Taryn was alone when the darkness fell.

The Glow Blossoms in the pond brightened. Their bioluminescent glow strengthened when a cloud passed over the moon and plunged the clearing into shadow. She collected many of them into her basket. She wouldn’t be able to return for more. Regardless of what news Mr. Finney’s return would bring, she and her family were leaving Damville that night. Papa said it was safer for everyone if they moved on, but Taryn knew they were really leaving because of the Keeper priest. Her parents had been planning their departure ever since he’d come to visit them at the cabin; the day after Taryn’s heroics.

Taryn rose, and felt the warm weight of her new locket swing onto her stomach. It was a golden rose, blossomed around a clear crystal, resting on a golden disc. A birthday gift she received from her father that morning, it was large enough to cover her whole hand. And heavy; as if it were solid gold rather than gilded bronze. Her father wouldn’t tell her where it had come from but Taryn was to protect it with her life because it held the kingdom’s future.

As Taryn searched it now, she found nothing within; no secret message or king-destroying spell engraved inside, no secret compartment hiding a map to the base camp of her father’s allies. The light reflected in the crystal didn’t cure her mutations and nothing happened when she sprinkled it with water from the Lady’s Fountain and spoke her mother’s words. So she’d placed a few glowing petals in it and now the clear crystal gave off an emerald glow. She frowned at it and tucked it into her shirt. It seemed uncovering the locket’s secret would be another one of Papa tests. A puzzle she would master when she was older or come to know about when she was ready. Hopefully while she still had time to convince him that open rebellion against a Lothor King was not the answer.

Taryn let her gaze sweep the clearing one last time. She went slowly. It was so serene and she wanted to be sure she would remember the soothing sounds of the forest’s nighttime hunters. She wanted to remember the smell of clean water in the air, the feel of it dripping down her chin. There weren’t many villages like Damville and she would never be so alone again. So free.

Taryn stopped suddenly when she saw something that didn’t belong; the orange glow of firelight coming from the direction of the village.

At first, she thought it was the bonfires. The villagers all agreed that Broden and his brother could have easily decided not to leave any witnesses behind. Many of them now thought of Taryn as their savior – though some still believed she was a danger to them – and when they learned that the family would be leaving Damville they convinced her father to hold off their departure until they could thank her properly. They had chosen this night, her birthday, to light several great pyres and throw a grand party.

Then she realized that she was seeing the firelight through a forest of trees.

Taryn had practiced her meditations in this clearing with her mother twice a day and she’d never been able to see the villagers’ flames from this far away.

Her abilities must have gotten stronger.

She took a bracing breath and started to the flame. She knew that all the villagers were now gathered in the center to witness a complete demonstration of her abilities. She figured that their flames would appear to her as one until she got closer – just like in her dream.

Taryn hurried as branches scratched her cheeks and snagged on her clothes. She passed under a tree, tripped over a thick root and fell. Her arm stung. It had landed on a rock and she started in confusion as warm blood oozed from the wound when she squeezed it. She felt around for the rock and found its edges rough against her fingertips.

This was not a dream, Taryn realized. She remembered every moment of the day that had brought her here. She remembered the last-minute changes to the ribbon dance she and her mother had prepared. She remembered loading up all the miniature dolls she’d spent the last few days crafting for this demonstration, along with the rest of her training equipment and supplies. She remembered packing her entire life into the carriage. She remembered how Nayt had woken from his nap on their way into the village, crying because of Pirate-face and she remembered running back here for the glowing flowers that gave him peace.

She could follow the path of the gnarled root that had tripped her. She could trace the wrinkle lines in the bark beside her. She could smell the forest around her, feel the grains of dirt under her palms, the insect that crawled up her arm. It was too much detail for a dream. This was real. She could see the flames, but she could not feel any fear from them.

Yet.

Taryn picked herself up and started for the village again. Nayt was in there. And her parents.

She tried to convince herself that it had just been a stupid dream; that it had meant nothing. She tried to convince herself that she would arrive at the village and all would be well. There would be no wind; there would be no dark restraints. No dying flames. But it was no good.

Her fear mounted as she drew nearer.

Taryn dropped her basket and ran.

And she prayed. To the Kings, to the Lady and her winged-men, to her feet that she would make it there in time.

* * * * *

Ansel heard water flowing nearby. He felt a weakness in his limbs, a soothing breeze on his bare chest. He saw the sun just rising in the horizon, coloring the sky with its golden rays. It was so peaceful, such a stark contrast to the dream that had shocked him awake. As he lay, blinking himself awake, he noticed that something restrained his wrist. Ansel raised his hand to his eyes and found it bound in dirty, blood spotted bandages. His confusion lasted only a moment before the memories of the night before raced to the forefront of his mind and demolished his peaceful waking.

The screams, the fear, the pandemonium of the night before; they had been real, not a dream. His stomach turned and he rolled over, spewing bile into the Lady’s Fountain.

“Thank you, Ansel.” Sary had been lying nearby.

Ansel saw the thin woven fabric that clung to her face and remembered seeing her skin charred and blistered. They’d been unable to find anything that would numb the pain completely, and nothing that would last very long. He knew she was in a lot of pain and it hurt that she used what little strength she had to give him a disgusted look.

“No one else needed that water,” she said sardonically.

“I’m sorry.” Ansel turned away from the fountain. Shards of glass were still embedded in his torso and upper arms. He sat up and winced as his movement made them dig deeper. His feet were probably the only part of him that hadn’t been hurt and he placed them delicately on the sandstone cobbles of the courtyard. The courtyard itself was a mess. It looked like a large beast had clawed away most of its bricks. They now littered the fountain, rested on the other side of shattered windows and peppered rooftops. Most of the village's structures had been reduced to blackened piles of ash; others were washed in the blood of those who’d taken refuge within their walls. No one bemoaned the sad state of their once happy village. Because everyone who’d been in the village when the Council had arrived was now dead.

“You should have run when we left you at the manor. At least then I could take pleasure in hunting you down,” Sary said as she settled back onto the wide black basin. “Honestly, I don’t know why Malix keeps you around. You’re an insult to mutants everywhere.”

Sary couldn’t be more ashamed of Ansel than he was of himself. He had killed twelve people now. He’d been able to stomach the first two – even though what he’d done to them had been much worse. But he hadn’t actually watched them die. He hadn’t even seen their bodies. The ten from last night, however… Their bodies were everywhere, joined by the remains of their neighbors; over a hundred in total. They were charred, maimed, cleaved and bloodied. Empty eyes stared from stiff bodies, their faces frozen in shock and fear. Those images would haunt him forever.

Ansel had battled his darkness and lost. Again. And if he stayed with the Council, it would keep happening. He lowered his head between his knees and threw up again. He emptied his stomach but he could not be rid of his disgust. He had seen evil done and had said nothing. He had stolen the lives of innocents for no better reason than that Malix had commanded it. He had sworn himself to the will of a mad man and only death would free him.

Ansel didn’t want to die. But he also did not want to become like Malix. He could not endure a repeat of last night’s disaster but Malix would hurt his family if he ran away. Closing his eyes to Malix’s madness did not work. Claiming he’d killed in defense of his own life did not work. He had to find another way.

Ansel jumped when Malix dropped a pair of heavy trunks beside him. He looked up to see the Ordained One hobble away. Half of his face was covered in cloth strips, held in place by bandages that wrapped around his head. A bandaged hand crossed over his body and clutched at his side, as if trying to keep it from falling apart.

Ansel felt hatred and anger boil up in him and he let it spur him into following Malix to one of the barricades they had set up at the courtyard’s borders. The barricades were supposed to have kept everyone in the courtyard; supposed to have made them easier to manage while Tracker discovered why Jaret and his brother had stopped in the village and where they’d gone to. No one was supposed to have died last night. But while Malix was gone, off on some secret mission, everything just went wrong.

“Were those trunks worth all of this?” Ansel demanded, waving at the carnage that surrounded them.

“What happened last night was a tragedy,” Malix said as he turned to face Ansel. “But one quite convenient for our new plans. It will become easier from now on.” Malix turned back to the barricade and started taking it apart, pulling away dented carriages with broken wheels, splintered remains of carts and unusable wagons. He discarded the useless vehicles and moved to the next barrier.

“No.” Something in Ansel’s tone made Malix stop his rummaging. Malix turned and Ansel read a warning in Malix’s eyes but he continued. “This cannot happen again. I will not do this again.”

“And I would never ask you to,” Malix answered. “What happened last night was an accident. I should never have allowed it to continue when I realized it but you have my word, Ansel; it won’t happen again.”

Malix seemed sincere but Ansel remained skeptical. Malix was disturbingly imaginative and something slightly different or considerably worse could still happen.

“Cen was right. This is the same thing every one of my ancestors has tried. They all failed. If I am destined to succeed I will need to change tactics. I need an infallible strategy and I have one now,” Malix finished excitedly.

“Then tell me about this plan of ours,” Ansel demanded. He wanted to know what would be expected of him in Malix’s new plan. For the sake of his sanity, Ansel couldn’t afford to just go along with whatever Malix came up with.

“The less you know, the better.”

“You want me to believe in our goals, to pour myself into and care about our mission. I can’t do that if you don’t trust me to know what it is.”

“Our purpose is to bring this world to order by putting the Usurper into his proper place. You don’t need to know anything more than that. Have faith, Ansel, and trust me.”

“But I don’t trust you. I can’t trust you. Not when you do things like this.”

Malix shook his head. “It’s still too… undeveloped to give any details. We will still need to gather an army of mutants and there are still many delicate preparations to be made. But I can assure you that if all goes well, the world will never have to experience a disaster like this again. We will succeed and the world will be made all the better for it.”

But Ansel was already shaking his head. “Your idea of a better world differs from mine.” Or anyone else’s, he thought. Ansel couldn’t see how Malix would prevent disasters like last night. An army meant war, and war meant more death.

“No one will have to die who doesn’t deserve it. Not from our minds or anyone else’s hands. It won’t be allowed.”

If nothing else, Ansel could trust that Malix would always keep his word and he’d already promised they wouldn’t go around killing people because it was convenient. It was Malix’s ruling on what people deserved that kept Ansel from fully trusting him. Malix was no friend of humans and thought very little of their lives. But Malix had never sanctioned or supported the wanton murder of anyone before Dyon’s disappearance.

And there was the solution to his dilemma! It was so simple and so obvious Ansel should have realized it sooner. It always came back to Dyon.

Malix restrained from a lot of things when Dyon was with them not because of his unusual ability, but because Dyon’s allegiance was paramount to Malix’s plans. And Malix would do anything to stay on the path that would lead him to his destiny. Dyon understood that, and that’s why he got away with arguing with Malix. That’s why he’d been able to curb Malix’s more unpleasant indulgences. Ansel realized that if he wanted to stay on the Council and avoid having to kill anyone, he needed to become the thing that kept Malix’s plans together. Then Malix would listen to him and he could talk him out of deciding that certain people deserved death.

Ansel had to protect the plan. But in order to protect the plan, he needed to know the plan. And to know the plan, he needed Malix’s trust. And Malix required his.

“Okay,” Ansel agreed. “I’ll trust you.”

“Excellent.” Malix smiled with such youthful excitement and optimism that Ansel began to feel he was the unwitting parent to a moody toddler who threw deadly tantrums. “Now put all these thoughts of abandoning the Council behind you and help me make preparations for our transportation.” Malix turned back to the obstacle before him.

“I think we can afford to stay a few more days before going after Jaret.” Ansel objected mainly to test Malix’s response to suggestion. “Tracker’s sure he can find him now and the Council isn’t yet well enough for traveling.”

“The Usurper’s scientist and the blacksmith boy will be returning today. I don’t want them to find us here. A lack of witnesses is also crucial to the plan.”

“What about her?” Ansel nodded to the young mutant girl who had caused most of their injuries. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong but he knew it had started with her. Tracker hadn’t seen her in time to warn them. Malix had been too distracted to stop her before she’d nearly killed them all and by the time he’d finally restrained her, most of the villagers were already dead.

Taryn. That’s what the villagers had screamed at her and even Malix had been both surprised by and terrified of her. With good reason: No one survived a berserker attack.

Now, though, she was no threat to anyone. She was in the same spot they’d left her the night before: silently staring without seeing; kneeling in a shallow pool of blood; her mind void of thought. If not for the slow rise and fall of her chest Ansel would have thought her dead. After the immediate threat of her had abated, and all of their wounds hastily attended to, the Council had collapsed from their exhaustion. They had rested for nearly half a day and in all that time the girl was unmoved and unchanged except for the blood on her face; now dry and broken by a line of tears that made the girl even more depressing to look at.

“She won’t remember anything,” Malix said softly, almost sadly.

Ansel doubted that. Berserker mutants were treacherous beings. They were the living darkness. They were usually lower level Class Fours who temporarily evolved into single person armies in a sudden burst of power. They had no control over themselves; no conscious thought went into their acts. When they awoke, they never remembered any of the destruction they’d caused. But this girl wasn’t normal. She had exhibited power beyond the legends, power beyond Malix’s. And she had maintained a deliberate control over her abilities; she had wanted to hurt them. And when she finally became lucid again, she might remember why.

“I meant are we going to leave her here for the scientist and the boy to find? You know what they’ll do to her.” Even if the middlings didn’t kill her, others would want to. “She would be safer with us.” The girl would be a dangerous enemy or a powerful ally whether she remembered or not. Especially if she remembered. But she was their responsibility now.

“I don’t want to take her with us unless I absolutely have to. The scientist gave his word; he will not harm her. We’ll remain long enough to make sure of that but we cannot be seen.”

“But she can control her berserker episodes,” Ansel persisted. “If we can control her, it would make all this a lot easier.” It had always been believed that the world would have been a much different place if the Thousand Arm Warriors had been able to control their berserkers.

“A berserker capable mutant with a head injury…” Malix shook his head. “She’s been varn too long and her mind is mush. And what would we tell her when she finally comes out of it? If she comes out of it? No. What we need is the one who trained her. It’s too late for her.”

“Why don’t we just kill her?” Relik asked from behind them. He dragged a long broadsword behind him as he walked. It was much too large for him to lift with his own strength. But he’d grown fond of it in the time he’d spent with it. “Look at what she did to me. To us.”

One of Relik’s arms rested in a sling. His sleeves had been torn off to bandage a deep wound at his shoulder. Tracker had lost a chunk of his calf muscle and would have a limp for the rest of his life. Log had trouble breathing and any movement of her chest caused her pain. Both of her hands were bound in bandages. Ansel’s whole torso was covered in tiny cuts and his arms had been burned up to his elbows. Sary had lost nearly half her face to the flames and some of her dreadlocks had burned to the scalp; the flaming log had been the only major attack she failed to defend against. Malix had lost his left eye. He would have a horrible scar when the bandages on his face finally came off. Ansel suspected he also had some broken bones; he’d been tossed away so far, so fast, he’d landed too far away for any of them to catch him.

“She needs to pay,” Relik said.

Malix’s menacing reply came through gritted teeth. “We do not kill our own.”

“Then I’ll just cut her arms off.”

Before Relik could take another breath, Malix grabbed at him and threw him into the blockade. It gave way behind him and Relik’s sword was jolted from his grip when he landed and skidded against the dirt road on the other side. Malix lifted the remains of the wreckage – sword included – and prepared to drop them on Relik’s frightened figure.

Ansel shoved them back so they landed a safe distance behind Relik. He rounded on Malix. “What are you doing? You could have killed him!”

“I should have killed him a long time ago.” Malix pulled Relik back and shoved him instead against the wall of the bakery and began to crush him.

“Malix, let him down,” Ansel yelled over Relik’s screams. “You’re killing him! Malix!”

“He killed Dyon,” Malix said. “He killed Ram. And now he doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself from murdering freely.”

“But they were Forsaken,” Relik gasped.

“There is no justification for the murder of a child!” Malix shouted back. “You murdered children as they ran away. I will not let you get away with even thinking about harming a defenseless mutant child.”

The force of Malix’s push grew with his anger and Relik screamed louder. Ansel heard something crack. “No!” Ansel shouted. He used both telekinesis and his own strength to push Malix’s hands down and free Relik from his grip. “No more killing! I don’t want to see anyone else die.”

Malix shook Ansel off. “This is twice now that he’s nearly ruined us! I won’t let there be a third.”

“You can’t kill him,” Ansel said, placing himself between the two.

“I am the Promised Prince!” Malix shoved at Ansel to get to Relik. “I cannot free this kingdom from the Usurper’s tyranny only to cast it into the hands of monsters who would attack defenseless children.”

“Relik is still a child himself!” Ansel shouted as they wrestled. “You will not be justified in killing him.”

Malix’s anger erupted when he realized that Ansel was right. He took it out on the pile of useless timber he’d tried to drop on Relik. He sent them deeper into the village, punched violently against the doors of empty homes and kicked madly at anything that stood before him. The sight of the Lady’s fountain made him stop abruptly. Ansel could almost see the anger leave him face, hear his breathing return to normal and it unsettled him. If Malix drew peace from the Lady, if she had inspired this new plan of his… she was called the Dark Goddess for a reason.

Malix kept his back to Relik. “You’re no longer a member of this Council.”

“What?” Relik whined.

“When we leave today, you will not be joining us.”

“But… you can’t leave me here.”

“You’re of no use to me. You never have been and you never will be.” Malix walked away.

“No. You don’t mean that,” Relik cried desperately as he picked himself up and raced to stop Malix’s progress. Those resting at the fountain had roused themselves to watch with varying levels of interest and expectation. “You can’t mean that!”

Malix shoved Relik away from him. “If you try to follow us I’ll make sure you never use your abilities again.”

Ansel’s stomach twisted. Relik had no place to go. He would follow them. And he worshipped Malix enough that he would forgive and continue to follow him after Malix had destroyed his ability to move. “Malix,” Ansel cut in, trying to keep pace with Malix as he hurried to the other side of the courtyard. “We can’t leave him behind.”

Malix angrily sifted through the pile. He found a functional cart and set it aside. “You can’t talk me into forgiving him, Ansel, so don’t even try.”

“Of course not,” Ansel acquiesced. “But he knows too much about us. Abandoning him will make him as dangerous an enemy as forgiving him. More so, even. We don’t want a bitter, resentful mutant working against us.”

“But I can’t kill him. If I can’t leave him here what else am I supposed to do about him? He cannot be one of us. He’s lost that right.”

“The boy worships you. He will do whatever you command of him. You just need to be clear.”

“I need readers who know how to track properly,” Malix said, his eyes cutting to Tracker. “I need movers who are also readers so nothing like this,” he waved at a nearby pile of corpses, “ever happens again. I need mutants as powerful as her,” here he pointed at the girl. “The last thing I need is a bloomer with initiative!”

“It’s true that he may never grow stronger. But perhaps he could still prove useful. He can be trained to take full advantage of the power he has. And he doesn’t have to be a part of the Council. We don’t have to give him opportunities to ruin our plans. Simple tasks, negligible responsibilities; that’s what he needs.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“And if he messes up later on,” Ansel went on, “you can kill him then.” Ansel didn’t mean this. But if it prevented the immediate violence he’d say whatever Malix wanted to hear. He would find a way to protect Relik’s life when the issue came up again. “You can make him a footstool or a pack mule and he would be grateful for the opportunity to be close to you. Just don’t kill him or leave him behind. Please.”

Ansel waited patiently while Malix made a show of thinking about it. He already knew what his answer would be. Malix was happiest when he could predict what people were going to do. For him to have full control over someone – even if it was only Relik – Ansel imagined it would keep Malix in a manageable mood from some time. As long as Relik didn’t fail.

Malix finally nodded and turned to Relik, who had been following them. Ansel offered him a reassuring smile but Relik didn’t seem to see it. His eyes were focused on Malix, who gave him a disgusted look. Relik tried to say something but Malix forced his lips shut.

“You get one chance – only one – to redeem yourself,” Malix said. “You will not leave my side unless I say so. You will not speak unless I ask you to. And you will do everything I demand of you, without complaint.”

“I promise I won’t disappoint you,” Relik said and grinned foolishly.

“I did not give you permission to speak,” Malix snapped. “And I don’t care if you have a dagger stuck in your neck or if your head is on fire. You will not so much as flinch without my direction. Do you understand? If I’m going to make you into something I can use, you will need to ignore your own thoughts and impulses. They are useless. You belong to me now.”

Relik nodded stiffly, his grin gone. Malix gave Ansel a weary look.

“He’ll learn,” Ansel insisted.

Malix sighed. “I understand that you’ve scavenged some food from the night’s celebrations. Bring it to me.”

Relik began to step away, then thought better of it. He instead focused on the bundle he’d left beneath the fountain. He raised a hand toward it, guided it into his arm and presented it to Malix with pride. “I was going to – ”

Malix backhanded him. “Speak out of turn again and I will have your lips sewn shut.” Malix took the bundle from Relik then spent the next few minutes lecturing him on how to properly prepare everything for their departure. They needed carts and horses with room and strength enough to carry food, supplies, luggage, the trunks, weapons and anything else Malix thought would be of use. “And be quiet about it,” Malix added.

Relik’s mouth hung open in disbelief. Ansel could see that Relik wanted to protest. The boy could barely walk for his injuries. One of his arms was completely useless and his other wasn’t nearly strong enough to do what Malix was asking of him, even with telekinesis. Ansel watched Relik panic as he thought of these things; watched his silent pleading go unanswered.

“Find a way.” Malix stared mercilessly at Relik. “And try not to kill anyone in the process.”

Relik walked away to carry out his hopeless task. Ansel was hungry and weary from his exertions but he moved to help Relik. Relik was partly his responsibility now.

When Ansel looked back at Malix he was not surprised to see him sitting in front of the mutant girl. The girl had sustained a head injury last night. Malix had cleaned and dressed it before tending to his own injuries. He’d wrapped a blanket around her and had spent the night at her side. Now, Relik’s bundle was opened between them and Malix was feeding the girl with an expression very close to tenderness.

Malix obviously had a weakness for mutant children – his outrage at finding Relik and his tolerance for Dyon’s insubordination had been evidence of that. But he hadn’t cared for either of them the way he cared for this girl, who had scared him for life and nearly killed him. With her, Malix seemed almost human.

Ansel and Relik spent the next hour silently working to meet Malix’s specific demands. Ansel’s injuries quickly sapped his strength and the work became impossibly strenuous after a short while but he kept at it. The painful pleas of his exhausted body were a small penance for his crimes.

When they finally left, Ansel couldn’t keep himself from worrying over the girl. Malix had changed her bandages but she remained otherwise unchanged; her golden eyes still stared at nothing and her mind betrayed no thoughts.

She should be coming with us, he thought. He feared what would become of her if they abandoned her to the world. He knew the destruction she was capable of and the devastation she would cause the next time she succumbed to her darker nature. If she lived long enough. But the Council could protect her; that was their duty. The Council could teach her to control herself and curb her darkness.

Ansel said nothing. Malix was not ignorant of those facts. And whatever reason he had for leaving her – whatever reason he had for not cleaning the blood from her face or for leaving her on a pile of corpses – Ansel had to trust him.

* * * * *

George’s time with the Guardsmen of Valyria’s Watch had been like something out of a dream. He’d seen the other young recruits at drill and had been given the opportunity to train with them. Captain Paegur had been impressed with his swordsmanship, and even more so when he’d learned that George had had no previous training. He was a natural; which was something the Guard needed more of. That was all George needed to hear to know that he belonged in the Guard. It was all the encouragement he needed to tell his family. If only he could resolve one last unsettling issue.

“But I don’t understand,” he complained to Mr. Finney as they trotted back to the village. “If she’s eventually going to start killing people, why shouldn’t she be inhibited?” He didn’t want to start his military career by lying to his captain about an unregistered mutant.

“Contrary to popular belief, the association between secarin and murderous intent has never been scientifically proven. Considering what she's done, I think it would be best to give her the benefit of doubt.”

“My grandfather says it's best to err on the side of caution where mutants are concerned, no matter what they’ve done.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a very mistrustful man.”

“He says it’s in their nature to trick you into thinking they’re something other than what they are.”

“And what do you think?” Mr. Finney challenged.

“I… I don’t know.” That was George’s shame. He never knew.

“Well, then, what would you think if you could receive your training in the palace city?” Mr. Finney asked with a sidelong glance. “With my new inhibitor I hope to return to the King’s service. You’ve potential enough for the King’s Infantry; even I could see that. If you came with me it could save you years of having to prove yourself elsewhere.”

The palace city, George thought, was too far away from home. He'd never see his family. It was the one thing that had silenced his tongue all of these years; Damville had no stronghold. He could not become a guardsman if he stayed yet he couldn’t bear to leave. Now that he’d been given a taste of the guardsman’s life, he craved more. He consoled himself with the fact that even though Valyria’s Watch was too far away for him to make daily trips from the village, it was still close enough that he could visit regularly while he completed his training. If he went to the palace city, months, not days, would separate him from home.

But training at the palace was a great opportunity, one he would never be offered again. Most who were serious about their ambitions began their training immediately after completing their education – with a lucky few chosen to begin even earlier. They went on to become the leaders and legends of the Guard. At fifteen, George was already three years behind but Captain Paegur thought he’d shown a lot of promise. George wanted to exceed those expectations.

The Soldiers of the King’s Infantry served directly under the Weapons of the King’s Arsenal in the immediate defense of the royal family. Training with them would be a gift from the Master. If he continued to keep his knowledge of Taryn a secret.

“But then I’d be lying to the King! If she's so innocent and harmless why should she be living in secret?”

“When it comes to mutants in Damville, a Lothor will strike first and leave no one behind to answer his questions,” Mr. Finney answered slowly.

“Do you mean to say that even if she doesn’t end up killing anyone we’re all still in danger because she lives in our village?”

“I’ve often questioned the wisdom of keeping Damville’s history a secret from its children. I suppose the truth would have been an unnecessary burden. The village has enjoyed peace in the years since the war. But I should think your grandfather would have told you some scraps of it.”

“Scraps of what?”

The cloth merchant sighed. “The presence of mutants in Damville is strongly tied to the return of the Thousand Arm Warriors. Humanity’s hope lies in the prophecy of the Last Lothor but the mutants have a champion of their own. A Prince, actually. But such details don’t matter where mutants are concerned. If the kingdom learned that mutants were being born in Damville again they won’t just come for her. They'll kill everyone in the village. Where there is one, there will be more.”

“But she wasn't even born here!”

“No?”

“No. She moved here with her parents years ago.” George remembered because all the women had cooed over her like a pack of pigeons and his own mother decided that he ought to have a sister. Thinking on it now, he was surprised no one discovered what she was from the way everyone immediately fell in love with her. Wasn’t that part of a mutant’s deception? “It was only months after the queen was killed. By mutants,” he added.

“Then that’s all the more reason not to tell anyone about her. Some people take these things very seriously.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’ve studied mutants for a long time and can safely declare that we are generations away from the final battle between the Last Lothor and the Lady’s children. Mutants simply don’t have that much power yet.”

“But you said Taryn was impressive. And she’s only a little girl now.”

“Taryn is an ant compared to what the Dark Prince will be.” Mr. Finney tensed. Damville had come into view. “Listen, Mr. Smith. I’ll only stay long enough to report to Taryn’s father. Then I leave for the palace city. You need to make your choice quickly.”

Mr. Finney urged his horse into a gallop, leaving George alone to think on his offer. George was troubled; he already knew what he would do. Choices unnerved him. He preferred it when someone told him what to do. But he wouldn’t have to chose where he would train if he first chose not to train.

George began to tell himself that he had been foolish to think he could join the Lothorian Guard, let alone the Infantry. Captain Paegur had been desperate for new recruits and would have said anything to convince George to join them. Mr. Finney was only a scientist. All he wanted was to spare his own neck by keeping Taryn a secret. What did he know of a fighter’s potential? And who was to say that George would have been allowed to train for the Infantry: a phial of some magical liquid that made mutants angry but powerless? No. It was not his place to wield weapons. Crafting them was in his blood. A smithy was where he belonged.

It wasn’t until his horse nearly threw him that George ended his self-deprecation and paid attention to his surroundings. What he saw made him reign in so hard that he actually did fall. The boy rose quickly but when he looked again he thought he must have been on the wrong road. This road wasn’t choked with traffic and overwhelmed with the din from the Last Counties’ most popular destination. This road had a trail of bodies leading to a silent village.

But this had to be Damville. There was Mr. Finney’s horse, tethered at the edge of the village. There was the man himself, scrambling over a pile of wood heaped between the road and the courtyard. And there was the Lady’s Fountain, a black beacon towering at the center of it all. It had to be Damville. But it couldn’t be. That would mean the bodies around him were the villagers. And the weapons that had stolen their lives… George’s thoughts immediately jumped to his family. It was foolish of him to think they might have escaped this fate but what does a fool have if not hope.

The children, the women, the sickly and elderly; they were the majority of the ones who’d been killed on the road. Cut down as they’d tried to escape, their faces now planted in the ground. He walked stiffly around them. He could put a name to every corpse, a face to every head of hair. An unclear memory, a vague voice.

He recognized his mother among them and the sight of her mangled body paralyzed him. His mother; the one person with whom he’d shared every joyful and sorrowful and encouraging moment of his life; the one who nursed him in illness and injury and loved him in his folly; tireless; flawless; perfect and immortal in his mind; cut down by savagery.

He found it hard to breathe as he thought how she would never again defend him against the disappointments of his father and grandfather. He would never hear her encouraging him after the other apprentices ridiculed him for shaming his very blood every time he entered the smithy. Her touch would never sooth the injuries from his many accidents. She would never know that he secretly loathed her desire to give him a sister. She would never know that he would welcome a hundred sisters if it meant he could have his mother back.

His eyes burned with unshed tears and his chest ached with a maddening pain. It was as if his heart had been torn out and replaced with a cold, hard stone that wouldn’t melt, no matter how hot the rage boiled around it. He pressed his lips against the desire to scream his pain away. He never cried in front of his mother. He never wanted her to think that he was too weak to protect her.

“I think she’s alive!” Mr. Finney’s voice penetrated from within the village. “Quickly, Mr. Smith, bring me some water.”

Fists unclenched, George blinked his eyes clear. Hope gave life to his stiff limbs and he forced himself away from vengeance to do what he could to help preserve what life remained. He raced past Mr. Finney’s horse. He scrambled over the heap into the courtyard. And once there he paused. This was where most of the villagers had died. Not died, he corrected. These people weren’t killed, they’d been massacred. There was blood everywhere. The courtyard had been ripped apart and everything in sight was burned and broken.

“Hurry!”

George turned to the voice, unclipping the canteen from his hip as he followed it. Mr. Finney crouched in front of the sixth hour. His canteen was empty at his side, lying in a puddle splashed with water dripping from –

George stopped in his tracks when he saw what Mr. Finney had found.

Mr. Finney had used his water to douse the girl. Laid out before him were needles, bottles of solutions and salves, rolls of thread and clean bandages and other items for healing and mending the body. Mr. Finney had his fingers pressed against the girl’s wrist, and then held a palm against the girl’s cheek. Over Mr. Finney’s shoulder, Taryn stared blankly back at George.

Understanding dawned on him when he saw the empty look in her eyes. She was safe and alive, cooling in the shade of a Mr. Sacc’s market stall, unmoved by the butchery that surrounded her. George traded his canteen for the first weapon he could find; a horseman’s axe pulled from a sticky pool of blood. He stalked to her.

“Please hurry, Mr. Smith. I don’t know how long she’s been out here like this and – What are you doing?” Mr. Finney had turned and saw the determination set in George’s face, the weapon clutched in his hand. He jumped up and stood between George and Taryn. “Don’t come any closer!”

“We need to put an end to her, before she does any more harm.” George struggled to shove Mr. Finney out of his way but the scientist grabbed hold of the axe and George could not shake him off it. The boy stared angrily over the haft of the weapon. “Get out of my way.”

“You’re mourning and not thinking clearly. I won’t let you harm this child.”

“It’s not a child, it’s a monster!” George spat, struggling harder to get himself free. “You should have inhibited her when we had the chance. Now look what she’s done!”

“She didn’t do this!” Mr. Finney finally released the weapon. He shoved George away but kept his position between him and Taryn. “She did not do this.”

“Only a mutant could do all of this,” George waved to the bodies pierced to the rooftops, others dead from wounds too deep to have been made with human strength, twisted into unnatural frames, “and walk away unharmed.”

“She isn’t unharmed. She has an injury. A head wound that has been bandaged. She couldn’t have done it herself. Someone else was here. Perhaps she tried to fight them.”

“Then why isn’t she dead like all the rest? Why is she the only one alive?” George screamed.

“If you would only stop to think for a moment, you would have your answer.”

George was too agitated to think. He wanted to act; to hurt, to maim, to kill.

“Wait! Listen to me. Listen!” Mr. Finney shouted as he tried to ward George off. “Yesterday was the Lady's Day. Do you know what that means? Here its just another rest day but to the rest of the kingdom, do you know what the Lady is called? She is the Dark Goddess. The mother of all mutants. The enemy of the Lothor line. That this was done in her sight, on her day, could mean only one thing. The Red Purge! The Thousand Arm Warriors have been reborn.”

This, George understood. Mutants were terrible enough in their own right, but the Thousand Arm Warriors were the embodiment of evil itself. His axe would be useless against them. His anger and vengeance turned inward to sharpen and twist his pain. There was nothing he could do against the Thousand Arm Warriors.

Mr. Finney looked distressed as he glanced at the fountain then the girl then back to George. “We need to get as far away from this place as possible, as quickly as possible. Do you understand? Mr. Smith! Do you understand me? We need to leave.”

George let the axe fall from his hand. “You said this couldn’t happen now. You said they weren’t strong enough.”

“Well, I was wrong. Or perhaps not. This wouldn’t be the first time someone has claimed to be the Dark Prince. But if this really is the second coming of the Thousand Arm Warriors, a Lothor King is the only thing that can stop them. If you want your vengeance you can have it fighting at His side. But I will only bring you along if you help me protect her.”

“Protect her from what?” George couldn’t believe that after everything they’d just seen Mr. Finney would still want to protect the mutant child. “It’s us they’ll be after.”

“Why do all you fighting types have to be so dense? The Seat of the Gods is without an heir and if the King falls to this new threat, there will be no one left in the Lothor line to stand between mutants and humanity. This war will be this kingdom’s last and before it’s over circumstances will worsen for both species. This child saved my life and I am sworn to protect her freedom. But I need your help,” Mr. Finney pleaded. “She cannot defend herself in this condition. Will you help us?”

George looked at her again, really looked. She hadn’t moved. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s been hurt.”

He saw it now, the red, inch-long gash on the side of her forehead. It looked like someone had tried to smash her head open. George felt for her. He remembered how she’d fought the crowd for the chance to save Mr. Finney. He remembered how she’d doted on her infant brother when they’d left the village together that day; the three of them alone in the carriage while Mr. Finney and her parents talked outside. She’d been just as silly and playful as any child could be. And more intelligent than any child had a right to be. She was the sole reason he’d gone with Mr. Finney in the first place. He wouldn’t have met Captain Paegur if she hadn’t spoken up for him. He wouldn’t be alive now if not for her.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t think anyone’s been here yet. A mutant attack in Damville just days before the Lady’s Day might keep people away for a few more days so we need to warn the kingdom. I need you to notify the Guard. But make no mention of Taryn. You cannot tell anyone about her.”

“Is she going to be alright?

“I don’t know. As far as I can tell she doesn’t feel any pain or discomfort. I don’t think she can hear us and I’m not sure if she’s actually seeing anything.” He waved a hand in her face.

“Can she still… move?”

“They left her in the sun. I had to carry her here. But I think – Oh, you were asking about her telekinesis, weren’t you? Well, there is no reason for her to have lost her abilities. Her control however…”

“So what are you going to do with her?” George didn’t have a problem keeping her secret when she was herself. But an uncommunicative, emotionless mutant who might use her power unpredictably would be a headache. “We can’t take her with us to the palace city.”

“I know. You need to leave now and hurry back. I don’t want to spend any more time here than is absolutely necessary.”

“No. I want to bury my family first. And everyone else.” The pain and grief clutched at his heart as he thought of saying good bye to his family, his life. But he swallowed the angry tears. Their lives had been taken in anger; he didn’t want to bury them that way. “We can’t leave them like this.”

“We have to,” Mr. Finney said somberly. “Whoever did this might return and the Guard will need to see this for themselves. Now, Mr. Smith,” he urged when George didn’t move or respond. “I’ll meet you back here in a few days.”

George felt alone. His family was gone, his home destroyed, and he was the only one left to mourn them. He turned away, then back. “What are you going to do with her?”

“I’ll protect her freedom.”

George didn’t have the time to probe that answer so he just hurried away. He hadn’t had time to find his father or grandfather. After seeing his mother he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He preferred to remember them as they’d been when he’d last seen them, wishing him a safe journey.

He preferred to remember everyone that way.

* * * * *

Dr. Seir did not completely disagree with the young Mr. Smith. He did not doubt that someone else had been there. Yet…

He had seen and heard much of the damage berserkers left in their wake and he was certain that this mutant child was responsible for Damville’s destruction. It was Lothor law that berserkers be put to death. However…

The varn state that followed a berserker episode was only supposed to last a few hours. The bodies of the villagers had expired the night before so Taryn had been varn too long. The scientist wondered why.

“I am sorry,” Dr. Seir said, retrieving a syringe from his pack. He'd promised to protect her freedom, but that was something she could never have. Not after this. “This will only sting for a moment. Then you will not feel a thing. Please don’t kill me,” he added.

Then he stuck the needle into her chest and pressed down on the plunger.