Chapter 2
The sapient species of Anogwin are broken down into the Sophic Species (Elves, Humans, and so on), Halflings (the half-blooded breeds that don’t hold to any one species or breed), the Shifted (those that have been turned into something more than they once were such a Blightlings or Thropes), and the Darklings. The Darklings are Halflings with demonic or infernal blood. When a Darkling has a child with any other species, their child will be a Darkling with lesser features from their other parent.
Darklings have some of the hardest lives. They are labeled as Demon-kin and are marked as villains, thugs, and scoundrels.
15th, Loyassion, 5646, Age of Divine Knowledge (A.o.t.S.S)
I woke screaming, my arms and legs flailing madly as I fell from my bed. I sat up in my spaceship-and-monster pajamas, tears streaming from my six-year-old face. Pulling myself from the tangle of blankets, I struggled to get my bedroom door open, trying my best to act like an adult.
Out of all the memories of my early childhood, this day stuck with me. It was a day of realization. I saw both sides of my father. I learned why life was hard and always would be. Most importantly, I learned a key fact that would drive me for the rest of my life.
I stepped into the cabin living room. The digital clocks read 7:54 AM. My father sat at the kitchen table, his lucky bottle of brown liquid beside him and his ‘juice glass’ in hand. He was dressed in a plain, moss-green T-shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed boots.
I ran up to him, throwing my arms around his forearm. “Father, Father! I had a bad dream. The monsters chased me till I fell into a big hole.”
He shook me off his arm, his drink spilling. He pulled his hand back to his ear and, as fast as a viper, my cheek lit with a burning sting. The strike threw me to the floor. More tears came to my eyes as I looked back at him.
“You cannot fear something that cannot hurt you,” my father lectured, a subtle slur to his words.
He clearly had had too much to drink again. I pulled myself to my feet, wiping snot from my nose with the sleeve of my pajamas. “But, Father, it was scary. I don’t like being chased by monsters. Can you please teach me how not to be scared?”
My father reached into his pocket and pulled free a cherry-wood smoking pipe. Within moments, he had packed it with his ‘special leaves’, lit it, and was chewing on the mouthpiece as he thought. His Elven eyes—brown sclera and green irises—stared off into the middle distance.
“Why don’t you go into town, Iver. Look around. Make some new friends. I need to stay here and think,” he muttered.
So, I dressed and went into town by myself. The hot summer day was already underway. Maybe today I could make some friends. In my blue jeans and superhero T-shirt, I left the cabin. I made sure not to slam the door or leave a mess, because that would make Father angry. I felt the first pangs of hunger, but Father almost never made breakfast when he was thinking with his pipe and glass.
I walked down the dirt road into town. Father had once told me it was a quarter-mile walk. I walked through the streets, looking at the brick buildings that seemed so colossal at that age. Some of the adults made harsh faces at me, like the baker and the butcher, but I thought if they didn’t like me, they wouldn’t bother me. Whenever I crossed in front of the only cafe, the ladies having their tea out front would whisper. Father had always said they were just telling stories and to ‘pay them no heed’.
I had just stepped into the crossroads where the cook, seamstress, banker, and blacksmith worked when I heard the other kids. The cook, seamstress, and banker were always nasty to me, but the blacksmith always gave me sweet treats and showed me his newest projects, which fascinated me.
I watched five other boys leave the cook’s restaurant, The Wood Elf’s Prize. I wasn’t allowed in because of my so-called tainted blood. They all had that roasted meat on a stick I always wanted to try. I gave them a friendly smile. I hoped today would be different.
The largest boy, Josh, a Human, looked down at me and flashed a sneer. Father had always said the children in town worked like a pack of wild dogs; at the time, I didn’t know just how right he was.
Behind Josh was Keenan, the High Elf, whose impressively large ears made the rest of his head seem mismatched. Beside him was Kaggosh, the Orc, who was always Josh’s muscle despite being closer to my age. Behind them were the twin Ceangar yes-men, Cealy and Keely.
I waved my hand and flashed a smile of nervous hope, only to find Kaggosh holding my hands behind my back. Josh finished his food, threw the stick in my face, and stepped up to me. His blubber jiggled. He drove a fist into my gut. My lungs deflated, and I curled over in pain.
“Why are you guys always so mean to me?” I pleaded.
“The Hellspawn asks why?” Josh asked the others, mocking me with false sobs. “I pick on you because of what you are. Look at those horns and that tail.” He grasped the meager horns that rose from under my hairline. “These are a sign that you’ve been touched by evil. That’s what my mom and dad say. They say that your freakish skin and eyes are because you have demon blood.”
Josh leaned in close enough that I could smell the grease on his breath. He glared into my eyes. “Look at those eyes. Those diamond-shaped pupils and that freaky acid-green color are more than enough reason to hate you, you FREAK!” With those last words, Josh kneed me in the stomach, driving the wind from my lungs again before he hurled me aside by my horns, throwing me from his Orc minion’s grasp.
In tears, I clambered to my feet and fled home with the others chasing me, trying to grab my arrowhead-tipped tail.
I burst into the cabin, screaming about how the kids attacked me. I expected another slap for being weak. What I found was something far different. Without a word, Fermose set aside his glass, dropped his pipe, and scooped me up in his arms. I normally would have complained about being treated like a baby, but at that moment, I needed the comfort. He held me close to his chest as I wept, humming tunelessly.
As the wails died down, he spoke in a gentle tone. “Hey there, my boy. Can you look at your hands and tell me what you see?”
Between heavy sobs, I looked up at my hands clutching his shirt. Every inch of exposed skin showed an olive-bronze color, but threaded throughout my body were veins of phantom white, like marble.
I buried my face in his shoulder again. “I’m a freak, Father! No one should love something as weird as me.”
Slowly, I felt my father lower me to the ground. As I found my footing, a single word echoed through my thoughts: FREAK. I buried my face in my hands while I cried. I heard my father pick up something from the dining table that slid with the sound of metal on wood.
I slowly raised my head, scared to look him in the eye.
“Hey there, my young warrior.” I raised my eyes to find an arrowhead held between us. “I didn't name you a warrior for nothing,” Fermose said. “Now, Iver, I know you feel out of place, but look at this arrowhead.” The arrowhead was set in an X pattern, with the left and right ends curving back inwards.
“The point I am trying to make, Iver,” my father said with a teasing note, “is that just because you are outside the norm does not mean you do not have value. This arrowhead design is one of a kind, made by me. I shaped it so it could dig deeper into a target. Everyone knows I’m the best hunter in town, partly because of these arrows.”
I grasped the arrowhead in my young hand and squeezed.
“Just because I am different does not mean that I am worthless,” I whispered. I let the meaning of that thought sink in. In the coming days, I would etch those words into my soul.
