| By: Jason Atwood |
The next few weeks were filled with activity. Jayce was issued standard recruit gear and
assigned a bunk in the same barrack with other recent recruits. The handful of other recruits,
mostly men with a few women mixed in who were probably tougher than the men, were all older
than Jayce by varying degrees. These surly people had joined the Yellow Jackets as a means to
escape a life of poverty and menial labor.
Their main focus was on whatever would help them advance, namely ways to undermine the
competition. Therefore, as a general rule, they were not concerned with a scrawny, barely-
adolescent boy. Any rule, however, has an exception. This particular exception’s name was
Bennet.
Bennet was only a few years older than Jayce, but much taller and stronger. He had a greasy
black mullet and wore a perpetually sour look on his face. No clear reason was ever given as to
why Bennet saw the need to bully him, but such acts of cruelty are usually beyond rational
explanation. Jayce was saved from being forced to fight Bennet due to unauthorized combat
being strictly prohibited, and Bennet did not want to risk being expelled.
Overall, it made little difference. Jayce was still subjected to jeering insults and the occasional
“accidental” slap to the back of the head. However, these ceased after he caught Bennet with an
“accidental” broomstick to the groin. The overt bullying may have stopped, but Jayce could still
detect hostility burning in Bennet’s rat-like eyes.
The daily training was composed of a consistent routine of morning exercises and chores followed
by evenings of rigorous academic evaluations. It was Garren’s belief that a strong mind was just
as important as a fit body. Some exams were meant to evaluate basic knowledge on several
subjects including: military history, mathematics and natural science. Other tests were designed to
determine each recruit’s ability to quickly evaluate a situation and act appropriately.
Jayce was not the top scorer, but he performed well enough for his instructors to grudgingly
compliment him as being a “higher class of common trash.” To be honest, he was thrilled at
knowing any of the answers, since he never remembered ever being taught anything.
Three weeks after Jayce signed on to join the Yellow Jackets came the time all the recruits had
been eagerly awaiting. Over the next few days they would be tested on their skill with various
weapons, as well as their stealth and ability to avoid hazards. Jayce’s small stature aided him in
the stealth exercises, but his performance with the crossbow and throwing knives was abysmal.
The instructor snidely commented that the safest place to stand while Jayce was shooting was in
front of the target.
The final day of tests was the one most anticipated by the recruits. Not only would this day mark
the end of their time as a recruit, but it was a chance to settle grudges that had developed over the
past few weeks. On this day each recruit would spar against another in order to evaluate their skill
with a sword.
Of course, they would not be using real blades. The recruits would use wooden training swords,
called wasters, and they would be wearing padded coats and helmets for protection. Once
outfitted, the recruits were lined up and Garren himself explained the rules of engagement.
“The purpose of today is NOT to kill each other,” he said very seriously. “We’re not a guild of
assassins. There’ll be no strikes to the head and no attacks below the waist. When told to stop,
you’ll stop immediately.”
Garren’s gaze fell on each recruit as he spoke. His calculating eyes attempting to detect any
potential trouble. “Anyone who fails to follow these rules will be kicked out into the street. Do I
make myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir!” the recruits answered in unison.
The recruits were called into the training circle in pairs. They were allowed to select their weapon
and could also use a shield if they preferred. Everyone else crowded around the circle to watch.
The pairing of combatants was done based on size and experience so as to make the matches as
even as possible. Jayce wondered who he would be paired against. He was by far the smallest of
the recruits, and he had never before used a sword. He did not have to wonder long.
“Bennet! Jayce!” shouted the officer.
Bennet swaggered into the circle with a cruel smirk on his face. Jayce walked into the circle trying
not to let his fear show. Bennet approached him and said in a low harsh drawl, “Now you’re gonna
get that beatin’ you deserve, you pissant.”
“You’ll get tossed out if you do,” Jayce replied and forced himself to meet Bennet’s eyes.
“I’m done afta today,” Bennet huffed. “They want brainy, little pussy-boys like you for this outfit.
This ain’t the place for me.”
“That’s right,” Jayce hissed, his fear replaced by anger, “an inbred jackass like you doesn’t belong
here.”
Bennet’s face flushed in anger, “I’m gonna enjoy thrashin’ you.” He said and stalked back to his
side of the ring to select his weapon.
Jayce was unsure which size of waster would be best. He decided on one of the smaller ones. It
was light and felt natural in his hand. He looked over at Bennet who had chosen a particularly large
waster that he swung in both hands like a lumberjack wielding an axe. Upon seeing this, Jayce
decided a shield would be a good idea. The heater shield was heavy, but its sturdiness was
comforting.
Jayce stood across from Bennet awaiting the signal to begin. Bennet glared at him with eyes full
of malicious intent. Jayce briefly scanned the faces in the crowd. Did they have any idea what
harm Bennet wished to inflict on him? Did they care? His eyes settled on Garren and Gazali who
were standing at the edge of the circle. Perhaps sensing Jayce’s gaze, Garren turned his head
toward Jayce. His face was stony at first. Then it softened slightly, and he winked. A hint of a
smile crossed Jayce’s face. He turned back toward Bennet and steeled himself to the onslaught
to come.
The presiding officer inspected each of the combatants’ equipment, and then he stepped to the
center of the circle. He directed them to salute each other, which they grudgingly did. Then,
stepping out of the ring, he signaled for the match to begin. With a feral howl Bennet charged, his
weapon held above his head. Jayce, startled by the sudden attack, stood frozen in place. His legs
shook and his mind went numb. A chill passed through his body, and his skin broke out into
gooseflesh. How could he defend against such an attack?
Then, time seemed to slow. His mind calmed. He knew what to do. His weapon and shield felt
like an extensions of his body. The sound of his heart, the pulsing of blood in his temples, the rush
of air in and out of his lungs became a natural rhythm in a living song. He felt the nerves
connected to his muscles fire, and felt that connection extend beyond his physical body. It evolved
into knowledge of where his body existed now and where it would exist in the next moment.
Jayce’s perception of time returned to normal, and Bennet was upon him, slicing down with all his
strength. His blow was meant to crush bone and brain, but Jayce was already in motion. He
brought his shield up as he dodged to the right. The blow glanced off the smooth face of the
heater shield, and Bennet’s weapon struck the ground. Jayce pivoted his hips, his shoulders
snapped around and he tagged his opponent in the ribs. Then, he used the momentum of his
attack to spin behind Bennet.
Bennet swung around furiously, and Jayce hopped back a few steps. He shifted his weight to his
back leg, and held his weapon over his shoulder pointed directly at Bennet. He assumed a low
fighting stance, and readied his shield to deflect the next attack. A murmur rose amongst the
crowd. Jayce chanced a glance at Garren and Gazali. Both men wore the same stony
expressions, but Jayce thought he could detect more than a little worry lining their faces. He would
not learn until much later the significance of something as simple as assuming what felt like a
perfectly natural fighting stance.
Jayce returned his focus to his opponent. Bennet had decided not to attempt another charge, and
was instead slowly approaching Jayce. He held his weapon in front of him in a more conservative
fashion. Bennet may have had the intelligence of a rock, but no doubt he had been in his fair share
of scraps. He had already underestimated Jayce’s mettle once, and would not make the mistake
of blindly charging again. Instead, he would close within striking distance, and use his longer reach
to keep his smaller opponent at bay.
Jayce held his ground and waited as Bennet drew closer step by step. Suddenly, Jayce surged
forward with a savage attack. Bennet was not expecting the smaller boy to be so aggressive, and
was dealt two stinging blows before he could retreat. Bennet, bruised and fuming, would not be
taken off guard a third time. He advanced on Jayce, and the two clashed in a flurry of strikes.
Jayce bore the brunt of the assault on his shield, but the strikes were still damaging. His left arm
was numb from the repeated shocks, and Bennet had slipped one good shot past Jayce’s guard to
catch him in the ribs.
It was becoming more and more difficult to raise his shield. Yet, despite repeated attempts, Jayce
now found that he was unable to overcome his disadvantage in reach to once again breach Bennet’
s defenses. He was being forced steadily back, and would eventually reach the unyielding crowd
standing at the edge of the circle. He feinted left then broke in the opposite direction, skittering
away and gaining some breathing room.
Jayce wondered why they didn’t stop the fight now. Surely they had seen enough. This cretin was
not out to impress Garren or the officers. He wanted to break Jayce’s body here and now. Then,
Jayce realized that he did not have to depend on others to save him. He could quit now. He
could throw down his arms and leave the circle. Had he not already proven that he wasn’t afraid?
“Yeah, go ahead and run,” whispered a velvety voice. Jayce spun in a circle and whipped his head
around to find the speaker.
“What the hell are you doin’?” said Bennet pausing in confusion. “I don’t care if you are havin’ a
fit. It ain’t gonna save you.”
Jayce shook his head and turned to face Bennet.
“Where will you run to?” The voice spoke again. “He’ll just catch you, and the chase will make
catching you all the more satisfying.” The source of the voice was not someone from the crowd,
but it spoke from inside his own mind.
“Go away,” Jayce spat.
The voice took on a mockery of Bennet’s drawl, “Run little pussy-boy. Scurry scurry, but I’ll still
catch you. And when I do I’ll whup you good.” The voice laughed, “Then, I’ll leave what’s left of
you for the street rats to play with. They like nice little pussy-boys like you.”
Jayce would not run away, could not run away. It was a matter of pride, of honor. That voice
would not have the satisfaction of seeing him scurry away. He launched himself at Bennet, who
quickly parried and counter-attacked. Despite the burst of adrenalin, Jayce once again found
himself giving ground. Bennet pressed his advantage and made good use of his size to cut off
any route of escape.
Jayce was exhausted, his body sore and his breathing ragged. Still, he rallied what little strength
he had left, and he drew an imaginary line in the dirt of the circle. Here is where he would stand.
He would give no more ground.
There they crashed together. Jayce was not only able to fend off Bennet’s strikes, but was able to
unleash some vicious counter-attacks of his own. Now Bennet was on the defensive and forced to
give ground. His bewilderment was evident. Clearly, he wondered why Jayce didn’t submit like all
the others he had bullied throughout his life, but such questions didn’t matter. Jayce realized that
the time for surrender was past, and Bennet would settle for nothing less than to leave Jayce on
the ground in a broken heap.
Bennet swung his weapon in a downward strike which Jayce blocked, but this was a distraction.
The real attack was far more devastating. Bennet kicked around with his leg, and it connected
solidly with Jayce’s right knee.
There was a grinding sound as ligaments ripped, tendons stretched and bone locked against bone
in a way never intended by nature. Searing pain shot up Jayce’s body as his leg twisted and gave
way. The world swam before him, but somehow he maintained consciousness. Jayce screamed
in pain and fury, focusing enough to lash out once before falling to one knee. The desperate strike
found Bennet’s hand with a satisfying crunch that elicited a cry of pain.
Bennet made Jayce pay dearly for his continued resistance. He swung his weapon one-handed
and landed a crushing blow to Jayce’s jaw. Jayce spat blood and a few teeth onto the dirt.
Through the ringing in his ears he heard Garren shouting to end the match. Jayce turned his head
to see Bennet standing over him. He laughed and spit on Jayce, but made no further move to
attack. Jayce did not want to admit defeat. Bennet had broken the rules. He had tormented him.
He had hurt him, and getting thrown out of the Yellow Jackets was the worst Bennet would face as
punishment. Jayce wanted him to pay, wanted him to be punished.
“Then make him pay,” spoke the satiny voice. “Make him suffer.”
“How?” Jayce whimpered. “I’m finished.”
“You have not even begun.”
Then it happened. Jayce felt a burning ember deep from within his breast that quickly spread
throughout his body. His arms and legs tingled and filled with energy. The ember flared into a
flame, every nerve and muscle burning with power. The pain in his knee ebbed, and then vanished
as the ruined tissue regenerated.
Jayce growled and fixed his gaze on Bennet. The bully must have seen something in Jayce’s
eyes. His laughter stopped and a look of terror washed over his face. As the ember had grown
into a flame, the flame evolved into a conflagration. Blue-green fire spawned from Jayce’s right
hand and raced down his weapon. The wooden sword became a blazing, hellish extension of his
arm.
Rational thought had left Jayce’s mind. He could only hear the throbbing sound of his pulse and
that of the smooth voice urging him to strike. In a single fluid motion, Jayce vaulted to his feet and
brought his weapon flashing upward. To his credit, Bennet attempted to guard against the attack,
but it was to no avail. His waster was smashed to flinders, and Jayce’s strike never slowed. The
burning weapon opened a gaping gash in Bennet’s chest that immediately cauterized into a
blackened mess. Bennet collapsed to the ground convulsing and gasping.
Jayce looked at what he had wrought, and dropped his weapon. The flame was immediately
quenched, and Jayce shivered where he stood. Gazali and the Yellow Jackets’ healer were
kneeling beside Bennet in an instant, desperately trying to save his life. Garren seized Jayce by
the shoulders and shook him roughly.
“Jayce! Jayce!” Garren shouted, “What did you do to him?!”
“It was the voice,” Jayce whispered.
Garren turned uneasily toward Gazali, “You said he couldn’t use magic.”
“This is unlike any magic I have ever seen.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was the voice…the voice told me,” said Jayce bursting into tears
and collapsing into Garren.
The faces in the clouds looked on the scene with fresh curiosity.
assigned a bunk in the same barrack with other recent recruits. The handful of other recruits,
mostly men with a few women mixed in who were probably tougher than the men, were all older
than Jayce by varying degrees. These surly people had joined the Yellow Jackets as a means to
escape a life of poverty and menial labor.
Their main focus was on whatever would help them advance, namely ways to undermine the
competition. Therefore, as a general rule, they were not concerned with a scrawny, barely-
adolescent boy. Any rule, however, has an exception. This particular exception’s name was
Bennet.
Bennet was only a few years older than Jayce, but much taller and stronger. He had a greasy
black mullet and wore a perpetually sour look on his face. No clear reason was ever given as to
why Bennet saw the need to bully him, but such acts of cruelty are usually beyond rational
explanation. Jayce was saved from being forced to fight Bennet due to unauthorized combat
being strictly prohibited, and Bennet did not want to risk being expelled.
Overall, it made little difference. Jayce was still subjected to jeering insults and the occasional
“accidental” slap to the back of the head. However, these ceased after he caught Bennet with an
“accidental” broomstick to the groin. The overt bullying may have stopped, but Jayce could still
detect hostility burning in Bennet’s rat-like eyes.
The daily training was composed of a consistent routine of morning exercises and chores followed
by evenings of rigorous academic evaluations. It was Garren’s belief that a strong mind was just
as important as a fit body. Some exams were meant to evaluate basic knowledge on several
subjects including: military history, mathematics and natural science. Other tests were designed to
determine each recruit’s ability to quickly evaluate a situation and act appropriately.
Jayce was not the top scorer, but he performed well enough for his instructors to grudgingly
compliment him as being a “higher class of common trash.” To be honest, he was thrilled at
knowing any of the answers, since he never remembered ever being taught anything.
Three weeks after Jayce signed on to join the Yellow Jackets came the time all the recruits had
been eagerly awaiting. Over the next few days they would be tested on their skill with various
weapons, as well as their stealth and ability to avoid hazards. Jayce’s small stature aided him in
the stealth exercises, but his performance with the crossbow and throwing knives was abysmal.
The instructor snidely commented that the safest place to stand while Jayce was shooting was in
front of the target.
The final day of tests was the one most anticipated by the recruits. Not only would this day mark
the end of their time as a recruit, but it was a chance to settle grudges that had developed over the
past few weeks. On this day each recruit would spar against another in order to evaluate their skill
with a sword.
Of course, they would not be using real blades. The recruits would use wooden training swords,
called wasters, and they would be wearing padded coats and helmets for protection. Once
outfitted, the recruits were lined up and Garren himself explained the rules of engagement.
“The purpose of today is NOT to kill each other,” he said very seriously. “We’re not a guild of
assassins. There’ll be no strikes to the head and no attacks below the waist. When told to stop,
you’ll stop immediately.”
Garren’s gaze fell on each recruit as he spoke. His calculating eyes attempting to detect any
potential trouble. “Anyone who fails to follow these rules will be kicked out into the street. Do I
make myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir!” the recruits answered in unison.
The recruits were called into the training circle in pairs. They were allowed to select their weapon
and could also use a shield if they preferred. Everyone else crowded around the circle to watch.
The pairing of combatants was done based on size and experience so as to make the matches as
even as possible. Jayce wondered who he would be paired against. He was by far the smallest of
the recruits, and he had never before used a sword. He did not have to wonder long.
“Bennet! Jayce!” shouted the officer.
Bennet swaggered into the circle with a cruel smirk on his face. Jayce walked into the circle trying
not to let his fear show. Bennet approached him and said in a low harsh drawl, “Now you’re gonna
get that beatin’ you deserve, you pissant.”
“You’ll get tossed out if you do,” Jayce replied and forced himself to meet Bennet’s eyes.
“I’m done afta today,” Bennet huffed. “They want brainy, little pussy-boys like you for this outfit.
This ain’t the place for me.”
“That’s right,” Jayce hissed, his fear replaced by anger, “an inbred jackass like you doesn’t belong
here.”
Bennet’s face flushed in anger, “I’m gonna enjoy thrashin’ you.” He said and stalked back to his
side of the ring to select his weapon.
Jayce was unsure which size of waster would be best. He decided on one of the smaller ones. It
was light and felt natural in his hand. He looked over at Bennet who had chosen a particularly large
waster that he swung in both hands like a lumberjack wielding an axe. Upon seeing this, Jayce
decided a shield would be a good idea. The heater shield was heavy, but its sturdiness was
comforting.
Jayce stood across from Bennet awaiting the signal to begin. Bennet glared at him with eyes full
of malicious intent. Jayce briefly scanned the faces in the crowd. Did they have any idea what
harm Bennet wished to inflict on him? Did they care? His eyes settled on Garren and Gazali who
were standing at the edge of the circle. Perhaps sensing Jayce’s gaze, Garren turned his head
toward Jayce. His face was stony at first. Then it softened slightly, and he winked. A hint of a
smile crossed Jayce’s face. He turned back toward Bennet and steeled himself to the onslaught
to come.
The presiding officer inspected each of the combatants’ equipment, and then he stepped to the
center of the circle. He directed them to salute each other, which they grudgingly did. Then,
stepping out of the ring, he signaled for the match to begin. With a feral howl Bennet charged, his
weapon held above his head. Jayce, startled by the sudden attack, stood frozen in place. His legs
shook and his mind went numb. A chill passed through his body, and his skin broke out into
gooseflesh. How could he defend against such an attack?
Then, time seemed to slow. His mind calmed. He knew what to do. His weapon and shield felt
like an extensions of his body. The sound of his heart, the pulsing of blood in his temples, the rush
of air in and out of his lungs became a natural rhythm in a living song. He felt the nerves
connected to his muscles fire, and felt that connection extend beyond his physical body. It evolved
into knowledge of where his body existed now and where it would exist in the next moment.
Jayce’s perception of time returned to normal, and Bennet was upon him, slicing down with all his
strength. His blow was meant to crush bone and brain, but Jayce was already in motion. He
brought his shield up as he dodged to the right. The blow glanced off the smooth face of the
heater shield, and Bennet’s weapon struck the ground. Jayce pivoted his hips, his shoulders
snapped around and he tagged his opponent in the ribs. Then, he used the momentum of his
attack to spin behind Bennet.
Bennet swung around furiously, and Jayce hopped back a few steps. He shifted his weight to his
back leg, and held his weapon over his shoulder pointed directly at Bennet. He assumed a low
fighting stance, and readied his shield to deflect the next attack. A murmur rose amongst the
crowd. Jayce chanced a glance at Garren and Gazali. Both men wore the same stony
expressions, but Jayce thought he could detect more than a little worry lining their faces. He would
not learn until much later the significance of something as simple as assuming what felt like a
perfectly natural fighting stance.
Jayce returned his focus to his opponent. Bennet had decided not to attempt another charge, and
was instead slowly approaching Jayce. He held his weapon in front of him in a more conservative
fashion. Bennet may have had the intelligence of a rock, but no doubt he had been in his fair share
of scraps. He had already underestimated Jayce’s mettle once, and would not make the mistake
of blindly charging again. Instead, he would close within striking distance, and use his longer reach
to keep his smaller opponent at bay.
Jayce held his ground and waited as Bennet drew closer step by step. Suddenly, Jayce surged
forward with a savage attack. Bennet was not expecting the smaller boy to be so aggressive, and
was dealt two stinging blows before he could retreat. Bennet, bruised and fuming, would not be
taken off guard a third time. He advanced on Jayce, and the two clashed in a flurry of strikes.
Jayce bore the brunt of the assault on his shield, but the strikes were still damaging. His left arm
was numb from the repeated shocks, and Bennet had slipped one good shot past Jayce’s guard to
catch him in the ribs.
It was becoming more and more difficult to raise his shield. Yet, despite repeated attempts, Jayce
now found that he was unable to overcome his disadvantage in reach to once again breach Bennet’
s defenses. He was being forced steadily back, and would eventually reach the unyielding crowd
standing at the edge of the circle. He feinted left then broke in the opposite direction, skittering
away and gaining some breathing room.
Jayce wondered why they didn’t stop the fight now. Surely they had seen enough. This cretin was
not out to impress Garren or the officers. He wanted to break Jayce’s body here and now. Then,
Jayce realized that he did not have to depend on others to save him. He could quit now. He
could throw down his arms and leave the circle. Had he not already proven that he wasn’t afraid?
“Yeah, go ahead and run,” whispered a velvety voice. Jayce spun in a circle and whipped his head
around to find the speaker.
“What the hell are you doin’?” said Bennet pausing in confusion. “I don’t care if you are havin’ a
fit. It ain’t gonna save you.”
Jayce shook his head and turned to face Bennet.
“Where will you run to?” The voice spoke again. “He’ll just catch you, and the chase will make
catching you all the more satisfying.” The source of the voice was not someone from the crowd,
but it spoke from inside his own mind.
“Go away,” Jayce spat.
The voice took on a mockery of Bennet’s drawl, “Run little pussy-boy. Scurry scurry, but I’ll still
catch you. And when I do I’ll whup you good.” The voice laughed, “Then, I’ll leave what’s left of
you for the street rats to play with. They like nice little pussy-boys like you.”
Jayce would not run away, could not run away. It was a matter of pride, of honor. That voice
would not have the satisfaction of seeing him scurry away. He launched himself at Bennet, who
quickly parried and counter-attacked. Despite the burst of adrenalin, Jayce once again found
himself giving ground. Bennet pressed his advantage and made good use of his size to cut off
any route of escape.
Jayce was exhausted, his body sore and his breathing ragged. Still, he rallied what little strength
he had left, and he drew an imaginary line in the dirt of the circle. Here is where he would stand.
He would give no more ground.
There they crashed together. Jayce was not only able to fend off Bennet’s strikes, but was able to
unleash some vicious counter-attacks of his own. Now Bennet was on the defensive and forced to
give ground. His bewilderment was evident. Clearly, he wondered why Jayce didn’t submit like all
the others he had bullied throughout his life, but such questions didn’t matter. Jayce realized that
the time for surrender was past, and Bennet would settle for nothing less than to leave Jayce on
the ground in a broken heap.
Bennet swung his weapon in a downward strike which Jayce blocked, but this was a distraction.
The real attack was far more devastating. Bennet kicked around with his leg, and it connected
solidly with Jayce’s right knee.
There was a grinding sound as ligaments ripped, tendons stretched and bone locked against bone
in a way never intended by nature. Searing pain shot up Jayce’s body as his leg twisted and gave
way. The world swam before him, but somehow he maintained consciousness. Jayce screamed
in pain and fury, focusing enough to lash out once before falling to one knee. The desperate strike
found Bennet’s hand with a satisfying crunch that elicited a cry of pain.
Bennet made Jayce pay dearly for his continued resistance. He swung his weapon one-handed
and landed a crushing blow to Jayce’s jaw. Jayce spat blood and a few teeth onto the dirt.
Through the ringing in his ears he heard Garren shouting to end the match. Jayce turned his head
to see Bennet standing over him. He laughed and spit on Jayce, but made no further move to
attack. Jayce did not want to admit defeat. Bennet had broken the rules. He had tormented him.
He had hurt him, and getting thrown out of the Yellow Jackets was the worst Bennet would face as
punishment. Jayce wanted him to pay, wanted him to be punished.
“Then make him pay,” spoke the satiny voice. “Make him suffer.”
“How?” Jayce whimpered. “I’m finished.”
“You have not even begun.”
Then it happened. Jayce felt a burning ember deep from within his breast that quickly spread
throughout his body. His arms and legs tingled and filled with energy. The ember flared into a
flame, every nerve and muscle burning with power. The pain in his knee ebbed, and then vanished
as the ruined tissue regenerated.
Jayce growled and fixed his gaze on Bennet. The bully must have seen something in Jayce’s
eyes. His laughter stopped and a look of terror washed over his face. As the ember had grown
into a flame, the flame evolved into a conflagration. Blue-green fire spawned from Jayce’s right
hand and raced down his weapon. The wooden sword became a blazing, hellish extension of his
arm.
Rational thought had left Jayce’s mind. He could only hear the throbbing sound of his pulse and
that of the smooth voice urging him to strike. In a single fluid motion, Jayce vaulted to his feet and
brought his weapon flashing upward. To his credit, Bennet attempted to guard against the attack,
but it was to no avail. His waster was smashed to flinders, and Jayce’s strike never slowed. The
burning weapon opened a gaping gash in Bennet’s chest that immediately cauterized into a
blackened mess. Bennet collapsed to the ground convulsing and gasping.
Jayce looked at what he had wrought, and dropped his weapon. The flame was immediately
quenched, and Jayce shivered where he stood. Gazali and the Yellow Jackets’ healer were
kneeling beside Bennet in an instant, desperately trying to save his life. Garren seized Jayce by
the shoulders and shook him roughly.
“Jayce! Jayce!” Garren shouted, “What did you do to him?!”
“It was the voice,” Jayce whispered.
Garren turned uneasily toward Gazali, “You said he couldn’t use magic.”
“This is unlike any magic I have ever seen.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was the voice…the voice told me,” said Jayce bursting into tears
and collapsing into Garren.
The faces in the clouds looked on the scene with fresh curiosity.
| Splintered Fate |
| February 2010 |
| Serial Fiction |
| Copyright 2010 by Jason Atwood |
| Chapter 8 |
Bio:
Jason Atwood is a native of Sparta, a small town in the mountains of North Carolina. He now lives in Lilburn,
Georgia with his lovely wife Lisa and their four cats. When he's not writing, he's making a difference in the lives of
children as a pharmacist at a children's hospital in Atlanta.
Jason Atwood is a native of Sparta, a small town in the mountains of North Carolina. He now lives in Lilburn,
Georgia with his lovely wife Lisa and their four cats. When he's not writing, he's making a difference in the lives of
children as a pharmacist at a children's hospital in Atlanta.
| Return in March, 2010, for the next installment of Splintered Fate |
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