22. Under Attack

A howl cut through the night. A shrill sound to make one’s blood run cold. It lingered, the tone drawn out and slowly fading away.

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Rescued by kind hands and revived by the Ithari, Wendell discovers that not all love the workings of magic. 

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You’d be surprised what you’re capable of doing when the situation is just right. Or wrong.

I awoke to the faint buzz of mosquitos humming near my ear. I’ve always hated that sound. Not like anyone likes it, but bugs are especially irritating. I twitched. Rolling onto my back, I yawned, opening my eyes. It still wasn’t daylight, and I squinted, the flicker of firelight catching my attention.

“I think you left too much wood on the fire,” I said. 

It took me a few moments to realize what I was looking at. The faint cries and screams rode up on the chilled wind, floating to us on the hillside.

“EVAN!” I snapped.

The blacksmith stirred.

Snatching a stick next to me, I tossed it, hitting Evan in the shoulder. “The village is on fire!”

“What...?” Evan mumbled.

No, no, no. This has to be a bad dream. Pushing myself to my feet, I ran to the tree line. 

The small village below, nestled quietly in the valley between forest and river, was aflame. Black smoke billowed up from its center and I could smell it. The burning homes illuminated the small specs…villagers, running back and forth. 

“EVAN!” I yelled.

The blacksmith drowsily sat up. 

“What are you yelling for?” Evan mumbled, stumbling to his feet. “Wait, did you say the…” but his voice trailed off as he joined me at the tree line. His face went pale. 

“Mother,” he whispered.