by BJ Hanlon
He put a finger to his lips. “Relax, it’ll be over soon.”
Edin closed his eyes and took a breath, he was ready to feel the blade slice through his chest and puncture his heart. Hopefully it’d be quick. Maybe they wouldn’t draw and quarter his body since he just found out he was a mage.
As he waited nothing came, then the image of his dream appeared. The mage hunter in dark black laughing at him as he started the fire. The crowd demanding his charred corpse.
“I will not be burned alive,” Edin yells pulling away, somehow his arm slipped from Grent’s grip and he fell backward into the bed.
Grent appeared next to him almost faster than he realized and Edin felt a slap across his face. “Listen and don’t be stupid.”
An instant later his insides twisted then pushed. Grent, the bed, and his dresser were all flung into the walls with loud crashes. The room was glowing as a white bubble surrounded him.
“Stop that,” Grent huffed, his voice muffled. “You need to act mundane.” He muttered a curse under his breath. “Horston… he is trying to pacify them.” Edin noticed the shouts had stopped.
Edin released the pressure and felt himself tire. The bubble disappeared as quickly as it came.
Grent ran his fingers down his leather armor and checked his body.
“Bloody mages… I woke the old man when I saw the constable. Until the mob is calmed, we keep quiet and out of sight.” He reached into the hallway and grabbed something. A moment later he produced a long and narrow bundle.
“I know you’ve been practicing, but you’re not proficient. If Horston can delay them, we can leave after they disburse… and you’ll need to know how not to stab yourself.” Edin grabbed the package from Grent. As he removed the cloth he found a beaten-up brown leather scabbard holding a sword. The hilt was clearly very worn.
Edin furrowed his brow. “What do you mean leave?”
“Leave… I mean leave. What do you think? You can’t stay here. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Edin hiked up his rook sack on his shoulder. Grent frowned. “We?” Edin said. A loud howl from multiple people reverberated through the house. It felt almost like a battle cry. Just as quickly it went silent.
Grent slipped out of the bedroom and moved across the small hall to an empty guest bedroom. He went in first without lighting any lamps. The sidelong glow from the sun barely penetrated the window. Grent moved to the left of the window, Edin followed a few inches behind.
Outside, it looked like a revelry, easily three dozen people, possibly more. Almost all of them were men.
The low droning of Master Horston’s lecture voice crept up to them. Edin tried to bet a better look.
“Keep out of sight,” Grent said roughly pushing him back.
Edin slumped back into the shadows and gazed at the mob. In the firelight he knew a few of the faces, healer Dougan, Jassir the blacksmith, Kes’ father and the tailor who fixed his clothes. With the number of rips and tears Edin had brought to him over the years, he was certain to be a favorite customer.
In front was Dexal’s father, thin and tall with a perfectly trimmed mustache and off to his side was a man in a dark cloak.
A large red-haired man stepped forward, he towered over everyone. There was no mistaking him. Berka’s father, Vistach. He stopped a few feet away and put his hands on his hips.
“My wife and son are held hostage with an abomination in this house, free my kin and give us that… thing. Do this and we will spare you and the servants,” Vistach said.
His voice was cold, his face firm. Edin shivered looking at the man who treated him like another son. The constable helped him out of trouble, gave him advice on life, work, freedom, respect, and especially girls. Edin asked once how he should approach Kesona.
“Carefully, that one seems feisty,” Vistach said with a smile and a wink under his thick red eyebrow.
“Your family are not hostages,” Master Horston said, “they are guests in this house. Your son hasn’t fully recovered from the beast. I would not recommend it, nor would Healer Dougan…”
“There is an abomination in that house!” The healer called back.
“I believe you are confused… however, if you wish, feel free to take Master Berka home. I do think that the beds here are much more comfortable than the rug he sleeps on at your cottage, dear constable.”
“Don’t mock me old man,” Berka’s father spat. “I do what I can for my family.” His face was growing redder and his jaw tensed.
“I was not mocking you at all my friend,” Master Horston said in the drawling superior tone Edin had been subjected to many times. “You are a grand man.”
“Then you will free them?”
“They have always been free,” Master Horston said. “I can have some of the guards carry your son to you, however, he still hasn’t spoken.”
Dougan stepped forward next to Vistach. “I have seen his eyes moving. He’s in there, it doesn’t matter where he rests, and he will recover in his own time.”
Edin felt a small sense of relief as a smile cross his lips, Berka was alert.
“As you wish,” Master Horston said. “Now, if we are done here, I’d like to get back to bed. It is far too early for this nonsense.”
The dark cloaked man stepped forward, he pulled down his hood to reveal a clean-shaven head. His head raised as he began peering at the upper windows. His eyes seemed to rest on Edin’s, though there was no way he could see him.
“Wait,” the man said his voice booming over the crowd. “Give us the abomination and we leave in peace.”
“A Justicar…” Grent muttered. “We gotta go.”
Edin felt a tug on his shoulder and glanced at Grent.
Horston continued. “Vistach, you are a constable; therefore, you should know that any crime needs evidence.”
“I am aware.”
“Not that of an abomination…” the Justicar said.
“And what makes you certain he would be? Rumor? I thought you people would be able to tell truth from lies… and yet you believe the drunken rabble that permeates the tavern.”
“We have our test…”
“And is the stone here?”
“I will bring him to it.”
Dexal’s father raised a long sword toward the house. “Murderer, come out!”
Horston ignored him. “You will bring it to us. We do not trust you nor that mob…”
“He’s stalling,” Grent said, he reached for the rook sack on Edin’s shoulder and tore it off. “There is a prepacked one in the cellar,” Grent said. “Beside the weapons, the rest of that isn’t going to help you. Now let’s go.”
“My clothes?”
“Travel clothes are packed, your mother prepared it days ago.”
Edin nodded, he couldn’t believe what was happening. His heart sank. He was leaving. Grent grabbed his bicep, the injured one. Edin flinched as he was dragged down the hall.
A few steps down the hallway he stopped and glanced at Berka’s room. They had to move, but first he had to see his friend. Edin yanked free and opened the door.
“No time,” Grent said.
“I must see him,” Edin said. The hinges squealed. Basked in the dim light of a small flame, he saw his friend’s red hair and pale face. A rolled-up bed roll was on the floor next to a dirty wash basin and a few trays of wooden plates.
“They stayed in here for days?” Grent nodded, Edin walked over to Berka and put a hand on his friend’s. “Why didn’t they come out?”
“They did, after I assured them you were asleep.”
Edin took a deep breath and made a fist. No one wanted him here, they all thought he was a monster, as evil as a crillio beast.
“I’m sorry this happened to you.” Edin said to Berka, “I tried.”
Berka’s eyes started to open, he blinked a few times. Edin didn’t know what to say, he swallowed a lump in his throat and grinned.
“Hey there oaf,” Edin teased, “feeling a
bit woozy, too much of a good time with old lady Freta? I hear she makes a mean stew after... is that true?”
Berka’s eyes blazed open, his pupils dancing around like he was frantically searching for a fly. “Ahhba…”
Grent appeared next to Edin and punched Berka so fast he wasn’t even sure he really saw it. The thwack made it true. Berka was unconscious on the bed. Edin didn’t even know where Grent had come from. “We need to go, now.”
“How did you…” Edin started.
He grabbed Edin’s forearm and began dragging him toward the stairs.
“Where would we go? There are dozens of them, they have dogs and can track us,” Edin said when he reached the bottom.
“Not yet they won’t. Not until Berka is in their care,” Master Horston said appearing in the doorway. “The Justicar just left, he will be back though…”
“My men?” Grent said.
“Guarding the entrance… that took some convincing.” Horston said. “Through the kitchen… go.”
Grent yanked his arm again almost pulling it out of its socket.
Master Horston glanced back toward the door and called out. “Mister Berka is in the first room to the right at the top of the stairs. “
The door swung open and Grent closed it silently. The kitchen was empty, ingredients sat on the counter, dried herbs hung around the room like a garland, a half drank cup of coffee steamed on the table.
“Where are the servants?” Edin said.
Grent shrugged, normally they’d be up cooking or cleaning. There was always a clattering of pots and a sizzle of something fried. A few moments later Master Horston appeared again.
“I bought us some time. The idea about the haunted grove possibly being magic worked on the drunken fools… the Justicar though will verify soon.”
“I’m not…” Edin started but Grent cut him off.
“Why’s the councilman here?” Grent asked.
“He wants to capture the person who killed his son.”
Grent looked at Edin as the blood rushed from his face. “Tell him to get in line.”
Horston looked from one man to the other. “Oh, gods bless us, we need to go wake up Laural”
4
The Last of the Line
His mother was in the kitchen moments after Master Horston said her name. Her face was scrunched and she had the intense look that she usually held for him when he did something unbecoming of a gentleman.
“You’re packed?” she asked. Grent nodded and glanced at Master Horston who returned the gesture.
“The cellar, quickly.”
She moved around them toward a small nook in the kitchen. Master Horston followed with Edin and Grent behind.
They went through the dry pantry to the small staircase at the rear.
Grent shut the door quietly behind him. “Go, I’ll follow in a minute.” Grent started to grab dried fruits, breads, and smoked meat from the pantry and shoved them in an old potato sack.
His mother and Master Horston were whispering below in the cold storage cellar. Fresher meats, wine, cheese, and ale were kept down there as well as vegetables and fruits that were best eaten crisp.
“I told them, some seemed to believe me… they have the manor surrounded and won’t enter until Berka is freed. There’s a Justicar riding to town for the stone… we maybe have twenty minutes.”
Edin thought of Berka’s face when he woke. The look of horror, he knew his best friend was trying to say abomination. “To do what?” Edin asked as he moved around a large barrel of wine. The cellar had a dirt floor and low ceilings. Edin had to slouch to miss the ancient wooden beams.
“To escape.” Horston said. “Then they’ll enter, I’m sure Dexal’s father will want revenge even if I had convinced them you were not a magus.”
Edin felt like his mind had just started spinning in ten different directions. Dexal is dead, the boy wanted to murder him in the streets… or back yard with no trial. If Dexal succeeded and was caught, no one would say anything. Now a mob was out front, one of people he’d known his entire life. He remembered the look on Kesona’s face, a girl that cared about him.
His past was gone, sheared off like a razor to a piece of parchment.
His mother, Master Horston, and for some reason Grent were the only ones who didn’t look at him for what he was. A monster. His brain whirled and he suddenly felt exhausted. As if he hadn’t slept at all the night before.
“Escape to where?”
“The isle, like I told you,” Master Horston sighed, “I swear it’s just like your studies, I need to tell you twelve times and you still don’t get it.”
“What’s there?”
“A life, but we have to go now.” He turned toward the warrior who appeared at Edin’s side. Grent was hunched over like he had a back injury. Edin heard a loud crash as something slammed in the house. A woman yelped. His eyes shot to the wooden floorboards above him. Ali or Freta?
Drawing the sword, he started toward the steps but felt Grent’s strong grip tearing into his injury. The man would not stop hurting him.
“She needs help.”
“She’ll be fine,” his mother said, her voice wavering slightly as she glanced up.
“Laural,” Master Horston said.
His mother nodded and walked quickly to a chest on the ground. It looked old. She flipped it open and pulled out three large packs. She grabbed a few skinned rabbits and squirrels and a brown paper-wrapped meat from the butcher.
“Laural!” A deep voice yelled out. The sheriff. “Horston!”
Edin heard footsteps pounding as Grent took one pack, Master Horston the other.
“I’ll meet you in the town of Brisbi in three weeks, if I can.” his mother said. She handed Edin the last pack and stared into his eyes. Small droplets of tears began to form despite the smile. She hugged him, squeezing him close to her then kissing his cheek. “I love you son, your father loves you… now go.”
“Mother come.”
Master Horston walked to the small alcove in the rear corner of the cellar. A wine rack where dusty brown, green and black bottles of spirits from all over Bestoria sat. He pulled one out and started pushing the wall.
“Master Grent. I could use some help,” Horston said.
Edin watched as the two silently swung the wall in on itself. As it opened he felt the rush of stale wind, he could almost taste the damp and moldy world invading his senses.
His mother gripped his hands as Edin turned back to her. Her greenish yellow eyes stared directly into his. He saw fear in them. “Come with us,” Edin said to his mother.
She shook her head, “they won’t hurt me. Our family goes back for generations here and there’s never been a mage in the family.”
“Mother,” Edin said, he could feel tears coming to his face.
“We have to go,” Grent whispered.
“If I miss you at Brisbi, I’ll try to meet you on the island. The Boganthean Tower was always his favorite place.”
Grent grabbed Edin’s arm and dragged him back. His mother turned and went toward the stairs. She quietly raced up them and disappeared without a sound through the door. Suddenly the hidden door closed and they were in complete darkness. Edin felt a shiver as a cold gust blew down the dark tunnel through the wine rack.
Grent pushed him forward, Edin could feel the man’s breath just above his ear.
“This way,” Master Horston’s disembodied voice said from ahead of him. He didn’t know where to go, he couldn’t see anything. The darkness was all encompassing and oppressive.
“I don’t know where you are?” Edin said, he could hear a drip of water echoing down the hall.
“Light it up then,” Master Horston said. “It’s a talent your kind possess.”
Edin furrowed his brow as he heard his footsteps retreating in the darkness.
“Close your eyes,” Grent said in a calming tone, “and remember what you felt when you made the shield… only smaller.”
&nbs
p; “I was…” Edin felt a lump in his throat, he didn’t want to say he felt terrified. Of course he did at the time.
“Are you afraid now?” Grent said as if reading his mind.
Edin reached for the crillio fang gripping it. He nodded but knew that Grent couldn’t see. “Yes.”
“Then imagine a small shield, not around you to protect from attack, in front to protect you from cracking your thick head into a wall.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” Grent said.
Edin could almost hear the smile in his voice. He closed his eyes and started to think about it as he ran his hand along the rough stone wall as he walked. Every few breaths, he noticed a change, a wet plant, a hard root, or the stone. At first, he had to hold back a yelp as his hand leapt from the wall afraid the unknown object was some sort of dark furry demon.
“Mold,” Grent said behind him. How the man knew what Edin was touching was impossible for him to guess. Footsteps crunched rocks and what sounded like sticks. Edin tried to steady his breathing as he took a step forward.
A light? Like a lamp. Edin thought, he could protect from an attack, so why couldn’t he protect himself from the darkness.
He pictured the small yellow flame of one of his mother’s oil lamps. Edin watched it begin to flicker in his mind dancing somewhere beyond his eyelids. The fire moved as if it were being blown in a breeze. Something about it made his insides twist and then warm like he was part of the flame.
It was working. He felt the warmth on his face like he was only a foot away from the fire. The flame began to turn orange and it seemed as if the wind was blowing the tip toward him. Was he supposed to touch it or let it enter him somehow? What would happen?
The orange flame grew brighter and he reached out.
“What the heck are you doing?” Master Horston spat.
Edin shot his eyes open and saw he was reaching for a large torch in Master Horston’s hand. A sparkstone was in the other.
“You’ll burn yourself, blotard.”
“I was…” The stone tunnel was basked in the glow of the flame. Globs of dark green fungus clung to the walls, chunks of chiseled granite littered the floor as twisted brown roots squeezed through the ceiling and hung like dead branches. “Blotard hasn’t been an insult in a hundred years you old coot.” Edin said. “Probably since you were a boy.”
