The Birth of Joren Brand

Marlek Trell was, by all accounts, an excellent merchant. He was handsome, clever and charming. While he turned a sizable profit on every deal he made, his customers believed he had only their best interests at heart. In his travels he attracted many women but never hesitated to continue on his route when there was profit to be made. Until he met Nessa. Her beauty matched only by her wit, in all his travels Marlek had never met anyone that could compare. She was a brilliant blaze in a world of feeble embers. She was as taken with him as he was with her and they were soon married. Selling his caravan, all but one of his horses and most of his wares. Marlek built a shop for himself and his new wife to live and work in. They were both well liked and their shop quickly provided them with a secure livelihood. It surprised no one when Nessa's belly began to swell with their first child. Nessa gave birth to a healthy son. She named him Joren after her grandfather.

If the title of our story was "The Birth of Joren Trell" our tale would end here. But this was only the beginning, for while Joren Trell was born in the usual way, Joren Brand was born in flames.

Following the birth Nessa grew weaker and weaker. One week later, her body was wracked with fever, her mind clouded with delusion. Throughout her disease-ridden nightmares her only thought was for the safety of her son. Marlek spent their savings hiring the best healers and their efforts seemed to ease her pain but two weeks from his birth Joren's mother was taken by infection.

Marleks world had fallen away out from underneath him. He was in complete and total shock. For a while the people of the village did what they could to help. Another recent mother nursed Joren, meals were prepared for Marlek, though he barely touched them. A month went by like this. And another. The charity of the villagers had dwindled as had the last of Marlek's savings. He had begun to emerge from the grief of loss and knew he needed to start working again if he was to feed himself and his son. He felt nothing for the boy but knew that Nessa would have wanted him taken care of. So Marlek reopened the shop. Gone was the charm he once possessed in spades but Marlek went through the motions flawlessly, despite the growing emptiness inside. Although he had never been much of a drinker before, now he found it to be the only thing that could numb the pain enough to get him through the days...and the nights. Marlek barely slept, and when he did all he could see was his beloved Nessa, rotting away.

His descent was gradual but unstoppable. He tried to be strong but the years wore down his resolve, leaving him a bitter shell. He blamed Joren for killing his wife and began to tell him so. Every day he told Joren of how wonderful his mother had been and how he had killed her with his wretched self. He would call the boy rat or maggot, or anything but the name given to him by his mother.

By the time Joren was eight years old, beatings had become a part of his daily routine. Marlek's rants would alternate between hating the little rat for taking his beloved away from him to cursing that evil bitch that trapped him in this shithole of a town and abandoning him to rot. Although only in his mid-thirties Marlek's appearance became ravaged by grief and alcohol.

Even as a small child, Joren was made to work hard in the shop, carrying things to and from the storeroom, tidying up, stocking the shelves. Soon Joren began handling customers as well. Joren noticed an unexpected benefit to the position. His father was careful to avoid striking Joren in the face. A shopkeeper with a battered face might be bad for business, after all. At first the villagers thought it was cute when young Joren began tending the shop. The little boy helping out his daddy at work. But it became the norm as Marlek deteriorated too far to manage it without him. Joren was bright and learned quickly. Sadly, Marlek drank most of the profits and the business started a steady decline.

Confined to the shop by his father, Joren studied his father's old ledgers from his traveling merchant days. He struggled to understand what was written there and applied what he learned to the shop. He tracked which products sold most frequently, profit margins and price fluctuations throughout the year and he used that information to bring more money into the store. Even with his father's heavy drinking the shop began to show a slight profit. He was excited to show his father what he had done. How he had learned from him and was helping. He knew he could never atone for taking his mother's life, but at least in this way maybe he could bring his father some happiness. Perhaps they could even save up enough to buy a caravan and become traveling merchants and get away from this town his father hated so much. Joren would tell him once he was sure the profits were stable and not a fluke. Joren grew excited thinking how proud his father would be.

Even in his drunken stupor Marlek could tell there was an excitement in the lad. Something that even the beatings couldn't touch. What was he so happy about? For the first time in years he looked over the shop's ledger. He saw Joren's handiwork. It was good. Too good for a twelve year old. He could be an excellent merchant someday. That thought hit him right in the gut. The idea that the boy would grow and leave and live the life that he once had. The life that was stolen from him. It was too much. He called Joren over and demanded an explanation. Accused him of trying to steal the business from him. Joren tried to explain how he did it all for his father's sake. But it did no good. Joren had thought he was used to the beatings but this was something else entirely. Marlek thrashed him around the room and didn't stop until he grew tired and dizzy. Then he threw up in the corner and went to sleep. Joren remained on the ground in a heap sobbing silently until morning.

Marlek stepped over him in the morning raided the shops coffers and went out to buy himself a feast and enough ale to drown a horse. When he came back he was barely able to stand. Joren hadn't moved. Marlek stepped over him again and went to bed. Joren tried to rise but the pain in his ribs was blinding. Joren slept. When he awoke he tried again. He was able to turn onto his stomach and slowly rise to his feet. The pain was excruciating but he did not cry out or falter. He stood and felt the pain and accepted it.

He listened to his father snore. He walked in very small steps to the counter and confirmed what he already knew. What little savings he had accumulated were gone. He could barely move but he knew he needed to open the shop. Needed to recoup the loss. But then Joren asked himself a question he never had before. Why? What was the point? He had worked so hard for so long and for what? For the worst beating of his life? Joren understood that there was no way out of this. He would work until his father drank them both to starvation. For the first time Joren felt angry. He knew it was his own fault that his father was the way he was. He knew he had ruined his life but couldn't they still make it better? Why wouldn't he try? Joren stood and the rage built within him.

Although he stood perfectly still there was a white hot fury growing in his chest and he reveled in it.

It was at this moment that he heard a whisper.

It said "At last you're awake". Startled, Joren turned his head suddenly causing new waves of pain to cascade through his chest. His father still slept, snoring loudly and the whisper had sounded close. Joren could not see any possible source. He heard a chuckle.

"Don't bother looking for me. You can only see me if I choose to be seen. In any case it's not as if I'm even on your physical plane."

Joren didn't understand this last remark but the upshot seemed to be that the owner of this voice could see him but could not be seen.

"Who are you?" Joren asked cautiously in a low voice.

"I am who I am who I have always been".

"That's no answer" insisted Joren, speaking with more authority than he felt.

Another chuckle.

"Very well, you may call me Vah'teek, and I am a demon."

Joren's face expressed shock before he could recover his composure. He had heard of demons but only in tales told to frighten children into behaving. Unlike the stories this demon was speaking directly to his mind, not biting off his thumbs for neglecting his chores.

"What is it you want from me?"

"I was hoping to make a deal with you. You have a great deal of strength for one so young but you don't know how to tap into it. I can give you the ability to harness the fire you feel inside. The power to never let anyone hurt you again."

"And what do you want in exchange for this power?"

"A modest price considering what I'm offering. Just a single life. If I give you control over the flames raging inside of you, you must use them to kill your father."

"Why would you want that?"

"Kin killing kin, spilling blood that you both share, there is a dark ancient power to the act and you will dedicate it to me. Once you do, my mark will be placed on your arm and the power you've borrowed will become yours to do with as you please for as long as you live."

"Why not make the same offer to my father then? Have him kill me instead?"

"Pshh. Your father doesn't have the fire in him. He doesn't yearn for anything but his own death. That's why he's slowly drowning himself. You'd be doing him a favor by putting him out of his misery."

"Doing him a favor?! I killed the love of his life and now you want me to kill him too and that's doing him a favor?!"

"Well, it is true your birth ended your mother's life. If you could do it again, what would you have done differently?"

"What do you mean? How could I have been born differently?"

"Exactly. You never asked to be born. If anything killed her, it was your father's prick. There's nothing you could have done to prevent her death so why should you carry that burden your whole life? He can't lay her to rest and that's why his life is ended. That's why he drinks until he forgets who he is and that's why he hates you. You're a constant reminder of what he had and lost. But you don't have to suffer the same fate and you don't have to leave him to endure any more pain."

"How…..how do I know any of this is real?"

"Ahhhh, there it is. Clever business man that you are I knew you would want to sample my wares before you signed anything. I'll leave you now with the tiniest taste of what you could have. When the time is right, and you'll know when it is right, I will be waiting to give you what you need. Just say the word, do the deed and our business will be concluded."

The whispers stopped, and Joren felt a presence leaving his mind. He felt warmth growing in his chest. Slowly it spread. It felt strange but comforting and he realized that everywhere it touched, the pain melted away. He felt it in his in skin, in his muscles, seeping into his very bones. It spread to his thighs. his shoulders and his neck. It traveled down his arms and legs to his fingers and toes and up to his head. He closed his eyes and felt it wash over him. He stood there for a time, he had no idea how long it was, but eventually the warmth began to wane. It faded and Joren couldn't help but feel a chill. He tried to move. There was no pain. Joren couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt some pain somewhere. He examined himself. No lumps, no scrapes, not even a bruise. "If that voice wasn't real, if it was all just a dream, then I'm still dreaming." He didn't feel like he was dreaming though. He felt a vitality he had never felt before.

He couldn't stand still anymore. He began to move about the shop, cleaning up the mess his father had made while thrashing Joren around the room. As he cleaned he began to think about what he had heard. Kill his father? If he had wanted to kill his father he's had plenty of opportunity. Hell, he could slit his throat right now while he slept. He had just never wanted to. He carried the guilt of killing his mother and he had always believed that he deserved the punishments his father meted out. After all, it was his birth that made his father the way he was. That's why he was trying to help. To run the shop, to earn enough money to buy the liquor his father needed and to maybe someday save up enough to get him out of the town he loathed. But now he knew that was hopeless. The voice, what was his name? Vah'teek. He was right, father wanted to die. He had no interest in this life or anything in it except the booze that helped him to hide from it for a while. If he wanted to die that was his business, but did Joren have to die with him? "Don't I have some say in my own life?" Joren thought, and he felt the anger rising again.

Up until that day, Joren never really wanted anything for himself. His only thoughts were to survive and to provide for his father, to make him proud and to atone for his crime. But now…..now he had felt something. What was it the demon had said? "At last you're awake". Yes, that was it. He felt awake, alive. As though he had been sleepwalking through life, his head bowed, trudging forward, always carrying a crushing burden on his shoulders. Now he stood tall and breathed deeply. He said out loud "My life is my own". That warmth that he had felt, it came from his own energy. He could feel it within him like before, but he couldn't channel it. That was the gift the demon offered. "A small taste he said. If that was only a taste what would the whole thing be like?" His thinking was suddenly interrupted by a sharp blow to the back of the head that knocked him off his feet. He looked up and saw his father. "All your scurrying about woke me up, you filthy little rat. Now quit your daydreaming and clean up the mess you've made." Joren nodded reflexively and his father stumbled out the front door.

Just like that it was all gone. Joren was back to being his old self again. Sorry he had upset his father he hurried to clean up. His father would probably be gone a while but he could never be sure and he knew that if it wasn't cleaned up by the time he returned that there would be hell to pay. Joren finished cleaning and suddenly felt all the energy drain out of him. He was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. He curled up on the floor in his corner of the storeroom and let sleep envelop him.

Joren woke with the dawn. His father hadn't returned yet. He was probably passed out in an alley somewhere. Joren made ready to receive customers. As he did, he thought about everything that had happened. Was it real? Even if it wasn't. Even if it was all the wild imaginings of a concussed brain. What he had heard was true, wasn't it? "My father doesn't want to live but he doesn't have the guts to off himself. So he tries to drink himself to death. There will be no happy ending for him or for me, no matter how hard I work or how clever I am. He's going to kill himself and probably kill me before he does." Joren thought. "You'll know when the moment is right" Vah'teek had said. If that was true then this was certainly not the right moment because Joren was flooded with doubt and guilt for even considering what he was considering. He decided that he would give his father more time. Maybe there was still hope for them both. But if that moment should come, he would be ready. He wouldn't let his father take what didn't belong to him.

When Marlek returned, Joren tried extra hard to "be good". He did everything his father had ever asked him to do (without being asked) and he avoided any behavior that would get him hit. It made no difference. Marlek needed no excuse and the next day he began to beat his son as he always did, but with one major difference. Joren had always cowered when his father hit him. Covering his face and falling to the floor after one or two blows and feigning pain in the hopes of ending the rain of blows sooner. Now though, Joren stood tall and looked his father in the eye. The shock of this made Marlek stop for a moment. Then filled with anger at the defiance he kicked Joren square in the chest knocking him off his feet and onto the ground, landing hard on his back. Marlek picked up his bottle from the counter and polished off the last couple drops of booze. He watched as Joren rose to his feet and again fixed his gaze on his father. Marlek hurled the empty bottle at Joren, who, surprised, leaped clumsily to the side to avoid it, tripping and falling back to the floor. Marlek laughed, took the remaining money from the store till and headed out again. Joren rose and stared at the closed door.

Marlek thought about what had happened. "Where did that come from? When did the sniveling rat grow a spine?" He thought of the ledgers again. How old was the boy now? Marlek couldn't remember. "He's becoming a man isn't he? He thinks he's better than me. One of these days I'm gonna die and he's going to just take everything I've built and live happily ever after. Maybe he'll even become a traveling merchant like his dear old dad. No. He ruined my life and now he would steal it for himself? I won't allow it."

Normally boisterous and obnoxious while he drank, Marlek drank slowly and in silence that day, steeling himself for what he planned to do.

Joren felt proud. For the first time he had stood up to his father. Shown him that he wasn't afraid. He knew that he would probably pay for it later but he didn't care. No one would ever make him cower again.

Marlek returned late in the afternoon. He walked into the shop without a word. He sat down in a chair at the back of the shop and simply watched Joren. This was new, his father had never shown any interest in him for any length of time. Joren felt very uncomfortable with the scrutiny but carried on with his work. A few customers came and went in the last few hours of daylight. Seeing the strange look on Marlek's face they declined to do more than mumble a greeting in his direction, make their purchases quickly and scurry out.

The sky turned purple as the sun fell steadily toward the horizon. Marlek finally spoke. "Close the shop". Joren did as he was told. Marlek rose and towered over his son. "I've been watching you" he said. Joren almost wanted to laugh at this glaringly obvious statement but the tone of his father's voice was chilling.

"You work well. You run the shop like a man. And you're becoming quite handsome aren't you? I can see your mothers face and my...well, what my face used to look like, in yours. Joren didn't know how to react to this. His father had never complimented him on anything before. But his words didn't sound like praise, they sounded like condemnation. Like a verdict delivered just before the sentencing was carried out.

Marlek continued. "You think you can kill my wife, steal her youth and mine and leave this place to live happily ever after? No…..I won't allow it."

Marlek produced a dagger from his belt and walked slowly toward his son. Joren froze, his eyes locked on his father's as he approached. Marlek brought the blade to the left side of Joren's forehead. Joren was in a state of total shock he remained perfectly still, hoping it was a bluff made to scare him. He didn't flinch as his father dragged the blade downward, making a neat line from forehead to jaw before stepping back to admire his work. The pain was intense but Joren's expression betrayed nothing. His left eye closed as the blood poured down his face. His right eye remained fixed on his father, who seemed pleased with the result. "Not so handsome now, are we? This is how I remember you, but this time the blood is your own, and not your mother's. That is how it should be."

Joren suddenly felt impossibly calm. Totally numb. This was it. If his father no longer cared about Joren's face, then he no longer cared about him running the shop, which meant he no longer cared about booze. And the only way that could happen, is if he didn't intend to live long enough to reach sobriety again. "He'll kill me and then himself" he thought. If he wants to he die then so be it, but he won't take me with him."

Marlek began to approach again.

Joren closed his right eye, lowered his head, and quietly uttered the words that would save his life and change it forever.

"I accept your terms."

The response was immediate. Joren felt a powerful heat surge through his body, physically lifting his small frame several inches up off the floor and suspending him momentarily in the air. Startled, Marlek stumbled back. Joren felt like an inferno was trapped inside him, raging against its prison. Recovering his wits and now more determined than ever, Marlek rushed his son, aiming the dagger at his heart. Joren raised his hands, pointing his palms at his charging father and unleashed a firestorm. Marlek was hurled backwards against the wall. Joren couldn't stop it if he wanted to. The flames erupted from him, wild and savage. The flames danced and swirled, consuming Marlek and setting the shop alight. When the flames finally ceased, Joren fell to his knees, totally drained. He reached up to his face and using his sleeve wiped the blood away from his eye. He was startled to find the wound was closed, cauterized from the inside. With both eyes open now, he looked up. The man that was once his father was an unrecognizable charred black form, slouched against the wall. The shop was now a deadly blaze, bellowing its fury. Suddenly, Joren felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder, as a mark etched itself into his skin. He heard the voice of Vah'teek in his head once more.

"Our business is done. The power is now yours to do with as you please."

Feeling a little dazed, Joren thought for a moment. "What I please? What am I going to do now? I don't know of any life beyond this shop, which is probably going to come down on me any second."

Hearing his thoughts Vah'teek responded "Well leave here, obviously. Start a new life somewhere else. You can be anyone you want to be. You're free. You can live a life of peace if you'd like, but based on what I've just seen, I doubt that is in the cards for you."

With a monumental effort, Joren rose to his feet. He would do what he had always done. He would survive. At this moment that meant taking what he needed and getting out before the burning shop consumed him. Many of the shop wares were already on fire. Joren grabbed the money from the day's sales and ran out of the shop. He unhitched his father's horse from its post and climbed on top of it. Spooked by the fire, the horse bolted full speed away from the conflagration. Joren directed it to the road out of town and the fire was soon far behind him. As he left the village he was born in, the only place he had ever known, Joren thought of what Vah'teek had told him. "I could be anyone. I can't use my real name though. My father was well known in many places. The name Trell would raise questions I don't want to answer. Who should I be?" A throbbing pain in his right arm gave him his inspiration. He would name himself for the mark that forever sealed the demonic contract in his flesh.

Two Trells perished in flames that night, but from their ashes a Brand was born.