The family separated; mother and son departing for the physician, father and daughter seeking to pass the few minutes before the end of the school day with a bit of mischief.

“Would you like to have some fun?” Papa asked.

Taryn smiled up at him. “Always.”

She followed his gaze to the fountain. There the mystics gathered at the feet of the Keeper priest. In his hands was the same golden cup that had enthralled the masses the day before. She hadn’t noticed the handles yesterday; that they were outstretched wings. But that unusual sheen remained. The priest filled it with water from the Lady’s lips and prayed the Lady would show him who among those gathered were worthy enough to drink. Taryn considered revealing that the key to being chosen was to try to take the cup from the priest. She thought Papa might enjoy seeing everyone climb over each other to do it. But then she’d be breaking one of their rules.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.” Papa father hoisted her onto his shoulders and started for them. “But I am thirsty.”

“Wait – Papa, no! Don’t do this, please.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’ll become angry and then I’ll be angry and want to do something about it.” She’d had enough of testing her strength against those zealous minds to last a few weeks.

“You would hurt me?”

“Of course not. But I’ll want to.”

“Then this is an excellent chance for you to practice your meditation.”

Taryn groaned and tried to comply. Here, in the thick of the crowds, the flames were so bright that her eyes watered. She closed her eyes and kept her head down but she was too worried about her father to shut all the flames out of her mind. His blazed vigilant just under her chin. Anger flared around him from the mystics he disturbed as he stepped over and around them to set Taryn down on the basin beside the priest.

‘So,’ Tovar thought. ‘Not abandoned after all.’

Taryn added a slick metal coating to her tower walls to fortify them against the priest’s mind.

Papa stooped over the pool and cupped a handful of the sacred water. Taryn cringed as he took loud, exaggerated slurps and smacked his lips in distaste.

“Tastes a bit… sour,” Papa declared loudly.

Taryn shut her eyes tight against the mountain of shock that rose up against her defenses. It rained flaming arrows down on her and though she couldn’t stop them from hitting against her mind, she could keep them from consuming her tower. She resolved that she was not going to be shocked. She was not going to be appalled. She could hear all of the angry cries rising from those gathered around her but she was not going to become it.

“Our Lady will defend herself against the unworthy,” the priest intoned over the rising mass. “Our only task is a simple one.”

Taryn felt the priest’s flame move to the other side of the fountain. The others followed, leaving her alone with her father to suffer whatever ‘defense’ the Lady would enact against him.

“Spineless dog. I was hoping for more of a challenge,” Papa said.

“Then you should come back alone,” Taryn answered. “He’s not interested in troubling a little girl and her papa.”

Curiosity and concern pulsed from his mind.

Taryn cracked one eye open to peer at him. “What?”

“I didn’t say that out loud.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “How bad is it?”

She knew what he meant. “It was better than yesterday.” She didn’t become angry with Papa or try to take the cup.

“But not good enough.” Papa sat himself beside her. “Tell me what’s happened between you and your mother.”

A full minute passed before Taryn spoke. She thought she could remember a time when she loved her mother more than anything in the world and believed whole heartedly that her mother felt the same. But that must have been a dream; her mother had always been this way. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do not lie to me, Monkey. If you’re going to have these lessons you will need to mend whatever is broken between you. Meditation is about peace; you’ll never have that if you hate your mother.”

“I don’t hate her! She… she hates me,” she finished quietly.

“Your mother doesn’t hate you.”

“She does. She thinks the Kings made me a – you know what – to punish her. On our way here she prayed that they wouldn’t turn Nayt too. She thinks I’m a skin-changer.” Taryn could imagine having to listen to her mother’s sweetly spoken lies while enduring the silent, harsher truths. Their truce might not last long enough for her to learn to control her abilities. “I don’t know if I can learn meditation from her. Do I really have to?”

Papa nodded slowly. “I’ll speak to her.”

Taryn couldn’t believe the anger she felt in him. It was the self-same rage he’d felt when berating the Lothor Kings; murderous. It was outrageous that he could feel that way about Mama. “No,” Taryn said. “I’ll-I’ll try harder to make her love me, I promise.”

“That is not your job,” he hissed at her.

Taryn looked away from him, cowed and frightened for her mother.

“I will speak to her,” he spoke gently, “then she will speak to you and all will be right in the world.” He kissed her forehead and Taryn was partly reassured that her complaints wouldn’t lead to injury to her mother. “You need to get back to closing your mind to all these others. Don’t stop until you can hold them all off for a full minute.”

Taryn knew this was neither the time nor place to argue with her father about this. But she made a plan to speak to her mother first in the hopes of making Papa’s interference unnecessary. Then she turned her focus back to keeping up her mental defense.

Some thoughts seemed to burn fiercer than others and refused to disappear at all. Like George Smith who was torn between following his dream of becoming a soldier and fulfilling his duty to his family; and Myra Rook, anguished over her feelings for Royden Tharin, who was madly in love with her sister. Secrets, Taryn realized, burning to be told.

She set to work building towers around those flames.

Taryn could feel her father beside her. She could hear the bored noises he made and his restless twitches. So she didn’t panic when she found herself alone again in the silence of her mental tower, all flames extinguished. It wasn’t perfect; someone flared occasionally and that broke her focus and allowed others to do the same but she always managed to find her way back to the darkness.

It was during one of these moments of darkness that one of the flames burst through her guards and consumed her tower to attack her with pain and terror. She dropped all thoughts of protecting her mind when she felt something collide against her cheek. She reached for her father’s arm and cried out in shock.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.” Taryn rubbed her cheek where the pain of a punch still lingered. Whoever she’d shared that pain with had other fresh injuries and was still in danger.

She stood, ignoring Papa’s inquiries as she turned to peer into the alleys and side streets to search for anyone who might lie in the shadows, suffering from too many injuries to stand. Before she could make a full sweep, the owner found her. His flame raged and clutched at her mind and she felt something tighten around her neck. Her hands moved with his in an attempt to relive the pressure. She clawed at fingers that weren’t real. She could feel air filling her lungs but she gasped all the same. She tried to move away from the grip and fell into the fountain. Cold water surrounded her and shocked her back to herself. She took one gasping breath and water entered her lungs.

Taryn felt herself being lifted as she sputtered and choked. Papa lifted her back onto the lip of the fountain and squatted in the pool before her, pounding her back. Taryn coughed up water and mucus and bits of breakfast, all the while waving her father off – his help was needed elsewhere. She let the concerned and curious thoughts around her drive away the feeling of suffocation. She still felt a sort of dulled pressure, like her neck had swelled, but she could breathe again, and she knew where the flame had come from.

“What happened?” Papa asked. Behind him, Taryn could hear the mystics’ collecting belief that her near drowning was how the Lady chose to punish her father. Better they think that than the truth.

Taryn calmed her breathing and managed a strained smile to reassure the passing spectators. They were agonizingly slow to lose interest so Taryn turned to face the store that marked the seventh ‘hour.’ It was Mr. Finney’s fabric shop, and Mr. Finney himself was the one in trouble. She looked at her father, then back in the direction of the shop, trying to convey that something was wrong over there. Papa immediately understood.

“Stay here,” he told her. Then he was gone; off to inspect Mr. Finney’s shop.

Taryn didn’t intend to move. She didn’t want to be closer to Mr. Finney if his desperation found her mind again. But she was still calf deep in the Lady’s Fountain and the mystics were giving her queer looks. Before she could swing her legs out, she felt something warm against her calf. It was the Keeper’s shiny winged cup, and he was too preoccupied with giving her a wide-eyed, open mouthed stare to retrieve it. Wary of touching it, Taryn nearly lifted the thing out of the water. She caught herself and bent to take it.

She was surprised by the weight of it. The way it floated on the surface of the water, she thought it’s be lighter; a hollow trinket void of any real power. But it had a fair amount of weight to it – and its warmth. She’d felt its warmth through the insulation of her soaked boots and half-expected it to be like fire to the touch but it wasn’t. It was like the summer sun in the middle of a winter night; a welcomed comfort. Taryn waded through the pool to hand it back to the priest. He wouldn’t take it. He stepped away from her, cradling his hands as if they were injured. The mystics’ thoughts speculated that the priest wanted to be spared her fate. So she left the cup on the basin and climbed out of the water. She walked away with squelching steps.

Those around her gave her a wide berth so as not to get splashed as she shook herself and squeezed her clothing to drain some of the fountain’s water. Their sidelong glanced and scurrying made her feel as welcomed as Morn in the Palace of the Prince. She searched for her father and found him halfway to Mr. Finney’s Shop. She’d begun to follow him when a hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her back.

“Who are you?” The priest had come down from the fountain. He held the golden cup wrapped in his robes a wild look in his eyes. Fear, desperation; excitement. Taryn tried to pull away.

“My name is Taryn. Please, let go.”

“But you’ve hardly seen half a decade.”

“I’m almost seven,” Taryn corrected, finally pulling free of him. She saw that his hands were red and blistered. “What’s wrong with your hands?”

“Your parents,” he pressed. “Who are they? Were they part of the Maronai forces?”

“Mama and Papa are Mama and Papa,” Taryn said, shaking her head to expel his thoughts of blood in the fountain and an army of knights casting a dark shadow over a map of the kingdom. She backed away as his mind repeated the number ‘765’ over and over again. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“Please, wait.” He reached for her again and Taryn danced aside and threw a tower over his mind to keep his insanity at bay. He flinched, gripped his head and stared at her in amazement. And she felt it, his fear abating, his excitement growing. Apparently her mental towers didn’t work on the insane.

Taryn was prepared to run when she suddenly realized that something else was not right.

Someone had punched Mr. Finney. Someone had strangled him. Yet Mr. Finney’s flame was the only one she could see in his shop. There were no customers, none of his workers; just him. Taryn’s mind swam with theories to explain this. Her mother had only shrunk her flame, and Taryn herself had made the other flames disappear behind towers. Was it possible for someone to know enough about mutant abilities to block their minds completely?

It occurred to her that there may very well be a small mob attacking Mr. Finney. She couldn’t let Papa walk into something like that unaware. The door to Mr. Finney’s was closed, probably locked, and the curtains were drawn behind the glass window. Something was definitely wrong; that shop shouldn’t be closed at this hour.

Taryn turned away from the priest’s attempts to regain her attention and threw herself into Mr. Finney’s mind, hoping she could discover whether or not it was safe for her father to enter alone. She was relieved to find that Mr. Finney was no longer choking. He was taking deep, full breaths, and he seemed calm.

Then something slammed into her stomach. Taryn knew it was a punch, but the force of the fist felt more like someone had propelled a small boulder into her gut, trying to get it through to her spine. This time Taryn screamed as she dropped to her knees, clutching her sore stomach. But her pained cry was drowned out by the surprised screams of the people who saw Mr. Finney crash through his front window. He sailed over Taryn’s head and across the courtyard, colliding into a wagon passing by the fountain.

Mr. Finney crashed just a few yards behind her so she had felt it almost as strongly as he did. Her back arched away from the pain and she promptly threw a tower over the flame of Mr. Finney’s mind before he was injured any further. Samples of fabrics and lengths of cloth were expelled with Mr. Finney and they littered the courtyard like lazy confetti. She watched them fall as her aches dulled. Then she added a fire pitted moat around the tower, just to be safe. She returned to herself and rose to her feet, her body still trembling from the memory of the injuries.

The side of the wagon splintered and crumbled under the force of his impact and Mr. Finney’s body fell from the crater it created. The wagon’s driver looked on, awestruck or unbelieving; then lifted his gaze to see where Mr. Finney had come from. Everyone did.

Taryn saw more people picking themselves up from the ground. Mr. Finney had knocked them aside during his flight. She saw her father half-crouched in front of Mr. Finney’s door, his gaze focused on the broken window struggling to decide whether to enter or wait to jump on whoever would sprout from the widow next.

Taryn’s mind suffered a myriad of confusing thoughts, but most of them followed a similar logic: Mr. Finney had been punched through his shop window and collided with a cart very near the fountain. At least fifty yards separated his shop from the fountain. He had flown in a straight path, but he hadn’t fallen; that wasn’t normal. Taryn had felt the punch in her own gut, but she was certain that no one could punch that hard. No normal person could be strong enough to send a man flying fifty yards with a simple punch. No normal person could make their flame disappear. But a mutant… With telepathy of their own… With a telekinetic punch –

“Papa! Don’t –”

The door of Mr. Finney’s shop flew off its hinges and knocked her father to the ground. It flew in an arc above the courtyard and shattered against the Lady.

‘There are mutants in Damville!’

That was the prevalent thought that drove the ensuing panic. There was a surge of activity as people ran away from the courtyard. They carried Taryn with them and she fought against the wave. She also fought her own panic. She couldn’t see Papa through the legs that rushed past her and was left to wonder about what might happen to him if the mutant found him there.

With no one left to shove aside, Taryn found herself at the head of the crowd, standing where the courtyard blended into the main road. All around she could see similar crowds of people. They were huddled at the edges of the courtyard, too afraid of what was happening to get closer yet too curious to abandon the scene completely. There was blood on her father’s hands, taken from a wound on his head. Taryn moved to go to him but someone from the crowd restrained her.

“Best to wait until it’s over,” the stranger said.

A tall, thin man stepped through Mr. Finney’s doorway. He was dressed in filthy, torn rags that hung off his unwashed skin. When Taryn saw him she saw his flame. It blazed brighter than the flames she’d seen, a clear orange that was almost white.

The mutant stranger stopped when he noticed the man lying at his feet. He waved a hand and Papa rolled away from Mr. Finney’s shop, the stranger’s telekinetic push carrying him further away from Taryn.

When they saw the cruelty with which he’d dealt Taryn’s father, most of the travelers took their leave of the village. They saw his thinness as a sign of starvation, his filth as hardship. This was a desperate mutant who would push a man when he was already down. He would show no kindness to the rest of them. Their lives were in danger so they left, taking with them only the possessions that would not slow them down.

They didn’t see the other, shorter man jump out of the hole that used to be Mr. Finney’s front window. His flame also blazed white to Taryn. He looked healthier than his companion and wasn’t dressed as badly but he was just as filthy. They were both very young, somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, and they looked at Mr. Finney with disgust. Taryn couldn’t feel it but she knew that these two were like the bad mutants her parents told her about, and they were going to do something horrible.

The young men strolled across the courtyard, peering menacingly as the crowds and snickering whenever anyone cowered away in fear of them. Then the clock struck one. And a wave of terror washed over many of the villagers.

The mutants stopped to stare at the clock from which the sound came. Together, they reached up and pulled. The bricks of the clock tower ripped away. The clock tipped over and the bell followed. The people gathered beneath scattered.

Then the children came.

They spilled out with jokes and laughter that died in their throats as they noticed the stillness around them.

“Get back inside!” Papa said.

“What’s going on?” That was twelve-year-old Kirta. She was the restless daughter of one of the village’s farming families and every day Taryn shared her fantasies of the grand life she would live when she left the village. “What happened to the clock tower?”

The smaller children filed out, Ms. Elah in tow, and they too stopped in confusion.

“Get them back inside,” Papa told the teacher. “And keep them there.” She nodded her understanding and complied, shepherding the complaining children back into the schoolroom and closing the door behind them. Ms. Elah, however, was unable to keep them from peering curiously out of the widows.

Taryn felt relief from the villagers as they all turned their focus back to the mutants. They kept looking at one another and Taryn got the sense that they were communicating, each reading the other’s thoughts. She wished she could hear what they were saying to each other. Their eyes continually fell on Mr. Finney’s groaning figure. Taryn had little hope of blocking his terror from her mind. He pleaded silently for help although he knew he would never get it.

The few travelers who remained knew that there was no point in trying to stop the mutants. There was nothing they could do. They would wait until the mutants left. Then they would get back to their lives, as if nothing had happened. The villagers seemed to adapt that same mentality. And Taryn understood that there was nothing they could do to stop the very determined mutants. But that wasn’t true for her.

Taryn took a step into the courtyard and was immediately met with her father’s fierce stare. His mind flared for her attention and his thoughts filled her head.

'… do this. Turn around and run. Do not look back.'

Taryn shook her head. Yesterday he had scolded her for running and now he was encouraging it. Well, she wasn’t going to run. If she did… she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she ran.

'Taryn, listen to me!' came his next thoughts. 'You are not ready for this.'

Taryn threw a tower over his mind and took another step forward. Again, someone grabbed hold of her.

“We’re leaving.” It was her mother, pulling her back through the crowd.

“But what about Papa?”

“Your father wants you to get away from here.”

“But we can’t just let them hurt him.” Taryn struggled but her mother seemed unnaturally strong.

“No. We can’t let them hurt you. And that is exactly what will happen if you –”

“Then I won’t let that happen.” Taryn pried her mother’s fingers from her wrist and ran through the crowd before she could be caught again. She locked out all the worry and anger and fear that surrounded her and surveyed the courtyard. The first man hadn’t moved much, he was still only a couple of yards from Mr. Finney’s shop. But the second man had moved somewhere in between the two, he kicked the air and sent Mr. Finney back into the cart. When he fell, something glinted from inside the cart. The first man clapped his hands, compressing the cart and sending splintered wood showering over Mr. Finney. Swords, axes, spear heads and other weapons unknown to Taryn came spilling out and the two mutants shared surprised smiles.

The second mutant raised a hand to lift Mr. Finney from the ground. He kept Mr. Finney hovering about five feet in the air while the first man used his fingers to drag some of the swords in their direction. Taryn counted ten slow moving tips as they scraped against the stone, filling the courtyard with their metallic screeching. He raised them and held them hovering behind him, pointed at Mr. Finney.

The cloth merchant dangled helplessly. His legs kicked frantically, searching in vain for something to stand on. Whatever had gone on in the shop was obviously a lot more eventful than what Taryn had felt. One of Mr. Finney’s eyes had already turned black and had swelled to a lemon. His hair and part of his face was stained with blood from a wound on his forehead. His nose was crooked and his lip had been cut against his teeth. And that was only what Taryn could see. She could only imagine the kind of injuries that caused him to squirm around so uncomfortably.

“Any last words, Doctor?” The first stranger had spoken. He had both of his hands raised beside his head, fingers outstretched to keep the swords hovering behind him.

“Please,” Mr. Finney gasped. “Don’t do this.”

“Funny,” the first said with a big smile and little humor. “I remember asking you the same thing. Now, what was your reply?” He paused in mock consideration and beamed his feigned realization. “Oh, yes. I believe you said: I’m sorry, but I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” His sneer returned as he pulled his hands back slightly. “Good bye, Doctor.”

Taryn was already racing across the courtyard when the first man threw his hands forward, releasing the swords to fly directly at Mr. Finney. She launched into a front flip, using her swinging hands to redirect some of the swords into the ground and her landing feet to do the same with the rest.

The swords were lodged into the stones of the courtyard near the second stranger.

“Hey! Pay attention, Broden!” He turned around to face his partner. “You could have killed me!”

“Shut up.” The first man – Broden – raised a finger to silence the other. He had his eyes on Taryn. “It looks like somebody wants to play hero.”

Taryn felt all the eyes in the courtyard fall on her before the remaining travelers started leaving as well. Apparently the only thing worse than loitering near a mutant’s dispute with others was doing so near a mutant’s dispute with another mutant.

Taryn didn’t know what Broden had planned but when he raised a fist from behind him she reflexively launched her right leg up into a thrust kick. She was horrified to see his head shoot back, his neck stretching to bring along the rest of his body.

She’d only ever trained against a lifeless doll or sparred lightly with her father. Neither presented a serious threat. Neither could fill her with nerve-wracking… energy she felt rushing through her entire body. Taryn hadn’t had time to properly pick her target so she had broken Broden's nose – which she hadn’t intended to do at all – and had nearly taken his head off in the process.

When Broden’s partner saw what Taryn had done, he let Mr. Finney fall and headed toward her. Her father had been right, she wasn’t ready for this. But she had already started it; she had to finish it.

Taryn took deep breaths to calm herself. Remember Papa’s lessons, she told herself. Don’t lose control. Think clearly. Be decisive. Act deliberately.

She noticed the nameless stranger’s hands twitching at his sides. Before they rose to do anything else, Taryn crouched into a sweeping kick and swept his legs out from under him. She rose back into her ready stance as he fell, and then allowed herself a moment of uncertainty. They were both down now, but they wouldn’t stay that way. And she didn’t think she could preempt all of their attacks.

“Their hands!” Papa was collecting some of the fabric that had been scattered on the floor. “Don’t let them use their hands!”

Taryn pressed her palms together and focused her power on their her hands. Their palms slammed into the ground and stayed pinned there. The stranger struggled against her hold and screamed angry indignations at the injustice of his entrapment, but she held fast, hoping that neither had been trained to move with their feet.

“Turn him over,” Papa called when he reach the stranger.

Taryn moved one hand to her side. Broden and his companion’s hands moved to mirror her. She shifted the brunt of her control to the stranger’s whole body. She lifted her hand a few inches and his body rose a few feet. She rotated her hand at the wrist and he turned slowly in the air. Her father pushed him back to the ground and Taryn switched control back to their hands. She released them one at a time; keeping control of the free hand so the prisoner wouldn’t be able to gain enough momentum to push her father away.

It wasn’t necessary; the man kept struggling so Papa struck him hard on the head, and he stopped. Taryn was surprised to note that his mental flame went out as well. Usually it was easier to read someone when they were unconscious. She supposed that wasn’t true for mutants. Taryn smiled despite the situation. As unpleasant as this experience was, she was learning so much.

Papa wrapped the prisoner’s hands tightly behind his back. He used another stretch of cloth to bind the prisoner’s feet, and then connected the two binds. Her father went to collect some more fabric large enough to truss Broden up.

Taryn brought her free hand down and moved the other to turn Broden over. He was hanging in the air when her mind began to flood with the thoughts from the people behind her. Taryn froze. After all her years of being careful and discreet about her mutations, she had just shown everyone exactly what she was. The travelers had all gone by now. The only people remaining were the people she had grown up with, people who had helped raise her before she developed her empathy. And Taryn was hurt by some of the things they were thinking, and whispering, about her.

She turned to speak to the crowd, looking to any friendly face she could find. “No, I’m not… I mean… I am a mutant. But I would never hurt any of you. I’m not dangerous.”

No one heard her; no one wanted to. They muttered to each other and backed away nervously. They were making plans to drive her away, to turn her in to the authorities… to kill her!

Her focus broke. She felt her elbows forced against her ribs and her arms pinned to her side. Something pushed against her back and shoved her into the crowd. She stumbled and stopped, caught herself and turned. Broden had fallen out of her control. He had full command of his hands again and he used one to restrain her arms. The other was clenched in a fist; low to the ground and rising to deliver a telekinetic punch.

On reflex, Taryn used the momentum of her turn to pivot on the ball of her left foot and deliver a side kick. She concentrated just enough force to knock him back down so she could pin him again. But she knew it wouldn’t be enough. She could see it in his eyes, the savage force behind his movement. His blow would strike her and the huddled mass behind her. Her only thought was a feeble one: if only she could shield them… But there was no way to avoid a telekinetic push.

When her bladed foot was fully extended and Broden’s fist finally up, she was exhausted and confused and he was disappointed. He hadn’t fallen on his back and Taryn and the villagers hadn’t been assailed by his reckless power. But there was some sort of disturbance in the air between them. It stood like a barrier, shimmering and transparent. The place where the two opposing forces had met, Taryn thought, each denying the other passage. But that was not possible. Telekinesis simply didn’t work that way.

Before she had a chance to think of what it might be, Broden moved, a dark blur behind it, and it flickered and faded. Its passage left Taryn feeling drained, weakened and out of breath. She stumbled and swayed on her feet as she watched Broden moving across the courtyard. He reached for one of the swords ahead of him. It flew from its sandstone sheath and into his outstretched hand.

Her father awaited him, a sword in each hand. But Taryn knew that even with all his expertise, he was at a disadvantage. Broden was still yards away and already he was in the process of swinging at Taryn’s father. He was going to throw the blade. And with his wild telekinesis, he wasn’t likely to miss his mark.

Taryn delivered another kick. She didn’t think of how much power would go into the kick or where that power would send her target. Her only thought was getting the sword and its wielder away from her Papa.

Everyone watched as Broden flew back toward Mr. Finney’s shop. They heard his body thud against the solid stone of its walls. The courtyard went silent as his head rebounded to hit the wall a second time before he fell to the ground, limp and motionless, his bright white flame extinguished.

For Taryn, it was a sight too familiar for comfort. She waited anxiously while Papa checked for a pulse.

“He’s alive,” Papa said when he joined her.

“Good.” Taryn was relieved. But she suddenly had no energy to stand or remain conscious.

She felt her mother kneeling there, cradling her head in her lap, telling her that she could not rest yet.

“But I’m so tired,” Taryn mumbled, nuzzling close to her mother’s chest. She heard her father addressing the villagers about transporting the prisoners to the nearest stronghold then asking if Taryn would be safe in Damville until his return. She was aware of their responses of the dangers of unregistered mutants, the King’s Law and the consequences of disobedience: their children could also become cursed. No one spoke of mercy.

“I know, sweetheart. But you need to stay awake. Please, love. You’re in danger.”

Taryn groaned her displeasure. That shimmering thing had sapped her strength and she needed to rest to recover. Nothing was more important to her than that. But Mama’s quiet panic would not leave her in peace.

‘Vrim gala sou shee noe.’

Taryn’s eyes flew open. She sat up as her body suddenly tingled with warmth.

“There’s a good girl.” Mama smiled, brushing the dripping braids from Taryn’s face. “We need to know if anyone here means you harm.”

Taryn ignored her mother and studied her hands and arms; the tingling was sparse there, concentrated to the spots where water still clung to her skin. Water from the Lady’s Fountain, Taryn realized. Her clothes were still drenched in it and she felt her strength return to her. Taryn had never known the Fountain to heal anyone but it was healing her!

Slowly, Taryn stood. It was the Lady’s water that had healed her so she looked for the Lady’s priest. Her eyes lit on Tovar almost immediately. He smiled back at her, looking quite pleased with himself. ‘You are the one,’ she heard him think. And as he disappeared through the crowd, Taryn noticed that his flame burned a bright white.

“What is it, love?” Mama asked, staring into the crowd. “What did you hear?”

“Later,” Taryn answered. The words she’d heard in Toavr’s thoughts were the same words she’d whispered to Nayt that morning. The same words her mother had been sending her off to sleep with for as long as she could remember. She’d never questioned them or understood what they meant, but she was curious now to know where her mother had learned them and how a Keeper priest had used them to heal her. Taryn wanted to run after him, to question him. But Mr. Lycci stumbled forward from the angry mass and called for silence so he could be heard.

“Since this concerns all of us, why don’t we put it to a vote? If it were any one of our children, then perhaps we’d consider protecting them. But since it’s her, since it’s this hideous creature, barely four feet of pure bestial malice – Och! I can’t even bear to look at it. – we should report her to the authorities.” Mr. Lycci turned his back to Taryn and raised his hand. “Who’s with me?”

No hands went up, but Taryn could feel shame and anger scattered through the crowd.

“Look at it,” Mr. Lycci continued. “Note its crimson skin. Observe its twisted horns and vicious fangs. This is not a child. This is the very picture of evil. We are duty bound, as human beings, to protect our children from it and cast this creature from our midst. The monster deserves it for all the harm and misfortune it’s caused us. Don’t be cowards, now. We’ve just seen it risk its life to save another’s. We should stop it here, right now, before it saves the life of another.

“Where is your honor, friends? We have a unique opportunity to do something good for the world and condemn this fiend to a life of helpless lethargy. You need only raise your hands to damn her to spending her life hunted and afraid. Does no one here wish to take part in such a noble cause?”

The sarcasm was thick in Mr. Lycci’s speech but the arguments stopped. Taryn knew many of the villagers hadn’t suddenly changed their minds about her; they just felt too guilty to act against her. Mr. Lycci had bought them all time; time for the villagers to accept and if not – well, Taryn was sure Papa had a plan for that. For now, though, life would go on normally.

The crowd started to disperse; many wanting their children away from Taryn, others working to make the village presentable again. Few remained to discuss how they would work together to keep Taryn secret.

“We should get you home, love,” Mama said, rising, one hand holding firmly to Taryn’s. “You must be worn out.”

“I’m fine.” Thanks to the Lady’s priest, she remembered. “Better than fine, actually. I think –” Taryn broke off when her mother’s mood changed, along with everyone else’s. The courtyard grew eerily silent and everyone’s gazes cut sharply to something behind Taryn. Taryn was pulled toward and shoved behind her mother. Her father moved to stand between them and this new threat even as Mama backed away.

Taryn battled her mother’s desire to hide to peer around her mother’s legs.

Mr. Finney had emerged from his shop, though Taryn wasn’t sure when he’d gone back in. He limped and clutched at his side. He was no longer bleeding. All of his injuries had been cleaned up and dressed. And he had changed.

When he’d come flying through the window, he had been wearing the bright tunic and trousers he usually wore. But now he wore long black robes that swept the floor as he walked. Stitched onto the left breast of his robes in faded green thread was a symbol that matched the pendant he wore around his neck, hanging from a collar of vees: a golden pentagon centered on another pentagon; each point of the outer shape held a small symbol that represented the different traits the Lothor King embodied; and at the bottom right corner of the medallion was an intricate ‘DX’.

It was a Royal Chain of Office, and though no one knew which of the King’s offices he served under, the villagers knew it to mean that they were in the presence of a man who had shown a fierce loyalty to the King and had the power to enforce the King’s laws.

Fear was not the proper word to describe what Taryn felt when she saw that symbol. Neither was terror nor panic nor rage nor sadness. Taryn had known all of these things, even all at the same time. Yet what she felt now was so far beyond any of those, she didn’t know what to call it.

Mr. Finney knelt like a broken man and touched the mutant that lay unconscious outside his shop. He hobbled across the courtyard and did the same to the other. Then he tucked something into the folds of his robe and approached the villagers gathered around Taryn. “I find it very interesting that all of you are willing to face imprisonment to keep one child away from His Majesty’s justice.”

“And I find it interesting to see a Royal Official so far removed from his protective escorts.” Papa stepped forward to meet the cloth merchant. He still had one sword in his hand and Mr. Finney glanced at it before he took one step back.

“You have nothing to worry about from me.”

“Those men called you Doctor,” Papa said. “Why?”

Mr. Finney thought for a moment before answering. “My real name is Dr. Manas Seir. I was… am one of the scientists who worked on improving inhibitors for His Majesty the King.” He held out a hand but Papa ignored it.

“You brought them here,” Papa accused.

“I would hardly say that,” the Official defended.

“They came here for vengeance,” Papa said, stepping ever closer and forcing Mr. Finney further back. “To pay you back for what you’d done to them.”

“I know what you’re implying.” Mr. Finney held a hand up to hold his accuser off. “But I never vindictively hunted and chased mutants for my research. I worked for the King.”

“You scientists are all the same. You find something unusual and you abandon all sense of morality to your perverse mission to understand it. You claim to protect and preserve life but countless innocent lives have been sacrificed to your arrogance. You treat human beings in ways that even the lowest of animals wouldn’t tolerate, all in the name of science.” Papa spat the last work with disgust.

Taryn considered her father’s words. If what he said was true – and Taryn didn’t doubt that it was – then it was another unforgivable abuse of the King’s power and perversion of his authority.

“I worked in a prison facility with dangerous criminals that just happened to be mutants. Criminals who would have been executed if not for our work.”

“Yeah? And how many of them were willing participants in your experiments?”

“These men just tried to kill me!”

“In front of my six-year-old child! Do you have any idea what that could have done to her?”

Taryn didn’t think it would be the right time to remind Papa that she was nearly seven.

“I’m sorry. I had no way of knowing that there would be a young mutant hiding here. Even if I had, I did not bring them here. They found me by chance. That one,” he pointed to Broden, “used to be one of my… patients. I met him after he was imprisoned for robbing and murdering a family of five in the northeastern counties. I met his brother,” he motioned toward the hog-tied man, “half and hour ago. A short time before they tried to kill me. Thank you for saving me, by the way.” His tone softened and he smiled at Taryn, who wasn’t sure if she should smile back.

“I’m sure you deserved everything they had planned for you,” her father said.

“Yes, well, I do prefer to work with more cooperative specimens –”

Papa took a menacing step forward.

“Uh, I meant individuals. I prefer to work with more cooperative individuals. I wanted to help cure mutants of their affliction.”

“They are not afflicted!” Papa said. “They don’t need to be cured.”

Taryn went to stand next to her father. She took his free hand and gave it a squeeze to remind him that he needed stay calm. It wouldn’t do them any good to argue with a Royal Official. And this one seemed, to her, not to be a threat.

“Perhaps not all of them,” the scientist conceded. “But I must say that in all my years of research I have never come across a subject as young and powerful as your daughter. I never knew that someone so small could produce enough secarin to throw a fully-grown man.”

The sword came up and Papa held its point at the scientist’s throat, forcing the scientist to look away from Taryn. “She is not one of your subjects.”

“I didn’t intend to –”

“What you intend means nothing to me. You will keep away from her. You will not look at her; you will not speak to her. You are not to come within two arms reach of her lest you want me to cut those arms off. Is that understood?”

“Understood.” Mr. Finney took another step back and Taryn’s father brought the sword back to his side. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I think it would be best if I escorted these prisoners back to where they came from. Several travelers have gone ahead and are likely to report what has happened here. I think it would be best if the Lothorian Guard heard from a Royal Official – such as myself – that there were only two mutants wreaking havoc in Damville. Not three.”

“You aren’t going to tell them about Taryn?” Mama asked.

“Who?” Dr. Seir asked.

“You could lose your office for breaking the king’s laws,” her father said.

“Yes, well, technically I no longer have an office to return to.”

“You discard your morals at the command of a man and you expect me to believe you would break his laws?”

“We can trust him, Papa.” Taryn understood her father’s skepticism. Anyone who trusted another more than themselves was too weak to be trusted. Anyone who shifted loyalties based on convenience was a dangerous person to place one’s trust in. Mr. Finney was both but Taryn knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

“This child saved my life. The least I can do is to ensure she does not come to any harm.”

“No. The least you can do is return for her with an army.”

Mr. Finney held his hand over his chest. “I give you my word: I will protect this child’s freedom with my life.”

“Then you understand that if she ever loses that freedom, you will lose that life.”

“Yes.” Mr. Finney cleared his throat nervously. “Well. I must leave immediately if I’m to refute the travelers’ reports. I’ll need someone to come along to help manage the prisoners. I’m not exactly in the best shape.”

‘I could go.’ George Smith’s thoughts were suppressed almost as soon as this one flared for Taryn’s attention.

“You’ve no experience transporting mutant prisoners,” Papa said. “You won’t be able to keep them restrained for two whole days, with or without help.”

Taryn gave her father a questioning glance. Earlier he was making plans to escort the prisoners himself. Did that mean that he had that experience?

“Oh, but I will,” Mr. Finney said, and opened his robe to present them with a few small phials with clear liquid. “With these.”

Taryn reach up and took one from his palm. “These are inhibitors.”

“Yes,” he beamed. “How did you – You’re a reader as well? That’s… incredible! What else can –” The sword came up again. Mr. Finney backed away, arms raised. “Understood. Keeping away.”

“You dosed them with this and they aren’t getting sick,” Mama said, looking from the phial to the prisoners and finally at the scientists. “You made this,” she accused.

“Well, of course. A scientist’s work never truly ends. But I haven’t worked with any live speci– I mean I’ve only –” The scientists stumbled over his words as he watched Taryn’s father hold the sword a little tighter. “My work has only ever been tested against secarin samples left over from my work for His Majesty. I haven’t had a chance to test its effects on an actual mutant before. But it seems to be working as desired. I’ve created an inhibitor free of unwanted side effects,” the scientist proudly declared.

“You mean, if I take this, I could be normal?” Taryn asked hopefully. “Without getting sick?”

“That was my intention, yes.”

“No,” Papa said, disappointing many of those still listening.

“But Papa, I’ll be able to stay in school and no one will have to be afraid of me.”

“They’ve never been afraid of you before,” he answered, speaking loudly so everyone could hear. “They have no reason to fear you now. You know how to control yourself. You know when it’s appropriate to use your abilities and how. You will not rely on inhibitors to remind you of that.”

“And I have a limited supply, besides,” Mr. Finney put in. “Just enough for those two for a few days, though I’m not sure how long the effect would last. I was actually hoping to present my findings to the King. With the kingdom’s resources no one will ever need to fear mutants or inhibition again.” Mr. Finney smiled. He really wanted Papa to know he was a friend to mutants.

“You will go nowhere until we’ve spoken,” Papa said. “Privately.”

“Of course,” Mr. Finney said uncertainly, his smile wavering. “But I shouldn’t delay much longer. The Guardsmen might not want to turn back if they’ve already left to investigate, in which case a traveling companion could run ahead and warn you.”

‘Let me go.’ The young Smith’s thoughts invaded Taryn’s mind once more. ‘Please, take me,’ he begged. He’d been impressed with Taryn’s heroics and wanted to help her and he was desperate to seize this opportunity to visit a stronghold and meet a real Lothorian Guardsmen. But he was having trouble thinking himself into mustering the courage to speak his thoughts.

“You could take him.” Taryn pointed to the scrawny figure of the young Smith, covered in bandages, cuts and burns. Thick puffs of black hair sprouted from his head, sweat drenched his hazelnut brow and he stood anxiously clutching a hammer in his thin hands. No one else was volunteering and Taryn didn’t think anyone else would be as passionate about this mission as he was.

He admired her now, his flame blazed brightly with evidence of that. But he might become just as enthralled with the Guardsmen. So whether he returned to warn her of their approach or whether he returned a lapdog of the Lothorian Guard, she’d sense him coming from a long way off.

“Me?” George’s voice was a hoarse whisper and he stood mortified when everyone turned to look at him.

“And you would be…?” Mr. Finney asked.

“George. Sir.” George tried to salute Mr. Finney. He stood stiff-backed and dropped his hands to his sides, but he forgot the hammer held tight in his grip and bludgeoned his thigh in the act. His eyes bulged and the other apprentices snickered but he gave no other indication of the pain he felt. Taryn clenched her teeth against it as well. “George Smith.”

“Well, Mr. Smith, would you mind accompanying me?”

“No, sir.” He looked calm and serious but Taryn knew he was dancing inside. “I mean wouldn’t mind. Sir.”

“We’ll need some volunteers to search the forest,” Papa said to Mr. Lycci. “Many people ran off in that direction; they may need help getting out. You,” he pointed to Mr. Finney, “don’t leave until I return. In the meantime, George can help you arrange transportation and clear up your… shop.”

“You’re not leaving until we get that wound cleaned,” Mama said.

“Of course,” he said. “But before I forget,” – here he turned to Taryn – “You disobeyed me,” he said.

Taryn suppressed a sigh. She’d so earnestly hoped he’d forgotten that. She knew she had done a good thing, the right thing. He couldn’t punish her for it; that was unfair. So she stuck her chin out to say so. “It is my duty to defend the weak.”

“No. It is your duty to be the strength of the weak.”

“That’s what I said.”

“It is dangerous to separate yourself from the rest of humanity like that; to elevate yourself.”

“Dangerous for a mutant, you mean.”

“Mutants have too great a reputation for darkness. If you’re to change that, you must be the strength of the weak, be the salvation of the oppressed and the hope of the hopeless. That is where your greatness lies. You must be a light in the darkness.”

Taryn didn’t understand. “Are you angry that I saved Mr. Finney or not?”

“I’m angry that you forget your lessons so easily. I don’t care that you saved his worthless life; only that you were seen doing it.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, then.”

“No, you aren’t,” he said wearily. “But you will be, after two minutes of perfecting your stances.”

“What? Why?”

“To make sure it never happens again.”

“But that’s not fair,” Taryn said. “I was only trying to help.”

“You’re right: it should be five minutes.”

She opened her mouth to protest further but her father spoke first. “Were you going to ask for ten minutes?”

She clamped her mouth shut and crosses her arms, frustrated over the way the day had turned out.

“Always remember that rules exist for a reason, Taryn. You need to be prepared for the consequences of breaking them. This had a happy ending today, but it could easily have gone very differently. They could have been too powerful for you and you could have been killed. They could have gotten angry and hurt everyone here, your mother and brother included. And it would have been your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Taryn said again, more sincerely now.

“I’ve seen how dangerous mutants can be when they’re really angry and not weakened by hunger or fatigue,” Papa went on. “We’re all very lucky there were only two of them.”