Even though he had survived the cart crashing into him, Erik knew he was certain to die once he came home covered with cuts, bruises, and a very noticeable, very discernable lightning bolt running up his arm. Using the Imperis weapons in Meryl, in the open, was a big no-no, and even though none of the bystanders saw him activate his sword, Erik's father would definitely know. And reprimand him. Erik, of course, understood his father's concerns. His heart still raced from the risk he took.
If it had been five years ago, no one would have batted an eye if Erik had decided to go to the town square and put on a light show for the children. Well, younger children. Despite his nineteen years, Erik still kept his baby face.
If it had been one year ago, someone might have called the guards for making a disturbance. They still didn't like their weapons, but it was allowed. Most people carried swords, and the flashes from the sword could have been credited to a glint in the sun instead of some "magic," as the Merylians called it.
Ever since The Ripper took to their town, everyone stayed hyper-alert for any sign of the murderer. Erik too wanted The Ripper captured and gone. In the past month, he had killed ten people, ranging from the upper class to a few notorious criminals. The guards still hadn't figured out what connection these people had. It was all random. A random spree of murders, two dead a week.
All killed with a deep slash. All marked with a scar shaped like a tree of lightning branching off from the wound. And all potential witnesses with their memories wiped and another lightning scar on the side of their head.
The same lightning bolt that marked Erik's arm.
The Merylians had no weapons that could make that kind of mark, but the Imperis could and did.
Erik grunted from the sudden pull on his arm.
"I know it hurts, but you have to get home before someone decides to stop us and send us to the healer," Jean, Erik's best friend, said. He had grabbed Erik's arm once he saw the lightning bolt and tried to cover it with his fingers. A few stray lines stuck out, but it was otherwise covered.
"I know, I know," Erik replied. He straightened out his back and ignored the burning sensation. "How far left?"
"Close," Jean replied. "Is your father home?"
"No. Mother and Chris aren't home either." Erik inhaled sharply when he stepped straight onto a loose rock and stumbled. "He was feeling sick so they went to a midwife friend of hers."
Jean gnawed on the inside of his cheek, something he did whenever he was nervous. Up ahead, two guards were talking outside a pub near their houses. At least, Erik thought it was the pub near their houses. He couldn't think properly from the pounding headache he got when he hit the ground. Jean led them away from the guards through a back alleyway.
Even though the Merylians never treated Erik as part of their own, they had at least stayed polite to him. It helped that his skin looked like theirs--fair and red from the sun. Only the shape of his face and maybe his eyes gave him away as a half-breed from the Decapolis, the alliance down south. So Erik had been quite stunned when a cart decided to knock into him while the man on top shouted, "Scum like you should die."
The cart had been going straight. As Erik walked parallel to its path, it came up behind him. Then the driver shouted, spurred his horses to gallop, and ran Erik over. Erik didn't see the cart until it was too late. He threw his body out of the way, but the man turned and made the wagon smash into Erik's body.
Out of instinct and fear, Erik reached for the sword on his belt and activated it as he braced for impact. He knew the sword's properties would give him better endurance so that he would live from the impact. The sword activated, only slightly so that the glow was barely noticeable in the noon sun.
On impact, Erik overcompensated for the danger of the fall and drew too much power from the sword, so he was graced with the lovely lightning bolt marking him with the sign of a murderer he had no connection with. And when Erik passed out from the sudden jolt, he deactivated the sword as he rolled across the cobblestones, which caused his scrapes and bruises.
According to Jean, the guards arrested the man who ran him over. He had also noticed that only one other person came to help Erik after he fell. Luckily, the girl hadn't noticed the mark on his arm but had offered her handkerchief to bandage Erik's leg.
"I'll stay with you until your mother returns," Jean said. "Sera should be able to take care of the house for an hour longer. She'll be a bit hungry, but she can eat the leftover bread."
"I'll be okay," Erik grunted out. "Go cook for your sister."
"Like the devil you will be. You can't even walk on your own, and you're lucky your clothes are dark. Sera's smart. She'll stay out of trouble."
"She's ten."
"She won't die from being alone for another hour," Jean replied. "But I'll drop by to let her know I'll be next door."
By the time Jean and Erik approached their homes, Erik fully leaned on his friend for support. His hurt leg had given out, and the headache had grown to a giant hammer slamming into his skull. Erik tried to stifle his groans, but he knew he wasn't having much success.
The two went to Erik's house first. Jean basically carried Erik up the two wooden steps and laid him down on the floor in the middle of their dining room. Erik's leg throbbed. After Erik was situated, Jean closed all the shutters and checked the street for any passerby. In the dark, Erik imagined that this was a coffin. If he hadn't felt the spaciousness of the large room, he might have gotten more anxious.
Erik squeezed his eyes shut from the pain and waited for Jean to return from his house. Erik heard a loud, "I'm gonna go to Erik's for a 'lil while. Bread in the cupboard," then Jean came back and shut the door behind him.
"It's clear. You can try healing yourself now," Jean said.
Erik tried to nod and reached for his sword. His fingers loosely gripped the handle as he tried to draw out some of the sword's power. Normally, the sword would be able to heal his small wounds within three breaths. This time, Erik could barely work past the burning sensation in his arm. He had definitely drawn out too much power from the sword.
"Not working," Erik mumbled.
"It is a little," Jean said worriedly. "The bleedin's stopped, but none of the cuts are closed. Is there anything you got that would help?"
"Salt," Erik said through gritted teeth. "Father said it helps with using the sword."
Erik tried again as Jean went to find some of the minerals. Jean must have found some in the bags Erik's father used to sell.
With the salt covering his arm, Erik managed to draw out more power to heal his major wounds somewhat. The sword glowed a bright white that Erik wouldn't have gotten away with in the streets. Every muscle, fiber of Erik's body tensed as if he were pulling a heavy load across a sand pit. The lightning coursed through his body but more dispersed and less sharp this time. The pounding headache settled into a dull throb, and his leg no longer smarted without even moving.
"The small cuts are gone. You can't really tell you've been injured."
That bout of healing would be enough for now. Erik flopped his arm on the wooden floor and relaxed. The only sound was from his heavy breaths.
"Erik," Jean said quietly. "You gotta tell your parents this time."
"I can't. They're worried enough already." Erik continued staring at the ceiling. Right above his head was his and his brother's room. "I'll just keep quiet again."
Jean moved so that he was sitting next to Erik instead of at his feet. "Last time you only got pushed into a pig pen," Jean said. "You could have died this time."
Erik closed his eyes and sighed. "Father's been dealing with so much with the other merchants. This'll just make him mad." He thought of the many times his father had come home rubbing his temples and sighing. His father always came home quiet when he was upset.
"You know you gotta tell them."
"I know. I will."
Feeling a bit thirsty, Erik stood up but lost his balance right away and stumbled back onto the floor. Jean jumped to his side and helped him sit against the wall. This was awful. He and Jean were stuck in the dark since they couldn't open the shutters in case anyone looked in and they couldn't afford to light the lamps. Even worse, Jean couldn't leave because Erik was too weak to stay by himself.
After getting Erik a cup of water, Jean sat down next to him. This hadn't been the first time something like this happened. When they were young, Jean would get into fights all the time standing up for his little sister. Erik had been the one to take care of his wounds, and now Jean was doing the same for him.
"I hope that man pays for what he did," Jean muttered. "He could have killed you."
"He will. The guards have him now," Erik replied.
"We didn't stick around though. He might just get fined," Jean replied.
"Can't do anything about it," Erik said. "Well, my father could, but he won't. Wouldn't be right. He doesn't like using his influence over the guards."
Jean just nodded and sighed. "Yeah. You're right.."
"Don't let it bother you. I'm alive, and he got caught. Good enough for me," Erik replied. "Glad no one saw my arm though. That would have made things a lot worse."
For now, the two of them could just rest. Now that his wounds had healed somewhat, Erik felt the full force of fatigue from the energy it took to use his sword. The situation was bad, yes, but it could have been worse. They had made it all the way across town without getting stopped and questioned. No one noticed Erik's new scar.
He was lucky Jean was there to help him. If Jean had decided to stay home with his sister today instead of coming with Erik to see the caravans . . .
Erik's eyes closed.
"I'm still awake," Erik mumbled. "Not going to sleep."
"Alright," Jean replied.
The door slammed open, jolting both boys.
"Hello, Erik! You're back early," Chris, Erik's little brother shouted. The little kid gave a big sniffle then sneezed. Hard. "Hi, Jean! I got to go to the healing lady today. Did ya know there was a big ole accident today? Momma and me were at the market, and the old man sellin--" Chris sneezed again.
Erik's mother appeared in the doorway with a basket of bread in her arms. She smiled tiredly at the little kid jumping up and down around his brother. That smile, though, disappeared once she saw Erik leaning against the wall. In fact, Erik thought it may have become a frown as her eyes traveled down to the lightning scar on his arm.
"That's enough now, Chris. Go upstairs and rest," his mother said.
"But--"
"Listen to mother," Erik replied.
Sad, but compliant, Chris ran up to his room still oblivious to why his mother really sent him away. Jean started to get up but sat right back down when Erik's mother gave him a stern look. After knowing Jean's family for so many years, Erik's mother basically became Jean's second mother, and Jean's mother Erik's.
Unlike Erik and Jean, Erik's mother had a tanner skin tone, so she didn't flush as bright a red when she was angry. Despite that, she managed to reach a dark tomato color. A dark red color that reminded Erik of his father's angry expression. Which he would probably see later on that evening.
"Erik. Would you please tell me what happened?"