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Gary Sanderson has always been a quiet boy.
He took after his mother in that respect. They both would quietly bustle around the house, getting work done, and getting it done right. She'd reward her son with gentle smiles and quiet praises, and he'd beam right back at her.
Her beautiful baby boy.
The other kids didn't like how quiet Gary was. Made fun of him for being fatherless. Started bullying him. When Gary showed up at home with bruises and scrapes, his mother had quietly sighed and said, “Not much we can do, my little love, but endure.” She'd tend his wounds every night, and hug him as he fell asleep so they could endure the pain together.
The festival disrupted the normal peace. Every year around the summer solstice, the town came together to hold a festival. A feast was prepared, decorations were strung, and whichever boys had turned thirteen were set off to one side. Then, the witch came down from her hovel to offer those boys power.
The witch was... crass. She would look at the decorations and call them tacky before going and tasting each plate from the feasting table. “Bland, salty, cold... oh that one's nice. Who made that? Oh, of course the Sanderson widow. Why did I even ask?” Once her inspection of everything was done, she sat on a plain wooden stool in front of the mayor's house, and called for the first boy by name.
(She always knew who to call. You could never lie to the witch.)
The boy would stride up to the witch, false bravado wavering along with his knees, gulping his fear down with shaky breaths. The witch would eye him curiously before offering him a shallow bowl. The bowl was cupped within the boy's hands before the witch would pour a liquid into it—shimmering and gray. She poured just enough to cover the bottom of the bowl before resealing the vessel and stuffing it back into her bag.
“Drink, swallow, go back to the others,” were the monotone, almost bored orders. Each boy drank the shimmering liquid, gagging at the taste, before returning the bowl to the witch, and walking back. Once they walked back, each boy was collected by their parents and ushered into their homes to wait out the effects of the potion.
Some boys never came back out alive.
This year, Gary had turned thirteen alongside a couple of his bullies. They sneered and preened as they were dressed in their finest clothes, up until the witch came down. She sat on her stool, eyes roving the crowd before they settled upon one boy.
“Gary Sanderson.”
Gary meekly walked up to the witch. He carefully held out his hands and flinched as she dropped the ceramic bowl into them. “Hold steady,” she murmured. She uncorked the vial, poured the liquid, and recited her usual orders.
“Thank you very much,” Gary said, and downed the liquid.
Or, he tried. He choked on the final swallow, the liquid pooling in his mouth as he sputtered and gagged. The witch snatched the bowl from his hands, and held out her arms. “Wait! Let him power through.” Gary heard his mother sob as he choked on the final swallow of potion, but eventually he managed to get it down. He looked up at the witch with tear-filled eyes, and she grinned. “Good lad.” She snatched his chin and forced his head upward. “Open.” Gary dutifully opened his mouth, and the witch cackled. “Oh, Clara, you have a good son. Strong. He's already over the worst of it. He'll be fine by tomorrow.” She released Gary's face, and gave him a gentle push toward his mother. “Come see me tomorrow, boy. You'll need it.”
Gary didn't have time to question it before he was swept up into his mother's embrace and brought into the safety of their home.
The following morning, Gary woke up wrapped in his mother's embrace. She was already awake, and frowning down at him. “We need to go to the witch.”
The visit to the witch was... enlightening. Gary's mother had insisted upon bringing a basket of goodies, eagerly snatched up by the witch and snacked upon during her explanation. Apparently, Gary had developed Vocal Magic. A rare type of magic that rendered him mute unless he wished to use his power.
“Strong magic, boy. Words matter. One poorly constructed sentence might kill you. I'd suggest reading up on the importance of speaking with the Fey,” the witch had warned while handing over a book. “Your tattoos will give you away,” she pulled up her dress sleeves to show off her own magical tattoos. “I'd suggest covering them up, and figuring out a different way to communicate.” She paused and munched on a piece of shortbread. “You and your mother have always been clever though. You'll be fine. Come to me if you run into any trouble.”
Gary had bowed his thanks, earning him a wide grin and a “Clever boy,” from the witch. Then, he and his mother departed.
Gary was forbidden from using his power for a full season. During that time, he and his mother pored over tomes and texts, writing out example sentences and having Gary mouth out the sounds to get a feel for the words.
Once he was confident enough, his mother took him to an abandoned field. It had lay barren for so long, not even the cattle roamed it to feed. Gary looked down at the parchment in his hand, then back up at the barren soil.
“Paper in my right hand, burn to ash.”
The paper immediately ignited, causing Gary to drop it and step back. The paper fell to the ground and burned to ash. He looked over at his mother who looked at the remnants with pursed lips. She looked up at her son. “Any pain?” Gary shook his head, and his mother finally smiled before beckoning her son closer before they walked home.
Gary and his mother returned to the barren field time after time for training. Sometimes the witch would join them and offer advice, “Use a direction in your order, boy. That order was too general. You might accidentally hurt someone.”
Some of the other boys in the village who had survived the trial took notice of Gary's private lessons. They grew jealous and cornered him. The largest of them, Bernard, shoved him to the ground. “What the hell do you think you're doing, sneaking around like a roach? Trying to get the witch to give you more power?” Gary vehemently shook his head, and Bernard sneered. “What the fuck. Why won't you speak, cockroach?” Bernard grabbed Gary by his shirt collar and lifted him up until his feet no longer touched the ground. “Need me to remind you of how much you used to squeal for us?”
“Bernard Peters, gently lower Gary Sanderson to the ground.” Bernard's face went blank as he lowered Gary. The other boys backed away in confusion, but Gary wasn't done. “Bernard Peters, release Gary Sanderson's shirt, and step backwards two times.” Bernard did as Gary ordered, looking confused as his own muscles betrayed him. Gary dusted off his shirt, then straightened. “Bernard Peters, never come within two steps of Gary Sanderson again.” He then turned, and continued walking home.
Word of Gary's altercation with Bernard spread quickly. Some villagers were proud of Gary for finally standing up for himself, and doing so without a violent outcome. Some were horrified at the ease with which Gary used his powers on a fellow villager. The witch simply cackled and slapped her knee. “That's what bullies get! They push, and push, then push too far!”
Everyone left Gary alone after that.
Five more festivals passed, and Gary's powers grew. As autumn began chilling the leaves from the trees, soldiers entered the village. The witch greeted them, and attempted to get them to leave.
Gary had grown into a tall, yet lanky eighteen year old boy. His mother had sewn masks for him to wear around so people wouldn't see his face tattoos and become afraid. He had allowed his hair to grow past his eyes, permitting him a sandy-colored veil to hide behind. He stalked up behind the witch, towering over her, and looking down at the soldiers. All but one flinched away.
“Ah, boy. I was just telling these men they do not want to stay here. No one will spark their interest,” the witch cackled. She paused, mid-cackle, then looked up at Gary with curious eyes. “Although, I might be wrong there.”
Gary knelt down, and presented a notepad to the witch.
“Do I need to order them away?”
“No, dear. None of that, now. Why don't you write at the masked one over there. He's a strong one.”
The man in the skull mask tilted his head. Gary stood and walked over to him.
“What do you want?”
“Heard there were powerful mages here. Wanted to see if any were willing to join the military.”
“For what purpose?”
“To protect.” Brown eyes roved over the village. “Protect more than this. I understand protecting this is important, but some dangers are global. We stop those.” The brown eyes snapped back to him. “Got a name, kid?”
Gary tilted his head. “They call this one Roach.”
Brown eyes twinkled. “Roach, huh? You a mage?”
Gary tugged down his mask, letting the skulled man get a full view of his face. The man simply chuckled. “I'll take that as a yes. Tell you what,” he snapped his fingers and one of his companions brought forward a brochure. He passed it over to Gary. “I'll let you think about it. We'll be in the next village over, south-east of here, for the next three days. If you want to join, come find me. Tell them you're looking for Ghost—that's me.” He nodded toward the witch. “Have a good day, ma'am.” He spun on his heel and marched back out of the village, soldiers skittering behind him.
Gary joined him on the second day.
His mother was hesitant, but ultimately relented. The witch helped Gary by saying the military would train Gary better than she ever could. “The boy knows how to keep himself safe, and he's a good kid. He'll write you, right boy?” She punctuated that last question by slapping Gary across the chest. Gary flinched, and vigorously nodded his head. “Good lad. I'll keep your mom safe, if you keep the world safe. Just write us from time to time—that's all we ask.”
And that's how Gary found himself with a backpack full of hand-made masks, baked goods, clothes and notebooks, trudging into the neighboring town. Ghost found him right on the outskirts. “Roach.”
Gary trotted up to Ghost, then pulled out a sack of cookies he'd requested his mom make for Ghost. Ghost looked at them, then back at Gary. “For me?” At Gary's nod, he delicately took them, and put them in his bag. “I'll have them later. Thank you. Shall we go?” When Gary nodded again, Ghost led them to a truck, and Gary's new life began.