July 1896, Portugal
You’re correct, Margaret, the boy does have exceptional abilities,” Tabitha Ogilvy said.
“There is concern in your voice. Speak your mind,” Margaret replied.
They stood in a multi-windowed kitchen. Morning light filtered through, casting long shadows on the stone floor. A large, black tea kettle hung from the lug pole over the fire. The intoxicating smell of cooking bacon found its way into the nostrils of everyone in the small house.
“I believe he has put up a wall, so to speak. Any combat-related skills I try to teach him he is refusing to learn. Not outwardly refusing, but I can tell he is resisting. I think he still blames himself for his father’s death and as a result he thinks more harm will come to others he loves if he lets his powers get out of control again.”
“You are most perceptive, Tabitha. I will speak with him,” said Margaret.
“Thank you. I must go into town and pick up some supplies. Is there anything you require?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well, good day.” Tabitha walked through the doorway toward the exit in the back of the house.
Margaret sat on a small wooden chair beside the fireplace. She allowed a weary expression to take hold of her face. She had known James had internalized his fears and blame for his father’s death. She had repeatedly tried to talk with him about it, but to date, he’d been very obtuse about the matter.
Every time she thought about that day, the day her bond was broken, the day James returned and told her Stuart had died, her heart ached. Not only for her lost husband but for her son as well. He was nearly fourteen, and had made hardly any progress with his studies. The burden of blame is a heavy one, especially for someone who is not yet a man.
As far as she was concerned, there was only one person who needed to be blamed for her husband’s death-Alvaro. He’d continued his rise to power since that day they had met at the temple and was now Master Elder Ameriketako, one step from complete control of the council. He had shown no indication that he had even played a part in her husband’s death, but she knew it was him. She knew he had ordered those men to capture James and her husband. Regardless of how he had actually been killed, none of it would have happened if Alvaro hadn’t sent the order for their capture. He was the killer, not James, and he would pay for what he’d done to her family. Margaret swore to it. She had sworn to it every night since her husband’s death.
She realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. She sat up from her exhausted slouch and wiped them away.
“Mom?” James said, standing in the threshold.
“Good morning,” she said, gazing into the fire in hopes he didn’t notice. “Tea?”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay, son. Just thinking about your father.” She smiled. His face turned cold immediately, and she could see the guilt in his eyes. Every time she had shown her grief to James, his own guilt appeared to resurge as if his father had died all over again.
“James, sit down. We need to talk.”
James could tell by the look on his mother’s face what was coming. He’d heard it before and would probably hear it again. He sat and quietly waited for his mother to begin.
“Mrs. Ogilvy says you aren’t progressing like you could be. I see it as well. Why do you think that is?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t know,” James replied, as he had so many times before. The question was different but the underlying meaning was always the same. Even at thirteen he was able to see that.
“Do you want to know what I think?” she asked, looking deep into his blue, forget-me-not eyes. He didn’t respond. “I’m going to tell you whether you want to know or not. I think you’re holding on to guilt so tightly that it has become fear. You are afraid you will hurt someone else just like you believe you hurt your father. Is this true?” she asked. Again James didn’t respond.
“This is exactly what Alvaro wants, James can’t you see that? You will never become what he fears more than anything if you continue to hold on to this guilt. Not only that, but whatever power you weren’t able to control that night will remain out of your control for the rest of your life. If that happens it is more likely that someone you care about would be hurt again. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
James nodded.
“I miss your father. I miss him every day.” Margaret could see James wince when she said it. She could see her words had not gotten through to him. “I do not blame you for your father’s death. I never have. There is only one person who bears the guilt of his death. That person is Alvaro. One day you will be strong enough to defeat him. When that day comes, we won’t have to live in hiding any more. James, I’m telling you if you don’t let go of your fear and guilt that day will never come. Alvaro will remain in power, you will be just another boy and your father will have died for nothing.”
“Don’t you see, boy, all of us, the people who surround you, who protect you, we all believe that day will come. We are happy to die if need be to ensure that it does. All of those sacrifices will be for nothing if you cannot get past this. It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to be angry. What’s not okay is to allow those feelings to repress your abilities. Use those emotions to embolden them. It is up to you to decide. If you continue on your current path, you will achieve nothing but more hurt, more pain, and more guilt.”
James was hearing what his mother was telling him, but he was having a difficult time processing it. He was afraid of hurting someone else… of killing someone else. But how can you just turn that off? That fear of loss resides in the hearts of all children. And then there was Alvaro. His mother made it a point to regularly remind him that he was to blame. James had a difficult time harboring any anger for the man. He had been very kind when they had met at the temple not long ago. Despite that, everyone around him says the opposite. He wants to make his mother happy and proud. Bearing this burden of overthrowing Alvaro, of making a difference in the world, was a burden he often wished he never had to bear. He longed for a normal life with friends and school and a home. Hearing this from his mother made him wish he could crawl back into bed and sleep everything away.
“You carry a heavy burden, James. You have almost your entire life. Part of me wishes that could be different for you. Remember, all of us have expectations for our lives. Some are greater than others. We carry these with us until we’ve seen them through or until the day we die. Don’t let yours be a weight. Let them lift you. Believe in yourself. Believe you can accomplish more. Even more than others believe. Go with confidence and strength. If you do this, James, you will become more than you ever could have imagined. You have two choices, son. You can let these feelings, the guilt, the fear, the weight of expectation drag you down and be nothing or you can let them lift you up and be more than anyone could possibly fathom. It is up to you, son. I’ve taught you never to give up. Your father taught you never to give up. The decision is yours.”
With that, Margaret quickly stood and left the room. James stared into the fire. How can I be more than what people already expected of me? he wondered. His head was swimming. Part of him wanted to run away, to rid himself of all of this. The prophecy, his father’s death-he wanted to leave it all behind and never have to think about it again. He stood, having made up his mind.
He walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward the room where he slept. He stopped outside the door to the room where his mother had retreated. He knocked. She opened the door, red eyed. He could tell she’d been crying.
“I’ve made my decision,” he said. Margaret stood, waiting for more but more never came. The troubled-looking boy turned and went into his room.
Later that morning, Tabitha Ogilvy returned. Margaret discussed the conversation she’d had with James briefly then went to get James from his room so he could start the day’s lessons. She stepped inside his room and for the second time in her life, her heart felt as if it had been torn from her chest. James was gone.