Aaiden and his friends watched in horror as Jodain ran off to fetch his mother. He was in more trouble than he had ever been in before, and he knew it. He had never done anything this bad in his entire short life. His mother was going to “skin him alive” or “tan his hide” or something so much worse, she had not even threatened him with it before. He wrung his square hands, shaking from the top of his blond head down to his toes, as he watched Jodain disappear from sight.
He had not meant to hurt Shainer, yet there the older boy was, rolling around on the ground howling and clutching at his legs. But how had it happened? Confusion shone in Aaiden’s big blue eyes. It was like all those times before, when he was younger, when he did things and didn’t know how he had done them. Like the time he was harvesting vegetables for his mother; thinking about how he would much rather be fishing, and in the blink of an eye, was down by the fishing pond, pole in hand. Those other times had been harmless though, this was much more serious. This time someone had gotten hurt, and badly too.
Shainer had said some mighty insulting things about his mother, and Aaiden had only imagined himself breaking the boy’s legs. A comical little image appeared in his mind depicting an oddly out of proportion Aaiden, lifting an equally bizarre looking Shainer, and breaking him over his knee, much like you would a stick of wood to throw on the fire. That was when the rude boy fell to the ground, writhing in agony.
Most of the other villagers, drawn out on to the lane by the now screaming Shainer, were starting to gather around the small group of boys, whispering amongst themselves.
Aaiden’s mother, Rayne, came marching up the lane, her face reflecting a lot of anger, and a little fear. She yelled something at Jodain, who was following closely behind her, and he instantly ran off in the opposite direction.
The crowd parted for her as she stomped her way towards the frightened boys. She opened her mouth to speak just as Shainer's father, Barift, who was running over from his stables shouted out, “What happened?”
The group of boys all started to speak at once, and with each trying to be the one who was heard, none of them was.
Aaidens mother put her finger to her lips and shushed them. “One at a time, please,” she said, quietly. Her voice contained a deadly ring to it that Aaiden knew only too well.
“Aaiden didn’t touch him, Rayne,” said the smallest boy, Morini, solemnly with tears shining in his dark sincere eyes.
“Shainer should not have said the things that he said,” Aaidens best friend Torrin chimed in, shaking his head.
Rayne eyed them steadily for a moment then turned her full attention to her son. Aaiden cringed on the inside at the sight of her severe gaze. Shainer was still thrashing around in the dirt, though his cries were much quieter, as he was trying to hear what was being said.
“I don’t know what happened, momma,” Aaiden said honestly, looking her straight in the eye, and hoping she would believe him this time. “Somehow I broke his legs, I think. But, I swear to you that I did not touch him.”
“If you didn’t touch him, how under the sun did you manage to break his legs?” Shainer’s father demanded heatedly.
“I don’t know,” Aaiden answered. “It just happened.”
Barift glowered at him, looked down at his son, and said, “There are many things that ‘just happen’ around you boy. I think you are cursed.”
Loujess, Shainer’s mother, came running down the lane behind a very out of breath Jodain. She let out a mournful wail at the news of her son’s broken legs. Barift made his way to her and the two of them tried, quite unsuccessfully, to calm their child. At the sight of his mother, Shainer’s hysterics had been renewed.
Just then, a very old man with long white hair and an equally long white beard came walking briskly up the lane. He was using a very fat, gnarled walking stick, which had been polished so that it gleamed in the sunlight. He wore a long brown robe, with a darker brown sash tied around his waist and sandals that were in such disrepair that they barely covered the soles of his feet.
It was Old Pluritan, whom the villagers often joked about, saying that he was losing his mind to age. He was calling out to them but no one could hear what he was saying.
As he got closer Aaiden started to make it out, “…can’t be punished for something he can’t control, and you know it! It is you who ought to be punished, Rayne!” He stopped near them and stood hunched over, leaning on his cane and panting for breath.
Aaidens mother turned on him, like a viper about to strike. “For your information old man, I wasn’t planning on punishing him.”
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