Blindsight

[El Nuevo Diestro]

((NOTE: Continued from the first post of Peripheral Vision))

He wasn't sure how long the note had been at the bottom of his locker. A few days, a week? He'd seen it but hadn't looked at it, not until the sluggish realization that it was new, not his, not something he knew anything about finally made itself known. It had wedged itself under a couple books, a single corner sticking up to catch his attention. A voice somewhere whispered of betrayal and treachery, but this was his locker and a note on plain white paper, not a perfumed letter on vellum. The chance for treachery was remote, despite the nerve trembling in centuries-old reaction. He reached down and twitched it open with one hand.

Of all things to find - a tarot reading in neat, almost pretty, script. His eyes widened as the sense of it crept along his skin. Thorough, detailed, more than enough to make a shiver go down his spine and send the Diestros themselves into a respectful hush.

Diego read again the anonymous warning and felt something tighten in his chest. Was it true? It couldn't be. Perhaps it meant to distract, deflect him from his path. That was the only possible explanation. Yet.. and yet. He wanted it to be true. He wanted there to be another student on his side, a magical presence out to watch out for him, help him and not oppose him like so many others in the school.

It was true that many Diestros had attached themselves to a Seer in the course of their duties, sometimes for good, sometimes even for ill. Life guides they became, often to the chagrin of Church officials seeking to direct the Diestros-then. More than one relationship had become marriage and sometimes even a willing one. The Sight itself though had never shown up in the course of generations, denied to the Diestros directly. It was, then, much prized.

He held the note in his hand, stroking a thumb over the paper as if it alone could tell him what he wanted desperately to know. Truth? Evasion? There was always the chance of being led astray by false seers, fakes and charlatans. He would not put it above a few of his classmates to create such a joke, thinking it funny.

But the benefits of finding a real Seer, one who could see ahead? Ah, that was worth risk. It would be worth a little embarrassment if someone was thinking to play a joke. The debate was brief; the pros vastly outweighed the cons, and there was…something. A feel to the note. A sense of veracity that clung to it despite the mystery of its origin.

Diego read over the note again, shivered as the plain words soaked into his mind as easily as ink would soak into skin. The last time the Diestros had a true Seer had been before the Spanish Civil War. He could do no less than to try and find this one.

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Not all the Diestros allowed him to submerge his individuality in order to tap their knowledge and senses directly, he’d found. Others were merely reluctant, and others still almost eager. Even in this search, the ones completely unwilling would not relent. However, the others gladly lent their eyes, allowing him to watch the students in his classes without watching them with his own eyes.

Only fools ignore the future. It was a lesson so ingrained that he wasn't sure if he thought it for himself or the Diestros said it. Memory gave him a thousand candles and a hundred women with black hair, blond, hands cracked or porcelain smooth, sitting rooms with gold frescoes or market stalls stinking of fish. Over centuries, the Order had encountered many, many Seers and had long ago learned better than to ignore them. Tarot, astrology, throwing bones, reading leaves, or even incense and a trance; it was irrelevant. What mattered was simply that they Saw.

Nothing. No tell-tales, no one with the handwriting that would prove them the authors of the note. Not in English; not in math. Day after day of fruitless search. Nothing in science, nothing in religion. Could they have disguised their handwriting? Gotten someone else to write it? But if he could at least find who it was that wrote it, it would be a lead. Or perhaps they weren’t even in any of his classes.

So Diego expanded his search, methodically going over more and more of the students around him. Time went by, days into weeks. It was hard to rule out several prospects, but the harder he looked the less it seemed he was getting anywhere. Fighting to keep from getting dejected at his lack of success, he wracked his brain (and the Diestros’ advice) for a new course that would allow him to find the Seer without revealing that he was hunting, let alone what he was hunting for. He was determined not to fail.