He found himself turning to follow, shadowing her, as she hurried down the path to a small clearing. He wanted to call out, to tell her he was there, but he couldn’t find the words. He could never talk to Primrose, not when she was the only village woman not to mock him for an ugly gnome. The others were cruel, but Primrose ... she was sweet and kind and simply wonderful. He dreamed of impressing her, of convincing her that he was the one, yet ... he knew it wasn’t going to happen. There were boys in the village who owned—or would inherit—entire shacks, tracts of land, even a handful of sheep. What did he have that could compete? Nothing. Primrose’s father would laugh in Gennady’s face if he came courting. Of course he would.
Primrose didn’t look back as she made her way into the clearing. Gennady followed, frowning inwardly. It didn’t look good. The clearing was small, too small. It wasn’t a place to rest, when walking through the trees. It was a place for meetings between lovers ... he felt ice shudder down his spine as he saw Hogarth beneath the trees, a look of cruel anticipation on his face. The brute was waiting for Primrose ... Gennady shuddered again, realising he was looking at an ambush. Hogarth was waiting for her and ... Gennady’s mind shut down. He couldn’t face what was coming. The thought of Primrose being married to Hogarth ...
He felt sick. The village louts were big and bad, but Hogarth was the biggest and baddest of them all. A walking slab of muscle, too dumb to count past ten without taking off his boots ... and sadistic enough to beat up anyone who got in his way, even the older villagers. Gennady had felt Hogarth’s fists often enough to know the bastard took delight in hurting people, in picking fights with people who couldn’t fight back. Bitterness threatened to overwhelm him again. It just wasn’t fair. People like Hogarth had everything. What did intelligence matter when it could be smashed down at will? Why ...
His stomach churned as Hogarth stepped forward, took Primrose in his arms and kissed her. The sound was loud, possessive. Hogarth held her tightly, his arms inching down... Gennady felt envy, followed by hatred and fear. Primrose didn’t look happy, from what little he could see, but what could she do? Hogarth was both admired and feared by the entire village. She probably didn’t want to marry him, but so what? If Hogarth asked for her hand in marriage, her father would give Primrose to him. What else could he do?
Hogarth looked up. Their eyes met.
Gennady froze, suddenly unable to move. He was too scared to try, too scared to even think as Hogarth pushed Primrose to one side and bounded towards the undergrowth. Hogarth was the kind of person who’d make it hurt all the more, if Gennady tried to run ... not that he could. Hogarth could run like the wind. Gennady would start limping within a few seconds if he tried. He heard Primrose say something, but it was too late. He hoped she’d have the sense to run away. Hogarth would beat her for interfering with his fun if she tried to stop him.
“Clubfoot,” Hogarth snarled. “You little ...”
Gennady whimpered, trying to raise his hands to protect himself. But they felt as if they were too heavy to move. Hogarth was too close, his face a mask of hatred. Gennady stumbled back, too late. Hogarth punched him in the chest, the pain making him retch as he doubled over. A second blow—a fist, a knee, he didn’t know—smashed into his face. He thought he felt his teeth coming loose as he hit the muddy ground, instinctively trying to crawl into it. But it was impossible. A hand grasped his neck and yanked him up. He found himself staring at Hogarth’s face. He knew, with a certainty he couldn’t deny, that it was going to be the last thing he saw.
“Little filthy spy,” Hogarth said. He drew back his fist. “You wretch ...”
Gennady barely heard him. The pain was all-consuming. He would have curled into a ball if he wasn’t being held, dangling from Hogarth’s hand like a cat might carry a mouse. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t fair. The thought pounded through his head, bringing stabs of pain and grief and something with it. He couldn’t think. He felt as though he was far too close to the Greenwood, to the other folk. Blue sparks flashed at the corner of his eyes as Hogarth tightened his grip. The world seemed to blur ...
“This is it,” Hogarth said. Gennady believed him. He was going to die. He was finally going to die. And it wasn’t fair. “Goodbye.”
His fist started to move. Blue sparks flashed, a surge of twisted power flowing through Gennady and into Hogarth. The bully screamed, his face contorted with pain. Gennady stared, unsure what was happening as the blue light grew stronger. His awareness came in fits and starts. There was a blinding flash of light. He was flying through the air. Pain, pain, pain ... and a sense of power that almost overwhelmed him. Primrose screamed, the sound dragging him back to himself an instant before the darkness swallowed him. Gennady opened his mouth ...
... And the world went black.
He tried to think, but it felt as if he was trapped in mud. Darkness crawled around him, as if he was on the very edge of going to sleep but somehow unable to shut down. He heard voices mumbling, their words growing louder and louder ... he heard his father’s voice, the shock yanking him out of the unnatural slumber. The real world crashed around him as he opened his eyes, realising in horror that he was lying on a blanket in the hovel. His mother stared down at him, her stern face unreadable. For a moment, Gennady thought he’d dreamed everything. But the throbbing power within him was undeniable.
A face came into view. A man, a stranger ... short black hair, clean-shaven ... Gennady winced inwardly, fearing the mockery that would be directed at someone unable or unwilling to grow a beard. And dressed from head to toe in black ... sorcerer’s black. Gennady started, trying to sit up but unable to do even that. Cold terror washed down his spine, mocking him. He had to show proper respect or ... he’d wind up being cursed or ... or something. And yet, his body refused to obey. The dull pain was threatening to drag him back into the darkness. He felt as if his body had turned to mush. Maybe it had. There was a sorcerer standing over him.
He felt his heart twist as his father stepped up beside the sorcerer. The man looked as if he’d sobered up the hard way, his hands twitching as if he was in desperate need of a drink. Or to work off his frustrations by hitting someone. Gennady frowned, inwardly, at the look in his father’s eyes as the old man stared at him. Fear. Real fear. It both attracted and repelled Gennady. It felt good to have someone be scared of him, for once. It felt good to have someone grant him respect, even through fear. It felt good ...
... And yet, it didn’t.
The sorcerer removed a gourd from his belt and held it to Gennady’s lips. Gennady didn’t want to sip, but he had a feeling he didn’t have a choice. The liquid tasted unpleasant, worse than the brackish water he’d been forced to drink over the winters, yet ... he felt an odd surge of energy flowing through him. His body tingled, jerking uneasily as he lay back down The discomfort would pass. He knew it would. He was far too used to pain.
“Gennady.” The sorcerer sounded odd, as if he’d learned the language by rote. It was very clear he’d been born and raised somewhere very far from the Cairngorms. “Can you hear me?”