Spark of a Flame Chapter One

Not So Ordinary

Light glowed in the distance from a fire that ravaged an old city. The blaze emitted a warm ambiance, an orange hue to the thick darkness around it. The night was quiet, yet every few minutes the air was pierced by an enormous screech, a hellish roar. 

A dragon lay siege on the city. The fiery serpent clamored over the building tops, sending piles of rubble falling to the streets below– a formidable sight. Occasionally, the beast would leap from a roof and spread its massive sail-like wings, eager to ignite another part of the town. 

Meanwhile, a hooded figure stood watching the scene from miles away. Though the dragon was larger than most ships, from the distance of the hooded onlooker the fiery serpent appeared no bigger than a garden lizard. Tears stained the cheeks of the figure beneath the hood. Around the stranger lay eight bodies, friends, scattered on the landscape. 

“I’m so sorry,” whispered the voice of a woman from beneath the hood. 

Her side was bleeding heavily. Her eyes longed to help, to assist those in the city, but as she took a step forward, she stumbled, clutching the wound on her side. There was simply nothing she could do.

With a surge of will power, she stood back up, pushing herself up from her knees. She began to limp away from the vacant scene before her, away from the unmoving figures on the ground. As she trudged along, her breathing became heavier. She did her best to ignore the occasional echoing screech from the distant dragon. Somehow, the serpent’s cry was more painful than her aching side. 

The woman journeyed as far as she was able, doing her best to maneuver around rocks and uneven surfaces. What felt like hours passed, the heave in her stomach knotting tighter. Everything was her fault. She carried a weight on her shoulders far greater than she’d ever experienced.

She looked back. Surely, she was far enough. 

With as much strength as she could muster, she stomped the ground with her foot. Immediately, she was consumed by bright purple flames that swirled around her, emitting many minuscule sparks, but within seconds the purple blaze, as well as the woman within them, were gone, leaving the rocky scene still and vacant. 

All was dark. All was silent. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the cold steely voice of a woman, a different woman, spoke. 

“I was right about you…” said the voice.

“I was right about everything…”

In that moment, a boy shot up in his bed, his breathing heavy. He looked around his bedroom… all was ordinary. 

In relief, he ran his fingers through his thick dark hair before plopping back down on his pillow. Liam Fosnik, or Liam Ballard as all but his mother knew him, lived in a small town in the vast kingdom of Rahlynd. He lived an ordinary life, and if given the choice, would have it no other way. 

Liam remained in bed staring at the ceiling, ignoring the little voice in his head trying to push him out of his warm sheets. His bedroom window was still black, meaning that his dream had woken him earlier than needed, robbing him of a few precious extra minutes of sleep before the dawn.

Liam closed his blue-gray eyes. 

Just a bit longer, he told himself. After all, he was seventeen years old now. He no longer had to worry about hiking across the entire town for school. He had finished school at thirteen, as was usual in the kingdom, and started working at his mother’s bakery shortly after. Ballard’s Bakery was the only bakery in town, and as such, kept him busy more often than he would’ve liked.

He yawned as he stretched, tangling his limbs within his cotton bed linens. 

Letting the little voice get the best of him, Liam rolled out of bed to ready himself for work, still shaking the remnants of the dream from his mind. The dream felt familiar, almost lifelike. He walked to the corner of his room and pulled on the trousers he’d thrown over the back of his chair the night before. This wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt about the mysterious woman; she’d visited his dreams before, always veiled. While his dreams were sparse, each time he saw her, the ominous burning city lay in the background of the night. 

He continued pulling on his clothing as quietly as he could, hoping not to wake his mother. He then began lacing up his leather shoes and within a few minutes he was tiptoeing down the hallway toward the kitchen. 

He could still hear the muffled chirps and buzzes of the nightly insects just outside the house. Liam sauntered through the dim kitchen and opened the window above the sink to let a cool breeze in. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the long day at the bakery to come. 

The house was still. The only other person living with him was his mother, Natalya, and he was sure she wouldn’t emerge from her room to leave with him until the very last minute. Liam reached for a thin piece of worn, brown-stained cloth on the counter and walked across the kitchen to a jar of ground coffee. He spooned a bit of the brown powder into the cloth, gathered up the edges, and knotted the top. The birds were beginning to chirp through the open window, the daylight approaching. Quickening his pace, Liam filled a pot from the cabinet with the water from a large metal tin, dropped the sack of coffee grounds inside, and set the pot over the stove. 

He leaned down, concentrating rather hard on the wood chips sitting below the pot, staring at them for a minute or so. Then, as if he had talked himself into it, he held his hand up to the wood and flicked it.

Liam exhaled. Nothing had happened.

He tried again. 

Still, nothing.

He looked over at the spark rocks sitting on the counter a few feet away and bit his lip. Looking back at the wood chips, he flicked them for a third time.

This time he did it. A tiny flash ignited the wood into flames with a whoosh. 

Liam jerked his arm back with a grin. 

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that,” said a tired voice from over his shoulder. 

Liam’s stomach jumped slightly. He whipped around.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied with a guilty smile.

His mother stood in her sleeping robes and her dark hair had been lazily pulled back. Liam could see circles under her eyes. 

“Sleep much?” he asked.

She shrugged and walked over to a cabinet. “Not really.” A few cups clinked together before she pulled out the one she was looking for. “A bit restless I guess.” 

Light was beginning to poke through the window.

“Hate to hear that,” said Liam, glancing over at the pot of water. “Had a weird dream myself.”

“Never seem to sleep well after they switch the soldiers in the town,” she replied. 

Liam cleared his throat; he knew what was coming next.

“Not going into the bakery today?” he asked.

Natalya ran her hand over the top of her head and looked out the window. There was a pause in which she seemed to consider her options.

“I’ve got some things I need to do around the house,” she said after a few moments of silence. 

Liam nodded. He could hear the water beginning to bubble behind him.

“Everything should be sorted out at the bakery anyway.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Liam. 

He walked across the kitchen to where is mother was standing and grabbed a cup for himself from within the cabinet. 

“They won’t suspect anything,” he said. “They never do.” 

He walked back to the stove. The water inside was now deep brown and boiling. He removed the pot from over the flame and set it on the other side of the stove. 

“What d’you think they’ll do anyway?” he asked her with some sarcasm. “They’ll just sit there all day like the old ones did.” 

“Not if you go around using your magic like that!” she hissed, gesturing at the now dwindling fire. “You know you shouldn’t be doing that… especially since we’re not registered.” 

She walked over to the steaming pot and poured a little coffee into her cup. The aroma had filled the room. 

Soft pink light was beginning to illuminate the woods outside the window. 

“We’ll be fine,” Liam dismissed her. 

She glanced at him from over her steaming cup, an eyebrow raised. 

“What?” Liam exclaimed. “I’m not the one who decided to avoid the queen’s registry… The Marling’s are registered,” he said, referring to his best friend across town and his family, “and so are Sarelle and her mom.”

“And I’m sure they’re shooting fireworks down Main Street,” she smiled. 

Liam grunted with a smile.

“Well, no,” he replied. “But–”

“Look,” she interrupted, “until the queen lifts her ban, which is unlikely,” she muttered to herself, “we shouldn’t get in the habit of using it… registered or not.”

Liam nodded.

He knew very well that he shouldn’t use the fiery magic, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Ignegic, as it was called, was a part of him, and expressing it felt natural, even if he didn’t know the first thing about it. 

“Coffee’s good,” she said with a smile. She glanced at the spark rocks sitting on the counter. “You’re going to hurt the rock’s feelings,” she joked as she walked back toward her bedroom. “Thank you for making it,” she said, raising her cup. “I really do have some things I need to get done today though.”

“I’ll be fine,” Liam repeated.

He set his cup down and grabbed a couple of apples from a wire basket on the counter. He put one in his pocket and took a large bite from the other, sending juice running down his chin. 

“Wanna cover for me tomorrow?” Liam called out to his mother who was now in the doorway to the hall. 

“Hmm?”

She turned her head.

“Can you cover for me at the bakery tomorrow?” Liam asked, swallowing a mouthful of apple. 

She smiled at him, knowing that he was asking for payback. 

“Sure,” she agreed.

“Thanks.”

Liam took a final warm sip of coffee and walked over to the front door, prying it open. The morning birds chattered away. 

“Are you going to hang out with Pat after work?”

“Probably,” said Liam.

He stepped outside and turned around.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she said. She rubbed her temple with her free hand. “Going to nurse this headache first.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you then.” 

Liam called out his goodbye and closed the door behind him. 

Thin, tall trees stood all around him, creating a lush covering over the dirt path that led into town. Expecting to arrive a bit early, Liam made his way up the path. Within minutes of walking, his little cabin was no longer visible. He found himself grinning, his mother’s behavior playing back through his head.

He knew exactly why the change of town soldiers made her so uncomfortable, but she needn’t worry. Nothing noteworthy ever occurred in the forgotten town of Kalston. He walked past the same tree stump he had seen the day before, and the one before that. He could see the old oak he used to climb when younger and knew exactly how many mushrooms were sprouting beneath the knobby trunk. 

Kalston was ordinary, boring even, depending on who was asked. Yet somehow, Liam didn’t mind. 

He knew his mother had moved here to Kalston for that reason. Peaceful days, less noise, and more importantly, less soldiers.

Liam stepped onto the main street of the town, his commute from home coming to an end. Shops lined either side of the road. He could see the new pair of soldiers in gray uniforms leaning against a shop on the left. As usual, neither of them paid any attention to Liam as he walked up the street. 

A few feet away from the soldiers stood a large wooden sign with a bunch of papers nailed to it, each fluttering slightly in the morning breeze. Liam sighed heavily and walked a little closer.

He could see a couple new notices since the last time he looked at the board. One from Mr. Hesk, the town butcher, informing passersby of a party he was hosting at his home in ten days’ time. The other, a plea for the recovery of a missing pair of shoes posted by Ms. Bell, who worked at the tea shop and always seemed to be missing something.

However, the most prominent item nailed to the board was framed in the center. The parchment was a list of current laws and orders issued by the queen and her council, all written in near perfect script. 

This is what Liam was looking for, knowing that an updated list was often posted with a change of soldiers in the town.

His eyes lazily darted side to side as he skimmed down the long list of ordinary regulations. Nothing new.

At the bottom, written almost as if an afterthought, the paper read, “All forms of ignegic banned. No magic by fire is to be permitted. Any and all users of ignegic (pyrends) need to be registered. No exceptions. This is in accordance with the Equality Act.”

“Yup,” breathed Liam. “Same ole.”

He turned and glanced back at the soldiers, neither of which seemed to be altogether thrilled at being on duty at such an early hour. 

Liam shook his head, straining to believe that either of the men would do much of anything if they were needed. His mother had nothing to worry about. Registered or not, he and his mother would be fine.

On his right, he could see the bakery. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the shop and opened the door. The summer had only just rolled in and working in the bakery during this season would soon become dreadful. Though the weather never reached a sweltering point this far north in the kingdom, what little heat there was outside would only magnify further in the kitchen. 

Thankfully, the bakery had not reached that point yet. Mornings in particular were nice when the air was still cool. The heat from the large clay oven in the kitchen would often sway Liam into a daze. 

He walked into the back of the shop, and with his mother’s reaction still fresh in his mind, he grabbed the spark rocks from the mantle and begrudgingly ignited the tinder in the large clay oven by hand. By mid-day the kitchen in the back felt like a kiln, and though he was often covered in flour, Liam frequently escaped from the working area to the display shop in the front. 

As lunchtime approached, the wooden door swung open. Liam rushed to the front upon hearing the bell, frantically wiping all he could from his apron.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Liam said, shaking his head with a small smile. 

“Not very excited to see me then?” Pat asked. “Shall I go back home?”

Pat had light brown hair, green, almond shaped eyes, and an angular face.

“Well it's not as if you’re going to buy anything, are you?” Liam retorted jovially. 

Pat continued to grin.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now flip the sign for me, will you? I’m about to eat lunch,” Liam continued. 

Pat walked over to the window and flipped the “Open” sign to “We’ll be back!”. 

“How’s business been this morning?” he asked.

“The usual. Mr. Felnin came in and bought a loaf and some muffins. Said he was going to make some roast sandwiches tonight.”

“That sounds really good right actually,” Pat said as he walked behind the counter. “Are we going up?”

“Yeah, give me a minute, I’ll grab us some food,” Liam told him as he watched Pat climb up the stairs. 

“I was hoping you would feed me!” Pat yelled from the top.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Looks like I found the real reason you came,” he muttered, poking his head around the kitchen for some food. He could hear a muffled retort from Pat upstairs. Liam proceeded to grab a few apples from the kitchen and sweetbread from the shop. He made his way above the shop, doing his best not to drop any of the food.

There was a small room at the top of the stairs. Typically, Liam and his mother used the room to take their work breaks whenever lunch time rolled around. At one point they tried to stagger their meals in order to keep the bakery open, but they let go of this notion long ago. The majority of the town’s people either stopped by in the morning for a breakfast pastry or on their way home for a loaf of bread, leaving the shop quite empty mid-day when he and his mother found themselves to be most hungry. 

The room was small; a clay chimney lined the back wall, rising from the large oven below, and a window on the opposite wall poured in generous amounts of summer light. In the center was a small round, wooden table and a few chairs, one of which Pat was currently occupying.

“Did you hear me?” he asked eagerly. 

Liam dropped an armful of bread and fruit on the table.

“Not exactly,” he replied, taking a seat. 

“I wanted to see if you cared to go to The Spot after closing.”

The boys often spent time by a pond not too far from Liam’s house. It was surrounded by trees and a patch of grass that ran along the bank; it made a rather beautiful scene this time of year. 

“Yeah, I’m down,” said Liam, knowing full well that the tree coverage of The Spot kept the boys well away from the eyes of the queen’s soldiers. “It’s been a little while since we’ve been there.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Pat mumbled, a large portion of bread in his mouth. He attacked the food as if he hadn’t eaten in a day or two. Once he got ahold of his voice he asked, “Did you see the two new guys outside?”

Liam nodded. 

“I almost forgot that the guard change happened today,” said Pat.

He shrugged. “I mean, it’s nothing noteworthy, clearly.”

Pat glanced out the window.

“We might want to lay low on using ignegic tonight,” he muttered as if reading Liam’s mind. “At least until we get a feel for these guys.”

Liam tore into a piece of his bread, unwilling to argue.

“Do you think we could run over to Boar’s Tusk to buy some meat?” Pat asked, turning his gaze back to the bread.

“No, my mom wouldn’t be too thrilled if I left the shop.” Liam took a bite of apple, “You can go if you want to though, don’t let me stop you.”

Pat appeared to consider the idea for a moment but must have inevitably decided against it as he remained very much in place. 

After lunch, Liam threw more wood into the bottom of the oven, flipped the sign in the window back to “open”, and prepared the shop for afternoon customers.

“Bye!” Liam shouted toward the doorway as Pat let a customer in. “See you tonight!”

“See you!” Pat shouted back

Liam faced his new guest. “Yes, anything I can get for you Mr–” Liam didn’t recognize the man before him, an uncommon occurrence for him in a town as small as Kalston. He wasn’t enthusiastic about everyone in the town, but he knew just about every person, at least by face. 

“Versteck, Ren Versteck,” said the deep voice of the older gentleman. “And no, not just yet.”

Right from the start Liam felt there was something peculiar about the man. He was older in age and had short, snow white hair. He sported a goatee and a wispy mustache, each equally as white. The man was tall in stature, had some shabby clothes with a thick leather bracelet, and didn’t seem to be tremendously interested in the bread he was looking at. 

Liam stepped behind the counter while the old man perused through the baskets in front of him. Every now and then the man would look up at Liam before quickly looking back at the bread. Liam felt slightly vulnerable without knowing why.  

“Are you doing well today?” Liam finally asked, hoping to make some conversation.

“I’m doing fine, thank you. How is the baker’s life treating you?” replied the old man.

“It’s alright, pretty routine to be honest. Quiet town.”

“Do you enjoy living here?” the man asked as he inspected a muffin.

Liam nodded. “I’d say so, yes. Not too much happens out here, but the people are nice. Nothing to worry about really,” he responded in his “customer voice.”

The old man looked Liam over. “You know, I once knew someone who preferred the quiet life. Didn’t involve himself much if truth be told… I always wanted to show him a world outside his box, and when I did, he never turned back.”

Liam thought this was an odd thing to say, but out of politeness, he replied. “I guess I wouldn’t mind traveling at some point. I hadn’t given much thought to it.” 

He certainly wouldn’t put up an argument if the old man was trying to part with some travel tickets, but as this was unlikely the case he pressed on. “So, what became of your friend?” 

“Well,” said the old man, putting the muffin back in the basket, “I guess you could say that someone truly did him wrong, and he moved on.”

The old man spoke slowly, with several pauses, resonating a sense of wisdom. Liam found himself curious, wanting to know more about this old man’s once stuffy friend. He had a feeling that neither the man nor his friend had spoken in quite some time. Eager to know more, Liam opened his mouth to ask, “What happened?” but quickly decided against it.

“Do you travel much yourself then?” 

“I certainly did at one point, yes,” the man replied, “but I haven’t much until recently if I were to be honest.”

“What brings you to Kalston?”

The old man took a deep breath, considering the question. “Just looking around a bit.”

Liam did his best not to make a face of suspicion. For whatever reason, everything this man was saying sounded enigmatic, veiled from deeper meaning. What was his intention, was he looking for a place to stay? Perhaps he was looking for someone he’d once known.

To make short of things Liam became blunt, “Is there anything here, any bread I can get for you?”

“Probably not … not today no,” replied the old man. He looked up from the basket of butter rolls he was now in front of and gazed at Liam inquisitively. “Ballard’s Bakery, huh? Family name?”

“Yes, my family’s bakery.” 

“Your father’s name no doubt?”

“No, just my mother and I actually.”

The old man looked surprised at the information. Liam began to grow defensive, feeling a small squirm in his stomach. What was he playing at?

“Is your mother in?” he asked.

“No, not today” Liam replied, “Mr. uh–”,

“Ren,” the man interjected.

“Right, well Mr. Ren, if you are not going to buy any bread, then–”

“Not to worry, I was just on my way out,” interrupted the old man with a smirk. “It was nice meeting you Mr. Ballard.” He turned and walked out of the shop, ringing the bell with the swing of the door.

Liam stared at the empty space for several minutes.

To anyone else, a stranger asking for someone’s mother would be of no concern. Peculiar perhaps, but not worrisome. However, to Liam, this was troublesome. 

He bit the inside of his cheek.

Years ago, sometime after the ignegic ban was put into place, his mother had taken all necessary steps to keep royal everything out of her life. She moved far away from those that knew her and began living under the false surname of Ballard. Liam was sure no one outside Kalston knew of them aside from the possibility of his grandmother, but he hadn’t heard from her. 

Liam continued staring at the doorway for a few minutes, wondering not only if this old man knew his mother, but also why he’d appeared surprised by the name Ballard.

Liam slowly walked toward the front of the shop, the floor creaking under his feet. He cracked the door open and peered down the street, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

He could still see the two soldiers from that morning, though they were on the other side of the street now. 

After a few puzzled moments, Liam turned back inside and shut the door. He rubbed his wrist impulsively.

He walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a jar labeled “Lifewood Dust.” He set the glass jar on the counter with a clunk and popped the lid. 

Getting back to work would take his mind off his peculiar encounter; there was no reason to make a fuss about what was probably nothing. He began scooping white powder from the jar and dusting a few of the bread loaves he’d baked before lunch. The old man was simply a traveler, he was just passing through town, he must have been. Liam continued dismissing the stranger’s visit as he powdered his rolls, knowing full well that he had to throw out a basket of moldy muffins this morning because he had forgotten to dust them. He didn’t know how it worked, but whenever he dusted his bread, it lasted, and that meant less baking for him.

The remainder of the day at the bakery ran just as normally as any other day. Liam found himself scrutinizing the large clock in the corner for the entire afternoon, the enchanted jewel slowly marking the hours. Other than when helping a few of the townspeople as they stopped by, the time crept by slower than ever.

As the seventh hour of the afternoon approached, Liam put out the oven fire, covered the bread, and locked the shop. He looked down the road toward The Spot, wondering if Pat was already there. He took a deep breath of fresh air, relishing in the splendid early summer weather of Turswood. All the trees had finally stopped pollinating, leaving the atmosphere considerably more enjoyable. 

As he exited the bakery, he looked down the street at some of the other shops, a few of which were still open. The sky was still bright, meaning he still had a few hours before sunset– plenty of time for him and Pat to kick a ball around. Without further procrastination Liam set off down the street. Away from the shops, away from work; he continued down the road into the forested outskirts of town. 

The road angled downhill, making his walk home much easier than the one into town. Shortly before reaching his house, Liam veered off the path –now a dirt road– to the right. After several minutes of walking though forestry, light dancing through the veiled, green canopy above, he reached a small clearing with a pond. There, sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree was Pat.

“Hey! You’re here!” he exclaimed, a bunch of plucked grass around where he was sitting. “About time. How was the rest of work, same ole?”

“Pretty much,” replied Liam as he made his way over. Next to Pat was a weathered parmick ball. “But there was this one strange older man that came in right as you left.”

“The white-haired fellow?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Liam responded with a nod. “ He acted… odd. He must’ve been a traveler,” he said, not wanting to delve into the details. “Probably just passing through.”

“Like there’s a whole lot of sightseeing to do here,” Pat chuckled. 

He picked up the ball and stood up, clearly unconcerned with the white-haired stranger as well as tired of leaning against a tree. Liam responded with a smile and started sprinting in the opposite direction. 

Pat was ready; he kicked the parmick ball hard. It soared high, much higher than a normal ball would. Parmick balls were comprised of red dyed leather, wrapped around an enchanted metal wire frame. It was this, the enchanted frame, that made playing with the ball so fun. Because of the hovering charm within the ball, it soared higher and longer than gravity would otherwise allow. The charm made the ball difficult to grab, but with some coordination it was certainly possible.

He spun around, running backward, Pat had kicked farther than Liam anticipated. 

If truth be told, neither of them were very good at playing parmick, nor were they aware of many rules. Because of Kalston’s relatively small size, there were no local teams for the sport, school or otherwise. Even still, kicking the ball around The Spot provided enough entertainment for them.

When playing, it wasn’t unusual for mishaps to occur. Many kicks and throws would result in Liam having to jump into the pond as the ball spun to a halt, hovering a couple inches above the surface. Other missed shots would simply land among the trees, but those were much easier to retrieve.

Liam punted the ball back at Pat with a grunt. He watched the ball soar through the air, happy for the absence of soldiers, townspeople, and parents. Pat returned Liam’s kick with a flash of flame bursting from the front of his foot. Liam grinned even broader if possible as the ball rocketed toward him, propelled by the explosive kick. 

After a bounce or two, the ball slowly came to a stop just above the ground. 

“So much for ‘laying low’!” Liam shouted with a laugh.

Pat shrugged.

“I watched them for a bit… they’re the same as the last set,” he responded, referring to Kalston’s replacement set of lazy soldiers. 

Liam kicked the ball back. 

Though neither of them was particularly good at ignegic, having no formal training, using the fiery blasts to deflect the ball never lost its luster. 

Both their mothers would likely have a stroke if either of them were caught doing it. “Did you not hear what happened to the pyrends in Santolma?” Liam could hear Mrs. Marling’s voice echo in his head. “Their families never heard from them again!”

But even amongst their “slips” the boys did their best to respect their mothers’ concerns. 

The sun sunk lower as shadows crept across the landscape.

“Hey, let’s call it a day!” Pat shouted across the grassy bank.

“One more throw!” Liam pleaded. 

He chunked the ball up in the air. Liam turned on the spot, the parmick ball was headed much farther than where he stood. He ran as fast as he could, legs burning, heart racing. He could feel an energy, an excitement building within him. With an extraordinary dive, Liam grabbed the ball, making the catch. 

Liam screamed in triumph as he got back to his feet. “Did you see that!” 

In his delight, Liam threw the ball to the ground with a significant amount of force, causing a fiery blast in the dirt that cracked open the silent air. A few birds took to the sky from the surrounding treetops. 

Immediately regretting his moment of celebration, Liam looked around him. The blast was not particularly large, but it was louder than he’d hoped. 

The expression on Pat’s face, even from a distance, could not have been plainer.

“Liam!” he shouted, walking over to what remained of the ball, “Someone could’ve heard that!”

“Hopefully not, got a little carried away I suppose,” Liam laughed nervously, trying to ease the situation.

“If anyone in town tells our mothers, we’re done for,” said Pat, eyes wide at the thought of his mother finding out. “But also…” He nodded his head downward, holding out his left arm.

Liam could see a flame insignia on the inside of Pat’s wrist. The mark appeared as if someone had drawn a stylized, black water drop on his forearm. 

“I hardly need reminding,” Liam retorted in frustration. The mark had stained the skin of every pyrend in the kingdom; every child of the flame carried the inky potion upon their wrist since infanthood, adding to the queen’s registry. 

Liam guiltily rubbed the inside of his arm, knowing full well that his mother had somehow kept him unmarked. His name, and her own for that matter, remained absent from kingdom’s records as those dangerous fire wielders, a fact only Pat and Sarelle’s families knew.

Liam took a deep breath, doing his best to expel any thought of the queen. He wasn’t quite sure the gravity of being caught by a soldier or outed by a townsman but considering the royal stigma of pyrends and illegality of being unregistered, he had an unpleasant idea of what might happen.

“Sorry about the ball,” Liam concluded as they both stared at the torn up parmick ball in the dirt. 

“It’s okay, we’ll get another. That one was getting old anyway,” sighed Pat with a shrug. “At least it was fun…” 

“You could say that,” came a deep voice near the trees. “Well, fun to watch.”

Liam’s worst fear was confirmed. Someone had heard them. For a moment, he and Pat stood there looking at each other, all color draining from Pat’s face. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Liam turned his head toward the trees. Standing there was the old man from the bakery, his shoulder leaning against a rather large oak, a smirk upon his wrinkly face.

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