A new day for John, his third in his new life. It starts off with a bang and ends with...well... another bang.
John saw mountains. Their flanks grey and brown, dappled with scrubby trees and bushes. They rose high into the sky around him, their mighty peaks rising into the clouds. Then, as he turned—
John's eyes snapped open. A loud noise echoing in his ears. A bang or a crash? Something falling? He looked over and the clay cup was shattered on the floor, a small puddle of water spreading out from it and the wildflowers it once contained lying flat and defeated on the ground.
A shadow crossed over him. Sleep fled from him as though it was chased by riders bearing lances. He flung his sheet away and jumped to his feet. He grabbed his dagger off the table as he stuck his head out his window and looked out. The shutters were open and the pre-dawn gloom cast the town of Widow's Edge in a gloomy grey half-light.
He looked around and then up at last as he heard a scuffling noise. He caught sight of a rope disappearing as it was pulled up and over the edge of the roof. He turned and scooped up his robe and pulled it over his head. Then he grabbed his spear and was out the door and running down the hall and taking the stairs three at a time. He heard a few muffled grunts and curses from other rooms but ignored them.
John rushed through the common room, knocking a few chairs astray in his haste. A few of the commoners sleeping in corners and along walls snorted and grumbled. He heard a clang from the kitchen but was out the door before whomever it was could come and investigate.
In the empty road he spun and looked up, searching for some sign of the would be trespasser. The morning gloom washed everything in a dark grey that was harder to pierce than the darkness. John called on the magic. After hours of practice he'd learned many things. Instead of casting his sight through the eyes of Zynga, he could pull the magic to his sight. When he opened his eyes again the world was brighter, but the colors were washed away. He saw enough to spy someone dipping down the other side of the tavern's peaked roof.
He ran around the tavern and cursed himself for choosing the wrong direction. He had to run farther to clear the woodshed and small stables. There were no horses being stabled, sparing him the indignity of slipping in manure or earning a kick from a surprised horse. He heard a grunt before he managed the final corner, spurring him on.
Ahead John saw a small figure dart out of the narrow walkway behind the tavern and into another alley between buildings. John pushed himself to run after. His legs gave eager chase, his young body strong and fit.
He misjudged the turn though and collided with the wall of a house. Bouncing back he stumbled until he regained his balance and pushed on, bursting out from between houses and twisting his head and body back and forth to search for the would-be thief.
They hadn't gone far yet, but—
A dog barked from his left. John turned and ran. He ran past the house and then the next, where the dog was still barking. John's eyes narrowed. The owner's would wake soon and he didn't want to answer questions. He was on the verge of making a name for himself here already, what with the business with Irena and Harold.
John looked up and down the street a final time before cursing his luck. He turned and jogged away, heading back toward the inn. He reached the road that would take him back to it and glanced back over his shoulder. Nothing seemed amiss or out of place. The dog had been silenced too. Widow's Edge was quiet again. Quieter than he'd ever heard it, in fact, but he'd never been up at this time before.
John turned left instead of right. He moved as fast as he could manage and realized after a moment just how quiet he was. Looking down he realized why— he'd left his sandals in his room! He'd paid no mind to the small rocks he stepped on before, but now that he wasn't as obsessed with chasing the unknown person, every rock and stick seemed to stab him in the most sensitive parts.
Scowling at his haste, John reached the hall that led to the tunnels soon enough. He nodded to the single sleepy guard on duty and passed through, heading for the stairs. He went down the first flight and then the second before finding a smaller side passage to hide himself in.
He tucked himself in and waited, his spear held tight against him. With the lanterns lighting the passage he released the magic enhancing his sight but kept it ready. Last night's practice had taxed it some, but he'd built it up over the past day and still had enough to spare.
He'd learned much in that time, from minor enhancements to himself to using the magic to manifest real effects. He'd sparked a flame and even managed to grab his spear from across the room and pull it to his hand. There was much more he was sure he could master, with time and power, but figuring out that much had left his mind a tired and mushy mess that needed sleep.
Now he was wide awake. He watched the main thoroughfare from town to dock from the tunnel he'd ducked into. Anyone coming down the stairs would round a corner and pass him. They would see him too, no doubt, but by then it would be too late. Maybe not too late for them to run, but too late to avoid him.
Still, he waited for several minutes. Long enough his mind began to wander. Was the invader meaning to steal from him, or had they come to silence him? A quick knife in the dark to pay him back for what he'd done to Harold.
Harold had been cruel to his wife, that much John knew. His words were harsh but, sadly, that was no crime in most places. His actions though... he'd been neglectful to her, certainly, and expected certain things of her. She'd hinted he might have hurt her before too, but John couldn't be certain. Widow's Edge and the world of Kroth in general was a better place without Harold in it, but the town's sheriff might not agree with him.
Did Widow's peak have a sheriff? They had guards, certainly, but were they private sell swords or part of a city watch? Three days now and he wasn't even sure if Widow's Edge had a lord or a mayor. Perhaps even a council? Foolish of him to let such matters go. He was a learned man... or he had been. Well, he thought he had been. Perhaps the glimpses of his former life was nothing more than barely remembered parts of dream. Much like the mountains he'd dreamed this morning.
A scuff of a foot on stairs scattered John's thoughts. He gripped his spear tighter and marshaled the magic within him. He would be ready this time, whether it was a thief, assassin, or just an unlucky boy hoping to find a place to catch a few hours sleep.
A shadow was chased down the wall before the person rounded the corner. They were small and slender, matching the build that John had glimpsed on the run. Just a boy with bare foot and loose pants beneath a tattered cloak and hood. It was the same person, he was sure of it. He remembered the cloak billowing out as the boy raced around a corner ahead of him.
John stepped out and set his staff firmly to the smooth rock floor.
The boy froze for a second mid-step, but he caught himself and lurched forward into a run. He darted past John before he could react. John turned, his teeth clenched in frustration, and used his free hand to throw his magic.
Rather than grabbing the flapping cloak and trying to hold the boy he clapped him in the back and staggered him. His arms flew out, wind milling to try and keep his balance, but John's push had been fueled with too much frustration. He crashed to the ground, grunting as he hit and slid.
John rushed after him as he struggled to climb back to his feet. A solid foot to the back of the boy pushed him back down and earned a second grunt of air bursting from his chest. John held him down lowered his spear so that it was next to the boy's face.
The boy stopped squirming and slowly pulled his arms out from beneath his cloak. One of them held a short blade with a gentle curve to it. A dagger fit for cutting ropes... or meat. He let go of it and pushed it away.
"Roll over," John growled and stepped off his back. He moved to the side but kept his spear trained on the lad. "Slowly."
The boy did as he was bade, twisting and rolling away from the wall toward John. John had to step back again. The hood fell back enough to light up the boy's face. John barked out a laugh and shook his head.
"You're not a boy," he said. "Who are you and why are you trying to slip into my room."
The girl glared up at him. Her head was wrapped in a rag but her green eyes were fierce. Green eyes under...
John's eyes narrowed. Her eyebrows were ginger colored. The more he looked at her the more she looked like—
"I wanted to know if it was true," she said. "Steff says you've got the cock of a horse. Do you?"
"You're not Red..." John said.
"Red's my sister," the girl said. "Steff won't shut up about you. Going on all day, she was. John the Long and how you damn near split her in two. She's never had a man like you and she'll have no other man cause they wouldn't come close. It's made us all sick, so I come to see if she's gone mad or if you really are John the Long."
"By the saints," John groaned.
"I knew it!" she crowed. "Steff's gone mad. Red will have to be done with her. No way the crew will fear her knowing she's gone daft."
John scooped her dagger up and reached down to offer the girl a hand. She took it and stood up, then adjust her clothes before settling her cloak around her. Her worn sailors garb was too loose for him to get a good look at her, which did a good job of making her look like a boy instead of a girl.
"How old are you, sister of Red?"
She tilted her head as she tried to remember. "I've been sailing with Red for nine — no, ten — summers now and I ran from home when I was ten and wouldn't let my mum turn me into no kitchen maid or seamstress."
"What's your name?"
She lifted her chin and said, "They call me Little Red. Or Red the Younger."
"I'm sure they do. What does Red call you when it's just you and her and you've crossed her?"
Little Red's lips lifted into a grin. "Little Shit seems to be her favorite."
John chuckled in spite of himself. "All right, fair enough. How long is the
Red Witch
