Break

Chapter 20: Storyteller

I watched civilizations grow and die. Children came to me in search of stories, and elders came to me in search of wisdom. I would like to say that watching them grow, learn, adapt using the mistakes of their ancestors, raise their own family, gain wisdom, and inevitably die, doesn't sadden me, but I do feel some form of grief. It never goes away.

After so many years, I have accepted that it never will overcome it, but it no longer saddens me. No, it drives me forward. The grief drives me to find answers to create a world with less war, less murder, less sickness, and less pain. Every death from an illness is my failure. Every orphan is my responsibility. Every broken heart tears off a piece of mine.

I used to think that I was special, that I was the most powerful mage, but a lesson was left at my door one night that changed my life forever. That lesson was Gravo.

~*~

Rain hammers down on the city tonight. The only light comes from the lightning that dances and claps in the sky and the various lanterns the villagers hold. The wind howls and tears at trees, toppling small ones like they are nothing.

However, the town stirs with some form of life. A crowd huddles together in the town square with covered lights, eagerly waiting for something, anything. Then, the mayor steps out of the shabby house, his face forlorn. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but there was nothing. If he did, it was drowned out by the wind.

"What of the woman?" one man calls out above the roar of the storm.

"Dead," the mayor answers painfully. "The traveler has died."

"And the child?"

"He lived," the mayor tells everyone. "However, he is a bastard and now an orphan. Something isn't right about the boy either. His eyes-" A huge clap of thunder interrupts the mayor. This time, I am sure he actually said something. What of his eyes? "Would anyone like to take the child?" No one moves even an inch. Damn.

"Mayor Everyn," I say loudly, "let me see the child."

"Storyteller, you have made it clear that you enjoy your isolation. I cannot place a burden on you after all you have done for us," he objects.

"Who will take the child if not me?" I inquire firmly as I motion to the crowd. "No one has stepped forward."

"Maybe it would be best if the child was... sent back to his mother," the mayor says with pain. "His eyes-"

"I do not give a damn about the child's eyes, Mayor. Let me see the child," I growl.

Off-put by my harsh tone, the mayor only stares blankly at me for a few moments. Finally, he allows to to pass without a word. The people part to allow me to walk straight through, their glances feeling more like looks of sympathy and fear than anything. Mud sloshes at my boots, and the rain and thunder seem to grow harsher.

The mayor opens the creaky and rotting wooden door for me, and I merely give a small nod in thanks as I pass. The floorboards groan beneath me as I walk further in. A small candle rests beside a pale woman, her ski glistening with sweat. The door squeaks shut behind me to keep any more water from getting into the already dilapidated shack.

The weak cry of an infant draws me attention to the side of the woman. A bundle of cotton cloth rests beside the deceased, squirming ever so slightly. I walk to it and look down, searching for the little form. Delicately, I pick it up I into my arms and observe it closer. Two tiny golden eyes look back up at me. Its cries turns into nothing more than a few quiet noises.

"Eyes open so soon, little one?" I ask softly to the tiny infant. "You have had quite a day."

I look back over to his its mother. When she came to me a month ago, I thought that she would live. The sickness was the scythe of the reaper though. If she hadn't gotten I'll, what then? Would she have kept a baby born a mage?