Mark Him as His Equal

For as long as he could remember, Tom had known that he was different.

He had abilities no one else around him seemed to possess, and although he didn't have a name for what set him apart from the other children, he understood that it made him special. He could move things around with a thought, control animals just by looking at them and picturing what he wanted them to do, and make people hurt when they were mean to him or got in his way.

The latter had been very useful when he was younger, as the smallest children in the orphanage were often bullied by the elder ones; now, at age ten, he knew that his powers could not only be used to defend himself, but also to frighten others into obeying him.

Among all his abilities, he liked that one best; there was a fierce, hot rush of pride whenever another child would back down from a confrontation or hand over a prized possession just because he looked at them and willed them to do it. It was a heady feeling, this tingling in his fingertips when he summoned his powers and made others fear him.

He noticed how it got easier with time, too; the more he used them, the stronger his powers seemed to become, and from the moment he first realised this, he started a rigorous training regime to discover his full potential. Lording over the other children in the orphanage was well and good, but there was bound to be much more than that once he grew up, and he wanted to be prepared.

+++

Tom had realised long ago that the best way to explore his abilities was to clear his mind of all conscious thought and let it wander. It was easy enough to do in his small, bland room; he just sat on his bed, his eyes half-closed, his thoughts drifting, searching, probing for that something he couldn't define, until he felt strange ideas take shape in his brain, ideas that became clearer once he focused on them. Then it was back, the tingling in his fingers that told him his body was willing to channel the power his mind was drawing from some unknown source, and he would reach out towards it and force it to do his bidding.

It had been on one of these occasions that he had discovered how to find his way into the thoughts of others. It was difficult with some people, but surprisingly easy with others; some minds seemed protected by heavy walls while others were laid out for anyone who knew how to get inside.

Sometimes he was content to just observe - then he would spend hours on end listening to the thoughts of the other children, the caretakers, the teachers, doing his best to uncover those things they were most eager to keep from others.

At other times, he would insert his own consciousness into their minds, amusing himself by influencing their feelings or putting ideas into their heads that frightened or embarrassed them. He was often frustrated by not being able to control their thoughts outright; he was sure that it was possible, but it always seemed just outside his grasp. Tom was not one to accept defeat, and he told himself that he would just have to try harder until he finally achieved his goal one day.

Deep in his heart, he knew that no one would be able to stand in his way once he did.

+++

Sometimes, his mind would wander too far during those training sessions; then he got glimpses of things he couldn't fully comprehend. He read shadows of thoughts that made no sense to him, saw the faces of people he had never met in his life, listened to bits of conversations in languages he didn't speak.

He still clearly remembered the day when he'd seen the face of a stranger, dark-haired, handsome and impossibly familiar, before him and had known without the slightest doubt that he was looking at his father.

He didn't try to conjure the image of his mother the same way; she'd been weak and useless, condemning him to a life in this miserable place by dying within the hour after his birth and leaving him nothing but the commonest of common names. She was in the past, and the past was of no use to Tom; it was the future he was interested in.

Steering his mind into that direction was difficult, more difficult than anything else he had ever attempted, but that didn't deter him. The past was dead, the present was pathetic, so where else would he turn but towards that which was still to happen? It mattered little to him that most of the images he saw remained blurry - a tall man with an auburn beard, a boy with long blond hair, a slithering shadow like a snake in the grass, the crumpled body of a girl on a tiled floor. He kept probing, searching, looking, trying to see, to learn, to understand, to control.

+++

Much later, he would look back to that cold, grey November evening and recognise it as one of the defining moments of his existence, and he would convince himself that he had known right then and there. At the time, he was thinking nothing of the sort; all he knew was that he was sitting on his bed as usual, his eyes closed and his body relaxed while his mind wandered the foggy depths of things to come and tried to make out shapes among the shadows.

There was no warning, no sense of foreboding; one moment, he saw nothing but the inside of his eyelids, and the next, he was looking into the face of a boy right before him. He seemed about Tom's age, black-haired, pale and skinny, with green eyes and a strange scar on his forehead. Tom felt his skin prickle, but it was an unfamiliar kind of sensation, and for a moment, he wondered what it might mean. Before he could focus on the feeling, however, it was gone.

Tom couldn't remember ever having been genuinely interested in another human being, but now his curiosity was piqued. There was something about that boy, something that seemed oddly familiar, as if there was a connection between the two of them. Might he be looking at someone from his own future - a descendant, maybe?

He quickly dismissed the thought. His future would be his alone; he wasn't planning to share it with offspring of any kind. No, it was much more likely that this boy might become important for him in some other way - an ally, perhaps? A follower?

The idea was strange, and he pondered it for a moment. He didn't have friends - he had never had them, and never wanted them to begin with. Yet, when he thought about it, it might become necessary at some point to have people around him who supported him and carried out his wishes. Perhaps this boy would once be one of them.

Tom focused, trying to get a clearer image of the boy before him. It was obvious that the other one didn't see him; he was sitting with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, in what appeared to be a small, enclosed space - a shed of some kind? A cupboard?

He reached out, trying to touch the boy's mind with his own, curious about what he was going to find. There was no resistance; the boy didn't try to keep him out, although Tom got the impression that he was aware of the presence in his mind. He was a little disappointed at that; someone who was perceptive enough to notice him should be able to erect at least some kind of barrier.

He quickly sifted through the boy's consciousness without finding anything of interest. It was bleak enough; there was fear and worry, a sense of disorientation as if the boy didn't really know where he belonged, and a strange, resigned sadness that the boy had drawn around himself like a dark, ragged cloak. It was all rather pathetic, and Tom was about to pull back and move on when he noticed something below the surface of the boy's mind.

With renewed curiosity, he dug a little bit deeper. There was confusion underneath the sadness, and underneath that, a cold, detached anger that seemed directed at no one in particular, but at the world at large. Now that he was on firmer ground, he noticed something else, something that was eerily familiar: an intense, almost greedy desire for something the boy had never known in his life, a wild, feral hunger that would not rest until it had been satisfied. The boy's conscious thoughts seemed to shy away from it, as if he were afraid of the darkness lurking within himself, and for a moment, Tom's lip curled in disdain.

Yet, there was no denying the fact that this one had potential, if he was steered into the right direction. The part of his mind he had control over seemed weak and hesitant, but underneath, Tom sensed something much stronger, a streak of ruthless determination that almost matched his own, and for a fleeting moment, he couldn't help being impressed.

This one would be worth watching.

+++

He went back to the boy's mind several times over the next few months, relishing the fact that it got easier every time he tried, but there was never anything new to be discovered, and he began to wonder whether he wasn't wasting his time after all.

It was late spring when he finally noticed a change. The previous times, the boy's anger had always been buried deep inside him, but now it was bubbling to the surface, as if the boy were seething with rage. Tom watched the blurry images of things that must have happened recently flitting through the boy's mind; someone had tormented him somehow, it seemed, had mocked or embarrassed him in a way that had finally made the boy's temper flare. He seemed much livelier than ever before, much less withdrawn into himself, and on a whim, Tom reached out further and dared to address him for the first time.

You hate them, don't you?

The boy didn't seem startled in the slightest; perhaps he took Tom's voice in his mind for his own thoughts. Yes!

They have hurt you, and now you want to hurt them back?

They boy seemed to deflate at this, his mind drawing back upon itself, and Tom felt momentarily disgusted by this pathetic display of weakness. I can't.

Why not?

Because... I don't know. I just can't.

Tom was close to throwing up his hands in exasperation. I know you can. It's all there in your head, I can see it!

The boy hesitated for a moment before answering. It's not what I want, anyway. I'd rather have friends of my own than keep fighting with Dudley's gang.

Friends. Tom had never understood some people's obsession with the subject, but he couldn't help feeling he was on to something here. But if you had friends to fight for you? To back you up, and even the odds, so that you'd be sure to win? Would you like that?

There was a moment's silence, and then the boy replied, much less hesitantly than before, Yes, I think I would.

Tom smiled; that, at last, was a concept he could understand. Then you need to learn how to make others follow you, but you can't do that by feeling sorry for yourself and being afraid of your own strength.

The boy seemed strangely amused by this. No one is ever going to follow me. They don't like me.

That doesn't matter. Power is not about being liked, it's about being obeyed.

The boy shrugged. I don't want power, I'd rather have people who care for me.

Tom paused; the boy's words should have been enough to make him draw back in disgust, but there was something underneath, something the boy wasn't saying, probably wasn't even aware of. You want people who care for you... care so much that they would do anything for you, would follow you anywhere, would overcome all odds to give you what you want?

The boy pondered this for a moment, and then replied, in a tone of quiet determination, Yes.

Tom smiled again. How far would you be willing to go?

There was a brief silence before the boy asked, What?

You heard me. What would you do to get your wish?

He felt the boy tentatively reach into the depths of his mind, towards the places where his conscious thoughts usually didn't dare go. Tom left him to it; this was an answer the boy had to find within himself. Yet somehow, Tom was sure he already knew what that answer would eventually be.

Anything.

+++

Tom had always been content with his own mind for company, and the fact that his thoughts kept straying back to the strange boy in the weeks that followed their conversation annoyed him somewhat. It wouldn't do to become too interested in another person, particularly not one who might not even be born yet.

He couldn't shake off the feeling that the boy would become important for him at some point in the future, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. He had given the him a shove in the right direction, had shown him from which resources he had to draw if he ever was to live up to his potential, but the rest was no longer Tom's concern, so he wouldn't seek him out again until he had use for him.

For as long as he could remember, Tom had known that he was different, and he had never minded being alone as a consequence. A glimpse of himself in the soul of a boy from the future was not going to change that.

Yet sometimes, Tom looked into a mirror and imagined that he saw a flash of green in his own dark eyes. Then he allowed himself to wonder for just a moment whether he was ever going to see the boy face to face, and whether that strange feeling of familiarity would still be there if he did.

Part of him was almost hoping that it would be so.

FIN