Throw

I trail after Tullius as he moves us across to a pile of boulders. They’re irregularly shaped, a couple of feet wide and perhaps one in width and height. They must each weigh at least a few hundred pounds.

“First, we’re going to see how well you self-imbue. I want you to throw one of these as far as you can.” Tullius stands with his tablet and stylus at the ready, looking at me steadily.

...

I close my eyes and for the first time since making sure the ceding had truly worked this morning, let myself feel the entirety of the Will within my grasp. Let it flood into my body, washing like a tingling, cold wave through my veins. Just like before, I am revolted only by how easy it is and how good it feels. No hint of the disgusting sensation I always imagined, but instead, invigoration. An infusion of pure, clean verve, no matter its source.

I take care to keep my mind clear. Carefully apportion the extra strength throughout my body, allowing more into my hips and waist, where I’ll generate the majority of the power for my throw. It’s possible I’ll instinctively reassign any excess Will to there when the time comes, anyway—we were taught at the Academy that much of self-imbuing comes from reflex—but this way will be more efficient. Prevent any last-second imbalance from the adjustment.

It all happens in moments, less than a second. I feel lost and wonderful. Sick and invincible. I try not to imagine my eyes, how I must look to everyone watching on.

Then I brace myself. Bend down and position my hand beneath the boulder, let it settle onto my palm and feel its weight. Every inch of my body is tense with the effort of balancing.

I reach out for a second. Two. Five. Picturing the stone in my mind. The Will in it is right there. I strain after it. Hoping. Hoping. Relucia’s contact had no reason to lie to me.

Connection.

With a roar, I scoop the enormous rock up, launch forward, and throw.

SotF Chapter 22

[...]

The power surging through my body is incredible as I release the boulder, every muscle taut as I fiercely focus on maintaining balance against the throw. Even executing this perfectly, even with such a strong pyramid in support, I know I shouldn’t be able to toss the boulder much farther than the average. Time seems to slow. I can still sense the Will in the rock as I let go. As I watch it arc through the air.

I can feel it. Feel it in the same way I can feel the Will still coursing through me.

I push.

There’s a thud as the stone rejoins the ground, sand spraying from the impact. I barely manage to stay upright on my follow-through, pouring Will into my legs as I flail and skid to a stop. Appearances are as important as results, here.

Murmurs from those up on the hill. Silence from those nearby. I don’t look at them, instead staring intently at the stone. Mentally measuring, even as Tullius starts pacing it out.

“Forty-eight.” He calls it, ostensibly to me but undoubtedly for the benefit of those watching, too. There’s undisguised surprise in his tone.

Forty-eight feet. Not the farthest today, but close enough. I nod calmly as if it were entirely expected. Erase the mental image of the boulder from my mind, and feel another flood of profound relief as my sense of its imbued Will vanishes.

The Strength of the Few Chapter 23