Bearing The BloodMature

A soiled finger slapped against his cheek and he swung his arm to ward off the old man, though it hit nothing but air. “Get the hell away from me you crazy coot.”

“This isn‘t all your blood.”

“Don‘t ever touch me!”

Laughter again. “Or what? Are you going to do whatever it is you did for them to bring you here? Unlikely. I felt it from here. That was pure rage. Probably the single moment of true power you‘ll ever have pass through your hands.”

“Where are you?”


He sighed, “Why do I even bother?” He couldn’t help noticing that the sound of the man's voice did indeed seem to come from everywhere at once.

There was silence again. The man was sore from the beatings, and from having been dragged by the horse from his home in the countryside. He was exhausted from fighting against his captors and the ropes that bound him. In that moment his eyelids began to feel heavy. Suddenly terror struck him and he shook his head, fearing what would happen to him if he were to fall asleep. He realized he couldn’t stay awake forever, and the fear grew greater in his chest, like a stone plunging into his stomach. To stay awake he had to think. The future was uncertain and the past was a searing beacon of anger, if he would have manifested it in the well, even the light escaping its capped mouth would have outshone the sun. There was nowhere else to go in his mind but back to the events that had just occurred. He shook his head in disbelief, thinking over the moments.

Only hours ago he was with his wife, in his home, all was normal. He shook his head again; not all was normal, but the outlook was far better than what it seemed in the well.

The war had finally reached his home, a farmstead along the river Bascan. He wanted nothing of it, but the fighting and plague from the mounting dead had pushed the mischievous of Endrist city far north, past the Bascan and into the farmlands. Looters had been spotted and it had become clear that they were headed his way. His wife was to hide in the cellar, behind the casks in a hidden room, while he fought off the intruders. It was as good a plan as any.

Before he knew it, the bandits were at his door. It took them time to break through, and in those precious moments he hid her away in the cellar to come back up with sword in hand. The fighting was savage, with rage fueling every blow. The bandits' will to press forward broke early, they didn’t expect so much fight from a simple farmer. They carried their wounded and left the dead. He returned to the hidden place in the cellar and pleaded for his wife to leave with him, but this was her life and she wouldn’t have it fall into the hands of rioters and miscreants. She was stubborn and he loved her for it. He promised he’d protect her at all costs, and didn’t push the subject further. She had made up her mind.

The End

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