Wild Magic

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He woke as cold water splashed into him, heard a splat and clatter as the bucket man jumped down. He was strapped to the pole; his hands were pressed against Reyna’s back; he could feel Reyna’s hands against his.

His detachment frayed, blew away.

Fire.

He’d never been Ole to deal with pain.

All his life he’d slipped and slid to avoid even the hint of pain-and not just for himself. There was that. Not just for himself. A flare of pleasure at the thought. It died fast. Pain was now. He swallowed and struggled to keep his resolution. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t let them see you crawl!

A drift of oily smoke blew into his face, stung his eyes.

Torches. They’re really going to do it.

“Pervert! Destroyer of families. Demon lover!”

Juvalgrim blinked away the smoke tears that blurred his vision, angled his head so he could look down. Prophet. He gazed at the man with weary contempt. Satisfied, Prophet? Behold your labors and rejoice. You’ve killed love and happiness, joy and sharing. You’ve killed the city as thoroughly as your… no… our god has killed the land. The Sibyl says it was unavoidable. I spit on unavoidable. He managed a kind of chuckle, a gulping gurgle at the back of his throat. Or I would. V you gave me back my tongue. Afraid of a word, are you? My doom is yours, fool. Another gurgling chuckle. Too bad I won’t be around to see it. He trembled, wrenched his mind away from the torches and what they meant. Drooping against the straps that bound him to the pole he watched the Prophet stride about, mouthing curses and anathemas, overriding the Manasso Prime who wanted to get the burning started. Good boy, keep it up. The longer you go on, the longer we keep breathing.