Clarke's head whirled with the events of the day. New neighbors, magical elves, the revelation that not being a native of the town had kept him from being a racist. It was unusual the things you didn't know even though they were right there.
As much as he liked to think of the excitement of having an honest to goodness wizard in town he was smart enough to see the massive problems coming with it. He wouldn't be around long enough to see it out anyway.
I could have learned magic...
He'd introduce Alouella to the solitude of the library when he saw her next. Give her some place she'd be...maybe not be welcome in town but the old rat was at least indifferent to everyone.
He headed for his own solitude as it began to get dark, toward home. He could already smell dinner cooking floating to him on the breeze, the smell of...of...it smelled like the butcher shop. That's when he noticed the body on the ground.
He stopped short and for a moment he was too confused to do anything except note that it was robed entirely in deep navy blue. Bits and baubles hung on its belt, items like you'd find in a wizards bag of tricks and a long, curved sword with a wide blade.
Only part of the face was visible through the slit for the eyes but the way they stared upward, no focus or flick to him, made his heart race.
He's dead!
A crash from inside the house tore his eyes from the corpse and he began to jog, to run, his feet hammering loudly on the dirt. An explosion of air and crack of wooden beam sent another figure bursting through the roof of his home, thatch exploding outward as the arms and legs pinwheeled outward and it slammed into the ground, bones snapping as it landed on its side.
“Where is that god damn paralysis spell?!”
“Dead!”
“She bit me! God dammit, a whole fucking chunk out of my arm!”
“Mom!?”
He hit the door of his home and the scene was a crazed mess. There was his mother with fire hot cooking cauldron in hand like a morningstar and many of the dark clad figures crowded around her. Holes in the roof drifted tufts of straw down upon them, papers for their scribe work floated in the air, ink spilled across the stone floor.
Everyone looked at him in the chaos, an easier token to control.
“Grab that boy! He's one of them!”
“No, you stay away from him!”
She screamed and jumped into the fray. Clarke was tackled through the door, the huge man getting him in a headlock and jerking him up to his feet, neck pinched so tight he couldn't breath. He struggled and kicked, his legs swinging back into the knees of his attacker. His mother had only made it to the door and hurled the cauldron, winging the man holding Clarke but he held firm on Clarke, struggling as Clarke swung and kicked and tried railed as hard as he could.
He screamed for her even as the men dog piled onto her, dragging her into submission beneath their weight and it took every one of them to keep her down. He could see her eyes, pupils so big they'd pushed her irises out of existence. Tears ran down her face as she forced an index finger to her mouth and tore the skin from the tip, blood gushing out.
“Stop her! Someone STOP HER!”
One of them struggled to raise his sword, the sharp edge shaking.
She began to write on her other arm, quick movements and quick letters and she looked at Clarke as she slashed the last stroke in her own blood. Red symbols glowed on her arm and grew, exploding into two dimensional geometries within circles until it pulsed and blew away from the house, an ever expanding ring that blasted across the land and faded over distance.
The sword came down and sliced flesh, crushed through bone, the hand flung as the sword swept it aside like a deadly weapon. Blood poured out onto the dirt and Clarke could see the white of bone turn pink then red.
Aggatha didn't say a word with her lungs crushed beneath the pile. The arm she'd written on smeared across the ground, whatever she'd written lost in a puddle of her blood.
Clarke couldn't say a word, being held as he was.
“What was that?”
One asked. They waited with bated breath, listening to what might be coming with seconds stretching out into the forever of those expecting something big.
“Looks like it didn't do anything. We stopped her.”
“I think we got her. Let's get those shackles. Hold her hands. Hand. Someone do something about that wound, we need her alive.”
“How, our magic doesn't work here.”
Someone threw a sheet at the feminine voice and she tore it to shreds, wrapping up the wound as tight as possible until the blood clotted into a giant scab in the fabric.
The hand still lay on the ground and the healer picked it up.
“Do we need this?”
“Maybe. Take it anyway.”
Clarke was too stunned to struggle, and the man holding him walked him to the pool of light from the door. He stared at her as they shackled her, tied her up but she seemed incapable of seeing or feeling any of this, her look a thousand miles away.
“There's a witness. What should we do?”
“Dunno. Must be a neighbor kid.”
“Kill him?”
The arm tightened around his neck. Clarke could feel his spine start to separate into its individual vertebrae and squirmed, reaching out for his mother, fingers outspread. The apparent leader looked him in the eye, rubbing his chin through the mask.
“We're not monsters who'd kill an innocent. Let's just leave him, we'll be gone long before he wakes up. What bad luck that he'd come see her, huh?”
The grip tightened on his neck, air suffocated out of his lungs until he was out.
---------
Clarke woke up slowly, eyes opening on early morning sunlight that poured down through a huge hole in the ceiling, a small bird hopping side to side and picking at the straw. He felt more rested than he had in a long time, as though he hadn't been woken for his usual chores or practice around the house. The full memory of just why he had been allowed to sleep hadn't...quite...
Why can I see the sky...
He bolted upright with memory, looking to where his mother had been minutes before and seeing no one. He crawled forward, brushing the hay aside and seeing the deep cut into the threshold of the door, a spatter of blood all around.
He noticed new things as he turned, the house torn apart, papers everywhere, books tossed aside. The table was overturned and food strewn across the floor in a slowly congealing mass. The trunk they'd used to store their scribing supplied was missing.
He was outside, screaming as he looked around.
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“Mom!”
The first man he'd seen crumpled in the dirt was gone. Not a trace of anyone, not a track or boot print or even a dent in the grass.
“MOM!”
He screamed down the road, both ways in case she'd been taken one or the other. Sweat broke out on his brow and he turned in frantic circles.
What can I-who do I go to...town. Town, Wade's dad is the law around here.
He pounded down the dirt road, huge strides that burned his muscles.
“Help!”
He screamed as he passed the first house, then others.
“Help!”
It was late morning now, people out and about looking at him as he ran. He made for the market, not stopping even when someone tried to help. He had to get to Wade's father, get help, get everyone looking. With such a huge head start there was no telling where they could be.
He burst into the bakery, the door rattling against the wall.
“Wade! Mr. Bruin! Someone, help!”
It was Mrs. Bruin who responded first, wiping her hands and rushing around the counter.
“What's happening, boy? What's wrong?”
She knelt and dabbed at his face with her apron, wiping away tears he hadn't known had been streaming down his face.
“Mom...kidnapped...”
He tried to take a breath but it got stuck somewhere in his throat. She patted his head, shushing him and holding him tight.
“It's okay dear, it's okay, you came to the right people.”
She yelled up the stairs.
“Wade!”
“Yeah?”
“Get down here! There's law work to be done!”
Elder Wade came downstairs looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, the spitting image of a lazy sheriff. His face hardened up as he approached and by now others had gathered outside to see what the screaming boy had been on about. Mrs. Bruin held him back so Wade could look him over, petting his hair.
“Alright boy, get a hold of yourself. Tell my husband what happened.”
Clarke clenched his fists, pulling everything into himself and trying to let it all go. He couldn't calm or breathe and his mind wouldn't stop whirling and he was sure he wasn't breathing at all how you're supposed to breathe-
Wade reached out and slapped him across the face. The pain arced up his jawbone and cheek. He was able to take in a proper breath of air.
“Now talk boy. I can't help you if you don't stop panicking.”
Clarke managed words this time.
“My mom was kidnapped last night from our house. Some men were there when I got home and they grabbed me and her and they cut off her arm-”
“Alright, a little slower. Who are you? Who's your mom? Where do you live?”
Clarke stared at him, totally quiet. Maybe he was trying to get him to start thinking properly instead of his mind scattered across too many subjects.
“It's me, Clarke...I'm Clarke Script. You know that!”
He gulped as they exchanged a confused look.
“My mother is Aggatha Script!”
Elder Wade rubbed his chin, the gears slowly turning in his head.
“Don't know any families in town named Script. You're not making any sense boy.”
“What-what do you mean? You know me! You know my mom! We've lived here almost ten years!”
There were whispers around, a wind that went from person to person in the crowd that hung around the door. Clarke glanced back to see the shrugs, the unknowing whispers asking who he was.
Wade Senior grabbed his shoulders and his attention.
“Alright boy, tell me where this attack happened. I'll go have a look.”
“At my home.”
He shook Clarke, shaking whatever shock he'd gone through to get some sense out of him.
“Where?”
“You know where I live, you helped build the house!”
Clarke wanted to scream, to tell this man he'd known most of his life that he didn't have to tell him that he'd helped build the house when they'd moved into town. Mr. Bruin held his collar firmly in one hand.
“Where do you live?”
“J-just north of town, following the road. It's off to the side with a bunch of trees around it.”
Wade looked at him side eye for a long time. Mrs. Bruin was the one who hit Clarke this time, though with words.
“That old house? It's been abandoned for...well, no one has ever lived there.”
He reeled back, turning slowly and seeing unfamiliar familiarity. Faces that looked at him in worry, pity but all distanced, no real close care, the kind one would expect from a neighbor you'd lived your daily life with for many years.
Mr. Bruin hurried upstairs and came back down dressed and with a mace in hand.
“I'll go check it out. Keep him here.”
He picked two men out of the crowd and it dispersed as the show ended for now. People returned to their business and those truly interested lay abouts hung around the bakery counter, chatting about nothing in the hopes of further excitement.
Mrs. Bruin sat him at a chair in the kitchen, offering him some freshly baked bread to chew on which he accepted.
Something was very wrong. His breathing was hard, ragged. His eyes watered and blurred and his chest tightened like the whole of the world were closing in on him.
“You know me, right Mrs. Bruin?”
She stopped pounding the dough and gave him an infuriatingly pitying look, as though speaking to someone simple. She couldn't stop but she tried to talk to him.
“I'm afraid I've never heard of any Script folk around here.”
“I've lived here for years!”
He cried, jumping up, his hands balling into fists with no way to release anger.
“You're Mrs. Bruin, you met Mr. Bruin in Deraforda. You moved here when Wade was born to be in a smaller place with lots of fresh air!”
“How do you know-!”
“Because you're best friends with my mom! Aggatha Script!”
She was stunned, her mouth working in confused half syllables that never formed words.
“Boy, there have never been any Script-”
Clarke screamed like some hurt animal, turning on the people still in the bakery. He knew everyone there, had known them and knew their whole lives. There was the school teacher whom he'd spent many days with. She looked afraid of him when he pointed, a reasonable reaction based on his wild look.
“You're Mrs. Gregg! You're the teacher in this town. You come from a port town called Grand Vert. You think apples are disgusting and refuse to eat them.”
No one said a thing, just stared.
“You know me!”
“Young man, I've never seen you before but if you're some kind of spy-”
He ran out into the street now, screaming facts as he saw people.
“That's Mr. Cooper. His wife thought he'd stopped drinking but he takes a nip from a bottle he has stashed in his workshop when he's done making a barrel. Wade and I saw him!”
“That's Geoffrey the smith. His beard once caught fire at a birthday celebration for his son!”
“That's Gullible Dan who once spent a week praying to a a god we all made up!”
He was tearing down the street now, shouting the lives of people as loud as he could, spouting the banal and the secret to anyone who would listen, to prove he was a part of the town.
Then there was Wade coming towards him. Surrounded by a group of boys, laughing, joking as they walked. Clarke ground to a halt.
“Wade.”
He looked up. By now people had started following the boy for the occasional juicy secret he would spill. Wade looked at him.
“Yeah?”
“It's me, Clarke.”
He looked Clarke up and down. Shrugged.
“Don't know ya.”
Every boy flinched as he screamed, bestial and wounded. He threw himself at Wade, his fists hitting him square in the ribs.
“We've know each other for ten years! Your mom is a baker, your dad is a sheriff. You want to be a knight. You love potatoes. You're right handed.”
Every fact was punctuated with little strikes and Wade shoved the boy to the ground.
“Get off me you spy! You nosey freak, who are you!?”
Clarke was on his knees, a mass of screaming trivia.
“We went and met that elf girl Alouella yesterday. We walked around town. You got all flustered around her like you were-”
Clarke did see it coming but as wrapped up in total hysteria as he was he did nothing but take the punch that laid him out in the dirt. For the second time he was unconscious.
-----------------------------------------
For the second time that day Clarke awoke. This time greeted with no sense of perfect rest but a pained swelling in his cheek where Wade had knocked his lights out. The scent of baking bread told him he was in the bakery again, laying in a straw stuffed bed. Wade's room.
He hopped out of the bed, creeping over the floor to the door. Once out he could hear talking. Wade. Wade's father. Wade's mother. Several other voices that he slowly put names to. Familiar unfamiliar people.
He crept to the edge of the stairs and listened for any news of his mother.
“OW, gods damn, that hurts!”
“Well maybe you shouldn't have just walked into some spook house so fast.”
There was the town doctor patching what sounded like Wade senior. Clarke remembered the men from last night being punched through the ceiling somehow. How had that happened? Had his mother done that? Perhaps he should have mentioned it before sending people out to experience it first hand.
“What did you see out there?”
“Nothing special. Someone was definitely hurt out there and there was a big fight.”
Clarke crept closer, straining his ears.
“But I'm not gonna go out of my way to help some squatters who lived in a spook house. Don't know why we didn't board it up with no one living in it. Save it for some real people.”
There were general mutterings of confusion about why a house no one would have used had been built and left to sit for ten years but Clarke slumped back on the steps, head slowly falling into his hands, running back through his hair.
Mrs. Bruin spoke up.
“And the boy? He gives me the creeps, knowing as much as he does. Has he been spying on us? Watching us until he just went nuts? Is he dangerous?”
More general muttering that Clarke couldn't make out. A heaviness settled on him, drips spilling off his chin as he listened to the savage turn about.
“Well he's not staying with any of us. I say we give him the boot towards some bigger city, let him join the street rabble there. That's what we did after the Fallen Kingdom incident with all those refugees and it worked then.”
He couldn't even feel the anger any more. He'd been crazed and frantic all day and terrible dreams had stirred his mind through his unconsciousness. He didn't have the energy. He couldn't storm down there, couldn't face them. His legs shook when he got up but he went to Wade's room, the window there and he hopped the edge and scaled down in the late evening sunlight.
He avoided people, scurrying behind buildings when he could and making his way to home. Except he stopped at the edge of town. His legs wouldn't move towards that tiny dot way out that he had lived in for so long.
What if they came back?
What if who came back?
The not knowing might have been the worst part. Who and why and and for what reason had they taken his mother?
Could it happen to me?
It almost did.
He paced back into the shade of a building and knew he couldn't do anything just then. He couldn't clear his head, clear his anger, couldn't eat, couldn't stand to sleep or do a single thing. He had to be somewhere though. And there was one place that hadn't forsaken him...yet. A place he didn't care if the people didn't know him.
He walked to the library.