The Seed

While Gillian spoke, she kept an eye on her young cousin. Uncle Frank listened carefully and supplied those non-verbal cues we all need to let us know we're being heard. He stepped over to examine things as Gil pointed them out. In short, he was a model audience. Peg, on the other hand, was showing signs of exasperation and annoyance. She feigned disinterest, appeared to study some plant or other, or watched the clouds. Clearly, she craved attention.

In the silence that followed, Peg wandered back over, sighed deeply at her dad, and glumly said, "Your turn."

He frowned. "You're bored, aren't you, pumpkin? I think I'll take my turn on our way back, if that's all right with you, Gillian. Right now, let's continue down to the streambed. I want to show you something."

The rest of their descent was punctuated by the girls' renditions of various popular songs. When there was no further to go, the three stood for a few moments and looked back up at where they'd come. Going down was always easier, but the climb back had home at the end of it. Down here the main attraction was the stream. You couldn't even hear the wind through the trees anymore. But it did echo nicely.

"Okay," Gillian said flatly. "What was it you wanted to show us?"

Uncle Frank sat down on a rock beside the stream. "Well," he said, "your cousin told me about that feeling you get when you're on the trail of something."

Gillian's gaze drifted towards Pegwin. "What did you tell him, peanut?"

Peg shrugged. "Only that your bloodhound sense got you into trouble at school."

When Gillian looked back at her uncle, he asked, "Do you know what it is?"

"Not a clue. Why?"

Frank smiled. "Because I do. And I'd like to help you learn how to use it."

"My dad won't like that," Gillian said. "He says you're a bad influence. He only agreed to letting me visit because they had no other choice."

Frank spoke quietly. "What do you want?"

She was silent for a time, and then looked over at her cousin. "Can you keep quiet about this?"

Peg raised her right hand. "Blood oath."

"Then tell me," Gillian said. "What is it?"

Frank thought for a moment. "A seed."

"A what?"

"A starting point. We can use it to grow your tree of psychic abilities." He leaned forward and touched a leaf. "We can start with this weed."

Gillian stared at the leaf, and imagined it staring back.

"All living things have an energy field," he said gently, "and everything's alive. Psychic abilities are nothing more than ways of recognizing and interacting with that energy. That sense of yours is like this leaf. It's the tip of a growing thing, but there's more to it. You can find the root that nourishes that sense, and help it to become a vital part of yourself. Just like I did."

She studied her uncle for a bit before speaking. "What do you do, exactly? I've asked my folks, but they don't tell me. Or rather, what they tell me triggers that sense."

"I'm a Healer," he said. "What do you know about them?"

She shrugged. "Not enough. I've read about how the courts defined when a person is to be treated at a Hospice Center instead of at a MedCenter like where my folks work. They say it's nothing but quackery with good lawyers, and that people who go there are fooling themselves. I know that people have been using alternative forms of health care for centuries, and that there's plenty of evidence supporting both sides of the argument. What I don't know is how it works."