Mystic Read Online Free Page A

she wanted to go! She wished again for Bethy’s confidence.
    â€œFathir, I already—”
    â€œNo, Pomella!” he snapped. “I won’t even consider it. You could become Unclaimed!”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œThe baron’s soldiers will look for you on the road. If you’re outside Oakspring tomorrow, they’ll cut you down.”
    Pomella shook her head. “N-no. The baron wouldn’t do that. I have the little stone from the Green Man.”
    Fathir pushed off from the mantel and loomed over her. She shrank back. “You’re blind, girl. You think a rock will protect you from those soldiers? You’re in danger. And even if you made it to Kelt Apar, you’ll be Unclaimed when you return home. You cannot fathom what it’s like to be Unclaimed! Living without even a name on broken roads, eating insects, gathering disease. Nobody will touch you or even hand you a scrap of moldy bread. Animals live better than the Unclaimed!”
    Pomella clutched her fingers. “But I’m of age now. I’m old enough to make this decision for myself.”
    â€œWhat decision is there to make? Whatever shred of a life you have will be ruined.”
    Pomella tried to find the words that would make him understand. She could feel, down to her bones, that the Myst called to her.
    â€œBut I won’t be Unclaimed if I become the High Mystic’s apprentice,” she said.
    â€œYou’ll never become a Mystic!” her fathir roared. She started, her heart pounding. “You’re a blathering dunder if you think otherwise! I don’t know what schemes this, this … Yarina has, but by all the Saints, you’ll just be a pawn in some game. Becoming a Mystic is best left to the nobility, who have nothing better to do with their lives. Why would you risk your life for something like that?”
    She trembled beneath his anger. Despite the fear, she forced herself forward, reckless. “What’s so terrible about the Myst? Grandmhathir said it’s something we all can feel and learn to use!”
    â€œAnd it chaps me that she did!” he flared.
    Silence drifted in the air like the motes of dust.
    â€œYour grandmhathir did more than just talk about it, Pomella,” he said at last. “She dabbled in it. I don’t know how she got exposed to it. She never explained. But I know she meddled without supervision, and it … it killed your grandfathir.”
    Pomella’s nails bit into her skin. “What do you mean? I thought Grandfathir died from—”
    â€œNo!” he snapped. “She killed him.”
    Pomella shook her head. “No. No, you’re lying!”
    â€œDon’t call me a liar under my roof, girl!” he snarled. “You don’t know a clip’s worth about your grandmhathir like you think you do. It was an accident. I’m not calling her a murderer. But by my unsainted life, I saw my fathir die because of her meddling. The Myst is for those better than us, Pomella. You and me? We’re barely good enough for this shite village. We don’t own this land. We live here at the whim of the baron. I know you don’t like to hear it, but, like you said, you’re old enough to know how it is in the world.”
    Pomella narrowed her eyes. Her nails dug deeper as she tried to balance the pain inside with something she could control. “Then why did the High Mystic invite me? Did it have something to do with Grandmhathir? Was she a Mystic?”
    Fathir scoffed. “No, she was definitely not a Mystic. She fancied herself something like one, but it was just blather in her mind. She was a foreigner, as obvious as her black skin. She brought foreign ideas to Moth along with fanciful dreams.” He looked into the cold fireplace. “I once believed all her stories. I even went to find a Mystic once. I left home, just like you’re thinking of doing. I traveled all through the