"Snow and Talents" by Jarek Buss

Snow and Talents

Peter stepped out into the cold, pulling his hat further over his face and shrugging deeper into the high collar of his coat, avoiding both recognition and the falling snow in one clever move. He walked quietly but resolutely along his predetermined path, his feet crunching gently in the earth’s white blanket. Despite himself he glanced up at the worn monuments and street lamps he passed on his way, their limbs capped in the same white as the rest of the world. He felt his heart soar with love for this beautiful land. Her majesty and glory will soon be free!

            As if conjured up from the darkness to cry nay to that happy thought, the sound of panicked running met his ears. He drew to a stop, shocked, then stepped quickly under the shadowed awning of a nearby door. By now, barked commands and sharp drums could be heard under the fleeing sounds of the common people. Peter shuddered at the sound that filled his nightmares: the marching cadence of soldiers in the snow.

            He glanced at a watch drawn hastily from his pocket. It’s almost time! This could ruin everything we’ve worked for! He drew deeper into the shadows, praying to whatever gods would listen to let the soldiers pass quickly and without incident. His… talents… were the critical weapon. He must make it to the palace in time…

            In moments, the soldiers drew up, long grey coats shifting to reveal silver armor. A captain soon appeared atop a dark horse, his head coiffed with a fur hat. He called for a halt, and the men stopped on a dime. He rode around them twice, feigning to inspect his troops while really examining the dark houses around him. Nothing moved.

            After what seemed like hours, the captain nodded and waved a hand to carry on. Peter sighed silently in relief. At that same moment, he glimpsed a tiny, fair-haired head peak through the heavy drapes and over the window sill before a hand snatched her away.

            But not fast enough- the captain saw her too.

            Without a pause, he drew a pistol and fired through the window. The shattering glass and following shriek weren’t enough to cover up his next orders. “Burn it to the ground,” he commanded coldly.

            No! Peter screamed inwardly. As the squad opened fire on the home, something snapped inside him.

            I will stand no longer that my people suffer! To the devil with the plan!

            He stepped into the open.

            The captain didn’t even blink, he just drew another pistol.

            But Peter moved first. The unexplainable warmth simmering in the back of his mind fed on his anger and became a sun, and he eagerly dived into that power and released it with hate upon his oppressors. With a flourish of his hands he threw a ball of white fire at the enemy before him. The captain was blasted back, disappearing in smoke and ashes.

            No longer caring about the house, the soldiers, disciplined to the core, turned as one with their rifles.

            Peter clapped his hands together.

            The resulting shockwave knocked the soldiers to the ground and crushed their weapons, in addition to shattering all the windows on the street. Peter grimaced- that had been a careless move. The poor were always the first to suffer in war.

            With a wave of his hand he released a more focused blast of energy at the soldiers, pushing those struggling to get up back into the snow. He cupped his hands around his mouth, and his amplified voice rang through the streets. “Your era is over! I, Peter, call upon this people to rise up and overthrow our masters!” The screams of terror in the now war-torn city spread or turned to cries of joy. He pointed to the gray sky and sent up three balls of flame to explode like fireworks. The signal had been given.

He addressed the soldiers again. “I leave you, soldiers, at the mercy of those people you have so cruelly oppressed!” Their expressions of shock turned to horror as grim-faced man and women began to appear in doorways, knives and mallets in their hands.

Peter spun away, pushing his hat away from his eyes. No more will we hide! He strode toward the palace, his footprints steaming behind him.

The smell of revolution hung in the air, smoke and screams and blood. The snow continued to fall.