Chapter: Rumors: 2 of ?

Author: Sam

Series: A Deeper Magic

Last Chapter: DG and Glitch watch videos of Glitch training Az in magic.

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Wiping an arm across his sweat-streaked forehead, Wyatt Cain left a smudge of dirt in its place. He ran his hands down his dark suede trousers, flexing his bare shoulders then spine with catlike grace. Looking up at the leaf canopy, sun glinting down in random patterns of amber and emerald, he tilted his face to the gentle breeze ruffling his light blond hair. Musty earth and decaying leaf fodder filled the air with their rich odors.

Grasping the handle of his hoe again, Wyatt leaned heavily on it, his crystal blue eyes flicking over the men and women around him. Nearby his son, Jeb, worked diligently at turning the earth. A striking pair with their athletic builds and rugged good looks, there were notable differences between the son of eighteen and the father of thirty-five. Whereas Wyatt had pale blue eyes, his son's were more gray-blue. Cain's hair shone light blond, kept closely cropped; Jeb's glossed a darker shade of blond, longer, hanging over his forehead and slightly obscuring his eyes. Wyatt had the strong, solid build of a working man, a man who'd been both blacksmith and law officer. Jeb had an unfinished quality to him, more delicate of features, reminiscent of his deceased mother, Adora.

Jeb looked up from his own work and Wyatt gave him a single nod of acknowledgement. He received a hesitant smile in return, making Wyatt's lips twitch in response. Straightening, he wrapped strong hands around the worn wooden handle of his hoe and jammed the dull metal blade into the earth, twisting the dirt to overturn it.

Three weeks after the destruction of the witch, the O.Z. still needed colossal efforts to restore health to the wasted land and hope to the desolated people. They lacked proper tools for even simple planting, let alone reconstructing the homes and businesses destroyed in the witch's Long Coat rampages. Every hand was needed, and Wyatt, a former bodyguard in the Mystic Man's Tin Man security detail, found himself plowing and planting right next to shopkeepers, farmers, and stable hands.

It felt right to go to bed with aching muscles after a long day of restoring his world to her former glory. Besides, after an exhausting day plowing fields and repairing homes, Wyatt would tumble into bed so exhausted he'd fall into a deep sleep: no restless thoughts, no distorted memories, and, best of all, no dreams. He did miss his former duties, but he wanted a life with the son he'd been separated from during his eight annuals of imprisonment. This was the life Jeb had apparently chosen for himself, thus Wyatt would stay by his side. After the rebuilding, he planned to eschew all thoughts of guardian or law enforcement duties and once more take up the role of village blacksmith.

He would adjust to the quiet life.

Wyatt soon fell into a quiet rhythm of breaking the earth and turning it. He moved slowly, steadily, one patch at a time. Through gaps in the protecting trees, sun beat down on his neck and back, warming the skin there. Sweat sheened his body as he worked, letting the rhythm absorb him. When he reached the end of the row, he turned and worked his way back down the next.

Three rows and two hours later, the sound of a horse broke Wyatt from his concentration. He looked up, leaning on the hoe. Beside him, Jeb straightened, flexing his back, then rolled his hoe up onto his shoulders, draping his arms over the wood to hold it in place.

The rider stopped his horse before the pair, ignoring the other workers. His pale blonde hair had platinum tints, soaked with sweat like his plain brown kilt and white shirt. His eyes were a slate gray, troubled and mirroring his exhaustion. He leaned over the neck of his mount, breathless from his ride. "Sir!"

Wyatt and Jeb answered as one "Yes?"

Glancing at his son, Wyatt let his body relax, indicating that Jeb was in charge. Apparently, the rider had already considered Jeb the leader as he looked directly at the younger man, probably a holdover from when Jeb led the resistance only a month prior.

"Sir… in the east… there's talk." He took a shaky breath. "About… the queen. They say… she has no… magic… that she can't… protect… the O.Z. … anymore…"

Father and son traded ominous looks, a shudder rippling between them.

Jeb swung his hoe from his shoulders, the blade chopping into the ground with a dull thunk. Letting it stand there, he stepped to the horse's side, taking her bridle in hand. "Water!" he called to those nearby, and a young boy dropped his seed bag and sprinted for the nearby river. Turning intense gray-blue eyes up to the messenger, he softened his voice. "What else, Dylan?" He steadied the mare.

Sliding off his mount, Dylan leaned into the horse. "There's fear… that… Sorceress… will come… back…"

"How many know that Princess Azkadellia was possessed?" Wyatt's voice vibrated low and stern.

Returning with a pail of water, the boy inadvertently interrupted the men. He gave a dipper of cold water to Dylan and waited while he drank, then put the bucket down in front of the horse. He looked to Jeb, who nodded, then the boy hurried off to retrieve his seed pouch.

Dylan glanced at Wyatt and looked back at Jeb, but he finally acknowledged Wyatt's question. "Most believe… history…" He took a deep breath, shuddered, then seemed to gain his breath. "They know history… know the witch has come before… they believe the princess was a victim."

Wyatt nodded once. "Good to hear."

With a shake of his head, Dylan contradicted Wyatt's relief. "They're afraid she might get possessed again. They don't trust her or the queen to keep them safe." He frowned, glanced at those working around them and lowered his voice a bit more. "Most everyone's willing to forgive the royal consort the misunderstanding about his theft. They see it as a mistake during the…" He narrowed his eyes and thought a bit then said "confusion when the witch took over. But he's an Other Sider."

Jeb held up a hand. "So, basically no one trusts the House of Gale? What about Princess Dorothy?"

The messenger shook his head and patted his horse. "Sorry, Sir. Most people remember the murder and funeral. People are thinking this one's an imposter."

"She saved the O.Z." Wyatt said slowly, enunciating carefully. "The Queen says she's the princess. With or without magic, the Queen's word is still truth."

Turning finally to Wyatt, Dylan shrugged one shoulder. "My opinion is that the people are confused and scared. They're grateful she saved them, but they're so used to being terrorized that they're not sure who to believe or trust. I think someone's spreading the rumors and the people are believing them."

"So they're calling for an overturn in the government?" Jeb frowned. "Thousands of annuals of clan royalty . . ."

Dylan cut in "no, Sir. Not a complete overturn. They're too used to following royalty, and no one wants to try to form a new government from nothing. No, they've got someone in mind. They're saying Princess Leona is the only one they can trust."

Wyatt straightened, his grip loosening on the hoe. He tightened his hold, not wanting to attract attention by dropping the tool. "Princess Leona? She gave up her claim when Princess Azkadellia was born. No one's seen her since . . . for fifteen annuals."

With a nod, Dylan turned back to Jeb. "Thing is, she's royal since she's Queen Lavender's cousin. It's a legitimate claim and people are feeling comfortable with it." He ran a slender hand through his sweat-damp hair.

Jeb moved his hand from the mare's flank to his friend's shoulder. "Thanks, Dylan. So who's spreading the most rumors?"

"And is Princess Leona encouraging them?" Wyatt said.

The young man took a deep breath.

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Continued in Chapter Three: Chilling Memories