"When we are young and bold, we all want to grow up, to be able to make our own choices. And when we are grown, we want our youth and innocence back-that time of wonder, when you could make any mistake, for you knew it mattered not. But then, men always want what they know they cannot have..."-Zharweyn the Grim;

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'Xary? Xary, come downstairs! We need another server!' Mherran's voice was loud and carrying, as always. I'd once told him he should have become an announcer rather than an innkeeper. He'd laughed and said he preferred talking to people, rather than at them. At least this way, he could learn about them and say what he wanted to, rather than what he was paid to. I'd appreciated his honesty and wished nothing would disturb his quiet life.

So, of course, something happened. As it always does, when I am present. I hoped that it was not my fault this time. Wouldn't want to skip island this soon. According to the foresser that frequented the Green Grin, the island had some three years before it was sunk by a wave or levelled by an airquake. That was why nobody had bothered naming it since it was settled five years ago. No use growing attached.

I sat up, putting down the ledger and covering it with a cloth- wouldn't want somebody breaking into the room and getting creative. Again. Working as the Grin's accountant was comfortable enough and the pay was good. Sure, everyone looked at me askance when I started taking about expenses, but I survived.

I wondered what had happened that Mherran needed me as a server tonight. I had helped out in the kitchen before, when I had needed more money, but I'd only worked in the inn itself a few times, usually when someone was sick or drunk. Something like that must have happened, as I rather doubted Mherran needed my dazzling personality to cheer up the room.

As I made my way down the stairs, I heard angry, accusing voices, including some of our regulars', though I could not make out the words. Never a good sign. Mherran was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, holding an apron. Damn, had they started throwing food already?

'There you are! C'mon, put this on. I'll try to calm them down,' Mherran said, handing me the apron. He seemed...uncertain. It unsettled me more than than the raised voices. My bluff, red-faced boss was usually so sure of himself, if not calm. Before he headed back into the inn's main room, he looked over his shoulder, giving me a strange glance. 'Watch yourself, boy. I...' he trailed off, shaking his head. 'Come on, Xary.' He entered, gesturing for me to follow.

Putting on the apron and staying behind him, in case someone expressed their joy at seeing me through thrown objects, I entered the Grin's main room, the smoky, wood-paneled place people thought of when they heard of our inn. The rough wooden chairs and trestle tables had been overturned, the food spilled carelessly on the floor. Olvhy was going to be mad at the wasted food, I knew, once he stopped hiding in the kitchen. He'd never liked confrontations, especially those that involved angry mobs.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

'There he is! Don't let him touch you, lest he twist your mind!' Said Dharrz, one of our regulars. His thick, scarred index finger was pointed straight at me. We mostly let him in the inn because otherwise, he found booze from dubious sources and made a racket around the town. He was shaking, and not from drink, I suspected. In fact, he seemed unusually sober tonight. On any other day, I would have been overjoyed, but he seemed... scared of me. Why?

'Steady yourselves,' said Ghella, the island's foreseer. She did not seem that steady herself, though I refrained from saying that. Probably would not have helped her mood. 'His magic is touch-based. He cannot harm anyone he cannot touch,' she continued.

Instead of answering the mob, I stepped forward to glare at Mherran. 'And what, exactly, am I supposed to serve here?' I asked drily. He averted his gaze.

'You wouldn't have come down if I hadn't...' and he trailed off again, moving away from me. Interestingly, he did not move towards the mob, but stood between me and them. For my protection, or was he just hesitant? Was he afraid of my Gift as well? And how had these people learned about it, anyway?

'Are you involved with this nonsense as well?' I asked Mherran. 'I wouldn't know magic if you cursed me, how am I supposed to harm anyone?' Perhaps playing the fool would help. If not...

'You cannot fool us, witchling,' said Bharro, the town advocate. And perhaps more, if he was so sure he could spot magic. 'Last week, you made Lhaan think he was choking on flies, just because he complained about your food. And he was not the first you tormented.'

'Lhaan was whining about a fly in his soup and wanted another bowl for free. Perhaps he ate the fly when he got impatient,' I said with a grin. Bad idea. This only seemed to embolden them, as they came forward, glaring at me and muttering. 'See? He admits...'

'Dissembling is pointless, Xary.' Ghella again. 'You make people experience things you once did by touching them. I know. I have seen the future where you reveal this to us.'

'And when did you dream this, Ghella?' I asked her. 'Before or after you inhaled some fumes to open your third eye?'

And that was the last straw. They surged forward, calling for my head, for my hands to be cut off and more. I raised my hands and they stopped, halfway between anger and uncertainty. An usually peaceful gesture, a threat when performed by me-said a lot about my life, really.

'Do not make me do this...' I said, looking all of them in the eye.

And then, I backed towards an open window, and jumped.