Thread of Gold

Ch. 21: only a boy

Isaac was seething.

He dug his heels into his horse's side, urging him forward. The countryside ripped past him, a blur of green and blue, but the world had narrowed to the dirt path before him. To the cold air on his face. To the sound of hooves hitting earth.

Up ahead, Aedyon was shouting orders. They were cresting a hill now, and he could see a village unfurling below them, the squat buildings packed together like fish in a barrel. There was a cluster of people gathered around a fountain. He could smell rotten fruit, smell the crowd's vicious anticipation.

Someone had spotted a Nightweaver.

Fury bloomed in his chest. Isaac didn't care who it was. He would kill them. For what another Nightweaver had done to Elsie — for the pain they had caused — he would kill this faceless one. And he would enjoy it.

He bent low to his horse, flying down the grassy slope. Aedyon got there first, dismounting gracefully, and the crowd parted for him. Tarquin was next — a mistake, considering that Isaac was second-in-command, but he let it go just this once — and he stopped abruptly, causing Isaac to slam into him.

"Move," Isaac grunted.

Tarquin froze.

"What's wrong with you?" Isaac shoved him. "Move, Tarquin."

He might as well have been speaking to a statue. Isaac muttered something unpleasant, shouldering past him. And then he saw it.

The Nightweaver.

He was only a boy. A child, really, no more than ten-years-old; he was kneeling on the ground, rotten tomatoes sliding down his face. One eye was black and bruised. His thin shoulders were shaking, tears sliding down his face.

"Isaac," Tarquin said hoarsely. "We can't."

He hesitated. "He's a Nightweaver."

"He's a child."

Isaac agreed. But it wasn't his call to make, he reminded himself, glancing at Aedyon; he didn't have the authority.

Aedyon unsheathed a sword. "Who has seen this Nightweaver practice dark magic?"

"I have." A burly man stepped forward. "I will swear to it."

"What did he do?"

"He killed a rabbit, Commander. We were all in the village square when it happened. One moment, the boy was holding the creature, and the next thing we knew, it was dead. It was nightmare magic. I'm sure of it."

The boy gave a sob. A child threw a rock at his head, and the boy flinched as it collided with his skull. Several people snickered.

"Did you do that, boy?" Aedyon demanded.

He shook his head.

"Speak."

"I didn't — didn't mean—" The boy's voice broke. "I only wanted to play with it. I didn't mean for it to die. Please don't hurt me."

Isaac's chest ached. Next to him, Tarquin was shaking, one hand hovering over his sword. Not to harm the child, he realized, but to harm Aedyon. To harm their mentor. His commander looked at him.

"Isaac."

Disbelief filled him. No. Aedyon couldn't mean—

"Kill him," he said.

The boy let out a sob. Several people cheered. And Isaac just stood there, staring at the boy, unable to comprehend what his commander was asking of him.

There must be a better way. He'd wanted revenge for Elsie — for what someone had done to her — but this was no way to exact justice. For Lucia's sake, this Nightweaver was a child. What could the boy possibly be guilty of?