Alec
Alec was sitting with his eyes closed, the heels of his feet touching, legs akimbo with the top of each wrist placed precariously over his knees. His lips were parted and his small chest puffed with each timed breath, relaxed when his nostrils flared. A candle’s flame danced just past his toes. The flame was shuddering and hot wax was splattering over Alec’s pinkie toe, but the boy didn’t notice. Or, if he did, he gave no inclination. Every muscle in his body was poised, the only noticeable movement coming from the rhythmic flow of his breathing.
The clattering of swords reached his ears and that incessant thumping grew louder in volume. The rafters were shaking overhead; the candle flame was flickering and hot wax was still beading down onto the floor, reaching for Alec’s still body.
Then there was the sound of splintering wood, of a heavy door breaking free of its hinges and crushing someone in its wake. Boots slamming against rotting wooden floor, metal clanging together, drawing death screams out from their victims; all of these sounds invading Alec’s silence. These deaths had been needless, preventable, but when he’d attempted to argue with reasoning and logic, no one had listened. He had grown frustrated with the way his mouth distrusted his brain, warped the perfect words in his head into choppy, tentative speech.
One more sword fell as a man choked on his own blood. There was the slump of the body, the dull clang of a short sword falling from slackened fingers. The knob turned on his door. Every intensified sound drew away when Alec opened his eyes; he was aware of only his own breathing, of the tension that was building on the other side of the door. It opened abruptly with a swift kick. Alec’s green eyes met a soldier’s confused gaze. His shock lasted only a mere moment, but it was all the time Alec needed to pinch the candle flame between his fingers. Both the flame and Alec’s body puffed out of existence, rolled into smoke.
“Don’t let him escape! He can still be captured in this state,” the man barked as he barreled forward. But it was already too late. The soldier’s sword rang against a stone wall, missing the disappearing hand by mere inches. “Fools! Out! Get out now!” The front soldier wheeled around, but there was chaos at the threshold. Some of the men were still trying to come in, others getting turned about by the tight press of the room around them. Alec watched from within the wall for a few moments more before phasing out of it. As soon as his body was solid once more, he was streaking towards the horse post.
The soldiers’ horses swung their heads in tandem as he neared. He was already nitpicking through their brains, filling each nook and cranny with images of slaughter and carnage: the faces of their riders wore blood masks, their teeth ripped into the horses’ necks, nails digging in mercilessly as the horses squealed in pain. All but one of the horses was spared the images. Alec was rearing him as the soldiers poured out of the ruined home.
He dug his heels in, restructured the horse’s brain to trust him, and then the two were off. Dirt kicked out behind him and Alec refused to look back.
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