The Names Our Children Will Know

What Happened To James Wesson? - Draft One

James Wesson's whole right side ached. The burned and blistered skin felt stiff and tight and immobile, but Wesson knew that the more he moved, the less stiff he would feel. He crawled out of the basin of the dried up lake and walked through the wailing wind toward the embers of the castle.

As the sun rose, Wesson saw a lone figure crawling away from the wreckage of the castle, making slow time. There was no way it was an animal, not unless it was a very useless snake. Forcing his tired body to move felt more impossible than moving a mountain, but Wesson made his way toward it, curiosity making him careless... Which was how he soon found himself nose-to-shoes with Colin Johnson himself.

Colin looked more dead than alive. The fall from the North Tower had shattered his legs, flattened his ribcage, and crushed his face. By some miracle or curse, the man was impossibly alive. His smile was grotesque and bloody, a grisly approximation full of broken teeth and mangled flesh. Wesson could see Colin's bones sticking out of his skin in far too many places. They were a dull grey color, paler than his skin, and streaked with yellow. Clumps of flesh clung to the splintered ends in places, but in others it looked as though the flesh had been brushed away.

Behind Colin was a furrow in the earth where he had dragged himself forward. The inside of the track was relatively smooth, but the sides were confused muddles. Wesson could only see one clear handprint and half of a footprint.

After a moment where they stared at each other in surprise, Colin rasped, "You're the one that pushed me, aren't you?" He dragged himself to his knees and from there almost to a standing position. He fell when he was more than halfway, collapsing to the sandy ground beneath him when another of his shattered bones gave way with a grisly crunch. He giggled as he attempted to stand again, more bones creaking and snapping. Wesson took a horrified step back, revulsion plastered across his face.

When Colin finally gained his feet, Wesson could do nothing but watch in mild fascination as Colin approached him in stilted, jerking steps.

"I need that spell book, old man," Colin managed. He was panting, forcing the words out. "Magic set that fire. I saw it–how could you think I didn't? The only way you made it out alive was if you were protected by magic. Give it to me!" He snarled.

Wesson was frozen in fear. He couldn't run, he couldn't fight. The man in front of him was inhuman, too broken to be alive. Colin took advantage of Wesson's unresponsiveness. With a lurch, snap, and crunch of bone grating against bone, Colin lunged at Wesson, moving surprisingly swiftly for a man more break than bone.

In a heartbeat, Colin had tackled Wesson, driving the shorter man to the ground and pinning him with his exposed knees. Colin wrapped his hands around Wesson's throat, rendering the older man almost immobile. Wesson kicked and fought, but ultimately the battle was already lost.

A few moments later, Colin tugged a scrap of paper covered in Flyatian writing and a notebook bound with twine from Wesson's lifeless hands.

With a ragged cry, Colin went hunting.

☀

Tessa awoke with a start. The wind had died down, but not by much. The sun was just rising, painting the sky gold and pink. Wesson was walking away from the camp, looking hesitant. He was carrying the paper with Jemma Terracin's instructions on how to use magic and a small notebook he must have pocketed from the castle. As a flyant, he would have been able to use magic easier than anyone else but Tessa in the group, and maybe he thought he was better suited to trying a new spell than anyone else, but now he looked distracted.

Tessa wasn't sure what had caught Wesson's interest, but Wesson had Tessa's interest now. She followed Wesson, but didn't catch up to him until she saw who he had discovered.