Malevolent

~Late Summer, 1635~

On a small island not far off of the Atlantic coast, a little boy walked through the old forest. He had stark red hair and wide, curious green –or perhaps grey? – eyes that looked around the flowers and pines with content. He stopped for a moment as he caught sight of a few houses surrounded by a small field in the distance. It was a small French fishing post, the very one that the boy had just left.

For a few years now, Cape Breton had been hopping between the many French fishing posts that dotted the coasts of the island, getting temporarily adopted by some of the settlers during the colder months, then leaving to either find a new one to settle in, or to fend for himself during the summer. Sometimes he would meet up with Mi'kmaq or his people and would trade with them. Although Cape Breton was more than capable out on his own, he enjoyed being around people. There was also this deep desire, instinct perhaps, which urged him to spend time with the European settlers and form some sort of a bond with them.

A small sound brought him out of his musings as he looked around to see a familiar man, about a foot shorter than Cape Breton, appear beside him. He was humming as he walked, absentmindedly taking a leaf out of his beard before turning to face the child.

"Hàlo." Cape Breton greeted, a grin spreading across his face at the sight of his friend. The elf returned the greeting before his own smile turned mischievous.

"Tig!" He said, tapping the child's shoulder and running off. Cape Breton adjusted his leather satchel before running off after the faery. It was the usual game the two played, chasing each other and hiding around the trees and hills, sometimes for hours on end.

Cape Breton ran over the hill where he saw his friend disappear into the fog a moment ago. He only realized his mistake upon landing in a pile of moss, falling a few feet where the hill abruptly ended.

"That never gets old!" The little man laughed from a moss-covered rock a few feet away. The kid was always hearty and energetic, but could really be almost too dumb to live at times!

"No fair!" The Cape Breton pouted at him, trying hard not to cry. The elf lifted an eyebrow.

"No fair!?" He echoed. "Haven't you been working on what Scotland has taught you?"

"Yeah!" The child exclaimed as he wiped his eyes. He looked off to the distance, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The temperature changed slightly as a thin mist appeared around Cape Breton, expanding and thickening around him. His older friend nodded, mildly impressed. The boy had potential, though not the improvement he expected.

"Why don't you practice more often? You would be a lot better at it."

"Why? The fog is everywhere! Besides," The two began walking again. "I wanna fight like how Scotland told me he does! With guns, and shields, and castles, and those big swords… Uh… Clay… Mar… Claymores!" He swung around an invisible sword, imagining a fight with an invisible opponent.

"… You can use magic to fight. Scotland does, after all." The faery's smile grew when Cape Breton gave him his full attention, which was always whenever the nation was mentioned. "Why, I remember – before coming over to this land – The times Scotland and his brothers dueled each other, sometimes malevolent, other times… Well~, for more immature reasons."

"… Malivolint?"

"'Malevolent'… Means to have a harmful intent, boy."

"… Oh."

The fairy sighed deeply. This kid really had a long ways to go…

"Well! I had fun, but I better go back home…" The elf side-glanced to the child. "Unless you'd like to join me?" Cape Breton shook his head, cheeky grin on his face.

"I may not be good with words or magic or other stuff, but that doesn't mean I'm dumb, you know!"

"Heh, alright~" He said, not too surprised. As slow as the child could be, he sometimes had a good memory, particularly that short time the elf and Scotland visited the little Colony. The nation told him about not following any of the fae – even the friendlier 'Seelie' – into their world, where time passed differently. The effect it would have on their kind, especially a young one, were unpredictable at best.

Too bad, the old elf had grown fond over the Colony since crossing over the Atlantic a few years ago…

The two waved goodbye and he vanished from the child's sight into the forest.

~A few days later~

Cape Breton walked along the rocky coast, the salty smell of the sea in the air and the fog thinner than usual this cloudy afternoon. Despite existing on this island for some years, he had only travelled around the coasts on the eastern side. By now, he knew almost every hill and beach in the area by memory, which was good, considering how thick the fog could get.

"… Maybe I could practice making fog, today…" The colony mused out loud, sniffing the air. Manipulating the weather was always tiresome, but if the conditions were right, it was easier to do. Because the island was always so foggy, Cape Breton focused more on that. Making a snow cloud, especially in the summer, caused him to pass out from exhaustion before snow even fell from it.

On the plus side, his meeting with the old elf a week ago had reignited his interest in practicing magic, and he found that he was having an easier time manipulating the atmosphere around him without ge-

"Huh?" The colony stopped as some… Sensation passed through him. He remembered Mi'kmaq telling him about this feeling one time, one that signalled when another one of their kind wandered on the land they were connected to. Closing his eyes, his thick brows furrowed as he let the sensation tell him their exact location.

Cape Breton opened his eyes, a smile spreading on his face. He dug into his satchel, fishing out a small, iron pan. With any luck, Mi'kmaq will have something to trade with the Colony… Food, maybe. He dashed off across the beach, then up the rocks and over the hill.

~Half an hour later~

The Colony scanned the coast line, looking for any sign of Mi'kmaq or his people. He was close by, Cape Breton could tell. He sniffed the air; an animal was also nearby, judging by its stench. Did Mi'kmaq catch something? Weird, he would've smelled –if not seen – smoke from a fire.

… And why did it feel like he was being watched?

The Colony's form stiffened, his hands tight around the frying pan. His eyes darted around the rocks and trees as he tried to keep his breath even.

His intuition told him of a presence behind him. Cape Breton turned around to see a figure. This figure, a boy maybe, only looked a couple of years older than himself, had a slightly darker, scarred skin tone and messy hair, and wore a European shirt, torn in places and no longer a pure white as it probably used to be. He also had on the leather pants and shoes that Mi'kmaq's people wore, along with some of their beads and bone tools. But what was most striking was the pair of piercing grey eyes studying the shorter Colony.

"[Malevolent…]" The word wisped out of his mouth in Gaelic.

"Hm?" The boy grunted out.

"… Who are you?" Cape Breton stammered out in French, fighting the urge to step back, or just run and hide.

"Santa Maria." The other kid drawled out in an accent not familiar to Cape Breton, continuing to stare unblinking at him. "I'm from up north." He responded in French.

"I'm from the east." Cape Breton pointed in the direction he came from. Santa Maria, another colony like him most likely, turned his head in that direction, relieving the younger colony from his stare for a moment.

"The east..?"

"… Yeah… Where the fishing villages are."

The Colony instantly regretted saying that, for the boy's grey eyes were back on him, flashing in a way that paralyzed Cape Breton.

"There are people there now?"

"Y-yeah. I think I represent them."

Santa Maria's eyes narrowed and took out a bone knife from the makeshift belt around his waist. The little Colony's eyes widened.

"Unless I kill you... And take your place." Santa Maria slowly stepped closer, grin spreading on his face as he relished in the terror the little red head had towards him. Move… Move… MOVE!

As if a switch was flipped, Cape Breton darted off into the forest. Santa Maria followed right after, catching up to him in a matter of seconds. He grabbed the Colony's satchel with one hand, and striked with the other. Luckily Cape Breton used the iron pan to block the knife a few times before successfully knocking it out of his hand.

"Augh!" Santa Maria gasped out, spitting out some words in a language Cape Breton couldn't place. It gave him enough time to slip out of his satchel and run off, skirting around the rocks and trees.

He kept running, following the smell of the sea. The Colony's legs suddenly stopped, almost falling off the cliff and onto the rocks and sand at low tide. Cape Breton tried to steady himself on the edge, grabbing onto a tree branch at the cost of losing the iron pan. He watched it tumble down, every dent echoing out a loud clang. He gulped, imagining that pan being him.

A voice from a distance behind him jerked his attention back to reality. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he thought up a hasty plan at the memory of the old faery. Climbing up the leaning tree, he hid himself as best as he could in its thick green leaves. Looking off in the direction the other Colony's voice was coming from, Cape Breton narrowed his eyes in concentration, taking slow deep breaths. The mist appeared around him, thickening and growing, until one could only see a few feet in front of them. The smell of filth and sweat reached his nostrils, an exotic accent reaching his ears.

"… Hehhehheh… Don't you get it, amigo? We've been abandoned on this island... Brother Portugal told me that he would come back… But he never did! He left me here! God has left me here! God has left YOU here!"

He was very close, Cape Breton closed his eyes, trying to drown out the cracking voice.

"I've been alone on this rock for over 50 winters! Everyone has died, while I'm stuck here to suffer! I can't starve, I can't age, I can't die! Locked away in purgatory with those savages… Until you showed up. I can go to those villages, I can rise up again… And make Brother Portugal happy, and he'll come back to me!"

The pain reverberated through the older Colony's monologue. Then it got low.

"… Of course, Colonies can't share representation… Heh, hehheh… It's not like any of those Europeans will ever come back for us… There's no one to save you. You are alone…"

Cape Breton looked up to see Santa Maria's psychotic grey eyes right in front of him, his bone-knife about to strike down.

"… Just like me."

Instinctively, the Colony's head connected with the other's, the knife just nicking his left arm. While Santa Maria was dazed, Cape Breton grabbed onto a branch and kicked him as hard as he could in the side. By the time the Portuguese Colony realized what was happening, he was already falling through the dissipating fog. A moment later, he slammed into the rocks and rolled down the rest of the way, slumping by some piles of seaweed.

Cape Breton gaped at the sight, momentarily forgetting to breathe. He climbed down and carefully made his way to the bloody body of Santa Maria, where his satchel lay.

As he bent down to pick it up, the corps coughed, causing Cape Breton to jump back.

"[B… Brother… Por… Tugal…]" He choked out. "[Why did you not come back? … Why did you leave me here? … Why? … I loved you…]" Whatever else Santa Maria wanted to say was lost in a sea of tears, snot, and blood.

Cape Breton looked down at him, half bent in unnatural ways, blood flowing from several gashes, sputtering something in that weird language he spoke. But perhaps what was most haunting was those eyes. Behind the grey orbs lay the pain of loneliness, pain that cried out and flooded the world until the void of despair swallowed it up and snuffed out whatever hopes that had once flickered within.

Cape Breton continued to stare for what seemed like forever. When he couldn't any longer, he took a step back, only for his leg to buckle. His knee hit the sand and shells, his lunch spewing out a minute later. When done, he got up, clenching his blood-stained satchel in his small hands.

~Later~

The sunset casted a warm glow over the hills and the elevating tide. An equally warm breeze drifted around the trees. A couple of seals swam by on the horizon. Cape Breton noticed none of this as his feet carried him eastward, leaving shoeprints in the sand.

'Could it be true? Am I left alone on this island? Is Scotland never coming back for me?'

His jaw tightened.

'No. No! It's not true! I won't give up! I'll become a great colony – a great nation, even – and I'll see Scotland again! And if Scotland doesn't come back, then I'll get stronger and travel the Atlantic and find him myself!'

He looked up at the orange-tinted coast. His coast. His island.

"No matter what it takes… I won't ever give up!"

But despite what he said, he couldn't find it in himself to smile, to laugh… Not even some hysterical, high-pitched laughter would bubble up and out from his chest.

Nothing but feel the void of despair at his ankles, a figure that held a flood of pain and loneliness behind piercing grey eyes.

~Epilogue~

Cape Breton walked until his feet got tired. Then he sat on an old wall until the sun had set. There was an abandoned cabin nearby which he decided to stay the night in. He collapsed in the only corner with the least amount of spider webs.

Meanwhile, the tide had risen, shifting rocks, shells, and anything else. The moon, which was almost full, shone the way for any sailors or fishers who had the night shift. Its light was reflected off of the calm waves.

If one was out in a particular area, they would spot a body reflecting the moon's light as well, before disappearing into the depths of the sea. But no one was around, and thus the body sank into oblivion, leaving no trace of itself.

Like washed-up footsteps in the sands of beaches.

Like the decaying structures in the flow of time.

Like a forgotten colony in the pages of history.

~End~


[A/N - I'm back~~~! I got this idea back when I was reading up a bit on Cape Breton Island's history. Apparently there was a Portuguese fishery set up around present day Ingonish around 1521, only being mentioned as far as 1570. No one knows what happened to it... Although it's name is largely unknown, I remember finding a source somewhere that said it was called 'Santa Maria.' I can't find the source, but considering how many Santa Marias there are in the New World alone, I'm not really surprised if it was named that.

Another influence was a headcanon some friends on Tumblr brought up about 'Feral Avatars', where a personification who loses or doesn't form strong bonds with a certain group of people goes animalistic or otherwise insane.

I also put in my own HCs on how their kind lives, even after the place or people they represent dies out, I feel that they can either choose to give up their title and become mortal, or stubbornly hold on to it and stay alive through will power alone, never aging or dying. Of course, when they lose hope, they got nothing to keep them going, and become mortal~ 3

Some historical bits to add:

There was a truckload of competition with colonies in the New World. You wanted to grow? Do it as fast as possible, invading and destroying other colonies wasn't unheard of.

Back in the day, the Fae were about as trustworthy as a stranger holding out candy. Even the less chaotic 'Seelie' aren't all good. (In Scotland, there are two groups of Faeries; Seelie (Order, mischievous) and Unseelie (Chaos, destruction.) In many stories, people who follow faeries into and mounds or other faerie sites enter into another realm where time moves differently and anything can happen, including being held there for decades (in their world or ours).

The Scottish colony of Cape Breton (It was called that from the beginning) was set up in 1629 at present day Baleine and lasted about 3 months before the French chased them off. There existed some small French ports and fisheries on the island until about 1640.

The Portuguese abducted aboriginals wherever they went. They were brought to Europe and sold as slaves. Obviously, Mi'kmaq stayed FAR AWAY from anything Portuguese! ... Meaning that Santa Maria didn't do honest trading to get all that stuff...

Of course, trading relationships kept the French and Mi'kmaq as decent allies. Pots and pans were especially important, because you could settle anywhere you wanted and cook food, instead of certain places.