A stone caught his foot, sending him crashing to his knees.Must keep going, can’t stop.Sucking in a deep breath, he pushed to his feet.Run. Must run.
On and on, charging through the twilight, leaving the fields for the forest. Branches whipped from all directions, lashing his face, his arms. He chanced a backward glance.
Flickering torches lit the night, carried by an angry mob whose shrill shouts rent the air. Some voices he recognized; others weren’t clear.
His former neighbors… friends.
Now his enemies. He’d done nothing wrong.
But be born.
Pressing one hand against the pain in his side, he grasped tree limbs with his other to haul himself higher. The incline wouldn’t slow the dogs.
Much.
The mountain. Arkenn must reach the mountain. The superstitious villagers would never follow him there. The full moon lit his path, a well-used animal trail. A bit of white caught his attention. Bones.
Those weren’t animal bones. One of his kind not fast enough?
He didn’t want to turn and fight. Without complete focus, his will might go awry.Never use your powers for evil, he heard in his mother’s voice.
His steps slowed. Tired, so tired. One more hill. And another. He fell to his hands and knees, unable to summon the strength to rise. The braying deafened him.
The Lady his neighbors prayed to wouldn’t heed his calls for help. His mere existence offended her.
Now he must die.
Alone.
Something hard slammed into his chest. Breath! He couldn’t draw breath!
Another hit. Then another. Ow! He put a hand to his face. Blood trickled between his fingers. Stoning. They planned to stone him to death. Taunts and cackles surrounded him as dark shapes bearing torches wended through the trees.
The flames flickered, sending sparks and smoke into the night.
“Time to die, mage,” one man spat, hefting a sizable rock.
What to do? What to do? Arkenn promised his parents never to use magic to harm another. He must run, use his power to seal a cave mouth if he reached the mountain.
Peering between the circle of villagers showed no escape routes.
Heart hammering out a frantic beat, he screamed, “What have I done? I’ve lived in the village since I was a child. I hunt. I helped my gran. I’m no mage. You know I’m not!” Where were his friends? Neighbors who cared? Anyone to help him.
Gran. They’d killed Gran. The truth wrenched his insides, pain released on a moan. Gran. Dear sweet Gran, who’d never hurt anyone. Arkenn didn’t need to see a bloodied corpse to know they’d killed her.
What had she done? What had they seen? She kept her powers so well hidden, though with age, maybe she’d become less cautious.
Someone snarled, “Of course you’re a mage. From a family of mages. We should never have allowed your like into our village. We should’ve had you killed alongside your parents.” How had they found out? Arkenn and Gran were always so careful. The villagers had only suspected his parents—enough to have them dragged to E’Skaara for execution.
Mage. The worst accusation imaginable. No meeting of the village council. No presenting of evidence.
Just death.
Think, Arkenn, think!There had to be spells to save him, but his parents hadn’t invoked magic to protect themselves. Nor had Gran, or she’d still be alive.
“My father was a healer!” Arkenn pointed to a farmer. “He saved your mate when she would have died in childbirth.” He aimed his gaze at another. “And you would have lost your son if my father hadn’t cared for him after he fell from a horse.” One by one, he fixed his righteous anger on his accusers. Everyone here had benefitted from his father’s healing touch, though at the time, they never realized he used more than herblore to help them. “All of you owe my family something.”
“We owe nothing. You’ve likely been influencing us all along,” said a widowed mother who’d received many a meal from Gran’s generosity.