“′The Lady does not permit mages to live,’” a former neighbor quoted.
“Since when have you been religious? I’ll bet that’s the only saying you know.” There wasn’t even a church in the village. Never had been.
One of the village elders approached. “Which is why our village suffers from poor crops. All except for your fields.”
“And you burned them to the ground. They could have fed the entire village this winter.” Two plots of corn, beans, and squash, all nearly ripe for the picking. Wasted. For their arrogance.
“We will not eat tainted food.”
Because of their pride, they and their children would starve this winter. Magic didn’t make Gran’s crops flourish, but time and attention. The fools.
High in the hills, the chill breeze brought a shiver to Arkenn’s overheated flesh. Or had more than the cold caused the shiver?
The elder raised his voice, the flickering torchlight lending his face a sinister air. Around the circle, dogs whined, restrained by their owners. “Archers, come forth.”
The slither and click of at least six bows nocking sounded thunderous in the sudden silence. Four men and two women stepped forward, little older than Arkenn, with grim determination on their faces and no recognition in their eyes. He’d played with them as children. One young woman’s parents had approached Gran about a match with Arkenn.
Now they could so easily kill him.
He peered left and right, but none spoke in his defense. They were all in accord.
Because of mage blood, he must die.
Heart lodged in his throat, Arkenn raised his hands in supplication.
Fire engulfed the trees.
Pain. Throbbing agony. The horrible scent of burned flesh. Coughing wracked his body, but thick smoke made breathing nearly impossible. Arkenn raised his head, blinking open gritty eyes.
Carnage. Twisted, blackened tree trunks, grass nothing but a sooty mass on the ground. All around…
The horror hit suddenly. Charred bodies. Those were charred bodies of people he’d known! The elder, the miller, the archers he’d once known well. One still held the remnants of a bow. He’d killed them. Killed them all.
Lost control. What had he done?
With great effort, he hoisted himself upright. Singed fabric hung from his aching body. Grasping a scorched sapling, he climbed to his feet. His shoulder shrieked in protest.
Death all around. Was this why mages were despised? But if they were so destructive, why hadn’t his parents brought down fire on their killers?
The village. Arkenn had to get back to the village. Slowly, slowly, he hobbled downhill, pausing to catch his breath whenever the wind blew untainted air in his direction.
He’d killed. Many people. Neighbors. Friends. Hot tears burned his eyes. Murderer. Worse than mage. Was he less of a murderer because he’d acted in self-defense? The sun’s first rays peeked over the mountains.
At last, his energy waned. Arkenn collapsed onto a rise he’d often used as an overlook, staring down on the villagers unnoticed. Then, he’d usually been with those he called friends. Friends who’d been fully prepared to fill him with arrows.
Friends now lying dead because of Arkenn.
He touched his shoulder and winced. If not properly treated, the burn would fester, but he’d not yet learned how to heal his own injuries. Dozens of bruises and scrapes added to his pain.
Doors opened down below, children racing from their homes. At least he hadn’t harmed the innocent young ones. Directly. But what would they do without their parents? For a moment, old anger flared brightly. Why not deprive them of their parents? Their parents had certainly deprived him of his own.
No. He wouldn’t wish the agony of such loss on anyone. What would happen to the children now? Could he go down there, pretend nothing happened?
Unwise. Better to get away. Leave this very morn without so much as a change of clothes—clothes he no longer owned. Smoldering rubble remained of the only home he’d ever known and all his and Gran’s possessions. Somewhere among those smoking timbers lay the remains of his grandmother. He’d not been here at the time, but he knew. Could he have saved her if he’d come home sooner from his hunt?
Or would he have joined her in the ash?
He couldn’t stay here. Had nothing to stay for.
