THE WOODS SURROUNDING the small clearing were silent, as if nature was holding its breath.
At least, that’s how it felt to Ty as he watched his brother, Breen, raise the limbs of his large ash bow and sight down the slender shaft.
A single bead of sweat slid toward the corner of his brother’s eye.
Ignoring the salty sting, Breen kept his concentration locked on the target as he waited for the right opportunity to draw.
Ty had to admit, for all of his older brother’s shortcomings, he was indeed a natural born hunter. But no matter the amount of skill his brother could bring to bear, Breen would never feel the elements as he did.
Ty, who unlike the rest of his family had soft features and sandy blonde hair, always knew that he was different. He could see, hear, and feel things no one else could. Why this was so he didn’t care to speculate. He merely bottled it up inside and kept it hidden away as best he was able.
Living in a world where magic was not only outlawed but its wielders were hunted down and taken to the White Tower for purging, Ty had learned very quickly to keep his mouth shut and his abilities hidden. Even from those he cared about most—especially from them. It was his way of keeping them protected.
Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses. His ability to
communicate with the forest and the life it sheltered had grown over the years.
Everything slowed as he worked to isolate the voices. The whistle of the wind, the song of the birds, even the ancient redwood—monoliths of the forest—appeared to call his name. Shutting them out, he struggled to find
his center.
One by one the chorus of life faded away, leaving only the rhythmic beating of his own heart. His pulse raced as his mind stretched across the wooded glen, searching for that lone voice. It was more feelings than
words. And with years of practice, he found he could understand their communication . . . and return it.
Caution—Thirsty—Unfamiliar smell—Caution!
The stag’s head jolted upward as it sniffed the gentle breeze intertwining itself through the forest as gracefully as a single strand of thread is woven into a tapestry of color.
Ty watched from the corner of his eye as Breen held the nocked arrow between his second and third fingers. The rhythm of his breathing was steady. His brother’s broad shoulders slowly pivoted as he followed the large stag through the brush. Breen drew the hemp to his chin, and waited for a clear shot.
Perched like a big clumsy bird a pace or two up the bough, Ty reached out with his mind and enclosed the buck with a false sense of security.
Everything is quiet—You’re safe—Water is nearby.
Without warning, a searing pain shot through his right arm. Ty hollered and grabbed his shoulder, practically flipping himself backward out of the tree. Breen was so startled by Ty’s sudden outburst, he pre-released his
arrow and missed the buck altogether.
As swiftly as it had appeared, the pain ceased.
Ty looked up, but the deer was gone. And so was his brother’s patience.
Breen turned around with fire in his eyes. “Ty! You sorry excuse for a pile of horse dung, that was our meal for the next couple of weeks!”
Ty flinched. His brother’s brown and green sleeveless tunic revealed arms layered in muscle. And they were straining at the moment. Ty had
always wondered why he couldn’t have been born to look more like Breen. No matter how much he ate or spent time lifting the half-filled feed barrels from the barn, he was never able to come anywhere close to matching his brother’s size.
“I’m sorry, Breen. My arm . . .” Ty rubbed his fingers across the back of his shoulder. “It started burning again.” Ty had just passed into his sixteenth year, and the strange burning sensations had started not long after.
Breen combed a hand through his shoulder length, brown hair and studied Ty’s face. Rolling his eyes, he finally hooked his bow on a nearby branch and scooted his way up the bough. “Here let me take a look.” He yanked on Ty’s collar to see what the problem was.
“Hmm,” Breen grunted as he nudged Ty’s back with his thumb. “What’s wrong? What do you see?”
His brother scratched at the three-day growth on his face. “Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this birthmark of yours has gotten . . . bigger.”
Ty attempted to twist his head around like an owl. “What do you mean by bigger?”
“I mean it looks like it’s grown since the last time I saw it.” His brother released his shirt. “Maybe it’s not a birthmark at all?” Breen chided. “Maybe, it’s a gruesome skin disorder and pieces of you will start falling off, or perhaps it’s the mark of the Defiler.” Breen finished his ribbing by raising both hands and wiggled his fingers in Ty’s direction while making an eerie noise.
Ty punched him in the shoulder. “Quit it, Breen! That’s not funny.”
His brother smiled and slid his way back down the large limb of the old white oak and grabbed his bow. He slung it across his back and glanced at Ty. “We need to move if we plan on making it home by supper. Don’t forget that tonight’s Performance Night.”
Ty rolled his eyes. “How could I forget?”
“You’ll do great, little brother,” Breen said as he swung out of the tree. “They say the first time is always the hardest.”
“I’m not so sure I want to do this,” Ty admitted. His fingers instinctively ran across the wooden pipes of his homemade flute resting in his jacket pocket. “You know I don’t like playing in front of people.” Ty followed Breen’s example and dropped from the limb, not quite as gracefully as his older brother but at least he didn’t twist his ankle this time.
Running to catch up, he fell into step. “Sorry about the deer.”
His brother reached over and put his big arm around him. “That’s alright.
We’ll get ‘em next time.”
Without the added difficulty of carrying fresh game, Ty and Breen made good time in getting back to the main road. They had barely made it through the dense foliage and onto the single dirt lane when they could feel the vibrations in the hard clay. Ty could sense the horses even before the sound of their hooves had taken form. There were at least nine or ten, he thought.
Stepping off the road to allow for clear passage, they spotted the riders in the distance. The hairs on Ty’s arm shot to attention. They were wearing the distinct white mantles of the Black Watch. And they were heading directly for them. Ty never did see the point in calling themselves the Black Watch
if all they ever wore was white, but he wasn’t about to bring it to their attention.
“Don’t say anything,” Breen warned. His hands reached for his bow to loosen its grip. “If they stop, you let me do the talking.”
Ty didn’t say anything, only nodded. Everyone knew of the Black Watch, but living this far out from the White Tower, few had ever seen the white riders before. This was a first for Ty.
“I mean it, Ty! Don’t you say a word.”
“Fine.” Ty was getting flustered. Unlike his brother, the only weapon he carried was a large belt knife. Not much use against an armed contingent. “What do you think they’re doing out here?”
“Same thing they do everywhere, I reckon . . . Look for wielders.”
Ty counted ten riders as they reined in beside them. The cloud of dust from their passage blocked his view temporarily. He noticed a hidden rider at the center of the group, a woman. Her hands were bound and her mouth gagged.
“Saleena?” Breen mumbled half under his breath. He looked shocked. “Saleena? Who’s Saleena?”
“Hush before you get us both killed . . . or worse.”
Ty wondered how it could get much worse than being killed. He also wondered why it was that his brother appeared to recognize the Black Watch’s prisoner. He had never seen her before.
“How far to the nearest town?” asked a rough looking man at the head of the group. His nose seems to be a mite crooked on his face. Ty noted the guard’s posture—as stiff as a newly dried tunic, fresh off the line. With back erect and nose in the air, Ty thought he had all the mannerisms of a bull-deer in rut and probably just as dangerous.
“The nearest town is Easthaven,” Breen said, pointing down the road in the direction they were headed. “Take this road to its end and then head north. Can’t miss it.”
The dark-haired man in front noticed Ty staring at their prisoner. “Get a good look, boy.” He sneered, one hand resting on the hilt of a large broadsword at his waist. “It’ll be the last time you’ll see this one. Chased her halfway across Sidara we did, finally caught up with her just east of Reed Marsh.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Have to gag ‘em like that to keep ‘em from using their dark powers on you.”
“What’d she do?” Ty asked, forgetting his promise to his brother as his curiosity got the better of him. Breen clearly didn’t share the same sentiment as his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened near the corners.
“She’s been accused of practicing magic on children.” The big guard leaned forward, the rough leather of his saddle creaking under the weight of his movement. “Some townsfolk say they’d seen her offering unnatural
healings and unholy charms.” He took a hard snort and then spat into the road before wiping a gloved hand across his rough goatee.
The lady fidgeted in her saddle. The tears rolling down her cheeks soaked into her cloth gag. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but one of the other guards backhanded her across the face.
Ty started to move forward but Breen grabbed his arm and held him back. The sight of these paid hunters bloodying the woman’s face sent a shiver of rage down his back. There was also a strange warming sensation building from somewhere deep inside. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt as though it was growing. Biting down on his tongue, he fought to hold it back.
“Don’t get any wise ideas, boy!” The rider fixed him with a dark stare.
“This one would sooner kill you as look at you. And we’re here to round up any of her cohorts.” Leaning back in his saddle, he wiped his forehead with the back of his glove where the dirt from the road had dried from previous sweating. “Either of you seen or heard of any magic being practiced round
these parts?”
“There’s no one at Easthaven with magic,” Ty blurted out. The sleeve of his faded blue tunic nearly ripped at the seam as his brother’s grip tightened on his arm.
“Is that so?” The large man studied Ty’s face. “And I’m sure that two upstanding citizens like yourselves would be more than willing to do your duty and report ‘em if there were, correct?” He turned and winked at his comrades. Their snickers did little to help calm Ty’s anger. He could feel his forehead breaking out into a sweat. He took a deep breath. Something didn’t feel right. It was nothing he’d ever felt before.
“Yes, sir,” Breen interjected, not giving Ty the chance to open his mouth again. “We are good citizens of Aldor. We don’t hold to those who practice the dark arts. Dangerous folk they are. We’re mighty thankful to have the protection of the Black Watch.” Ty’s brother bowed his head toward the
man, an obvious show of contrition which Ty found revolting, but unfortunately necessary.
Ty attempted to mimic his brother.
The man held Breen’s gaze for a moment longer before turning back to Ty. “What’s wrong with you, boy? You sick or something?”
Ty could feel Breen shaking his arm, but the strange heat building inside of him was keeping Ty from responding. He closed his eyes and took another gulp of air. What’s wrong with me?
“Don’t mind him, sir. He gets, uh . . . He gets nervous around strangers.” Breen cast a harsh glare in Ty’s direction.
The white rider stared at Ty a moment longer before grabbing his reins. “Well, you wouldn’t want us to get the impression you was keeping secrets, would ya?”
“No, sir, we wouldn’t want that,” Breen said.
“You know what happens to those who harbor wielders, don’t you?” The man lifted his thumb to one side of his neck and made a slow slicing motion across it.
Ty couldn’t help but quiver at the thought of what they had in store for the poor lady. He took another deep breath and the heat finally abated.
The lead guard raised his gloved hand and pointed in their direction. “I’m sure we’ll be seein’ the two of you again.” With a hard snap of his reins, the man’s horse leaped into action. The soldier’s dark hair flapped in the breeze as he headed down the road, his posse trailing right behind.
Breen waited until they had disappeared around the next bend before turning on Ty. “I thought I told you to let me do the talking!” he snapped. Ty could see the veins in his forehead start to bulge. It was never a good sign when his brother’s blood pressure rose to those levels.
“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Obviously.” Breen pointed in the general direction of where the white riders had just been. “You don’t mess with the Black Watch. They have
complete autonomy to do whatever they want. They could have taken you right then and there, locked you away in the White Tower, and there’s nothing any of us could have ever done about it. You of all people need to be more careful.”
Ty’s head rose. “What do you mean ‘you’ of all people?”
Breen looked surprised by his own comment. The stuttering didn’t help. “I . . . I just mean that . . . that you tend to get overly excited and let your
gums go to flapping before you use your noggin.” Breen swiped a nervous hand back through his hair as he cast a sidelong look at Ty, no doubt hoping to see that what he was saying wasn’t just going in one ear and out the other. “I’ve heard it said the White Tower has more power than the High King himself.”
Ty didn’t respond, not because he was incapable of chasing down a new line of argument, but because he knew his brother was right. He had to learn to control his temper and his actions, especially when he knew he happened to be one of those very wielders they were searching for. He was not some great wizard, but he did possess a small ability when it came to communicating with other living things.
With the way people seemed to fear those with magic, his decision to keep his gifts hidden, even from his family, had proven to be the right one
—at least so far. But with the Black Watch now threatening to eradicate Easthaven of all wielders, his days of going off into the woods to experiment were coming to an end. Worse yet, he had no idea what was happening with the sudden bouts of pain in his arm, or the growing mark on his shoulder.
If he couldn’t learn to control it, whatever it was, he was going to be in real trouble.
Breen picked up the pace. “We need to get back to the house. Father needs to hear about what just happened.”
Ty scrunched his nose. “Why? What’s he going to do? For that matter, how did you know that lady back there? Who was she?”
Breen didn’t respond.
“Breen, what’s going on? How do you know that woman?” Ty was growing more anxious by the moment. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”
Breen never slowed. “We just need to get home.”
