Klair woke to rain and kept his eyes closed as he listened to the heavy pounding against the thatched tiled top. From his bed in the loft, he stretched his hand out through a loose board and let the torrent soak his hand. The sweet aroma of Kidder patties frying below ticked his senses. It’s so peaceful here in Merrsain when other parts of Fist are under a siege of problems. He forced his thoughts to more pleasant paths, stretching out his arms, sensing the energy rumbling within the storm. He felt and heard the walls rattle against the wind. Since childhood, his mother had learned of his aversion to the close quarters within city limits, so they always lived outside of town.

The hard wind promised that the skies would be clear for their late morning walk to market. Klair relaxed in the warmth of his blankets. His mother would be calling him soon. Maybe he could persuade her to skip the morning magic practice.

Thunder rumbled as rain filled his outstretched palm as he inhaled, his chest filled with energy, and spread from his torso to arms and legs, making his entire body buzz. With a shift of thought, his mind turned to the rain itself and he felt the individual meteorites of moisture plastering the roof. Cool dampness caressed his face. I could spit fire right now, he thought. He doubted he could, but the rain felt so good.

He drew his hand inside and splashed the collected water against his face.

A disturbing image suddenly flashed across his mind. His best friend Tarrant, his friend’s father, plus eight other hunters were clustered together in battle, their chakrams singing through the air to their targets. Properly thrown, the circular blades could sever a head off a gnu. Then the image was gone. Bad dream, Klair wondered. He sat up. Who were they fighting? He hadn’t been permitted to talk to Tarrant since the night at the underground river.

From the floor below he heard a familiar voice. It was one of the Kindred, Ravenna. Of all the prostitutes she was the one he liked the least. “You’re being stingy, Norah.”

What is she complaining about? Klair got up and began to dress. What does she want now? Klair hadn’t told his mother how the woman pressed him while she wasn’t around. Ravenna promised him secrets if he ever wanted to sneak out at night and visit. Klair’s lips pressed in growing anger. He didn’t hear his mother’s response and hurried down the ladder only to see the door close behind the woman. He found his buffed boots waiting for him at the base of the ladder. He ignored them. Though his mother was no longer a woman of the evening since his birth, some 15 years ago, she still befriended the women who worked as such in Merrsain.

His mother returned to the cooking fire. She wore a wide blue skirt with a lighter blue tunic a payment for managing the difficult birth of twins. Her back faced him as she concentrated on their breakfast. Her golden hair hung braided down her back with the marking of cords weaved throughout identifying her as a midwife and herbalist.

“What did Ravenna want?”

His mother sighed and slowly faced him. “She knows you’re a son of a Kapawn.” When Klair stiffened she added, “She said she’ll keep the secret for a price.”

His heart quickened. “Do we have to move?”

“I’ve convinced her it’s in the Kindred’s best interests to keep the secret, especially with your ability to detect their more violent customers.” Her gaze hardened. “I reminded her that no one has been hurt since I’m told them who to avoid. That should be payment enough as well as my help for their medical needs.” Klair had the ability to detect the bruising beneath skin which identified men who might be violent to the prostitutes. When he admitted of his ability to his mother, she warned the women against specific men, the Kindred avoided the rougher segment of their customers.

The hard dirt was cool under his feet as Klair began pacing. “How did she find out?”

Her gaze lifted briefly at his discolored hair, which was usually a dull red when the husks took properly. “Ravenna made the connection when you were caught out in the rain storm last six-day while patching her roof, plus the fact I got pregnant when dutifully taking Barron.”

Ravenna was very good at self-interest. Would it be enough?

This has been the longest time ever that we’ve kept the secret. We’ve been here three years and I don’t want to move. Mom thinks it’s settled. He shifted uncomfortably. We’ll see.

Klair sat at the small table opposite his mother’s cooking fire, frowning as his chair groaned under his weight. Not that he was heavy, but Klair made the chair while apprenticing with a former mentor. I’ve got to learn to be good at something. He thought I’ve got less than a year to be corded. I’d go back and apprentice with woodcrafter Bejja if I didn’t have to move and leave mother. Stay unapprenticed and uncorded; Mom might insist I go to Kapawn School.

He pressed his lips. She wants me to accept Thorn. Thorn was the name Klair used for the father who gave no name. Klair clenched his fists. Is that why she isn’t pressuring me to choose an apprenticeship? She thinks I’ll go to the city of wizards. Not a chance. It’s better to remove my magic completely and remain a norm. That’ll show Thorn I’m not his puppet. I’ll do the exact opposite of anything he wants.

He hadn’t admitted his plan to his mother. He knew she wanted him to go to Taaken, the city of wizards.

He studied her, trying to imagine Ravenna backing down to his mother’s counter proposal. His mother possessed a cool authority she rarely flaunted. Is that what attracted Thorn to her? Klair studied his mother. The Kindred wore heavy face paints and he was grateful his mother abandoned the habit along with her old career. Her skin was smooth and soft with only a once-broken nose to mar her beauty. Golden waves of hair were swept up into a braided bun with long trails cascading down her back, so much different than the naturally black sheen of his when they were not busy dying it into a dirty red.

Mom is pretty, Klair admitted to himself. Her piercing blue eyes were tight with stress. What did Ravenna want us to pay for her silence? Klair wasn’t certain he wanted to know. Outside his mother’s hearing the Sheet, a more slanderous title than Kindred, had propositioned him outright when he had failed to respond to her not so subtle hints.

Klair still ignored her. His mother became very particular in her later years of the importance of marriage before coupling. Why now? He wondered, with what her occupation had been in years past?

Maybe Ravenna wouldn’t try to stir things up if she knew there are so many problems in other areas of the country. He hadn’t told his mother what he learned at Elder Maken’s home knowing she would be furious at him for snooping.

The Kindred were famous for their gossip and many traveled as frequently as Klair and his mother. I wish Ravenna would leave. She shouldn’t try to make us move. At least here I’ve got real friends and the rain is never hot like places in the south. A memory from childhood flashed across his mind an image of him as wallowing in hot mud with his body twitching with spasms and charley-horses. Hot water took away his magic. Twice he’d been caught out in warm rain. The same thing happened if he drank hot soup or ale. Klair ached for hours later. He learned early, never touch hot water or liquid.

“Ravenna isn’t nice at all,” he complained. He tried to relax and suppress his rising anger. “Wish I could do something, maybe—”. He didn’t finish. Anyone learning what he was would only make it worse.

His mother offered a tight smile. She said it was progress that he took walks in the woods to calm his moods. Merrsain was surrounded by forest. Their hut was amongst a high concentration of trees away from most of the other houses and their home was farthest from town. He never told her of the trees he destroyed with magic within the dense forest circling their home and the town of Merrsain. With so many trees and off the trails it wasn’t likely that others would happen upon the damage. He let his rage fuel his magic and stopped before getting a physical response.

Space out the felled trees far enough and it could look natural.

He remembered one tirade two years back when he stomped off up river of the Tonosh and away from one of Drace’s more vicious taunts. Drace had manipulated some of the others to help. He had to leave before responding in a way he wanted. The target of his wrath became a huge bolder next to the river. By the time he was finished whirling magical slams against it, what remained was rubble and pebbles. People later asked what ever happened to the big boulder. His rage was often sufficient fuel to avoid getting sick.

Possibly sensing her son’s thoughtful mood she said, “Each Kindred chose her occupation for different reasons, Klair. Some were hurt… others… felt there was no other choice. Sometimes the anger can seep away throughout the years, for others it burns hotter.”

With his mother’s calm, he knew that whatever event had triggered her to follow the Kindred’s path; she didn’t carry that same anger now.

She smiled, shaking his shoulder a little. “Take heart, she gave me her word.” Her gazed met his. “Things will work out.” She patted his muscled arm, complements of chopping and harvesting wood for her and the Kindred. “You’re gaining your father’s build.”

“Ravenna calls me a post.”

She sighed. “Ravenna can be cruel at times. Be careful around her.” She squeezed his muscled arm. “You’re starting to fill out quite nicely. All that wood chopping for the Kindred is starting to provide scenic value for the ladies of the village.”

Klair blushed.

Her eyes danced at his response. “Keep as busy as you do and learn from all your mentors. After you specialize, you’ll be able to find a good wife someday.”

Klair thought of Loginna. I can’t call her a girlfriend? Mom doesn’t mention her because she doesn’t like her. Why doesn’t she like her?  Klair leaned forward. “You won’t marry, but you expect me to.”

“Marriage settles one dear,” she countered with a smile. “Someday I’ll find the right man who doesn’t joke about my past and sees me as… me. Better than the first man in my youth  who…” She stiffened and abruptly changed the subject. “I’ve trained you wrong, by moving from place to place.”

“I haven’t minded.”

She rubbed his shoulder against the lie and gave it a brief squeeze. “It has been hard for you though, making new friends and when you finally do, you find a Tarrant.”

He grinned.

She frowned. She didn’t mean it as a complement. “I’m sorry you find magic to be so frustrating. Your father never warned me about that.”

When did the two of you have time to talk? If I ever meet Thorn, I’ll shove his face in the dirt. Mom had better think twice if she expects me to someday meet and accept him. Never!

He studied the floor.

With a gentle caress, she tugged at a single long strand of his shiny black hair. The mud and husk dye had fallen away as the strand became loose. It glistened. “You would make any mother proud.” Patting him on the shoulder, she got up and brought their breakfast to the table. “You’ve got that ‘I hate my magic’ look,” she said softly.

He shrugged and pulled his plate toward him. The dish was a mixture of sour and sweet jelly on top of a bean patty.

“Want to discuss it?” she prodded.

Klair shook his head and kept chewing. He felt the warmth of his mother’s hand on top of his and he looked up at her. “It would be unfortunate if you were rejecting the possibil­ity of being a wizard simply because you distrust your father. I loved him.”

He leaned back, ignoring the accom­panying squeak. “How can you love a man who only spent one night with you?”

She smiled. “He gave me you.”

“Because of me, you always need to move.” Anger swelled within him once more. Klair wanted to hit something… no someone. It was an old sore that refused to heal. He wanted to pace the room and bellow with frustration. See, I can control myself, mother, he thought as he tried to calm his pounding heart. He forced his voice to remain level. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, “but I accept the price for the prize.” Her eyes encompassed him in their warmth.

She always says that.

But her words never failed to warm him, “if only you knew him”

He turned away. No thanks. He abandoned you when you were the most vulnerable. I’d never do that so why did he? Could Thorn have been one of the wizards who went crazy during the war with occasional days of sanity? Can insanity be transferred in birth? That would explain my moods. It was so easy to torch off sometimes.

They ate their meal in companionable silence and at its conclusion: “Time to practice,” she said.

Seems like we should practice before bed than I’d just sleep on the floor down here, he thought; but with his physical labor throughout the day that wasn’t really an option. Klair frowned. Knowing how much the Northern provinces hated wizards, why did his mother insist he practice? She’s preparing—expecting me to go to the Taaken, the city that hosted the Kapawn School not by words but by actions. He gripped his hand into a fist, flexing knuckles. Useless Thorn… Sticker, Thistle… told her to train me as much as she could.

His mother insisted that he hide his magic from outsiders, but within the con­fines of their home, she encouraged him to use it for daily tasks. During one practice session, he lifted a chair with his mother sitting on it. They laughed themselves breathless when the chair toppled, plopping her on the soft earth.

Would today would be a new task? She pointed to the cauldron of water boiling above the hearth. “To the door,” she said.

We did this last sixth day… Klair stretched his hands forward. They’d only done this twice before. The first time had resulted in spilling boiling water throughout the whole room, instantly turning their floor into a steaming mud bowl. She succeeded in helping Klair climb onto the table before the hot water reached either of them. It was quite a scramble. They sat back-to-back waiting for the mud to cool. Fortunately, the mist wasn’t quite hot enough to shove him into spasms.

“You must learn to focus your powers without the use of your hands.”

I know, Mom. Klair glared at the pot. It took two spans of time to carry water from the stream to fill the cauldron. Now she wants me to move the thing to the door without spilling it.

Sudden inspiration blossomed. Get good enough and I might be able carry the pot to the stream, fill it, and float it back to home at night with no one the wiser. That would save me a bunch of trips. I’d have time to… A brief image of Loginna came to mind.

The second reason for the practice, get used to using it, build up endurance and he might eventually not get sick every time he used high magic.

The cooking pot wobbled as he slowly lifted it from the multiple hooks above the fire. Klair cupped his hands and carefully swung his body toward the door. The caldron echoed his action as the pot slowly floated from the fire toward the door barely a few fingers above the ground. She making me do slow, steady magic to teach me control—what a pain. But these practices helped me save Tarrant’s life.

The ground below the hot metal sizzled. Klair didn’t feel the heat. Both hands and arms flexed, and his head shook from the exertion. He’d be panting soon.

The cauldron dipped.

“Careful,” She warned as both heard the water flop against the sides. Klair’s scalp felt like it was the battle ground of a bunch of crawling ants but he fought for focus.

“Keep going,” His mother whispered. Klair’s hands shook and the wobbling increased as he fought to maintain control. The pot thumped to the ground when he made it to the door and water splashed over the sides.

“Almost,” she said a smile on her face.

Perspiration beaded Klair’s face. He leaned against the table and his stomach rumbled. His inner shirt was damp. He leaned over and lost his breakfast into the bucket placed by his chair. We should have waited after breakfast.

“Put it back now.”

Klair whirled on her. “Now?” That’ll knock me out for sure.

She nodded, serene as she stared back at him. “Don’t spill anything this time.”

“But Mom.” Anger fueled must of the first attempt. He might be able to avoid further sickness if they stopped now.

“Hurry dear.”

I had a hard enough time getting the water to the door. Certainly she’d let me rest a little before—

“Now dear.”

Sand her, Klair thought. Passed out, how can I help her with the chores? What is she trying to prove anyway? He glared at the caldron while his arms ached as if he physically lifted it. It would require two men to carry such a load. How can she expect—

“Let me rest first,” Klair offered.

She shook her head.

Sulking, Klair glared briefly at her before returning his attention to the pot. It short, it was harder, much harder the second time. At first he started dragging it across the dirt floor ignoring his mother’s frown. A mound of dirt piled on the side between the cauldron and the fire. When his mother finally objected, he lifted it by a hand span to move it toward the fire in sudden acceleration. Klair squinted as he brought it to a gentle stop before it slammed against the hearth base.

“Good control,” His mother whispered.

He ignored her and his stomach rumbled. Can’t throw up or I’ll lose focus and it’ll fall over. The pot started to wobble.

“Up and over dear.”

He wanted to curse. Even a full day carrying rocks for the path under the waterfalls hadn’t made his arms hurt so. Klair could feel the beginning of a charley horse in his left elbow. He closed his eyes and with a mental grunt lifting the pot toward the hooks but was short by a hand length.

“Who is in control, Klair?”

Stop saying that! His eyes burned with mounting fury and with a thought his imaginary hand gripped part of the handle. The caldron creaked under the pres­sure applied to it and the handle bent.

His mother remained silent.

Fist shaking, arms rigid, Klair moved using his whole body simply to move his fist; hand mentally centered on the pot hovering next to the fire. Shifting it to one side, the pot com­plied. The cauldron hung from the hooks of the hearth.

“You did it!” She erupted from her chair, ran to him, leaned over and hugged him before pressing her long fingers to his scalp and began vigorously scratching. The itch was so intense. Klair sighed, panting as he leaned face down against the tabletop while his undershirt dripped holding off the shadows nibbling on the edges of his mind. He smiled. His body shook with effort to remain conscious.

“Stay awake,” She encouraged. She massaged his aching arms. “You were wonderful.”

He grunted, body shaking as he fought against the blackness tugging at his unconscious. I was able to save Tarrant’s life because of our practice, he realized, what would I have done without magic?

She continued to rub his arms vigorously gently squeezing and releasing pent up muscles. “I can’t believe how far you’ve come. Ever since your voice changed you’ve been improving in leaps and bounds.” Her voice swelled. “And to think four years ago you could hardly move a bowl across the table.”

I’m sorry mom. I won’t go to Taaken or attend the school. Papa Thorn can rot for all I care. At the first chance I get, I’m going to completely abandon magic and be a norm. Maybe someday I can take a warm bath like any other man if unused magic can simply drain away. But I can’t tell you that yet, can I? He mustered his courage. I’ll learn to answer problems without magic even if it’s to get rid of the snakes at Penostat. I’ll live somewhere in the country where shaving my head isn’t illegal. I’ll apprentice as a wood crafter.

Klair kept his hands under the table to hide his clenched fists.

She wouldn’t appreciate anger fueling his success. His mother wanted him to manage his magic while calm. “I’ve grounded the last of the nut husks. After you wake up, we’ll dye your hair,” she encircled him within a gentle embrace, ready to direct him to rest on the floor if necessary. The cost of magic had been the same since the blossoming of his abilities. The children of the Kapawn were known as spawn and for now, blackness pulled at Klair’s mind as consequence for the use of magic.

“We do this to build up your endurance,” she reminded him.

Klair’s thoughts turned to Tarrant. “I know,” he murmured letting unconsciousness claim him.