The Power chooses those it deems worthy. That was what my grandmother told me. That is why she called me Kabir – a name that means “great” in her mother tongue. She was Persian like me, and sent me away to the Druids, in hopes the Power would find me one day.
It didn’t.
The Druids were strong in the power. But any god of wisdom or kindness would have found them wanting. Unfit for their order, I washed their cloaks, cooked their meals, and tended their fires, all for a few scraps of food and a bedroll. And in return, they gave me a new name: mud boy.
“Look at him,” they’d jibe, “The ash of the fires will not wash out.”
Duncan, the elder, always laughed hardest at that one. And so I made sure that <i>he</i> was the first to scream.