To Become What We Are, We Have To Evolve From What We Were.
The boy stands in the middle of the loft, the golden straw covering the wooden floor rustling softly off to his left, as he inspects the latest result of his magic. The spell had gone better this time. He had been practicing casting the fireballs out of the large double doors that faced away from the house at the top of the barn and only once did he miss his mark as the straw covering the floor quickly caught fire. Thankfully he had already learned from his first few attempts to bring a bucket of water up with him for just this sort of problem and he was able to extinguish the small fire before it could really take hold, the only evidence of his mistake being the dark scorch marks that now stained part of the floor.
His father had been livid the first time he caught him practicing the elemental damage spell and had given him a severe whipping for it, as if he could somehow beat the forbidden magic out of him. His father's anger had scared the boy, but not as much as the fear that he could see behind the older man's eyes that day. That alone had scared him away from using magic for a few weeks, but it was as much a part of him as one of his limbs, and soon he had found out that it could not be amputated from him so easily.
The boy had always been gifted in the healing arts and his natural skill in that area had been both encouraged and hidden by his mother for many years. She was the local midwife and had brought him along with her to assist as soon as he was old enough to understand how the unending cycle of creation, birth and death revolved among them all.
His mother although skilled in the healing arts did not have the gift needed to practice healing magic as her father had before her, but that the gift had been passed down to her son was evident from the first time she had brought him along. She had taken him to the house of a new mother slowly wasting away from a fever that she could not break with her potions of yarrow, and had watched as the boy walked over to the bedside, closed his eyes in concentration, and placed his hand on the girl's forehead. The blue glow was barely perceptible in the dim light shining through the cracks in the waddle and daub framework, but from where his mother was standing she could see the results as the girls fever bright eyes and flushed face slowly returned to normal, although only moments later the boys color left his own face as he fell to his knees in the dirty rushes. She had taught him that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, how to control the amount of energy he could freely give before it started to deplete him of his own strength, warning him to never go beyond that critical point in trying to save someone for the magic would always require a price.
It had not been until this last year that he realized he could cast more than just healing magic and every month that had passed since he had become bolder in his experimentations with it. It was only in this last month that he had almost burned the barn down while trying to practice a fire spell. The fire had quickly grown into more than one eleven year old boy could handle and he remembered desperately trying to recall the spell for freezing everything in place before his father had raced in to beat out the flames. Something in his father changed that day. After the initial beating he had received for the incident his father had become cold and distant towards him and now he avoided the boy as much as he could all together, which is why, with his mother busy in the house with the younger children, he had snuck off to the barn once again to practice flinging fireballs out onto the opposite field still wet from the rains the previous night.
He smiles as he hears the straw rustle again, closer to him this time, and he bends down and holds out his hand towards the sound. His hand hovers in the empty air for a moment before he is rewarded by the sensation of soft fur gliding underneath it and a loud purr that announces the arrival of the barn cat. He has secretly named her Lady Widdles for the cat has the propensity for peeing on everything she can find. This unnerving skill also playing a large part in the reason his father will not allow her in the house. Even though the cat has her faults the boy loves her anyway and the cat sensing this, loves the boy in return. He often sneaks her into the house when his parents are otherwise occupied and it is no different today as he leaves the barn for the comfort of his room.
His older brother comes up to his room as he lays on his bed and trails an old piece of string around the coverlet for the cat to chase and as the boy looks up and takes in the agitated look on his brothers face he wonders if his father had seen him practicing his spells again. He sighs as he braces himself for the scolding that is sure to follow, but before his brother can say anything there are suddenly three soldiers standing behind him in the doorway.
"I told you to wait downstairs, and I would fetch him" his brother shouts at them in anger that is tinged with fear.
In the brief silence that follows the boy can hear sounds of weeping below and although he does not understand what is happening, he knows there is something horribly wrong here. The largest soldier pushes his brother hard against the door.
"Do you think we would give the boy the chance to escape? He is not the first of his kind that we have come for, we have seen all of these tricks before" the soldier spits back at him and the hate in the man's voice makes the boy scurry back to the far corner of his bed in fear.
"You have no right to take him away" his brother screams as he suddenly pushes back hard against the soldier and the boy watches in horror as this horrible man with the flaming sword etched on his armor connects the pommel of his sword with the side of his brothers head in a sickening crunch that makes him crumple to the floor.
"Stay away from me" the boy screams as he pushes himself as far as he can go against the wall.
He can feel the energy start to buzz in the back of his mind and his fingertips itch with the need to expel it as the soldiers advance towards the bed.
The cat hisses as the men come closer and tries to run for the open doorway, but one of the soldiers spins around as it rushes past and lands a heavy blow against its side with the metal tip of his boot, kicking it out over the empty space above the stairs.
"Lady Widdles" the boy helplessly screams as he hears the terrified yowl of the cat as she rolls down the stairs. The magic inside him instinctively takes over and a bolt of lightning weakly sparks from his outstretched fingertips.
"Boy that is exactly why you are a danger to everyone around you" one of the soldiers bellows at him as they reach the bed and hands grab a hold of him and pull hard.
"No" he screams and his terror filled mind tries to react again by casting the fire spell he had been happily practicing only a few hours ago, but this time his fingers emit only a tiny burst of flame, just enough to burn the grasping hands of the nearest solider.
"You will pay for that you little bastard" the solider howls at him.
All three pairs of hands now painfully grab onto him and in desperation the boy blindly reaches out for anything that will help him but he only succeeds in latching on to the small pillow his mother had just finished embroidering for him. It does nothing to help his situation but still he clutches it tightly to his heaving chest as if it will stop these maniacs from pulling him away from his home. He kicks out at the nearest solider catching him in the stomach and momentarily knocking the breath out of him but it does not good as one of the two remaining soldiers slams his fist into the side of the boys face dazing him.
"Damn he's a feisty one" the soldier with the burned hand exclaims.
Suddenly the largest one of the three starts chuckling "Look, he's still clutching that stupid pillow like it will save him"
They try to pry it out of his hands but his arms are locked around it and they cannot remove it. "Leave it" the leader of the group says in disgust. "It will take more than a pillow to keep this one from the circle" They drag him roughly down the stairs towards the door. His mother looks up from the corner of the room where she is sheltering her remaining children, despair clearly written on her face.
"Keep those little ones safe for us" one of them sneers at her "We might be back in a couple of years for them too"
They drag him out into the yard and roughly bind his hands in front of him after they finally manage to rip the pillow out of his grasp. As they move to leave one of the soldiers picks it up from the ground where they had thrown it.
"Here mage, I'll take care of this for you, shall I? I'm sure this will make your stay in the circle so much more pleasant" he laughs cruelly, impressed by his own wit, as he stuffs it into his pack. As they start to pull him along down the road the boy desperately tries to turn his head to look back, but all he manages is a fleeting glimpse of his mother crying desperately on her knees in the doorway.