Chapter 2: Scene 3
And it's Friday! Action-packed scene here with our first taste of magic. Enjoy!
Announcement: To preserve the integrity of the story, I'm going to stop posting scenes on the website once this chapter is finished. This is the penultimate scene of the chapter–one more to go!
Disclaimer: This scene is a first draft. All characters, names, locations, and plot threads are subject to change.
Joshua only vaguely remembered being dragged over to the tree with the jagged X, vaguely remembered Will stooping down to pick up the bow where it lay in the grass, his grip sure and steady, eyes studying him as a hawk studies a mouse from above. He sat against the tree nursing his left arm; a large purple welt had already formed. Eric’s cronies stood nearby–in case he ran off, he guessed. They needn’t have bothered; he was so consumed by the weight of his own inadequacy that he figured an arrow in the chest was just what he deserved.
The clearing itself became strangely interesting to him as Will nocked an arrow. It was more of a meadow, he realized, a carpet of ankle-high grass embroidered with delicate purple flowers. He noticed the vibrant shades of green all around him, the rejoicing of the forest after a summer rain. It was quite the serene picture.
Tired, he leaned his head back against the oak. His hand sought the crystal once more, stilling when he remembered its hiding place by the road. He felt naked without it, and wondered if it was still freezing cold to the touch. Perhaps he’d stumbled into a grand fate on the beach this morning, only to let it slip bitterly between his fingers.
“By the way, thanks for introducing me to Leila,” said Will. He was taking his time in aiming the arrow, like he was savoring every moment, “she’ll be sad without you, but don’t fret–I’ll help her forget.”
As Will’s barb resounded through the meadow, Joshua noticed a change in the other boys: Some of them began to glance around at one another uneasily. Even Eric’s theatrical mask faltered and was replaced by a curious expression, like he was waiting apprehensively for the punchline of an unsavory joke. John Maple, who’d been sulking on the perimeter, was now beside himself.
“You can’t do this, Will! You’re going to murder him here, and for what?” John paced around, frantic. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes, “the baron will hang you in the square!”
John’s earnest words had a sobering effect. The two boys in charge of preventing Joshua's escape began to ease away like he had the plague. All the mirth had left Eric’s face. Only Will was unfazed.
“Not if anyone says anything.” Will didn’t turn to look at John when he spoke. His eyes never left Joshua, “You should be thankful, Maple! fate decided you would live another day.”
“Wait,” Eric began, now looking decidedly alarmed, “I thought this was just–”
“He deserves it, Eric!” Will snapped. The taller boy was glowering now–and determined. He drew the bow fully, the fletching resting against his sharp cheekbone.
One of the goons stammered something unintelligible and scampered away toward the forest path; Eric took a step backward, looking at Will like he was a stranger; John, anxiously biting his bloody lip, took a courageous step toward Will, eyes on the drawn bow.
Joshua watched all of this with a sense of detachment. Everything felt so far away. Even the arrow pointed at him, the metal tip flickering in the fading afternoon light, was uninteresting. Leila’s bright smile surfaced in his mind–the clearest he’d ever seen it.
“I can’t understand why father speaks so highly of you,” spat Will in a tone that bordered on secretive–Joshua wondered if he’d meant to say it aloud.
“But I know differently. I know what you really are. You, little Joshy, are just a coward–a fleeting shadow, here today and gone tomorrow,” Will’s eyes burned with rage, “no mother…a joke of a father…who’s going to miss you?”
Joshua closed his eyes as the tirade opened up fresh wounds of shame. Who would miss him, indeed. Thomas? or would his father feel relieved, no longer having to entertain a daily reminder of his lost wife? Not that any of it mattered.
With eyes still shut, his ears picked up the faint groaning of the bow as it strained under tension, a swift arbiter of death–followed by a moment of utter stillness, an endless expanse of waiting alongside a collective, bated breath. Then, faintly, a familiar clanking noise.
The bowstring released with a twang of finality that echoed through the trees– trailed by the lethal whistle of the arrow, a wave of gasps, and John Maple’s cry of distress–all of which stopped as suddenly as they started. Was this death, Joshua wondered, an unceremonious fall into nothingness? There was no pain, just the rough ridges of the old oak trunk digging into his back…
His eyes snapped open.
The arrow was slowly spinning in place six inches away from his nose, its forward momentum halted by some unnatural force. He gaped at the triangular iron arrowhead and instinctively leaned out of its path. Every face in the meadow reflected his bewilderment back at him. Even Will’s vindictive eyes watched on in confusion.
Joshua was the first one to see Percival.
His mentor was at the far side of the meadow behind the gang of boys, leaning against his simple wooden staff with wrinkled hands. A tattered brown traveling cloak swallowed his frail figure. Stark white against its earthen surroundings, a full beard hid much of his face; his hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. Crow’s feet marked years of frequent laughter. His eyes were tightly shut, hiding patient blue irises.
When Percival’s eyes opened the arrow clattered softly to the ground, lifeless. Joshua stared at the weapon in amazement, then back at Percival; he’d never seen magic before.
Will and Eric followed his gaze to where Percival stood. Before a word was said, something else incredible happened.
With the prowess of a much younger man, Percival flourished the staff and slammed it into the ground. Sparks flew out of the base as a strong force surged through the meadow. Cracks spread out from the origin, ripping the ground asunder with a sound like tearing fabric, knocking everyone off their feet as a vast network of roots were shredded and musty soil was unearthed. Joshua found himself pinned to the oak tree by the sheer power, like a giant hand was pressing into his chest. He watched as the bow ignited in Will’s hand, burning bright in the fading dusk.
The shock dissipated and the world stopped rumbling. Will’s screams pierced the silence that followed. He was clutching a raw, blistered hand.
“You–vile mage,” hissed Will through gritted teeth, his face twisted up in pain.
Percival ignored him. Walking swiftly through the meadow that now looked like a field flogged by war, he stepped over trembling boys and grabbed Joshua by the arm. His expression was stone. Joshua had never seen his mentor in such a state; the man was dangerous.
“Get up, boy,” he commanded, voice low and urgent. Joshua felt like a rag doll as he was promptly pulled to unsteady feet. His limbs tingled with adrenaline. He followed numbly behind Percival who had already pivoted to where John Maple lay.
“Come along,” Percival said gruffly. With determined course the teacher marched back toward the road, bristling with contained fury.
“Baron Ingram is going to know about this, old man.” Will was the only one of the gang on his feet. The rest of the boys were too frightened to move. Smoke hung in the air where the bow’s ashes lay. There was a moist, earthy smell rising from the upturned sediment.
“He’ll have you dragged up to Solace, I swear it,” gasped Will. He was staring, horrified, at his scorched palm.
If Percival was afraid of that threat, he didn’t show it. Joshua moved after this frightening version of Percival, aware of John’s presence to his right. His left arm was starting to sting again. He lamented the ruined meadow, but would gladly never see it again. The trio moved quickly; they passed the fallen trunk that had been Joshua’s failed cover, then navigated the crowded maze of vegetation. Percival only slowed down when they popped out onto the path.
Joshua remembered the crystal. “Hold on,” he whispered, swiftly ducking over to the tree hollow. The hole reeked of fish in the humidity, though the filets were long gone; the cloth was dragged out of the trunk. An astute fox, no doubt. He reached in and grabbed anxiously for his pouch. Relief flooded him when his hand closed around it. He strapped it to his belt where it belonged.
“Resentment turns man into beast,” Percival said slowly. He leaned against his staff, looking winded. The fury in his expression had faded into a subtle forlorn.
“Come, boys. The cottage isn’t far.” The old man called over his shoulder, as he began the trek north. His staff clanked softly as he navigated the sodden, leaf-ridden path with a weary pace.
Joshua peeked inside the pouch. The crystal was so cold it had frosted over. He didn’t touch it. He turned his head to find John Maple looking at him with a guilty expression. The other boy patted him on the back a few times, then walked off after Percival without a word.
Joshua stared back into the forest, reeling from everything he’d just witnessed. The deep shadows were stretching out to welcome the night. Now the trees seemed like ominous, unfamiliar shapes. His hands shook as the waves of adrenaline dissipated, bringing back the numerous physical pains he’d acquired. Wary of Will popping out of the darkness he huffed off after his mentor, yearning for the security of the cottage. It was just around the corner now.
