He stepped out into the yard and noticed dozens, if not hundreds of people stood down by the town square, all staring up towards the Feystal house. Heather did not need to stay with her father; she was well past entering adulthood at two hundred and fifty three years old. Charles could barely comprehend that much time. He’d just celebrated his twentieth birthday, though in actuality it was just a celebration of the third year since he’d been found lying by the river. He had no memories from before that.
After learning of Heather’s magic, Charles understood why Heather’s father was so protective. The argument, though incomprehensible, was not pleasant to listen to. It seemed to be getting louder.
A bright flash burst from Heather’s house; Charles felt a moment of pain and then felt nothing.
Charles stared up at the violet moon, the tiny white moon passed in front of it. There were no clouds in the sky, just Heather kneeling over him, looking down at him with tears pouring from her eyes and a smile on her face. The curls of her long auburn hair brushed against his nose. He reached up and grabbed her hand, “Are you okay?” he asked.
Her touch hurt his hand. It wasn’t her, but his hand that hurt. His entire body felt scalded, like he’d just stepped out of a boiling bath. He gritted his teeth to keep from groaning from the pain.
She chuckled with a sputter and a sniffle. “It’s funny, you asking me. A minute ago you weren’t breathing. Three minutes ago you were bleeding a river of blood.”
“I what?” Charles asked, climbing to his feet. As he did so he noticed the blood stains on the charred tatters that used to be his clothes. His skin was deep pink but fading back to the usual sun tinted color. The scalding feeling subsided. Then he noticed the world around him had changed. He stood in the middle of a charred depression several hundred paces across. “What in all the hells happened here?”
“I did.” Heather pulled herself against Charles’ chest. “I don’t know how, but when father and I were fighting, I just kept getting madder, then I got so mad it felt like everything inside me was going to explode outwards, and then it did. I think I understand why the Wizards were annihilated.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Gone,” Heather whimpered against his flesh. “I searched and searched, it took me two days to find you, and I never found more than a charred bone left of anyone else. I killed everyone. I think two dozen miners survived because they were at the mines. I told them I was off in the forest and that I didn’t know what happened. They set up a camp by the mines, but all of them lost their families. When I found you, you were dead. I don’t understand why you’re back or how you are healing so fast, but I’m glad to have you back.”
“Again,” Charles asked, confused, “I what?”
“I don’t know,” Heather said. “I just know I need to get rid of this magic. I am afraid I need to die to keep this from happening again.”
Charles wasn’t sure what happened or how, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Heather. “Your death would only add to the tragedy. If you think this was because of your anger, then we can keep that controlled. It took your father most of the day to get you so angry that you lost control. I now know better.”
He looked around; all he could see was the bowl shaped crater of charred soil. Everyone he knew was gone, except for Heather. He might know the surviving miners, but he was not close to them. Segric was the closest he had to family and it seemed he was gone. When he’d washed ashore on the riverbank three years earlier, Heather had found him, but only Segric, of the people in Blackstone, would take him in. He’d miss the blacksmith.
“At least your sword survived,” Heather said, pointing to the ground beside where he’d been lying. The blade was covered in blood and ash, but seemed to be undamaged.
He picked it up and looked for something with which to wipe it clean. Then he fully realized how little clothing he still wore.
“We left that blanket at our picnic spot,” Heather offered. “We could probably fashion it into some kind of kilt. I have that and some food up at the rim.”
“Right,” Charles led heather out of the crater and had to stop to take another deep breath when he saw the forest blown flat for miles around the crater. “Wow,” he said. “I guess the question is now where do we go?”
“I hadn’t thought of going anywhere,” Heather said. “I was thinking to stay as far away from people as I can. But then I found you and I’m a little conflicted. Do I go it alone, without you, or do I risk killing you again?”
“Though I don’t understand why, the killing me part doesn’t seem permanent. I think I’m safe around you,” Charles said. Noticing Heather’s supply of food consisted of a few pieces of fruit and a handful of blackberries, he then added, “Maybe we should find some fresh supplies before going taking on the role of hermit for the rest of our lives.”
CHAPTER 3: PANTROS
Pantros didn’t like anything about the meeting. Everything seemed slightly off. The older man with the black hair and fancily trimmed beard seemed familiar to Pantros, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen him before. Sitting in a taproom that wasn’t his sister’s made Pantros a little nervous as well. He didn’t like being hired for jobs. He knew his profession wasn’t a complete secret but his nightly activities were not common knowledge either, at least he hoped they weren’t.
“Would you like some wine?” the man sitting across the table offered, sliding a scuffed brass goblet across the table.
Pantros Phyreshade shook his head. “Drink dulls the reflexes and the wits. You didn’t send me that letter to get me drunk and I recall a very large sum of coin was promised.” The letter had been signed only with a ‘D’. Pantros didn’t ask what the ‘D’ stood for. As a rule, the less he knew about clients, the better.
“My father used to say exactly the same thing about drink,” the man said. “I’ll get right to business then.” He leaned across the table, sliding the wine aside. “I need something stolen.” He set a leather pouch the size of two fists on the table. The weight of the bag caused the table to shake, splashing a few drops of wine from the goblet onto the table.
Pantros glanced around, but only his potential client and he sat in the taproom that afternoon. Not even a barkeep or doorman could be seen or heard. The weight of the bag seemed right for the sum of coin that the letter mentioned. “Usually I get paid when I am finished with the job. You can pay me when I bring you whatever it is you want me to bring you.”
“I don’t want to see you again,” the man said, gazing away from Pantros. “I just want this item, a large gem, removed from a trader named Darien.”
Pantros nudged the sack of coin back towards the man. “I know the name. He’s a guest at The Haughty Hedgehog. I don’t steal from my sister’s Inn.” Darien had arrived the night before with four overly muscled large men and two under clothed women. “No one steals from my sister’s Inn. It’s one of the perks that allow her to charge premium rates.”
“I’ll triple the payment.” The man reached under the table and pulled out a lockbox and set it on the table. The table creaked from weight. “You’d never have to work again.”
“Thieves like me work for the challenge, the thrill of the accomplishment, not the money,” Pantros said. “I said no and I meant it. What item can be so important that you’re willing to part with so much money and yet you don’t even want it?”
The man reached into his shirt and pulled out a folded piece of black leather. He set it on the table and unfolded it. “This.” He said as he revealed a glowing red gem the size of a plum. The stone actually emitted a dull light.
Pantros admired the gem for a moment then looked the other man in the eyes, looking for reason. Had he just asked him to steal that?