Persistence of Vision by Liesel Hill

  ***

  “Okay, let’s try this again.”

  Maggie opened her eyes. She was trying to move a crate again, but for the third time had succeeded only in blowing it to smithereens. The force of her own shot had thrown her back against the wall.

  Nat was crawling out from under a table he’d dived toward for cover.

  Maggie got unsteadily to her feet and sighed, massaging her right temple with her fingers. “I’m sorry, Mr. Strellend. This isn’t working.”

  “It’s Nat, Maggie. And we haven’t been at this very long. You can’t give up yet.” He studied her for several seconds. “Do you know what I think the problem is?”

  She shook her head.

  “You have an inferiority complex.”

  “Inferiority complex?”

  “Yes. You’re overcompensating.”

  “Isn’t that a male problem?”

  Nat ignored her. “On some level, you don’t believe in your own power. You see yourself as small, incapable. So you’re putting everything you have into this.”

  Maggie didn’t respond. Nat was uncomfortably close to the truth. She’d been exploring her abilities for a month, but she still felt like a baby just learning to walk who was expected to dance the tango in a few days. She didn’t let on about it, but everything about this plan, this mission—this life—made her nervous.

  “Now don’t get me wrong,” Nat was saying. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. For someone who’s small or untalented, putting their all into something is the way to make something of themselves. But Maggie”—he came to stand in front of her and took her hands in his—“that’s not you. You aren’t small or untalented. You have more power than you can imagine. You must learn to control it.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Close your eyes, Maggie.”

  She frowned up at him.

  “Just do it.”

  She obeyed. She was being difficult, but they’d been at this for an hour with only a handful of crates reduced to kindling to show for it. Maggie felt tired and crabby.

  “Now.” Nat walked around behind her, his voice in her ear. “You have to get it out of your head that you are inadequate. You’re not. You have more power in you than you can conceive of. Know that. Feel that.”

  Maggie opened her eyes and turned around. “It’s not that I don’t think I have power, Nat. I’ve seen it.” She swept her hand out, indicating the room full of wooden shrapnel. “But I’m not prepared. I don’t know anything yet. What if I can’t…can’t…?”

  “Stop thinking like that, Maggie. You have more Offensive power than anyone we’ve ever come across. Learn to let yourself be a leader.”

  “But—”

  “No, listen to me. No matter what you’ve thought up to this point, no matter why, forget it. Believe in your own power, in your own strength. Turn around. Shut your eyes again.”

  Not really seeing the point, but out of arguments, Maggie obeyed.

  “Now, I want you to do what you’ve done before. Call the energy to you.”

  Maggie did. In their first lesson Karl told her to visualize it. Now she was beginning to feel something familiar each time she did it. It felt like a rushing wind in her chest that echoed in her eardrums. Wind, except she couldn’t hear it—she could only feel it. When it came, her heartbeat quickened, and her breathing became deeper.

  “Good. Now hold it there for a second. Now I want you to imagine the immensity of the power you are holding. It is so great that you must hold most of it back. Siphon off just a trickle of it—imagine a tiny straw it might flow through. Now”—he pressed a cold, smooth, flat stone in her hand—“keep your eyes closed, put your hand out in front of you, and push that trickle of power through the conduit stone. Use it to nudge the crate.”

  Maggie opened her eyes just in time to see the crate fly off the table and slam into wall behind it. It slammed hard enough to elicit a loud crack from the wooden crate, but that was it. She hadn’t blown it to smithereens! Her mouth fell open.

  Behind her Nat laughed out loud and slapped her on the back hard enough to jar her organs against her ribs. “There you go!”

  “I still slammed it against the wall.”

  “Kinky.” It was Karl’s voice coming from the doorway.

  Maggie turned to see him grinning broadly at her.

  “I see we’re making progress.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Not really. I still almost broke it.”

  “Almost broke it, Maggie, but you didn’t actually,” Nat said. “It may not be perfect, but the crate is all in one piece. Now, I want you to do that again. Each time I want you to try to use less. If by the end of the day you can get to the point that you can just nudge the crate—”

  “Which is not the same thing as abusing it,” Karl put in.

  “—then you’ll have made real progress.”

  Nat crossed the room, picked up the crate, and put it back on the pockmarked table.

  Maggie nodded wearily. She would be at this for a long time yet. She turned around to look at Karl, who was leaning against the doorway folding his arms.

  “You just gonna stand there and make fun of me all day?”

  He held his hands up, grinned, then strode from the room.

  Maggie turned back to her task. She imagined pulling the power to her again. Her heart rate quickened, and her breathing deepened.

  “Wait ‘til I get behind you!” Nat dove for cover once more.