A Missing Sheep Part XII

“And then?” Arthema asked. Images of something chasing her drifted to the surface, like dead fish in a pond.

Fin hesitated and looked away. “Then we found you lying against a tree on the clearing,” he said, way too fast.

The clearing. Another memory came back to her. She was surrounded by… creatures. And rocks. There had been blood and pain. And the wind had lashed rain in her face.


The boy suddenly stood up from his chair. “I should get mama and papa. They told me I should get them when you’re awake. Yes, I should get them.”


Her brother flinched and stopped. Something flickered in his eyes. It was just a moment but Arthema could have sworn it was there.

With a sigh, he sat back on the chair, his head cast down. His voice was almost a whisper now as he spoke. “There were dead imitacs everywhere.”

Imitacs! With almost a physical force all the memories came back and flooded her mind. She took her head between her hands just to stop it from spinning as more and more images attacked her. Images of imitacs jumping at her; gargling words and sentences. Mocking her. Clawing away flesh and spilling blood. Her blood and blood of the imitacs. Arthema had killed them all with stones and rocks. And with the wind.

“We counted six,” her brother continued, still not looking up.

The spinning in her head slowed down as a grave realization hit her: She had used magic. She felt so sick she almost had to puke. “Seven,” she said.

“What?” Fin asked, looking up.

“There were seven imitacs, Fin.” She could no longer hold it together and started crying. “Seven!” Arthema sobbed. “I killed them all with the wind!”