December 1894, England
Margaret felt a hand on her forehead. She opened her eyes, hoping against hope that it was all a dream. The moment her vision focused she knew her nightmare was a reality. Her husband was dead.
Tabitha Ogilvy stood over her with a concerned look on her face. “You must rise. We cannot delay any longer,” she said.
All Margaret wanted to do was grieve for her slain husband. He had fallen just hours ago and already she was being told it was time to move on. Those past few hours had torn at her insides. She’d questioned everything that had directed her life for the past eight years. She questioned whether the fight was worth such loss. Alvaro had risen to power and the followers of Akil had been forced into hiding. She, her husband, and their son had spent the better part of the past eight years moving from place to place in order to protect James from Alvaro’s people. Men and women had died to protect them. In the end, even her husband’s life was lost in protection of her son.
She had no doubt in James’s superior abilities. Within a year her husband had to search for a more suitable instructor because James’s talents had surpassed his own. Over the past eight years, James had been instructed by nearly fifty teachers. Each had been certain James was gifted. Some even suspected he may be the Anointed One, the one spoken of by the Seer. Still, Margaret would not tip her hand.
Margaret had insisted that none of his instructors tell James of their suspicions. She believed he should discover his gifts on his own. In the end, it was his father who had shared the information about the Seer’s declaration with James. Stuart found it impossible to refuse the boy-the love of his life.
James took the news of his father’s death with shock, quickly followed by indifference. Margaret was amazed at his resilience. The only constants in his life were his parents, and now at the age of ten, he had lost his father. Not wanting to show him any weakness, Margaret rose at the beckoning of Tabitha, and mustered the strength to finish what her husband had begun.
James sat alone in the cavernous hall. His shoulders slumped in grief. At ten years of age he was already taller than his mother. His long, dark hair hung in his face. Margaret approached, allowing her footfalls to be heard so as not to surprise him as she so often did. Long ago they each had perfected their silent travel abilities. James lifted his head slowly. Margaret whispered an incantation that brought natural-looking light into the hall, reducing its gloominess.
“Son, I know your distress-”
“I killed him.”
“What?” she asked, shocked.
“It’s my fault. I’m the reason he’s dead.”
“James, you had nothing to do with your father’s death. Why do you speak so?”
“You weren’t there. I killed him. I killed all of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were trapped. There were nearly two dozen of Alvaro’s men in the forest. They had cast some kind of spell that prevented us from transporting. Father said he would create a diversion and I was to run to our safe point and wait for him. I ran and waited, but they captured him. I heard him arguing with them… then they were gone. I went looking for him.”
Tears began to stream down his face. Margaret’s sympathy for her son as well as her own grief kept her from pressing him for details, from asking him why he went looking for his father when he was explicitly instructed never to do so in the event his father was captured.
“It was easy to find Alvaro’s men. So easy that I thought that they were laying a trap for me, but I didn’t care. I dispatched three guards outside with enchanted arrows. I snuck inside and saw father. They were hurting him. Then it happened.”
“What happened?” Margaret asked, more than a little frightened at the detached manner in which her son was describing taking human lives.
“I saw that he was hurt and needed my help. I tried to run to him. They attacked me. I felt this power in my chest. It burned. I screamed and everything went black for a moment. When I could see again, everyone was lying on the ground dead, including father. I killed him. I killed all of them.”
Margaret was shaking. She hadn’t been there when James returned with his father’s body, but Tabitha had. James sent messengers to Tabitha to deliver the news. Before Tabitha had found Margaret in the city library, where Margaret had been looking for a book her husband had requested, she felt it. The bond had been broken and torn from her chest as if someone had reached inside her and pulled at her heart until it ripped free from her body.
James had sat alone with his dead father for several hours. The thought made Margaret’s body quiver. Now he was telling her he was responsible for his father’s death. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.
“Son, you don’t know what happened. You cannot blame yourself for something over which you had no control,” she replied.
“I felt it. I felt the power in me. It exploded out of me like… like water from a geyser. I know what happened.”
“We will figure this out. Know this, my son. Your father would have died without a moment’s hesitation or regret a thousand times over to save you. You’ve brought so much joy and pride into our lives, and I will do everything in my power to continue his work. We must honor your father by continuing along the path he’s laid for us. Now, rise, my son.”
The boy paused for a moment, then stood with the stiffness of a much older man. He met his mother’s eyes through locks of charcoal-black hair.
“We must go. We are no longer safe here. We’ve stayed too long already, and I bear the burden of that blame. We must not be consumed by guilt. Let us be motivated by our quest to honor those who have fallen. Gather your things, we haven’t much time.”