I hope you all like it! This is only part of it, don't worry.
The dying screams of her mother still echoed in Sira's mind. When the village council found that her mother, Irene, could spellcast, they broke into the house, subdued her mother, and carried her away. All that she knew was in a note that said the law had her. Two days later, it was publicly announced that Irene Brightstar, mother of two, was going to be executed.
It was as if a dagger had been driven into Sira's heart. Ever since her sister, Eve, had disappeared 10 years ago, her mother was all Sira had. Now that would be torn from her in the morning. And the day after that, Sira would be forced from the town, for the ability to spellcast had been found dormant within her, also.
It was this dormancy that had spared her from the blade. The council had not wanted to kill her for a crime she had yet to commit. The town had liked her before they found out what she would become. That was the only reason they had not kept her until her power manifested itself. Instead they decided to send her away and forbid her from coming back. With these dark thoughts in mind, Sira fell into a troubled sleep.
Unknown to her, a great battle was waging around Sira, an invisible and intangible war to control her. As Sira slept, she was watched, as she had been ever since she was born.
Sira woke refreshed but with a leaden heart. This was the day her life would be torn to shreds. She dressed slowly, dreading what was to come.
Soon the time came to go out to the town center. When she arrived, a large crowd had already assembled. Upon seeing her, guards came to escort her to the center. As she threaded through the multitude, she noted fear and hate on the faces of many townsfolk. And then she saw it.
The block rose suddenly into view, a slab of wood stained wine-red with blood. Sira noticed a man dressed completely in black, with a drak hood draped over his face. He was sitting off to the side, sharpening a great broadsword. The executioner. With every rasp of steel on stone, a cheer went through the crowd.
Sira felt sick, and hurriedly took the chair that was offered to her. The executioner stood, satisfied with the blade, and gave a signal to what appeared to be thin air. Suddenly, all was quiet, and Sira could well guess why.
Soon, the mass parted, and her mother was forced into the clearing. Tall and regal, she had ice blue eyes and golden hair. She walked with such composure; Sira couldn't fathom how she kept from screaming. She was marched to stand at Sira's side, yet didn't look at her. As guards took up positions around the clearing, they waited. But not for long.
Fanfare played, and the mayor walked into view. He looked around, located Sira and her mother, with a sneer for Irene and a tender smile for her, one she did not mirror.
He frowned, then shrugged and announced grandly, "My fellow citizens, today we eliminate one of our town's greatest threats, the witch Irene Brightstar!" As the crowd cheered, guards came to take her mother to the block.
Suddenly, she broke free, but instead of running, she knelt down in front of Sira, speaking quickly and urgently.
"When you leave, go south and don’t stop. You will meet someone who goes by the name Saneth. Follow him, he will teach you."
As she said this, a score of guards came and took her towards her death. Irene struggled, screaming,
"You can't do this! No! I won't leave her! Sira!" The mayor walked up and calmly slapped her face.
"Shut up, witch. You have no love for anyone, you manipulate and you seduce, but you do not love."
Sira nearly shouted out in protest at this. He slapped once more, and then addressed the guards,
"Gag her, and then proceed."
Soon, Irene stood before the block. She was forced on her knees, and had her head pressed against the stump. All was silent, Irene's face smooth once more. The executioner walked up, and rested his sword on her neck. Then he slowly brought the blade up, and as it fell, Sira looked away.
With a solid thump, and a great cheer, her mother was dead.
Sira was shattered.
As the crowd dispersed, she sat there, to stunned to move. Everyone left her alone, but not out of respect, only out of fear. They had no idea of the rage and sorrow of having her mother killed right before her eyes would be enough to trigger her power. Well, that was fine by her, she didn't want to talk with anyone anyway.
Sira jumped up, noting how many people flinched, and stormed home. Once there, she began to pack, starting with any portable provisions. Cheese, smoked meat, dried fruit, bread, it all went into her pack. She moved on to raiding her dresser for spare clothes. She glanced up, looking for anything she had missed, and saw a carving her mother had given her as a young girl. Suddenly, the pain she had pushed back came screaming to the surface. Her mother was dead; she couldn't deny it any longer.
A tear made its way slowly down her cheek, and then she fell onto the bed sobbing. Finally her crying subsided, leaving her feeling weary and sore, and she surrendered herself to a shallow, unrestfull slumber.
Sira woke the next morning to pounding on the door. She groggily went to open it, then shouted in surprise as a half-dozen guards streamed past her. She was just turning on them when she heard a soft voice say,
"Sira, no." She spun back around, and saw her friend, Jeneth. He stood before her with eyes filled with compassion, not fear.
"Come, Sira. It's time to leave."
Sira grabbed her pack and on the way out, paused, and stowed away the picture of her mother that was on the mantle.
"I'm ready," she said, returning. Jeneth turned, and with Sira walking behind him, guards encircling her, walked out to the town gate. As she went, a crowd started to build. As with her mother, she only saw fear, and great distaste. Sira walked with as much serenity as she could muster, then when Jeneth stepped aside, started to walk out of the town. The gate closed, and with its great crash came her exile.
*************
Atran gasped as he swung his sword at his teacher, Erian, only to have it parried yet again.
“Keep your mind on the sword, Atran,” he said angrily, shoving his blade under Atran’s nose. “If you lose your focus, next time the blade won’t stop short. You lose your focus, you die.” Atran moved away.
“Yes, Master Erian. I understand.” He walked over to the bench beside the arena, grabbing a towel and mopping his face.
“Atran, you will never learn, will you? What must I do to get it into your head to listen, not to give me some empty response?” Atran shook his head.
“Master, why do I have to learn swordplay? I’ve mastered marksmanship and staff combat! I can hold my own in a fight!”
Eraim looked sadly into Atran's face.
"And what will happen when you do not have a bow or a staff? You must master the sword, Atran. Why can't you understand that?"
Atran could not answer the question, he wasn't sure of the answer himself. It wasn't that he did not want to master the sword, it was as if something was physically stopping him from concentrating on the forms. But Eriam wouldn't be convinced of that.
"Master, I'm trying. Perhaps I'm just not ready to be a weaponsmaster yet."
Eriam grunted. "In any case, we are done. Someone is here to take you to a new home."
Atran couldn't believe it. "Master Eriam, I thought this was my home! Besides, my family doesn't want me, they sent me here in the first place, by disowning me! Why are you sending me away?"
Eraim sheathed his sword, and walked forward to grip Atran's shoulders gently.
"Atran, I'm not sending you away of my choice. My... acquaintance Saneth has been asking for you, and I owe him for something he did for me many years ago."
Atran pulled away angrily. "So this is how you repay him? As if I'm some slave to be traded at will?"
A soft voice answered.
"Atran, you are not a slave. I have need of you, and as soon as you have fulfilled your purpose, you are free to come back."
Atran spun around in surprise. A man in golden robes was standing in the doorway, a kind and friendly look to his face. He moved closer, stopping when Atran moved backward, strategically toward the rack of staffs.
Keep up the good work.
It will present your story better. Anyway, on to the critique.
The entire first scene with SIra should probably be Chapter One, and it should all kinda blend together into one event, so that it flows nicely.
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