Ed steadied himself after the Thought Transfer, he swayed on his feet. Steadied himself again. He mumbled under his breath, “I’m getting too old for this…” He was inside the forest at the back of the school. He glanced at the needle like beacon he used to get here. As if bashful at his attention it soon himmered and disappeared from sight. He shook his head. Where did this guy come from? Ed tore his mind from contemplating a problem that could very well be the death of him. Hell, the old goat might be listening to my mind right now… best be careful. Ed cleared his mind and rubbed his bald head with a gnarled hand.

He folded his hands behind his back — his one hand grabbing the stump where the other used to be — and started walking like an elderly Chinese man. He felt old. Whenever he walked like this he thought of Da Shan. The fool had prattled on about the importance of posture and how placing the hands behind the back was some revelation he received from George Washington or whatever. Ed sighed. He missed that bumbling idiot… he missed him a lot. A tear streaked down Ed’s face. He let it fall unchecked. He started wandering aimlessly through the forest, reflecting on his life and all the things that had happened in the past few years. Lost in thought he soon found himself in front of the old dingy rope bridge, now an island unto itself — the place where Da Shan lay. His mind drifted back to that time five years past. That time. It weighed on Ed deeply. It was a scar, an old grisly wound that would not go away. Guilt wracked his mind whenever he recalled those lifeless eyes.

I might as well have killed him… I shudda just let ‘im go. I shudda just never opened the door… or I could've left a note… or damn… there were so many possibilities. Ed’s wrinkles had deepened, his black skin was weathered and dusty and all his bones ached. 20/20 hindsight… hot damn.

The tired old shopkeeper let his hand fall on the wall of wind that separated him from the island, the bridge, the coffin and the body of his only friend. He felt anger bubble within as he recalled the man who had put him there. The man who had sealed off the grave. The damn man who couldn’t admit he made a mistake. Prick… one day McCarthy! I’ll kill you with my own hands! Ed clenched his fists and walked off.

He took his time, meandering through the woods, his feet leaving soft imprints in the cool earth. He saw a particularly beautiful patch of flowers, and with a soft sigh, made his way over. There were a bunch of Gerbera Daisies, orange, yellow and red. Their fragrance was light and sweet. He thought of his wife and smiled. His wife was getting more wrinkles, but she was still beautiful — mortal that she was. Edna was more worried about his increasingly dangerous lines of work — with good reason — rather than her impending mortality. Maybe he should pick her some flowers, to ease the tension between her brows. He stooped down and began eclectically picking flowers, only the finest and best smelling. As he was picking flowers something bright red, in the back of the patch, caught his eyes.

Eh? What’s this? It’s a Bloodwart Mushroom! Hmmm… it’s a Green Grade… Hehehe… anything not White Grade is worth it! This might help Oz… the poor lad. Ed allowed a warm expression to run across his face. He quickly stuffed the mushroom into his bag and arranged the bouquet in his hand and quickly started making his way to the house, a small smile on his face. Family… without my family…

Edna puttered around the house, there was a massive pot simmering on the stove. Stew. The breakfast, lunch and dinner of champions — and the Amish. When you had a big family, substance was always sacrificed for quantity. She reached into cupboards and shelves, grabbing spices, herbs and seasoning — and dusting them in after a taste. She took another taste.

“It needs more onions…”

“What was that Mom?”

“Onions dearie, onions… the stew needs more onions. Would you grab me a bag?”

“Ah, of course.”

The small patter of feet grew more distant as a small figure left the room and the creaking of stairs was heard as those little feet made their way to the pantry. Edna smiled to herself.

“What a good lad,” she murmured. Of all her kids, he was the best to have around the house. He was polite. Quiet. Obedient. But, he lacked the passion and excitement of a typical 5-year-old, sometimes he even seemed depressed — almost dead. She shuddered, she dipped a finger in the soup and popped it in her mouth. Her curvy lips bunched in a knot as she pursed them thoughtfully. The mouth watering scent was stronger than the not quite mouth watering taste. 

Perhaps a dash of fresh parsley? Hmmm. Edna eyed the bubbling stew and glanced to the highest cupboard in her kitchen. Damn Psyker thinks it’s funny to just float up ingredients to the hard to reach places. With a huff she went and grabbed a stool from the table, set it down with a plunk. She gathered her apron in one hand — ensuring it wouldn’t dangle into the soup — and stretched to the topmost cupboard, but her fingers were just shy. She gritted her teeth and stretched again, this time on her tiptoes. With a triumphant cry the cupboard swung open but then she felt a sudden drop in the pit of her stomach. She was about to fall. Her eyes saw the fresh bunch of parsley, laughing at her as she started to tumble.

Oh no you don’t! With an expression laden with bloodthirst, her hand shot out and swiped the fresh bunch of parsley from the cupboard. A smile wreathed her face, touching the wrinkles at her eyes. Victory! She felt her gut clench as she lost balance.

“MOM!”

She heard a small voice cry out and little feet storm towards her and then the dull thud of a bundle of onions frantically dropped to ground. Like the onions, she fell to the floor.

“MOOOOOM!”

She felt a small arm catch her, then give way under her weight as she barrelled into the body of her 5-year-old. The small body tangling with hers and after a short roll ending up on top — as they smashed into the cupboards. She opened her eyes to smile at the figure of her boy, he seemed a little dazed, but otherwise unharmed. But her smile turned to a look of horror as the pot of soup came barrelling down.

She screamed.

“Git! OUT!” A ripple of psychic energy barrelled out from the door and both the pot and scalding hot soup splashed and clattered against the wall. Ed darted into the house and rushed to his wife and son. Edna stood up to hug her husband, almost shaking with fear. But the boy whimpered as Ed approached and hid himself behind Edna.

“Boy, don’t you hide from your Papa after he just saved your girly skin!”

“It’s okay Edna… I think he’s still afraid of me — after he saw me kill that man.”

“But baby, you saved his life!”

“Boy duddn’t understand that kind of thing… he was like 3.” Ed helped his wife up and straightened out his back and then awkwardly made his way to the table and sat down. Ed closed his eyes and lifted the stew off the ground, opened a window and sent it outside. He then lifted the pot and set it on the stove — after extinguishing the fire.

Edna smiled at her husband and put her hands on her hips, “Well… now I got to make another stew…” She glanced at her boy and wagged her finger, “You thank your father for what he did, okay? I’ll call on you when I need you to get ingredients. It’s not good for you sit around all day all glum.” The boy's clear eyes locked with hers for a moment, Edna did a double take every time she met those eyes. They seemed deep and rich. Full of emotion but devoid of life. The boy soon nodded. Happy with the his nod of assent she bustled off to remake the pot of stew — mumbling under her breath about it all the way.

The boy walked over to the table. He pulled himself up onto a chair and looked sullenly at the floor — refusing to make eye contact with Ed. Ed flashed a toothy grin. The boy didn’t react. Ed pulled out a pipe from his pocket. Reached in and pulled out a bag of tobacco. Cherry. He took a pinch. Stuffed his pipe. Put it in his mouth. Lit a match and held it above the pipe and was about to take a deep draw when he noticed a pair of soft brown eyes staring at him reproachfully. He felt his chest tighten. That look was too familiar. McCarthy’s voice sounded in his head. It creeps me out whenever I see that kid. At moments like this, Ed could emphasize with McCarthy. He extinguished the match. And put the pipe down.

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“Next to Edna, you’re my greatest weakness boy… I don’t know why I care for you so much.”

The boy seemed to back away.

“Haha! Not like that kid, I may be a eunuch but I still like giving it more than I like taking it.”

The boy’s face wrinkled.

“Don’t give me that… hehe… I got something for you.”

The boy flashed Ed an inquisitive look. He rarely spoke when interacting with Ed, Ed didn’t understand why… but he’d almost never heard the boy’s voice. In fact… had he ever heard the boy speak? If he did, he didn’t remember.

“Ta-da!” Ed pulled out the Bloodwart Mushroom and smirked in a self-congratulatory way when he saw the boy’s excitement. “I’m gunna make this into a concoction for you!”

The boy’s face balked with incredulity.

“What you don’t think your old man can do it? Ha! I suppose it is Green Grade… wouldn’t want it to go to waste… Meh! I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll give it to Eleazer, he owes me a favor after all.”

The boy’s face looked even more incredulous.

“What you think I don’t know Eleazer, the Head of Alchemy? Hmph… what do you know. Your old man’s a spy! A really important spy, he knows a lot of people. Wait how do you know who Eleazer is?”

The boy looked confused.

“Hmph… suppose you never said you knew him… alright. Point for you. Oh, hey… did McCarthy send me…”

The boy produced a pouch with 1000 spirit stones in it and handed it to him along with a note. Ed took the pouch and stashed it, he took a glance at the note and crumpled it up and floated it to the fire with his mind. Ed looked at the boy and said, “Wanna bring me an apple?”

With a bow, the boy inclined his head, hopped off the chair, grabbed an apple and started walking back. When the boy was halfway back another apple zipped through the air and landed in Ed’s hand. The boy’s little face bubbled with fury, his expression contorted with an anger that only made him look comical. Ed took a bite out of the apple and laughed heartily.

“Psychic powers are the best… I hope… you keep working hard… in time, I’m sure some potential will show itself.” Though initially a happy statement the closing note was rather sad. The boy’s face was melancholic. He sat on his chair and ate the apple. Ed tossed him 5 spirit stones.

“Your allowance, for helping the Missus… go play.” Ed looked at the boy.

The boy was smiling. His white shirt draped down past his knees, almost obscuring his grey pants. The rope sandals he wore on his feet — which he made himself — added a splash of blonde to his appearance. One arm held half a bright red apple and the other arm was missing in its entirety, all up to the torso — letting one sleeve of his tunic dangle loosely. A black rope belt around his waist accented his slightly chubby form, dimples on his cheek, clean black hair, soft brown eyes and beige skin cut him quite the adorable figure. He looked like something out of a story of knights and princesses, a minor role only though. Something like the small little stable boy or something or other. It’s such a shame. Ed thought sorrowfully.

“Oz, go play.” Ed repeated himself, more firm this time. “I have two babies to fetch from school in an hour, you can come with me if you go play.”

The boy got off the chair and walked outside the back door. Ed sighed. Kid’s like allergic to sunlight… Pulled out his pipe. Stared at it. Shook his head. Put it away and went to finish tidying up the spilled stew.

Oz walked up the hill behind his house, his rope sandals, insufficient to protect his toes from the rough blades of grass that cut at his feet. Ed’s house was at the edge of the town near the sect. Around the town was an expansive forest and at the entrance of the town was a deep canyon and a highway. The sharp turns and cliffs of the canyon rippled into hills and grassy knolls that provided a natural protection to the school town. Ed’s house was at the north end of the town and from the tall hill behind his house you could see almost everything. You could see the bustling market, the busy road, the birds, the trees and in the distance, off to the west — the school. Oz liked this spot. It warmed his heart for some reason. The sunlight was warm and comforting. He loved the sun. But he still burned very easily. And he’d much rather just lay in the sun than do anything else. He lied down on the hill and looked back at the house. The sound of cicadas purring and the smell of grass filled his nose and ears. The soft caress of the wind on his body and the sight of the clouds filled him with a strange feeling. A feeling altogether alien to a typical five-year old. Nostalgia. A memory flashed in his mind, a memory he tried to suppress. But one he could not ignore.

It was two years ago, at the time he was three. It was a stormy and rainy night, Ed had rescued him and taken him in. Oz had been living at his house for about a week. The young boy had just started to fit in with the family and Ed’s twin daughters adored him. But all was not as it appeared. Oz was biding his time, despite all that Ed had done for him, he planned to kill the man and gut him like a fish. He couldn’t explain this desire that he had, just that it was how he felt. Like a dark hand clutching at his mind, it guided him like a puppet on a string. Kill Ed! It screamed at him in his mind, over and over again. He would fantasize about the man’s death, he saw blood, guts and gore. He wanted to dance in the bloody puddles and let the rain fall on him. Revenge was the all-consuming thought in his little mind.

He couldn’t quite understand why he wanted revenge, his toddler sized mind was unable to process the vast memories that roiled through his brain. All he got were impressions and strong emotions. Hatred. Betrayal. Hurt. These fueled his desire for revenge. And a cunning plan had hatched in his tiny brain. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew, on a rainy night, Ed would sleep well. Lightning never woke him and his wife. He didn’t know how he knew that a knife to the throat would kill the old man. He didn’t know why he knew that the sternum would get in the way of a stab to the chest — or even what a sternum was. He didn’t know why, but he knew that this was his chance and this was what he must do to succeed.

That night, he rolled out of the little cot that Ed had put for him in his bedroom and slowly opened the door. A couple oil lamps gave a dim light to the hall, more than enough to safely move around. Most of Ed’s kids had moved out by now, only the twins: Lilywyn and Gwen, lived at home. Both were fast asleep in the room next door. His little feet, more co-ordinated than an ordinary three-year-old, silently stepped across the floor. He was careful, his posture slightly off due to the lack of an arm, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He snuck down the stairs and into the kitchen. He rummaged around and found what he was looking for. A long, sharp knife. Da Shan gripped it in his right hand, his only hand and made his way carefully back up the stairs. He snuck back in the room, careful to not make a sound. His hand was sweaty on the knife, but some foreign strength steadied him. Cracks of lightning and peals of thunder sounded in the night, but he was not shaken. A ghostly memory reminded him that he knew how to do this, that he had done this many times before. His hand clenched the blade. He pulled the stool from beside the bed and stood on it. He extended his hand over Ed’s throat. The soft breathing of the frail old man echoed in the room and was interspersed with the crackles of lighting. The sheets were sticky with sweat and Ed tossed and turned fervently. Oz waited for the elderly man to stop thrashing so he could get a clean cut. Ed stilled. Oz leaned forward to deliver the death stroke.

Then his little ears heard a soft whisper.

“I’m so sorry Da Shan… for my… for my… family.”

Oz’s little heart clenched, he didn’t know why but it compacted in his chest. He ignored it. He steeled his resolve and leaned forward again.

The creak of the door startled him and with a flash he hid the blade behind his back and faced the now open door, light from an oil lamp illuminated the hall and a small girly face peered at him in the dim light.

“Oz… I’m scared…”

It was Lilywyn, her frightened eyes glued to Oz’s form. Over this week and over many naps they had grown close together. He felt a strong love for the girl that he could not explain with his little mind, a strange emotion, an emotion that was almost fatherly. Then it hit him so hard he almost fell from the stool. Pain. Intense emotional pain. The thought of her being without a father. The thought of killing the beloved child of a Dad. It hurt him. Like a brick in his chest. Oz let a small gasp escape his tiny malnourished form. He gritted his teeth and whispered, “Close your eyes Lilywyn.”

“I scared… it’s dark… I…”

“Close your eyes Lilywyn.”

Little tears welled in her eyes, the water threatened to burst, but then Oz softly whispered, “Close your eyes Lilywyn… when you open them… I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” She reluctantly closed her eyes. Once her eyes were shut Oz hopped down the chair, landing softly, he gently placed the knife under the bed and out of sight. He quickly walked up to Lilywyn and embraced her with his arm — just as she opened her eyes.

Crack!

“Wah! Wah!”

A flash of lightning darted across the sky, followed by the crack of thunder and Lilywyn’s crying. Edna stirred in the bed, sitting up, her sleepy voice calling out, “Baby girl, what are you doing here?”

“Moooom!”

“Shush child, come here!”

Lilywyn tore herself from Oz’s hug and bolted to Ed’s side of the bed, unable to climb up. Oz came behind her and gently helped her onto the chair and then into the bed. The little girl had just finished worming herself into the bed when Gwen walked in the door, her soft voice calling out.

“Moooooooom!”

Ed stirred, and called out, “What’s that pudding? You want some gum?”

“I! WANT! MOM!” The toddler tirade tore through the night, setting off a series of wails from Lilywyn that startled Ed. He yelped, his psychic powers instinctually activating near him, rumbling the bed stand, rocking the chair and the knife hidden under the bed. The knife moved as if alive. Knocked into the air by the force of Ed’s mind blast it barrelled its way towards the toddler. Ed’s eyes couldn’t see the danger, but little Gwen’s eyes went wide as knife and flesh met at an unfortunate angle. Steel pierced skin and the girl screamed in horror, as she saw life blood pour out of a body and onto the ground. With a thump Oz’s bloodied form fell to the floor, he had jumped in front of the knife, saving little Gwen. The knife had pierced him, sticking into his heart, and he wallowed in a puddle of blood as the shouts and screams of Ed’s family filled the night.