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.

I ran, my breath ripping to and from my lungs so fast that it burned. The surrounding forest was thick with plants and trees. All five of the moons stood full overhead, but I still could not see a thing. I ran, terror pumping my legs, fear keeping me quiet. Things were after me in those dark woods. Several small and fast creatures, no larger than an adult Human, dashed and lunged through the trees on either side of me. But there was something far larger behind me. Whatever was looming behind me had enough raw strength to uproot the trees around it as it approached, but it was the smaller creatures that rushed around me, nipping at my heels, that kept me at my frantic pace.

My legs ached, my arms burned, and my lungs felt like they had been raked over hot coals, even as I saw the trees thin around me. I forced an extra burst of speed, sure the creatures would not follow me past the edge of the forest. Yet only moments after I pushed myself for the freedom I so desperately needed, I found myself sliding from the tree line, down a cliff’s slope that led to a bottomless chasm. In a panic, I turned away from the pit, fingers clawing, grabbing at the surrounding soil, in a desperate attempt to stop my jarring descent. But anything I tried to get ahold of was too soft or shallow-rooted. As I slid down, I clawed at soft soil, loose grass, fledgling bushes, and new sproutlings that all tore free. Just before I fell into the abyss, I saw a dozen recognizable faces from the village sitting at the edge of the trees, like rabid ghouls waiting for a meal. In the center of all of them was a massive hulking form, its body made of melted wax-like faces, in a frame standing nine feet tall. I saw these shapes melt from my vision before I fell into the bottomless depths, arms and legs pinwheeling, my terrified screams echoing into the nothingness. The last thing I smelled was fresh grass, newly turned soil, and decrepit rot. 

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 streamed from my six-year-old face at the horrors I had just woken from. Pulling myself from the grasping tangle of blankets around me, I struggled to get my bedroom door open as I tried my best to act like an adult.

Out of 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, and 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 reading 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 and worn jeans, and scuffed boots.

I ran up to my father, throwing my arms around his forearm, holding his lucky juice glass, the one that I had at the time thought was so cool because of how low and wide it was with the cold rocks that father said made his ‘adult juice’ taste better. I wouldn’t know for another few years what was really in that glass. At that time, I already knew what the intoxicating fluid did to my father, and I was growing to loathe the stuff as the essence of my misery.

As I wrapped my arms around his defined and muscular arm, I yelled, “Father, Father! I had a bad dream. The monsters chased me till I fell into a big hole.” 

In response, my father shook me off his arm, his drink spilling over the rim of his glass until I stood up and stepped back. He pulled his hand back to his ear, and, as fast as a viper, I felt my cheek light with a burning sting. As the strike threw me to the floor, more tears came to my eyes, and I looked back at my father.

“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 the 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 the pipe with his ‘special leaves’, lit it up, 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, by myself, I dressed for the day to go into town. 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 and made my way to town. 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 in hand. I knew that when Father was chewing on his pipe, it meant that he was deep in thought, brooding over something.

I walked down the dirt road to go into town. Father had once told me it was a whole quarter-mile to walk into town from the cabin. But he had made sure I had well-developed legs so I wouldn’t be tired by the time I reached the edge of town. I walked through the streets, looking at the brick buildings that seemed so colossal at that age. Some of the adults in town made harsh faces at me, like the baker and the butcher, but if they didn’t like me, then they wouldn’t bother me…. Or so I thought. Whenever I crossed in front of the only cafe on this side of town, the ladies having their tea in front of the shop would whisper. Father had always said that they were just telling stories about me 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 in town. 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 I was always fascinated by.

Looking back on it, that may have been the start of my obsession.

I watched the 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 all of them a friendly smile. I hoped that day, things would be different from all the days before. Maybe they would play with me, I wondered to myself. I had always wondered what it was like to have friends. I remember the holo-shows always made it seem so important to have friends. At the time, I was in the superhero teams phase of my childhood, so of course, I wanted to have a team of my own.

The largest boy in the group, Josh, looked down at me as I came closer and flashed me a sneer. Father had always said that the children in town worked like a pack of wild dogs, and at the time, I didn’t know just how right he was about the situation.

Josh was a Human, impressively large for his age of ten. His brown hair was trimmed in a bowl cut. Looking back at it now, I’d bet a gold piece that he treated me the way he did in part because someone else was giving him trouble for his corpulent build and embarrassing haircut.

Behind Josh was the High Elf, Keenan, with his ears also impressively large, making the rest of his head seem mismatched. The boy’s High Elf eyes shown ocean blue irises and purple sclera. His hair was lush gold color and cut in a well-groomed pattern. At the time, I had thought it odd that high elves based their social standing on the size of their ears and the lightness of their hair, but if I’m honest, it still confuses me to this day.

Beside the lard cake was Kaggosh, the Orc who was always Josh’s muscle despite him being closer to my age than Josh’s. The brawny boy had a defined brow line, green-tan skin, and a massive jaw with the barest hint of his tusks coming in. His father was the town baker, and everyone knew he had the typical Orcish temper.

Behind even those two were the pair of twin Ceangar yes-men, Cealy and Keely. Ceangar may stay child-size even into adulthood, but regretting is the person who thinks that picking on the little man is fun. Ceangar is a species that has been dedicated to high speeds and daredevil stunts for untold generations. That meant that their bodies were built with denser bones and corded muscle. These two looked so alike that I could never tell who was Cealy and who was Keely, despite one being a boy and the other a girl. They both had long chestnut hair, olive-tanned skin, slightly pointed ears, and brown eyes.

I waved my hand and flashed the kids a smile of nervous hope for friendship, only to find Kaggosh holding my hands behind my back. Keenan sneered at me, and the Ceangar twins laughed at me as Josh finished his food, threw his stick in my face, and stepped up toward me in a half-step skip that made his blubber jiggle. He drove a fist into my gut. My lungs deflated in a rush, and I curled over in pain, only barely able to raise my head.

“Why are you guys always so mean to me?” I pleaded.

“The Hellspawn asks why?” Josh asked the others in a mocking tone, the whole time mocking me with false sobs and weeping.

“I pick on you, Hellspawn, because of what you are. Look at those horns and that tail.” He grasped the meager pair of horns that raised from just 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.” The Ceangar twins maniacally giggled at the scene.

Josh leaned in close enough that I could smell the grease on his breath. He glared into my eyes. “Look that those eyes, those diamond-shaped pupil holes, and that freaky acid green color are more than enough of an example to hate you, you FREAK!” With those last words, Josh kneed me in the stomach, driving the wind from my lungs yet 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 after me, trying to grab my arrowhead-tipped tail. They gave up after half a minute and turned away. For the first few moments after, I was thankful for my developed legs, but then the thoughts set in.

Again, the other kids beat me. The adults, no doubt, still thought I was strange. I sprinted home, my hands wiping away the tears of pain that ran freely. 

I burst into the cabin, screaming about how the kids attacked me. As soon as the words flew from my lips, I expected another slap because I was being weak. What I found was something far different. Without another word, Fermose set aside his glass, dropped his pipe, and scooped me up in his arms like an infant despite how old I was. 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. There, as he held me, he bounced me like I was a newborn again. The whole while, he hummed tunelessly as I wept into his shoulders. 

As the wails died down and the snuffling sobs became less frequent, he spoke to me in a gentle and kind tone. “Hey there. Hey there, my boy. Can you look at your hands and tell me what you see?”

Between heavy sobs, I looked up from his shoulder at the pair of hands clutching his shirt in a white knuckle grip. Every inch of exposed skin showed an olive-bronzed color from my days in the sun. But spread throughout the whole of my body were threads of phantom white, the pattern resembling marble veins or a light blanket of cobwebs.

I buried my face in his shoulder again as I vehemently proclaimed, “I’m a freak, Father! You shouldn’t have kept me. No one should love something as weird as me.”

Ever so slowly, I felt my father lower me to the ground. As I found my footing and gazed at my arms, a single word echoed through my thoughts: ‘FREAK’. My skin had always had the odd marble-like pattern for as long as I could remember, and it was not natural to any of the Sophic Species. My strange-shaped and colored eyes were just as unnatural. I refused to look at another soul with my then-proclaimed evil eyes. There, in the living room of the cabin, I hid from myself. I buried my face in my hands while I cried. I heard my father turn away from me and pick up something from the dining table that slid with the sound of metal on wood. 

I heard his kind words coaxing me from my self-imposed shell. I ever so slowly raised my head, scared to look my father in the eye.

“Hey, hey there, my young warrior.” I raised my eyes past my fingers to find an arrowhead held between Fermose and myself.

“Now, now, Iver, I didn’t name you a warrior for nothing.” Fermose said as he drew my eyes back up to the arrowhead. “Now Iver. I know you feel out of place and estranged, but look at this arrowhead.” As Fermose spoke, I slowly raised my head just a little higher and looked at the arrowhead displayed before me. The arrowhead was set in an X pattern, with the left and right ends curving back and inwards. 

“The point that 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 that you do not have value. This arrowhead design is one of a kind, made by me. I shaped it so that it could dig deeper into a target. There is no other arrowhead like the ones I have, and everyone knows that I’m the best hunter in town. That is 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 let the meaning of that thought sink in. In the coming days, I would etch those words into my soul.