J. Mitchell - The Severed Tower

Something occurred to her about what he had just said. “An… idea?”

Gideon nodded. “A single idea. One I believe will help you, if only you can recognize it.”

“Why not just tell me, then? Why use the artifact at all?”

“Learning an idea is just as difficult as learning a skill,” Gideon answered. “Hearing me explain how to use a Lancet is not the same as practicing it with discipline. In the same way, hearing an idea is not the same as accepting it. Simply telling you to believe in yourself… will not make you believe.”

Mira said nothing. She couldn’t argue the point.

“You will accept it this way, it will take root,” Gideon continued, “but it is not without its price.”

Mira looked down at the folded dragon in her hands. “How?”

“Unfold it and read. The power of the artifact will do the rest.”

Mira studied the paper dragon. What if Gideon could do what he said? What if she could overcome her fears by simply unfolding a piece of paper? But she was still unsure. “There’s… pain?”

Gideon nodded. “Nothing of value is ever without pain, Mira.”

Mira stared down at the folded dragon a second longer, then made up her mind. She began pulling it apart, undoing the shape Gideon had meticulously crafted. More and more it unfolded, an unending series of bends and twists, unwinding back to its original shape, until there was only one fold left. The initial one, the fold that had cut it in half.

Mira’s fingers trembled. She steeled herself—and then opened the final fold.

Inside the paper was writing, and Mira stared at it, confused. It was written in Asian characters, each a blocky mass of jagged lines. Japanese, she assumed. Whatever it was, it made no sense to her.

Angry and frustrated, she looked away from the paper…

…and gasped as a searing, burning agony flooded every nerve in her body. It was like being set ablaze.

“Release the note and the pain will end,” Gideon’s voice echoed in her head, “but you will learn nothing. ”

Mira almost did exactly that—the pain was too much, too horrible—she felt her fingers loosen, about to drop the terrible piece of—

An image flared to life in her mind. It did nothing to cloud or obstruct the pain, but it did give her something to focus on.

The image was a mirror. In the mirror she saw herself, and she didn’t look as she expected. She didn’t look frightened. Or weak. She looked—

The pain continued to build and Mira groaned, crushing the unfolded dragon in her fists; but she had to hold on, had to see what it was showing her.

The mirror again, the image of her in it. She looked confident and strong, capable, resourceful. She looked like the person she wanted to be.

And with that realization, the pain ended. The world rushed back and Mira fell to her knees.

A slight tingling in her hand made her look down, and she saw the paper burning into cinders, drifting away in the breeze. The dragon was gone, the experience was over. Mira swallowed. Her clothes were damp from sweat. A chill ran through her at the memory of the pain, but had she really learned anything from it?

“What did you see?” Gideon’s voice brought her the rest of the way back. He had kneeled down before her, his empty gaze glancing just to the left.

“A… reflection,” Mira said, her voice raspy.

“A reflection of what?”

“Myself.”

“And what did your reflection look like?”

Mira shook her head. “Strong. Confident. But I don’t feel that way!”

“I never said you would feel any differently,” Gideon replied, and offered his hand to her. Mira took it and stood up. “I only gave you an idea. You must now make sense of it.”

“How?” Mira asked in frustration. “It was just me in a mirror. That’s it. ”

Gideon studied her patiently. “Perhaps you are focusing on the wrong thing. Perhaps the reflection is irrelevant. Perhaps what you should truly be considering, is the mirror. ”

“The mirror?” He was making less and less sense.

“We all have mirrors,” he answered. “Things that reflect ourselves so that we can see. Some show what we really are. But some produce only distorted images. Yet, sadly—we accept them. Blindly.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gideon nodded. “I believe you will. When the time is right.”

Mira shook her head and looked away. At least he was optimistic. Then something occurred to her.

“The notebook,” she said. “Is it how you teach the Helix? ” It made sense, actually. If the White Helix learned what they knew from Gideon, the only way they could become so skilled so quickly would be the use of something like the notebook. If it could really do what Gideon claimed, then the Helix, Avril, Dane, all of them, would be able to learn directly from Gideon’s knowledge, absorbing it like memories.

“Yes,” Gideon answered, “but it is no easy road. You felt the pain yourself, and that was for one simple idea, now growing in your subconscious. Imagine the pain involved for the mastery of a skill. Then consider all the skills my pupils possess.”

Mira shuddered. If she’d had to learn how to be a Freebooter that way, she wasn’t sure she could have done it. She suddenly had a new respect for the White Helix.

“Many do not survive the learning,” Gideon continued in a low voice, “but the Strange Lands is like a forge. It hones and shapes us, makes us strong. In that way, we use it against itself.”

Mira shook her head. Gideon was an enigma, but a fascinating one. “Gideon doesn’t sound like a very Asian name.”

“No.” He chuckled lightly. “I was once called something different, but that is a story for another day. A long one. I have done many things in my life I would prefer not to think on.” The mirth in his voice slowly dissipated. “I have always thought it odd. It was not until the Assembly came that I lost my sight; and it was not until I found this place that I truly learned to see. I would not be who I am now, in that other world—but none of us would, I suppose.”

“I guess not.” Something else occurred to her. Something she had been curious about. “The Reflection Box. It’s a powerful artifact, I get it, but—why is it so important to you?”

“It is important, not for this moment, but for others,” Gideon answered. “If what I fear does come to pass, then it will be an integral part of what follows. It is my hope that you will not need it, but, if you do, you will know why when the time comes.” Gideon and Mira considered each other a moment more, and then Gideon began to walk back toward where they had started. “Come. You are as prepared as you can be.”

Mira followed after him. “Prepared for what?”

“For all that is left.”

They walked the rest of the way of in silence.

ZOEY WALKED IN BETWEEN MIRA AND HOLT, holding their hands. Max was in front and Ambassador stomped behind them, its green laser light taking away as much pain as it could. Together, they slowly moved into the canyon, and as they did, Zoey saw that Sanctum had been completely disbanded. The infinite stretch of glowing tents was gone, leaving only darkness—but it was by no means abandoned. When they reached where the meeting had taken place earlier, the multitudes of the White Helix were there, filling the canyon walls in flickering spots of color, awaiting her arrival. The old phone booth was closed, the strange, swirling storm of gray light once again trapped inside, and everything was eerily silent.

“Kiddo,” Holt said, glancing down at her. “You don’t have to do any of this, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”