned in the desert,” said the Guardian. “We sheltered him from his suffering. He was prepared to surrender to death. We gave him the strength to go on.”
“But there is a limit to how much strength you can give him,” said Varanna. “Despite your efforts, the boy would have died had not the pyreen found him. She brought him here so that we could give him shelter and the knowledge necessary to comprehend his nature. He will be stronger for this knowledge of himself, and with the proper training, he can learn to live more easily with what he has become and call upon his abilities much more effectively. There is strength in a tribe that is united. But so long as you shelter Sorak from the truth about himself, he shall always remain weak.”
The Guardian was silent for a while, considering what she had said. When the Guardian spoke again, it was in a more relaxed tone, though still a cautious one. “There is wisdom in your words. Yet, if you have known the truth about us all along, you could have told Sorak all these things yourself. Why have you refrained?”
“Because I, too, care for Sorak’s welfare,” said Varanna. “And it is not enough merely to tell someone the truth. He must be prepared to hear it”
“Perhaps the time has come, then,” the Guardian replied. “The boy bears great affection and respect for you. Prepare him to experience this truth. Then, in our own way, we shall reveal it to him.”
The next thing she knew, Sorak was gazing at her once again, a puzzled expression on his face. “Forgive me, Mistress,” he said. “I must have fallen asleep. I had the most peculiar dream....”
That had been the beginning of Sorak’s true awakening. Gently, and with great care, Varanna had told him the truth about himself, a truth he had, up to that point, not even suspected. And as she spoke, the Guardian gently eased Sorak’s anxiety and apprehension. In the coming weeks, the Guardian gradually allowed Sorak to discover more about his multiplicity. Initially, this strange learning process took place, for the most part, while Sorak slept and dreamed. Then, when the context of his situation started to become familiar to him, Sorak experienced the gradual emergence of his other personalities, without suffering lapses, but remaining conscious on some level while they were dominant in his body. It was a slow process, however, and one that was still unfolding.
From the beginning of Sorak’s inner journey of self-discovery, the Guardian had been his guide and Varanna his mentor. She studied the journals of the two priestesses who had had the same condition, spending hours each day in the temple library, trying to relate their experiences to Sorak’s. In some ways, it was easier for Sorak because the alternate personas of his inner tribe were inclined to be cooperative, and there did not seem to be any competition between them. Varanna believed this was the result of Sorak’s ordeal in the desert. His young mind had fragmented because it could not endure the pain and suffering inflicted on him. To survive in the desolate Athasian desert, his different aspects all had to work together.
Every evening, Sorak would come to Varanna’s chambers, and they would discuss the Guardian’s gradual revelations. In time, Sorak came to accept and understand his condition. As the years passed, he learned how to communicate with his inner tribe and how to function with them, as well as how to give way and allow them to work through him. It was, however, a journey that was far from finished. Both Varanna’s intuition and the knowledge she gleaned from the others’ journals told her that new discoveries still awaited him. And, recently, she had come to the conclusion that there would be yet another journey for Sorak to undertake, a physical journey, and that he would be embarking on it very soon.