Eban

2 - Eban

It was amazing how quickly a curious crowd could turn into a raving mob. All it took were a few words to remind you of the whispers and rumours that no one spoke of but everyone knew. All it took were a few words to call out to the deepest fears that come from not knowing and not understanding.

Eban stood, with his friends Cedric and Arran, amongst the crowd watching the man be pulled from the gaol house, waiting for the trial. He was young, perhaps only a few years older than themselves, with the light brown hair that was common in Ferann. He moved stiffly, slowly, and always according to the prompts issued by the village aldermen around him. Even from their position near the back of the crowd, they could see how dazed the man was.

"Do you think he's drugged?" Cedric asked.

Arran shrugged. "Doubt it. Don't think these people would waste good money on drugs for the likes of him."

Eban glanced at his friend, catching the snarl on Arran's face, the clenched fists at his side.

"He's in disbelief," Eban said. "He'll snap out of it."

They stood, listening as the town's aldermen declared the list of transgressions of the man in their custody. It was a long list.

Cedric snorted at the murder charge. "Conspiracy to murder? I guess the lack of body does make an actual murder charge difficult to justify. I wonder if they were disappointed that the victim survived?"

"Hush," Eban said. "I want to hear."

There was only one charge that really mattered. It was the only charge that was not said. Technically, it was against the law to kill someone for their magic. Technically. In towns such as this, there was always a loophole.

Judging by the whispers Eban heard around him, only one verdict was possible.

"...more animal than human."

"...poison you with those plants of his."

"...dangerous..."

"...can't be trusted..."

"Wild Mage."

Even the aldermen considered the trial a mere formality. It took less than 30 minutes to decide the man's fate, and half of that time was spent deciding on the method of execution. Fire, water, or air.

Thank the gods, they went with water.

The decision made, it only took a few minutes for the necessary equipment to be found. The rope and oaken beam appeared quickly, so quickly that it almost appeared as though the decision had been made before the trial had even begun. Eban's jaw tightened.

Throughout the farce, the accused had stood, face blank, never speaking, never trying to defend himself. Eban doubted that the man was capable. He was clearly in shock. But then, even if he had been able to argue against the accusations, it would not have made a difference.

This was not the first such trial Eban had witnessed. On the few occasions where the accused mage was able to defend themselves, able to make a logical argument that managed to reach some of the crowd, they had been silenced. Villages like this one had no room for anyone suspected of wielding the wild magic, and no time for true justice for those accused.

Tied to the pole, wrists bound tightly across the wood behind his back, the man was lead through the crowd towards the southern borders of the village. In front strode the chief alderman. In the controlled fury of the mob, his serenity was shocking. Eban's teeth ground. How could anyone hate so much that the thought of ending a life brought peace?

No, not a life. A wild mage. The thought, though correct, did nothing to improve Eban's mood. Magic, and mages, was often distrusted, but only wild mages were truly feared. Eban had never understood why. Yes, wild mages shared a connection for the natural world that the rest of humanity had long forgotten, and they could be dangerous if need drove them to their limits. But they were no more dangerous than Healers and significantly less so than Manipulators. Cedric said the fear stemmed from politics - at the end of the day, Healers were useful for obvious reasons, while Manipulators were the ultimate weapon of war. Wild mages had no clear use and so did not have the protection afforded to the others. The theory made as much sense to Eban as others he had heard, but still... did lack of political popularity really warrant a fear that lead to murder?

The alderman's route through the crowd passed by Eban and his friends. As they reached them, Eban stepped out, touching the prisoner's shoulder lightly. The man gave no indication of recognising the touch, but then Eban was not the only one reaching out. Anyone close enough to touch him was, their hands, some light, some heavy, all brushing, grabbing, tapping any part that they could reach.

"Don't suppose our bad luck will rub off on him too?" Cedric asked. "Or," he paused, grinning, "do we get all of their bad luck later, assuming your plan succeeds?"

"Ric, with all the trouble you get us into, I don't think we'll ever notice the bad luck," Arran grumbled.

"It's a ridiculous superstition," Eban said, "but it has its uses." He watched the prisoner a moment longer, solidifying the man's presence, the feel of his self that Eban had caught in that momentary touch, into his memory. His eyes passed over the crowd, seeing the mixture of anger, hate, fear, resignation, sadness and, on a very few faces, guilt. At least no one, with exception of the alderman, looked pleased. He had seen some like that at other trials, in other villages.

Those people disturbed Eban more than he could say.

"You ready?" Arran asked, his hand gently resting on Eban's shoulder for a moment as he competed with the crowd for Eban's attention.

Eban nodded. "We better get into position. He won't have long once he's under, and I still need to set up."

"Lead on."

Eban smiled. As always, Arran's comment was directed at him, but it was Cedric who took the lead. Not that Eban minded. In crowds like this, he was perfectly happy to let Cedric do the hard work in making a path through.