Skies of Madness: Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

         “Keiron!” Amelia Nathron shouted. “Get inside quick!”

         The six year old boy dashed inside the house without a word and huddled next to his mother by the window as the thundering of hooves filled the evening air. His hands were shaking, and the table behind him began trembling with him. He tried to think calmly, knowing that if he lost control he would wake up his sleeping sister, Emlyn. She was better off not knowing.

         “Calm yourself, Keiron.” His mother ran her fingers through his hair. “Control the power.”

         He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. After a moment the table stopped moving, and his mother gave him a proud smile.

         “Nathron!” A gruff man with broad shoulders and a confident smirk called from the yard. “We know you’re there. Don’t make us have to involve your wife and children.”

         He was flanked by eight other men in traveling gear with their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. One flipped a small dagger casually between his fingers and blew out a disinterested sigh.

         “I’m here.” Keiron’s father, Vim, stepped around the house, a sword tucked into his belt. His dark brown eyes were set in a hard stare, and sweat trickled from his unkept brown hair to the edge of his chin.

         “Not a very friendly way to greet your friends,” the large man commented.

         “You all are armed, Gregor,” Vim returned.

         Gregor shrugged with a smile. “It’s been over a month. That’s a week more than I said I would give you. You should come armed with a bag of coin—not a sword.”

         “I have some of it, but I’ll need more time.”

         Gregor sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Listen, I don’t want to have to hurt your family, but you’re making me do this.”

         “This could just stay between us,” Vim pleaded. “You don’t have to involve Mister Collins.”

         The large man grinned. “Collins and I had a . . . disagreement. I’m in charge now.”

         A grimace crossed Vim’s face. “We can work this out.”

         “What’s to work out? I gave you a month to pay me back what you told me you could pay back in three weeks. Do you have the money or not? Come on now. It’s too damned hot out here to jaw about this all day.”

         Vim’s shoulders sagged. “Even if I gave you every copper I have, I wouldn’t.”

         “How much are you short?”

         “Half.” He said adverting his eyes

         Gregor shook his head. “Nope. Sorry, Vim.” He gestured, and all of his men dismounted.

         Vim drew his sword. “Don’t do this.”

         Two of the men snorted as they stood in front of him as the others moved toward the house.

         Amelia rose. “Stay here, Keiron. No matter what happens.”

         “No Mama,” Keiron whimpered. “Don’t leave me.”

         “Hush, I’ll be right back.” Her expression formed into a hard stare as she left the room.

         “Tell your witch to come out,” Gregor ordered. “No trouble or this could get a lot worse.”

         Amelia stepped down off the porch. “Leave now, and it won’t.”

         Gregor raised his bow, an arrow already notched and aimed it at her. “How many can you block? I know you’re just a Healer. When did you last use battle magic?”

         “Let’s find out together,” she retorted.

         The moment stretched for what seemed an eternity before Gregor loosed his arrow. “KILL HER!”

         Amelia threw up her hands and Gregor’s arrow shattered in midair. Six other arrows chased after Gregor’s. All six flew aside and stuck into the porch.

         Vim let out a cry as one of the thugs slashed his shoulder.

         “No!” Amelia ran toward him. Invisible surges of magic knocked the men on their backs.

         Gregor’s bow twanged again, and the arrow flew true. Amelia whirled just in time for it to strike her in the center of her chest. Her eyes widened, then went distant as she collapsed.

         “Now see what you made me do,” Gregor said as he lowered his bow.

         “AMELIA!” Vim shouted in despair. He tried to rise, but the tip of a sword held him down.

         “MAMA!” Keiron rushed out his mother’s side. She couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t be. He shook her several times, but she never moved.

         “Don’t leave me. I told you not to leave me. Wake up, Mama. Wake up!”

         “Grab the boy,” Gregor ordered. “We can sell him to the slavers to pay his father’s debt.”

         “No, leave him be! I’ll come up with the—” He grunted and fell silent as the thug kicked him in the ribs.

         A man yanked Keiron to his feet. “Sorry kid.”

         Keiron’s face twisted in fury. “You killed her!”

         There was a crunching sound and the ruffian dropped to the ground clutching the arm that had held Keiron. The ground began to
tremble, and the air shimmered with a hot tingling magic. The boy’s eyes burned a violent green, and he slammed his tiny fists into the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs. As his hands touched the earth, it cracked in thin jagged lines all around him. There was a loud boom and everything around him was flattened against the ground.

         As soon as the horses rolled back to their feet, they galloped away as fast as their hooves would take them off despite Gregor’s shouting. He locked fearful eyes on the boy before raising his bow. To his dismay, it was cracked in three places.

         Keiron reached for the power that his mother had been teaching him to respect since he was a baby. Now it was time to teach these bad men what it was like to feel what he felt. He heard them scream as he grabbed them with his mind and shook them. They swung around him like debris in a whirling tornado. Bones snapped like a handful of twigs.

         Gregor yanked a dagger from his belt and flung it at the boy, but it went wide.

         “Keiron stop!”

         The men had stopped screaming as Keiron let go of the power. He looked at his father, but he wasn’t angry. Tears streamed down the man’s face, and he nodded at his son.

         Gregor landed on the ground, both of his legs broken. He tried to crawl away on his arms, not looking back.

         Vim stood and stepped on the back of his right leg. He smiled in grim satisfaction when the crippled thug cried out.

         “Please Vim,” Gregor begged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

         Vim slid the sword between Gregor’s ribs until his struck his heart. The thug shuddered before he went still, his eyes lifeless.

         “Dad, am I in trouble?” Keiron asked after a long moment. He knew that what he had just done was wrong. These men, horrible as they were, were dead. And he had killed them.

         Even at six years old, Keiron had seen death when a farm animal died from disease, but it was far worse to see a grown-up die, knowing that he was the cause. The guilt weighed on him, and he found that it was almost hard to breathe.

         “No. You did good, son. I’m proud of you.”

         His father cradled him in his arms, and Keiron sobbed. For his mother. For the men he killed. Most of all because it was the only thing he could think to do.