by Aaron Hodges
No, no, no, this cannot be happening – not again!
He watched as the lightning rained down, burning a deadly trail through the marketplace. Booths exploded before its wrath, staining the air with smoke and debris. Dozens had already fallen, their clothes blackened and crumbling, their bodies broken. Gusts of wind swirled through the square, picking up rubble and tearing roofs from buildings. The rain streamed down, but even that could not wash away the stench of the burning.
Eric stumbled amidst the chaos, powerless to save his hapless victims. Falling to his knees, he watched the destruction through the haze of his tears. Lightning struck his frail body, but he felt nothing. Bolts of energy danced along his skin, raising goosebumps wherever they touched. Yet he remained unharmed.
Why?
When the thunder finally died away, a devastating silence spread over the square. Eric’s gaze swept the wreckage, taking in the burnt beams and canvas. Not a stall was left standing, and the flames were already beginning to spread. Bodies lay scattered amidst the ruin, half-buried by the rubble.
This is my doing.
Movement came from his right. He looked across as a man struggled to his feet. Their eyes met, and the man’s eyes widened with horror. Looking down, Eric saw that lightning still played across his chest and arms. He closed his eyes, unable to face the guilt, the accusations.
Noise came from elsewhere now, as more survivors rose to view the shattered remains of their lives – and see the boy with lightning dancing on his skin.
Eric stared back, his heart heavy. He had to say something, to explain, but he could not find the words. His body ached and his muscles burned but he struggled to his feet. He swayed as blood rushed to his head. Then, determined, he opened his mouth to speak.
“Demon!”
Eric froze as a man drew a dagger from his belt and started towards him. Others quickly rose to join the man, tearing makeshift clubs from the rubble as they went. Their faces hardened to grim masks, and the angry buzz of voices filled the square.
Fear caught in Eric’s throat as he stumbled backwards. He searched again for the words of explanation, to tell them about his curse, that it had not been his fault.
Because in his heart, he knew it would be a lie.
He had prayed the curse had lifted, that he might finally be free. But deep down, he had known the truth, the danger he posed to everyone around him.
A weight settled on his shoulders as he realised he could run no longer. This was all his doing; he needed to accept responsibility, to finally put an end to the darkness inside of him.
The villagers hesitated as they neared him, fear giving them pause. Burns marked their skin and clothing, but flames burned in their eyes, fuelled by the horrors they had witnessed.
Trembling, Eric stared at the makeshift blades and cudgels. His heart raced and he clenched his fists, struggling to ignore the hollow in the pit of his stomach. His ribs ached where the clubs had struck him earlier, and the bruises were already beginning to swell on his arms and legs. He shuddered at the thought of the pain still to come.
Cautiously, the survivors edged closer, numbers fuelling their courage.
Eric backed away, his courage fading with each step. The villagers increased their pace, sensing his fear. He stumbled backwards over the rubble, unable to tear his eyes from the crowd, and crashed to the ground. The shock lifted the spell.
Scrabbling to his feet, Eric ran for his life.
Continue reading with…
The Sword of Light