Chapter One: The Awakening

John Berrett's powers awaken during a verbal and physical clash with his guardian, and he flees to avoid taking an action that his deceased mother would've disapproved of.

WHITE DRAGON ACADEMY:

RESURGENCY

BY

JAMES MCGILL

 

CHAPTER ONE:

THE AWAKENING

16 Years Ago

The shot of brandy burned its way down into his stomach, leaving behind a sensation of heat and something a bit like courage, though of course he knew that it was nothing more than a loosening of his inhibitions. He had a few names that he went by, but he had never really found any of them that fit. He had been recruited at an early age by a section of the government, the Seekers, working to track Psionic activity. Not because it was illegal; no, that would be impossible to do since everyone on the planet had at least one Psionic ability. No, the job of the Seekers was to locate those who possessed more than one Psionic power; once located, that person was given the choice of attending one of the private schools that had been set up over the past few decades, or having all but one of their powers bound. Many chose the latter option because the dedication to training was often too much for the general population.

He had done this several times over the years, but never had the person he tracked been a newborn baby. He knew the stories, of Psionics with such power that they ended up personifying the best and worst traits of humanity, depending on how they were raised. That the child was his own flesh and blood made it an even harder choice. He knew that his line of work would force the child into the politics of being a powerful Psionic early, and that even his wife’s caring nature would be of little use in balancing that out.

It was for this reason that he had bound his child’s own powers, and used his access to change his wife’s last name to Berrett, along with their son’s. He had sent them away, and made sure it was known that his wife and son had died in a tragic accident, using a recently deceased mother and child (who had died in a horrible fire and with little left to identify them) as replacements. His son would never have to deal with the pressures that would come from being who he was. The time for Champions was over, as far as he was concerned. They had done their job, set humanity on the right course. There wasn’t any reason for Champions to exist anymore, and the community of strong Psionics would have made a big show out of a Champion-level Psionic being born. They wouldn’t have accepted a Psionic of that caliber not accepting a place at the U.S. private school for Psionics, White Dragon Academy.

But he knew that there was always the chance someone would find out about his deception, and it wouldn’t be because he didn’t cover his tracks. It would be because he let something slip while drinking with his co-workers. That could not be allowed to happen. It was for this reason that he had just drunk his tenth shot of brandy. Clumsily picking up the handgun he had procured from his work (as a Seeker he really didn’t need a weapon and thus didn’t own one for field work), Jackson Roberts maneuvered the barrel right under his chin, and with a whispered prayer for his wife and son, pulled the trigger.

*

Present Day

John Berrett had heard the saying that great changes and events are often started by small, simple things, like a pebble falling into a pool of water and causing ripples. He had never thought that events that occurred in his life would be one of those times; he was, after all, no one of any great importance. He had a minute talent in the Psionic field of telekinetics. His mother had died in an explosion at the bank three years earlier, leaving him in the custody of her boyfriend, Richard Fornell; Fornell was often called the city drunk. He had no belief that he was destined for anything more than doing his best to get out from under Fornell, and into decent college. But John was about to learn that the simplest thing, even a single sentence, can affect great change.

Arriving home from his school two days into the first semester of his 9^th grade year, John was confronted by Fornell, who sneered, “You’re late gettin’ back.” Fornell always had a sneer, and John had a suspicion the man’s face had frozen in that expression.

John sighed and said, “Got caught up dealing with some a******s who’ve been giving me trouble since last year.” John had actually been dealing with the a******s in question since he was 12, but not because they targeted him. He was the unofficial class ‘protector’, since he often used his telekinetic ability to trip up the bullies in the school. Since John’s telekinetic ability was not registered (very few people bothered to register their ability if they weren’t gifted in more than a single ability), he did not get in trouble but everyone ‘knew’ that he was the one doing it.

Maybe it was because of what happened with his mother, but John had a tendency to help everyone he could, since he thought someone should have helped his mother and everyone else who died in the bank. He knew that there were people out there, called Champions by some; those people lived in the world and did things that inspired many people. But the last Champion had died centuries ago. Too many were now mired in the politics of the day, especially those who were gifted with more than one Psionic talent and attended schools like White Dragon Academy.

“Well, you need to get working on the backyard, and don’t f**k it up this time,” Fornell snarled, and turned back towards the living room with a cozy armchair and television being the only furnishings. John gritted his teeth, wanting so badly to lash out at Fornell, but refusing to do it. His mother had taught him better than that, and he wasn’t going to dishonor her memory like that. She had told him that having any kind of Psionic power was both a gift and a curse, and that everyone should moderate the use of their talents. So, without an antagonizing word towards his personal tormentor, John headed into the backyard.

The hot sun burned down on the back of his neck as he held tightly to the bar that kept the lawnmower running. Fornell was too cheap to by one of those lawnmowers that you could sit on and drive, so John was relegated to using the normal motorized lawnmower. At least Fornell hadn’t been too cheap for that, since there were some people who actually still made their kids use the incredibly old-school lawnmower. Those people, in the mind of any teenager, were sadists of the highest order. . . .

Keeping a lawnmower steady was never easy, but especially so when the ground was decidedly rolling as the backyard of their home was. If Fornell expected a magazine cover, picture perfect job, he was gonna be disappointed. John did his best to keep the mower steady and moved up and down the backyard in rows, taking out the longish blades of grass and a few, prickly patches of a plant that John and his mother had nicknamed ‘stickers’. Finishing up an hour after going outside, John went back to the house and reported the job done. Fornell came out and gave a once-over of the yard before grunting, “Good enough. Get your dinner and get to your room. Don’t wanna look at you the rest of the night.”

John muttered, “You and me both,” before he could help himself.

“What was that?” demanded Fornell, grabbing John by the back of his neck and squeezing hard. While Fornell was a drunk, he was also fairly fit and kept in shape. “Did you just smart-a*s me?”

John said, “No, I just-” 

“Just what?” Fornell shook him slightly. “Just decided to talk back to the only man who keeps a roof over your ungrateful head? Just decided to be a little b***h, like your mom?”

John’s apologetic reply died before it ever made it to his lips at that final sentence. He said woodenly, “What did you just say?”

Fornell laughed and shoved John away. John stumbled and fell to the ground, hitting his shoulder on the table’s edge along the way. “I said, your mom was a b***h, always whining about your father leaving her ‘for your own safety’,” Fornell mocked, his voice taking on a high-pitched quality. “She got what she deserved because she couldn’t stay out of concerns that weren’t hers.”

“What are you talking about?” John asked, pulling himself to his feet and leaning against the counter, wincing and glaring at Fornell. His mind was made up, and he was going to do something about the b*****d. But he wanted to know what the hell he was talking about first. His brain felt like it was on fire, and his body felt cold, but not as if he was in shock. He met Fornell’s eyes as the man replied.

“The cops salvaged the security footage,” Fornell said, “and they found out what happened. Your mother fought with some robbers, and the combination of their Psionics caused that explosion. She should’ve kept her head down, kept from interfering. But she always preached and preached. Guess she figured she oughta stop preaching and start practicing. Too bad it got her killed. She was good in the sack, at least.” As Fornell had droned on, John had seen images, and he realized he was reading Fornell’s mind, like a telepath would. But his skill was telekinetics and he didn’t have that boost in power that gave others the ability to use more than one Psionic power. Yet he couldn’t deny what he was doing. What the hell was going on?

John cleared his head of all the foreign thoughts and said, “You are despicable. You drink away your life, you complain about things that are within your control to change, and you don’t bother to better yourself. You’re nothing. Goodbye, Fornell.”

John headed for the door. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Fornell shouted after him.

“Somewhere that isn’t here, and away from your presence permanently,” John shot back.

“Ha! You’re running away. A coward, like your father,” said Fornell. “He killed himself rather than be forced to give up the secret.”

John stopped. He turned to face Fornell, his face half-hidden in shadow. “What did you say?” he whispered.

“Your coward of a father killed himself, blew his brains out,” Fornell slurred, his tone gleeful. “Your mother cried something fierce about it every year when that day came around. She wanted to tell you why your dad killed himself, wanted to tell you about how ‘special’ you were, but she never did. She didn’t even bother telling me, so I can only assume she means you were special because you’re dumb as she was and as naïve about the real world.”

John couldn’t take Fornell’s droning voice, his taunts about his dead parents, any longer. A cry of rage ripped from his throat as he thrust his hand towards Fornell, and shocked the both of them when a fireball erupted in front of his outstretched palm and followed the course his hand was pointed towards, straight into Fornell’s chest. The man did not, as John morbidly expected him to, erupt in flames himself and scream in agony as he burned alive. No, the flames dissipated mere inches from Fornell’s chest, and the man’s expression had darkened considerably.

“Yeah, that’s the other reason your mom never could get me to do anything I didn’t want to,” Fornell said, brushing the non-existent ash off his shirt. “I’m what they call a Nullifier. My gift, so to speak, is to not be affected by other Psionic powers. Fire, telekinetic thrusts, ice, mental attacks, none of it can get to me. Now, boy, I’m gonna teach you a lesson in the judicial use of physical power over mental.”

Fornell moved forward with surprising grace for a drunk and landed a powerful right hook across John’s face, sending the teenager spiraling backward. He landed on his left arm with a sickening crack, and his gasp of pain confirmed his arm had broken from the force of his landing.  Fornell delivered a kick to John’s stomach, causing him to curl into a ball and go to his knees to protect himself. Fornell rained down blows on his back, the pent-up fury of their semi-aborted conflicts the last three years apparently coming out all at once. As the blows landed on his back, something Fornell said came back to John. As a Nullifier, he couldn’t be injured directly by Psionic attacks. But using Psionics to influence something else just might work. . . .

John focused his telekinetics on an overturned chair and used his Psionics to pull the chair towards him and his attacker. A thump and a startled yelp confirmed that John’s hypothesis was correct. Rolling away from Fornell, John came to his feet and crouched, almost cat-like (an amazing feat in itself for someone with a husky body type) and gestured to the nearby armchair which rose in tandem with his standing to his full height of five feet and 9 inches. Fornell, for once, looked terrified of him instead of the other way around.

“I’m going to walk out that door, and you’re not gonna stop me,” John said. “Neither of us can stand the other. All this is going to do is end badly. Goodbye, Fornell. Maybe with me gone, you’ll actually make something of yourself instead of just being the town drunk.”

John turned and left the house, the armchair crashing down as the door shut. Fornell lay there a moment, shaking. He knew his dead girlfriend’s son had always been smart, and that his power was strong, but the woman hadn’t ever said anything about her son being a full Psionic instead of just your average that all other humans were.

Unfortunately for Richard Fornell, the pain he was feeling at the hands of a newly-awakened full-powered Psionic was a pale comparison to what he was about to face at the hands of a fellow Nullifier.  

Author's Note

The chapter is copied and pasted from a document that is set up to 'publishing standard', including the use of underlines for emphasis. Chapter titles help guide me, though whether they're part of the final product is another matter entirely.