Free Mystic by Jason Denzel

rain had ruined the pages exposed to the sky, and soaked a few beneath them as well, but overall the book seemed in good condition. He flipped through it, admiring the interesting artwork within, but not understanding the noble runes. Commoners couldn’t read those.
    Most commoners, anyway.
    Closing the cover, Sim placed the book in his shoulder sack. As he was near the Creekwaters, his thoughts lingered on Dane. Even though he’d been the eldest, Dane would never’ve stuck around in Oakspring, Sim knew. No matter the risk, the moment he’d saved enough clips Dane would’ve broken the law and headed for a city, or maybe even the Continent. It sometimes seemed like Dane was a bird who’d just settled on Moth long enough to hatch and fly on.
    You can come with me if you want, he’d told Sim years ago. I’ll go travel for a while and see what’s out there. Then I’ll come back and get ya. When you’re old enough, you can come to the jungles of Gunna with me.
    â€œYah,” whispered Sim to himself now, trying hard to picture Dane’s face. Strange, what you remembered about a person after he was gone.
    What would Sim remember about Pomella?
    He knew he didn’t want to remember her as being sad. It seemed to him like all she’d known since the Coughing Plague swept through Oakspring and took Dane and her mhathir was sadness. And it didn’t help that Goodman AnDone, her fathir, wasn’t exactly the kindest man to live with.
    Sim wondered about her fathir. The man was sour and prone to bursts of red-hot anger. What would cause a man to become so cruel? Losing his wife, maybe? Perhaps he wanted more for his life, but never attained it? Commoners from Moth could rise above their caste, though it didn’t happen very often.
    The thought brought Sim back to his previous thoughts and his own destiny. His fathir had been a blacksmith, and a farmer before that. His grandfathir had been a farmer, and his great-grandfathir before him, too. Since as far back as his family’s history went, the AnClures had tilled the soil on Moth. They bothered no one, and asked only for a chance to lead a peaceful life.
    So why was that not enough for Sim? Did Dane’s spirit whisper to Sim from the Creekwaters? Why did he feel that returning home now would forever close the door on a once in a lifetime opportunity?
    He gazed north toward Oakspring, and realized he couldn’t go back. With or without Pomella, something had awoken in him. He rested his hand on the sword at his side. He wouldn’t let life hammer him down. He would not become what Pomella’s fathir had.
    Turning to the south, Sim gazed in the direction Pomella likely had gone. She might not want him around, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least make sure she got to Kelt Apar safely. Yah, he would do that.
    He bit his lip. And then what? If he followed this course, he would be declared Unclaimed for leaving the barony of his birth. He had to risk it. Pomella was making the same choice, just in a different way. After he got her safely to Kelt Apar, he could continue south. The road supposedly led all the way to Port Morrush on the southern tip of Moth. He could find work there, or even a ship to the Continent. He’d take Dane’s memories with him.
    He turned and walked three steps into a new life. Then he ran, noting that full dark was still a few hours away. He rushed faster, hoping to at least make it back to the shrine before night fell.
    He ran for longer than he thought possible. Finally, he stopped to catch his breath. Water droplets fell from trees whose spring greenery was in full display. He drank from his waterskin, and pulled out some dried rabbit meat the laghart had given him. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to make it to Sentry before—
    He stopped. A familiar sound came from the west, repeating in a steady rhythm. It was a sharp, piercing sound that reminded him of