2. In This Life

I froze in the chair, stunned and unmoving, as I watched the man rush toward me. I was moments from accepting my fate, when a steady voice called, "Jarrod! Stop!" 

     Now it was Jarrod who froze, his eyes widening as he turned to face his wife. He still had the dagger raised in the air. "Oh Gods. Amina! You're alright?" He asked with a shaky voice.

    "Yes, my love. I am alright, thanks to Lynarra. Please, put the knife down."

    "But," started Jarrod, "she's one of them!" He brandished the weapon toward me, gesturing wildly as he tried to make his wife understand. 

    "Yes, she is," Amina said slowly. "However, without this witch's magic, you and the boys would be burying me. Surely we can spare her? Keep her secret for her as a debt repaid?" As she spoke, she rose from the bed and crossed the room toward her husband, gingerly prying the knife from his grasp. 

~~~

    The disgust and anger in Jarrod's voice echoed in my mind and made my heart heavy as I trudged home through misty fields with a new dawn tinging the world a light, rosy pink. I only ever used my powers for good--and then only in the most extreme cases--yet still I was a curse on the village and on myself. I knew I should just be grateful to have left that house with my life, but an uneasiness had overtaken my emotions. /Will Jarrod's conscience allow him to keep my secret? Or will I wake up to find the villagers knocking down my door and dragging me into the square to meet my end?/ 

     Being a Praecant was damn near a death sentence these days.  Once a highly revered subset of humanity, we were now regarded as no more than a weapon of destruction. If you were unlucky enough to develop the ability to use magic, the official decree was for you to be turned over to King Alaric's men, who would in turn deliver you to the king himself. Every so often you would see tearful parents bidding farewell to a young child who was never to be seen again. Alaric did not kill the Praecant children--they were brainwashed and raised to join the ranks of his army. All the king was interested in was hoarding the magic of the realm for his personal means. Mainly, the Praecants were used to quickly squash any uprisings. Most parents chose to willingly hand over their children who developed powers, because as bad as the option was, the alternative was worse.

     The mercy extended to children was not often extended to anyone over the age of 16.  Most people were against the tyrannical rule of Alaric and were therefore less willing to hand him another sorcerer for his army if the Praecant was discovered as an adult. This left just one option: death. Any village found to be harboring a known Praecant was burned to the ground by Alaric's army as a punishment and the witch or wizard would then be forced into the army anyway. To avoid this, villages would instead burn any Praecants among them. The villagers would be safe from the vengeful wrath of their ruler and keep more magical power from his clutches. 

     I reached the picketed gate at the edge of my small homestead and inhaled deeply, taking note of the sweet morning air. What a beautiful summer day. Today I would be grateful for what I had, and hope Jarrod and Amina could be depended on. There was much to do despite my weariness. I swung open the gate and walked up the path to the door of my humble cottage. It was nothing much to look at. The exterior was made from stacks of rough stone held together with a clay mud I had to patch every other spring. There were two windows on the south-facing wall. The roof was made of thatch and had a stone chimney poking out the top. When Father died, it had become mine as he had no sons to claim the property. Mother had died in childbirth and Father had never remarried, swearing she'd been the only light his life has ever known. I spent years waiting for that phrase to be adapted to include me. It never was.

    Entering the cottage, I quickly scanned my surroundings to make note of all I needed to accomplish by nightfall. There was only one room, so this did not take long. My fire had died down; I would need to rekindle it before tossing a root vegetable stew into the cast iron pot to simmer. The bed was still unmade from when I'd leapt out of it earlier to rush to Amina's aid. On the squat wooden table were five herb jars, entirely empty. That was what would require the most attention. Some herbs grew readily in my garden. For these particular plants however, I would have to venture into the woods. 

 My assessment was interrupted as I heard an abrupt knock at my door.  /That didn't take long.../