The Elementalist

6. So, a Psychic & an Emelesiac Walk into a Café…-1

So, a Psychic & an Emelesiac Walk into a Café…One of the first things Voi noticed when they arrived at the café, besides an unusual set of musical wood chimes that announced their presence and some laths that were showing through patches of dingy floral wallpaper… was that it was occupied by men of Darmoilen ethnicities.

The waiter, a Maelt—who also happened to be the owner, Voi soon learned—welcomed them with what she assumed to be an Urzu greeting, “Keetum,” and a few other things she couldn’t comprehend. Mr. Callahan, however, simply nodded then selected a booth for them.

Voi watched the casual exchange in wonder, finding it peculiar that Mr. Callahan could not only comprehend the Maelt language but would also choose to meet in such an environment. Still, she tried not to let her bewilderment show, instead pretending it was normal for customers of Nolian descent to visit an ethnic establishment by going silently along with it.

After they’d had a moment to settle, the waiter came back to take their orders—in Windi, much to Voi’s relief. Mr. Callahan ordered a black coffee, Voi a cup of sage tea. She drank the herbal remedy more out of habit now than out of faith in its remedial powers, as it was something Doctor Moore had recommended before she first went away to university some eight years ago. Having set her gloves aside, she sipped from her porcelain cup, allowing its warmth to soothe her jittery hands.

Mr. Callahan waited for the waiter to leave before looking at Voi with his penetrating eyes. She found their blue color intriguing, though they also had a way of making her feel very… well, exposed. This kept her from holding his gaze for more than a few seconds. She was also undecided as to the full extent of his psychic ‘sight.’ Well, she told herself between sips, if he really does have psychic abilities, I suppose I shouldn’t put mind reading past him. Honestly, though, it was a bit much to swallow, his story.

“Are you warm yet?” he asked, an amused smile on his face. He’d already gulped down half his coffee while she’d barely made any progress with her tea.

Voi took one last sip then cleared her throat, setting her cup on the table. “Warm enough, I suppose.” She leaned back in the booth then wrung her hands together over her lap.

Mr. Callahan must have sensed her nervousness, for he redirected his gaze. “I have to say, I’m kind of impressed.”

“Oh? By what?”

“You hardly even batted an eyelash when we came in.” At last, he looked at her.

Voi thought for a moment before shrugging. “I figured you had your reasons.” She took another sip of tea.

“You don’t really believe I’m a psychic, do you?”

Voi huffed. “Honestly, Mr. Callahan, I’m not sure what to believe these days.”

“Understandable, considering everything I’ve laid on you in the past twelve hours or so.” He stared at the table. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.”

“When was the last time you came down with a cold or fever?”

Voi’s mind drew a blank; she imagined her face did much the same.

“Infection, virus?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Any other illnesses or ailments besides emelesia?”

“Mr. Callahan, I haven’t been sick, in the sense that you mean, my entire life.” Dr. Moore had always assured Voi she was blessed with a strong immune system, though she’d never thought it made her special.

“Mm, didn’t think so.” Mr. Callahan lifted a finger in the air as if remembering something important. “Oh yeah, I meant for you to take a look at these.”

Voi drew her eyebrows together as she watched him dig around in his coat.

Still searching, he explained, “Just imagine for a moment that you have a unique connection to the physical world—one that grants you some unusual abilities.” He eyed the Maelt barista behind the counter, who looked at them periodically as he washed some plates and mugs. “The problem is, they’re being suppressed by all that urche you’ve been ingesting.” Mr. Callahan laughed. “Or not ingesting, in your case.”

Voi squinted. “What sort of abilities?”

He pulled his hand out of his coat, keeping it balled in a fist. “In a minute. Right now, I’m going to place some objects in front of you. I want you to pick them up one at a time then tell me how they make you feel with your eyes closed. Can you do that for me?”

“I suppose.” Still, Voi watched with pure incredulity as he proceeded to place six items on the table. The first was a metal bar small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Second was a birch leaf, tinted an autumn yellow. Next was a pocket lighter, followed by two small jars: one filled with dirt and the other with what appeared to be water. Last was a folding fan.

Mr. Callahan leaned forward, steepling his hands together. “Alright, pick one.”

Voi straightened her posture then observed the items. She was already attempting to categorize them to find some hidden meaning. Half, she realized, were natural items, such as the water, dirt, and leaf. The others—the metal bar, the fan, and the lighter—had all been artificially produced. Metal, however, does come from the ground, Voi reasoned, and a lighter produces fire. Those were natural elements, too, metal and fire, though she couldn’t see how the fan fitted in just yet.

She looked up at Mr. Callahan, wondering which item he expected she’d pick—as if the choice would mean something special to this supposed psychic in some petty mind game he’d concocted, knowing all along which object she’d inevitably choose.

He continued watching her, his eyes scanning the nuances of her movements.

Well, here goes nothing. Voi huffed in a bored manner then selected the lighter, igniting a flame.

“Fire…” There was a sad, nostalgic quality to Mr. Callahan’s voice, and he swallowed, his gaze becoming distant.

Voi extinguished the flame then placed the lighter back on the table. “Mr. Callahan, what is this?”

He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. “You didn’t say how it made you feel.”

Feeling rebellious, Voi shifted in her seat then pointed her nose in the air. “I saw you react to it.”

“Miss Román, this isn’t a psychic trick.”

“Perhaps… though it is another test—being conducted by a psychic, nonetheless.”

“True.”

“Well, seeing as how I’m the only one here being left in the dark, I’d like to know what, exactly, it is I’m being tested for.” She nodded her head once, if only for the sake of her resolve.

Mr. Callahan seemed to consider his words carefully before responding. “The word ‘emelesiac’ has its roots in the Trysteese language—though I assume you already know this, given your fluency in Borellian.”

Subconsciously, Voi had known this, though it had never been at the forefront of her mind. To her, ‘emelesiac’ was just a clinical term, one she’d heard her entire life. “Yes,” she said, “it comes from the Trysteese word emel, meaning ‘element.’” More simplified than the Borellian word for element, which was ‘elemente.’

“Uh-huh…” Mr. Callahan seemed to be waiting for her to make a connection.

Voi pursed her lips, sensing she was on the cusp of some kind of epiphany. She peered at the items on the table and raised her pointer finger, starting with the leaf. “Wood.” The bar. “Metal.” The two jars. “Water, earth.” The lighter. “Fire.”

Her finger paused over the fan. “Air?” she tried.

“Mm-hmm.”

Emelesia: a condition of the elements… Intrigued, Voi reached for the fan, unfolded its lacey creases then began to fan herself with affected indifference. However, the tantalizing mixture of cool air against her warm skin evoked the same feelings she experienced during her bath ritual, so she closed her eyes, briefly, as she felt she was being watched again.

Mr. Callahan stared back at her, hope glinting in his eyes.

Voi snapped the fan shut then set it on the table. She resumed surveying the items, attempting to recall the last of the seven elements which ancient philosophers believed composed the material world. “It seems you’ve forgotten to bring something to represent space.” Or aether. Or void, she mused, depending on who you ask.

“How did the fan make you feel?” Mr. Callahan asked, disregarding her comment.

She looked up. “What?”

“You closed your eyes with that one.” He pointed to the fan.

“That’s because you asked me to,” she said defensively.

“Sure, but you didn’t do that with the fire, and you still haven’t told me how either one made you feel.”

Voi rolled her eyes. “What are you suggesting? That I felt a particular way with the fan and not with the lighter for a particular reason? That there’s only one particular item on this table that could possibly make me feel a particular way?” She stared at him dumbly, realizing how many ‘particulars’ she’d uttered aloud.

Mr. Callahan smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, Miss Román.” He looked around, as they’d earned glances from the café owner and another lone soul sitting on the far side of the room.

Voi huffed and flopped back in the booth. “This is entirely absurd.”

“Think about it, Voi,” said Mr. Callahan with the air of a salesman eager to close a deal. “Why is it that you spend so much time in the air? Deep down, a part of you craves it, and as a pilot, you’re practically swimming in it.”

“Just as every other living, breathing human being is, Mr. Callahan.”

He laughed. “Alright, you make a good point there.”

“Yes, well, you’ve failed to make anything resembling yours.” Voi needed facts, not fantasy. She stood to leave.

“Hey, hey. Take it easy. Just hear me out for a minute, alright? If you’re not convinced by the time I’m through, then I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see or hear from me again. You can go back to popping those urche pills you’ve been hoarding.” He shrugged. “Fair-n-square?”

Voi ground her teeth before lowering herself back into the booth. This had better be good.

Mr. Callahan looked down at his coffee, which had stopped steaming by now. He pushed it aside then ran his hand over his square jaw, considering Voi. He said in a low voice, “Emelesia often comes with certain side effects: heightened senses, an improved immune system, increased adrenaline levels and faster reaction times. This causes jitteriness in a lot of emelesiacs when they aren’t especially active.”

She looked down at her unstable hands.

“The thing is your physiology is genetically designed to make the physical world respond to your direct will. Your mind, emotions, and entire essence are drawn to one of the elements, as it’s drawn to you.” He scooted closer. “Miss Román, your condition isn’t a disease; it’s a gift.”

“You call my condition a gift?” She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why, I have to take medicine to keep myself from losing my mind! There’s nothing gift-like about being a,” she flailed her arms in search for the right words, “a walking psychotic time bomb!”

The café owner shot a disturbed look their way.

Mr. Callahan covered his face with his hand. “Yelling like that isn’t going to help your situation.”

She gasped. “My situation? You know nothing about my ‘situation.’ How dare you venture to assume anything about my situation!” A foreign breeze swept through the café, though she hardly noticed.

Mr. Callahan, however, looked around, bracing himself against the table. When he looked back at Voi, his eyes flashed briefly. “Voi, your pupils are extremely dilated… I need you to calm down.”

“Don’t you tell me to calm down, you manipulative little—”

“Tea?”

The quarreling pair looked up to see the owner giving them a toothy smile, a steaming kettle in his hands. The other patron held his spoon limply, uncertain whether he should resume drinking his beverage.

Voi quickly turned her face so the others wouldn’t see her pupils. “No, thank you. I was just leaving.” She scooted out of the booth, keeping her head down, then stormed out the front door. From behind, she could hear the owner exchange a few calm, seemingly complicit words with Mr. Callahan in Urzu, giving her the impression that the two had been in cahoots all along.

The café door slammed shut with a jingle, cutting off their conversation.

Incensed, Voi charged to the corner of the building then stopped on the other side, breathing heavily. She pressed her back against the wall, reclaiming her composure with closed eyes.

Unhurried footsteps approached from the café and slowed to a stop beside her.

“Miss Román.”

She ignored him.

“I didn’t come here just to recruit you for some job. I know what it’s like to go your entire life thinking you’re crazy. I’m an emelesiac too. It’s just, being a mentalist, my symptoms are different from yours.”

She glanced at him askance.

“There’s a reason they don’t let our kind run willy-nilly off their meds. I can make an exception for you, but you have to be willing to help us in return.”