Disclaimer: The Jak and Daxter games, franchise, etc, belongs to those wonderful, freakishly talented people at Naughty Dog. I ney own the characters, world, items, plot or storyline – I'm just borrowing them for my imagination's pleasure. XD No money involved.
I only 'own' any original characters/creatures/creations/cultures that will pop up, and the basic plot line for this odd, yet beloved brain-child of mine.
Rating: PG-13, for violence, gore, language, and now with implied sexual situations. Rating may go up later.
Spoilers: For this chapter, none that I can think of…
Reviewer Responses: Laughing Hyena: AHH! (attacks with fangirlish abandon) My first ever reviewer – you made my day…uh, over a month ago…! XD; Thank you for the wonderful complements!
Demyrie: Aaaahahaha, DARLING! …You already know how bad I spazzed-happy over that long ass review! (snugs tightly and happily) You're such an ego-fluffer, girl! ..Buti love that. Dun stop the ego-stroking.I LIKES it,I does. XD
C4Cypher: Argh, thank YOU for the lovely comments! (beams joyishly) And don't worry, I have EVERY intention of continuing with this story! (obviously…as yur next chapter is HERE, my dear!)
Authors Notes: Yarrrgghh! I LIIIVE! XD NO, I didn't forget about the story, it just…took a long while to get motivated (aka: escape the procrastination,) and start writing. Whoops. But here be a new chappy for yew all!
And this chapter is HELLA weird. But this is the chapter where the story of Jak and Daxter really kicks off, (Daxter's story,at least,) so if this seems a LOT different from the prologue - good. It's supposted to. And hopefully, you all won't be put off by the sheer amount of technical-ish culturalinformation I shove into this chapter – just trying to make the land I'm adding on to feel more real, people. (Blame my Anthropology/Human Ecology classes and my extremefondness of Jean Auel's books. XP) And if any of the info leaves you confused about the society/why the HELL I've gotcharactersacting the way they are, don't worry - I'm hopefully going to be clearing things up a bit in the next chapter. (Which WILL be coming...eventually. Hopefully sooner then this one did.) Otherwise, its filled to the brim with OCs, possible over-acting dramatics, domestic violence, and an evil, difficult character to write for. XP So I am not too fond of certain parts. ...and you all may soon come to find me as a CRUEL, EVIL BEEOTCH after this chapter. Heheh. The cruelty DOES serve a purpose in my storyline...but I still await your rants eagerly. X3
And, Please, read and review – even a short one will do! XD
And, finally, once again, a special thanks to the one and only Demyrie, who was wrangled into beta'ing this chapter for me, along with giving me extra, wonderous help for some difficult parts! (She sparred you all many typos, she did! XD) Thank you again, hon!
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Definitions for Chapter: Goeep – a "Jak world" creature I made up to add to the biological diversity of their world; much like crocodile + dog, crocadog: Goat + sheep, Goeep. Quickie Bio: A goeep has the curved horns like a bighorn sheep, that also branch off into the straight up horns of a goat; it has the fluffy wool of a sheep, and the temper of a goat. XD
Enjoy!
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Chapter One – Beginnings
In a world untouched by the horrors of war and greed, nor scarred by the ravages of the Hora-Quan; a time where peace and tranquility was abundant and seemingly unending, and all the natural colors of eco were free flowing; that is the world their story started in, and now returns to. But this apparently peaceful time holds many dangerous secrets, and a world unused to strife will need someone to defend it eventually – that is how legacies are born and destinies are made…
What is meant to occur will take place, one way or another. For fate has a way of always working things out…
-.-.One month before young Jak and Samos' arrival into the past
The world of the past was not as devoid of elfin life as it first appeared – in fact, to one unused to the lay of the land, it would appear that the people of the time were downright endangered – if you merely visited the southeast coast of the mainland, that is. There were many other settlements scattered throughout that world besides Sandover and Rock Village. To the west and the east, in both directions over the oceans stretching across the world, were whole other continents, also containing life; the closest one being slightly more advanced, technology wise, as they had further deciphered the Precursor knowledge to their advantage.
To the Northwest, scattered in and over the mountains, were other villages much like those already mentioned, lightly inhabited and small. Once you passed over the mountains, it gradually changed from grassy plains to desert, and after that the continent came to an end and fragmented off, forming jagged wasteland islands, utterly cut off from the rest of the world. Only rare, small tribal groups managed to survive in the more habitable of those desert areas.
Strewn throughout all the lands were, of course, the beautiful, enigmatic remains of the Precursors and their civilization, long lost, beyond any mortal memory or knowledge. Their unknown powers and mysteries were perhaps to be forever lost in time, yet were found to be eternally captivating to the current inhabitants of the world. And, finally, to the far South, was a desolate continent, dark and dangerous, where no person could hope to survive – the home and source of the metal head scourge that had warred with the Precursors themselves, hunting them to near extinction on the planet, and would virtually overrun the future…
But, to the east, before one reached the other land masses, there was a small string of islands very much alone in the vast ocean. Most likely created by volcanic activity ages ago, shaped by nature into a rough semi-circular formation, these islands were also inhabited by a number of people. The islanders were made up mostly of fisherman and other related crafts people, surviving at the mercy of the sea.
The people there were seemingly very cut off from the rest of the world – they didn't even have a warp gate on any of their numerous isles - but they did have contact with other places. They occasionally needed to trade with the mainland for the things they could not get on their own, Rock Village being one of the most frequented and closest at only three days' sail away. They exchanged some of their catch and sometimes even Precursor artifacts their nets pulled up from the bottom of the sea with the mainlanders, for crops and fruit that did not grow on their islands, as well as man-made products and additional wood for their boats; the islanders also raised small herds of yakow and goeep, giving the people the ability to survive and even thrive on their seemingly inhospitable specks of rock in the midst of the vast oceans.
It was a very different life style than the one lived in Sandover, or even in Rock Village – instead of life being slow, calm, and comparatively easy, the lives lived on those islands was often times tough, dangerous, and sometimes very short; living and depending on the ocean, which could be temperamental at best, was not a easy way of life. Violent seas and rough winds, along with lurker sharks and other unknown, deep-sea beasts were a constant threat; and on any given day, the fish could become scarce and the nets would remain empty…
The people there knew this, and lived the best they could in spite of all the trials they faced – and while they were by no means uncaring, heartless people, most had became tougher to live in such a place, much like wastelanders of the sea. They became less tolerant of faults and weaknesses – because there, that would cost the lives of the strong to care for the weak – to fix their mistakes.
There, life was only kept by those who were strong, and could outlast others during the rough times, enduring the fury of the sea when it was at its worst; you had to be worthy to survive. The weak just…died off quickly, unable to stay alive. It was just the way of life there – a fact of nature, if you will.
That is where Daxter was born.
-.-.-.-.-
-Fisherman's Rock (located three days sailing east-northeast from Rock Village;) part of the Crescent Island Chain
One of those many islands in particular was called Fisherman's Rock; it was pretty much like all the other islands in the area, not very spectacular – the people there fished, scaled and cleaned their catches, herded their animals, did their crafts well. The islanders were much like the people on the mainland: temperaments apparently only slightly hardened by the harsher life they lived; same elongated, pointed ears; same multicolored hair types (though they did tend to lean towards the red end of the color spectrum;) there was no real reason to distinguish this one isle from the mess of islands out there in the waters off the eastern seaboard.
But this is the particular place where the legacy actually begins.
It was the end of an unusually windy day. The sun was setting, but the waves were still up, and there were still a few of the smaller boats out; skiffs mostly. Some of the younger, more rowdy boat-men were using the additional winds to race around the islands, vaulting off the wave crests; attempting to out do one another by cutting it closer and closer to the jagged rocks that framed half of the island like a barrier – and showing off their skills by dodging at the last second.
Most everyone else was finishing up the days work and heading the short distance home to their humble island abodes, set on the edge of the high cliffs and brightly lit from within with hearth fires. The children, the future life of the village, ran about, caught up in their games of imaginary adventure; anywhere from captainingone of the island's largeships caught in a raging storm, to slaying a great lurker-sea beast and saving the day. Typical stuff, for these island children. They ran about in herds, almost, laughing and squealing and screaming, bare-footed and grubby-fingered as they traveled the island in their games. Mothers kept a watchful eye on their broods, occasionally jumping in and wresting a fighting pair apart by the ears when games became too serious.
One slender woman in particular stepped from her hut, bright green eyes glancing about quickly, searching for something amongst the grassy fields and large boulders that made up the majority of the island landscape. Her red brows narrowed in exasperation when the woman did not see what she was looking for.
"Daaaaaxterrr! Daxter, time to come inside!" The young mother shouted out into the dusky sky, calling for her son. The still harsh winds pulled at her long, gold to red, two-toned hair, and she irritably tugged it out of her eyes, still looking out for the child's arrival. She was about to call again when the sound of small, scampering feet reached her tapered female ears, and a smile lit up her face, erasing any signs of annoyance from her eyes.
"Daxter. Hurry up and come inside and…and just WHAT are you covered in?" She exclaimed when her only child came into sight. And there Daxter was: young, not even five years old, with his infamous fiery hair sticking up and flopping all over the place, not yet held in place with a cap or goggles. His wide, childishly innocent blue eyes were alight with laughter as he toddled up to the house, covered with splattered brown…something.
"Daxter! That had best not be yakow dung, because if it is, so the Precursors help me, I'll…" she said angrily, shaking a ladle at him, though with little feeling, as she was struggling against laughter at her scrawny son's appearance, a delicate hand clasped over her mouth. Daxter, looking down at himself, flashed a wide grin, showing off his already present overbite, as he tugged a hand through his hair sheepishly, breaking into giggles.
"Naw, mama, it ain't yakow poo!" Daxter said with the utmost confidence (though he DID take a cautionary sniff or two at the front of his shirt,) as he attempted to wipe some of the stuff of his clothes and ended up flinging it up against the side of the house.
"It's jus' mud. Me an' the others were runnin' around, playin' tag and I…um, kinda tripped and fell into a mud puddle…" He said haltingly, looking up at her with wide eyes, seemingly innocent for all the world – eyes silently pleading that she would buy the story.
She didn't, but she wouldn't say anything. His mother could see the slight path cut through the mud covering his face, made from what could only have been tears cleaning clear lines down his rounded cheeks. She bit her lip – Daxter had probably been pushed into the mud, again. Her eyes narrowed as she felt a wave of pity and indignant rage for her son. Daxter was constantly getting picked on - he was small, too small for his age; lightly built and slender, he took after her more than he should have, almost girly and sickly in appearance. Smaller than children even younger than him, Daxter was the village runt, and everyone seemed to find ways to let him know it.
"Oh, Daxter…" she whispered, lightly dropping to one knee and gently wiping the mud from his face. He fidgeted at first, not wanting to be babied; but he quickly stopped and, with a stifled, sob-tainted sigh, tolerated his mother's affections.
It used to be that he had run to her every time something had happened to him – which, sadly, happened all too often – he would dash through the doorway, howling at the top of his little lungs and bawling his eyes out, attaching himself to his mother's legs as he chokingly spit out the story to her. But the teasing and taunting had continued, and, with the addition of 'cry-baby' and 'momma's boy' into the regular insults, the tiny redhead had stopped running to her, and had suddenly begun to start fighting back, the only way he could – with his own insults. Having spent all his young life on an island with crusty old sailors and the occasional drunkard, the boy had developed a surprising gift for, well…creative insults. Of course, that only managed to anger the other kids even more, (if they managed to grasp what the witty little boy had actually said to them,) but at least Daxter had started getting the last word in before he had to run.
With a sad smile, she finished clearing away most of the mud, and, holding his little face in the palms of her hands, planted a kiss on the tip of his tiny nose.
"Aww, mama…" he pouted, rubbing at his nose with the back of his arm, which just smeared dirt all over it again. His mother chuckled lightly and shook her head.
"Come on now, Daxter. Let's get you inside and all cleaned up. You look like a hiphog covered in all that muck." Daxter giggled, and with a broad grin, pulled a face and let out a little hiphog snort, making them both break into laughter.
"Oh no, my baby's gone and turned into a hiphog! What am I ever gonna do?" She said playfully, even adding in a slight 'eep' of terror before scooping him up into her arms, not caring about the mud that got all over her own clothes at the motion. "I wonder…If I wash off all this dirt, do you think this little hiphog will change back into my son, hmm?" She laughed, suddenly digging her fingers into his sides, making him squeal with laughter. The two went into the house, still giggling, where he would continue his playful little act until she managed to toss his squirming, diminutive body into the wash basin, only shaking her head fondly when he splashed water over half the house.
It was an unconditional love, a sheer bond between mother and child – they were all the other had in the world. Daxter needed his mother, had no way in the world to live without her; he got all the food, warmth, and the desperately needed love and affection from her – at that point, she was the most important thing in his life, and he in hers. She needed her son around to stay strong - he was her motivation, her protectorate, her only true joy in life. And, ironically, he was the physical manifestation of all her sorrow.
It was just the two of them there, in that house; the two where currently on their own, and had been so for several months - and they were happy that way. And the sad fact was, they were better off for it. Too bad that was all about to change.
-.-.-.-.-
Daxter's mother was woken up the next morning, far earlier than she would have liked, by the sound of someone shouting and pounding on her door.
"Ulia! Ulia, you ARE up, aren't you! Come quickly!" The red haired woman just grumbled incoherently, and pulled the covers up over her head; the speaker's desperate pitch increased. "Ulia, you MUST get up - they're…they're BACK!"
Ulia shot up at those last words, covers flying and eyes wide with sudden fear. What! It couldn't be - it had been too long… Impossible…
She leapt out of bed and raced for the door, long, disheveled hair sticking out almost comically. She forced the heavy wooden door open, panting, glaring at the woman that stood there, who turned out to be a long time friend and neighbor.
"They're back? The ship is back! Y-you're sure?" She asked breathlessly. The stocky, older woman nodded, wringing her hands together in anxiety.
"Oh, yes, dearie, I'm sure… It was spotted only a few minutes ago, sailing in over the horizon. They're just about to dock now. But I-I didn't…I couldn't tell if…" The woman broke off, casting a worried look up at the suddenly frightened young mother. With a shiver, Ulia nodded.
"I-I…T-thank you for letting me know. I'll…I'll be out there shortly." She whispered, green eyes going dull. Her friend nodded slowly.
"Yes, I understand. I'll…just go now, I'm…sorry I had to tell you this, but I wanted you to know, before. Before…" She paused at Ulia's nod, eyes shining with worry. "I just hope that things have changed…for you and your son's sake." The older woman whispered, before scurrying off with a fearful backwards glance. Ulia slowly closed the door, sagging against it with a suppressed sob. No, no this couldn't be happening… Too much time had passed for it to be possible. Too much…
The woman glanced up her son, her tiny little boy, thankfully still asleep; curled up next to her pillow, he was making soft snorting sounds as he dreamed, a thumb tucked into his mouth. She smiled slightly, bitterly – her little Daxter could sleep through almost anything, it seemed. She…would let him sleep, if only for a minute longer. He deserved a last few moments of peace, before it would be shattered, their lives reduced back to the near hell they had been before…
Stifling a sob, his mother heaved herself off the stone floor and slipped into automatic, quickly getting dressed: slipping on a simple yetflattering two-part outfit of common design to the women of the island, consisting of a shin-length skirt and a slender top, colored in bright yellow-gold and pastel pink hues; all accentuated with cord shoulder straps and small tassels in the women's latest fashion craze. While hardly vain about her own appearance, Ulia preferred to be well dressed and presentable before going down to the buzzing, busy commercial dock area, keeping up a good appearance. Instead, now she just felt as though she was dressing up for her own funeral.
The nervous woman made short work of brushing out her long, slightly wavy hair, made up of the same bright colors as her son's, which he had obviously inherited from her. She paused, catching sight of her own face in the mirror. She looked as though she had seen a ghost, with dark circles ringing the underside of her eyes, the light smattering of freckles across her cheeks and neck standing out in stark contrast to her pale skin, which was tight with fear and anxiety, making her look suddenly years older; even more so than what the past five years had permanently etched onto her features. Even with the shape-fitting clothes and the straightened appearance, she still managed to look how she felt – like a completely nervous wreck. Oh, then what was the point! Ulia slammed a slight fist down against the table, gritting her teeth violently as she fought the urge to throw the brush at the wall, grip tightening on the wooden object with all her strength.
That's just it – there was no point. There was no point in making it look as though she hadn't just been dragged out of bed; making herself look decent enough to appear in public… Because if what her friend had said was true… if that ship had truly made it back… Looking presentable would be the least of her worries. No matter what she did, there was nothing she could do to stop what might occur…Ulia knew that. And she hated that simple fact with all her heart.
With a choked sob, the young woman pushed back the rage and the despair that threatened to overwhelm her entirely; roughly wiping the stubborn tears from her eyes, Ulia walked over to the bed and gently shook Daxter awake, who grumbled and whined slightly at the sudden early awakening.
"Wha? What's goin' on, mama?" He lisped sleepily, hair sticking out at messy angles, much like his mother's moments before. Ulia shook her head, propping him back up when he started to slump back down, trying to go back to sleep.
"Daxter, I need you to get up, okay? Get dressed, love. Something has happened, and mommy needs you to be ready."
"Wha?" He started, only to be quickly interrupted.
"Just get dressed, little one. I don't know yet, for sure, what has happened…" 'If he's back…' she thought, quickly shoving Daxter's red tunic on over his head. "But if something has, you need to be dressed."
'Because I can't shield you from this, love, I can't. If it's happened, finally happened… I can't just hide you away, that would be worse, worse on us both… Oh Precursors help me, what am I going to do...!'
Ulia quickly scooped him out of bed, helping him to get dressed; slipping him out of his sleeping clothes and into some pants, cinching a small belt around his tiny little waist and combing out his naturally spiky red hair. She stood up and looked him over, biting her lip. Gods, he was still so small. Her precious boy, so small and frail… he would hate that. She grasped Daxter's hand, squeezing slightly.
"Come on now, love, w-we're going down to the docks." She said, despising the quiver she couldn't manage to keep out of her voice. She couldn't tell Daxter yet, she simply couldn't. Ulia couldn't be sure that he wouldn't make a scene and refuse to go down altogether, digging in his heels and crying, or if he would even remember at all… the boy was only a little over four years old, after all. Giving him what she hoped was a reassuring look, Daxter's mother quickly ushered him out the door, turning and swiftly heading down to a lower level of the island, where the docks were located - to where she would find out if what she feared had come back at last.
Daxter, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on, squeezing his mother's hand tightly as they walked across the island. He had just been woken up, torn from sleep and confused, only really noticing the fear in his mother's voice and in her gaze. All his little boy brain could understand was that something bad musta' happened, to make his mother so afraid. But what was it?
They reached the docks all too quickly for Ulia's liking, but they were soon there none the less. The area was crowded, more so than usual; filled with milling, excited people, cheering the arrival of a ship thought to be long gone. The Barracuda had arrived back at its home port, after nearly seven months lost at sea…
Ulia and Daxter stood at the back of the crowd, the woman searching the faces of the people coming off the boat, many of whom were rushing into the arms of wives and children that had thought them lost forever, crying tears of joy at their return… Ulia felt as though she could burst into tears as well, but it would hardly be from joy.
She continued to desperately search, eyes rapidly probing for the face she had hoped to never see again; that she had, Precursors forgive her, hoped and prayed was dead and lost to the depths of the ocean… And suddenly made out a figure standing out from amongst the rest, coming into view from the bow of the boat; tall and broad-shouldered, that unmistakable spiking blood-red and black hair; the haughty, swaggering stance. Even from the slight distance, Ulia, blood rushing from her already pale face in horror, could make out that man, the captain of the ship, now stepping down the gangplank, returned to the island very much alive.
Daxter's father was home.
-.-.-.-.-
One of the last men to disembark from the ship, Lyil stepped into the crowd gathered at the docks, a smirk growing on his face as many of the villagers cheered and clapped him on the back, welcoming him home and thanking him for leading the other sailors back safely.
They had set sail on a long-distance trading mission to thedistant continent in the east nearly seven months ago, on a trip that was only supposed to take about six weeks. The trading mission in itself had run long, due to complications during the journey there, normal sailing difficulties of torn sails and lost rigging; the men had ended up staying longer then planned in the far off country, enjoying the sights and culture and the strange technologies there. Once the trading was done and huge profits made, they had set off on the return voyage where they were caught in a horrible storm, during which several of the men were lost to the sea.
They had been thrown severely off course, and had run aground on some rocky part of the coastline of the same continent they had just departed from, the boat heavily damaged. They were many days sail south of the trading post, however, so they had found themselves in a another unfamiliar land. To make an incredibly long story (four months long, in fact,) short, the sailors had to barter and earn wages to afford the cost of the necessary repairs, seeing how the 'advanced society' would not allow them the necessary wood for the ship for free. The vessel was so heavily damaged that even just the work in itself took over a moon cycle to complete – and then there were the needed supplies for the trip home.
All that, and the traders had barely managed to retain any of the profits they had made trading with the other city – only the rarest of cloths, clothing, items and artifacts had been kept, hidden away safely in the hold of the ship. The city dwellers had been crafty, hoping to fool the 'ignorant island hicks' out of their valuable items. The captain, however, was far more devious then they could hope to be, and the ship had finally set sail from there less than two weeks ago. And now they were back, at last, only minus a good chunk of their profits and a few crew members – not a bad loss, considering…
The entire experience was enough to give even a good man a bad temper – and Lyil was not a good man to begin with.
Lyil spotted them lurking in the back of the crowd quickly, eyes narrowing at the sight. The nerve of that woman, standing there, fear and disappointment and rage plastered on her pretty little face… She had believed he was never coming back – had probably believed that she was rid of him forever. He sneered, pleased to disappoint her and her pathetic hopes. Ulia had probably grown too independent for her own good over the past few months, relishing her supposed freedom – he would be glad to break her back down again. He would teach her to think she would ever be rid of him…
And then he saw the boy, small as ever, clinging to her legs in fear as though he was some sniveling little GIRL. That attachment would have to be taken care of… He wouldn't have his boy, runt or not, acting like some sissy female – an embarrassment to his name… With a malicious grin on his once handsome face, Lyil stalked through the rest of the crowds surrounding the docks and made his way to the back of the horde, where his wife and son stood.
Ulia stepped back slightly when she saw him approaching, placing a hand on Daxter's shoulder and shifting him further behind her legs – something the slight boy had been about to do anyway. He was quickly remembering that man and that face; those cold, loveless blue eyes, so similar and yet so different from his own…
Lyil stopped in front of them, crossing his arms and staring down over her much shorter frame haughtily; baring his canines completely with a wide smirk when she cowered slightly, but didn't back down or look away. So - the woman had grown a bit of a backbone, eh? Heh. She was going to be so much fun to break. He raised a dark eyebrow at her, smirk growing.
"Miss me?" He growled, a sadistic grin splitting his lightly bearded face when she twitched at the sound of his voice. Ulia gave a shiver, life fading from her once bright eyes as she glanced away towards the ground.
"There was nothing to miss." She muttered flatly, all emotion gone.Lyil's eyes widened in momentary surprise at her boldness, before quickly narrowing dangerously into slits, fists twitching.
"We'll see how long thattone lasts, Ulia." He hissed, before glancing down at Daxter as though he had yet to notice the boy, who let out a faint whimper and ducked his face back behind his mother's dress; his father let out a growl, anger growing and risingperilouslyclose tothe surface.
"And what in the HELL have you done to my boy, woman? Huh!" Lyil stepped forward, large frame swaggering- Daxter gave another yelp and scuffled completely behind his mother's dress folds as the other half of his 'family' turned his dark eyes upward to snarl in her face, furiously. "What, you decide being a damn runt wasn't enough, and you had to go and turn him into some kinda pansy as well? Come'ere!" He snarled, hand darting out and grabbing Daxter's wrist in a painful grip, yanking him out from his hiding spot behind his mother; the boy let out a fearful protest, yelping; eyes wide as he frantically pulled back, trying to get away.
"No! Let him go, Lyil!" Ulia half-shouted, grabbing at his hand and recklessly tugging, trying to pry him off Daxter's wrist. The man, face red with building rage but eyes alight with sadistic pleasure, used his free hand to pry her fingers from his wrist, grip tightening until she let out a pained protest, fearful eyes glaring up at him. Lyil had to suppress a laugh the look on their faces, settling instead for a broad grin, running his tongue along his teeth – he was going to enjoy making up for lost time.
And the thing was, very few of the villagers had ANY inkling of what happened behind closed doors at Daxter's childhood home – and those that did, like Ulia's friend, couldn't do anything about it. Lyil was too well respected and liked by the rest of his home village – he put up a good façade, impressing and fooling most. And Ulia hadn't even been born on that particular island, only moving there when she had been married to Lyil – and the people of Fisherman's Rock were loyal to their own. She wouldn't even be believed. …Some might even say that she had brought it on herself.
Even at that moment, they were so far away from the rest of the crowd, that to anyone looking on from that distance would probably only see what appeared to be a reunited family, possibly holding hands or something similar. NOT a twisted man hurting his wife and son. And Lyil was far too sly – he knew better than to allow this kind of thing to be noticed by others; this treatment he only reserved for those whom he could get away with abusing; generally leaving it for the privacy of indoors…
"Come on, 'dear'. Let's go home so you can greet your husband 'proper like'. After all, seven months away from home is such a looong time. I'm sure you've felt so deprived of my company." Daxter's father growled, leering into Ulia's face. She flinched away, stomach churning. With a short, husky laugh at her expression, Lyil quickly headed off towards their hut, dragging the pair behind him. Ulia could only cover her face with her free hand when she began to sob.
Daxter, who was quietly whimpering at the painful grip around his wrist, suddenly tripped over a bump in the path, hitting the ground with a pained yelp. Lyil, glancing back over his shoulder with a sneer, didn't stop; nor did he let go of Daxter's wrist. He just started to drag him behind them, amidst Daxter's cries as he struggled to stand.
"Daxter!" Ulia gasped, trying to turn and pick her son from the ground; she let out a strangled shout when her husband ruthlessly tugged her back up and to his side, shaking his head with a sneer.
"Uh-uh… If the little runt can't learn to stand on his own two feet, he doesn't deserve to be picked up from the ground when he falls!" Shock and anger suddenly clouding her face, the boy's mother quickly began to protest, shouting at the man who still hadn't stopped walking. She was quickly cut off, however, when Lyil tightened his grip on them both; yanking Daxter up from the rough ground and dangling him by the wrist amidstthe child'spanicked screaming.
"Woman. Unless you want me to get really angry, I suggest you shut your mouth. NOW." He growled out in a dangerously low whisper, shaking theboy and tightening his grip on her wrist until it made a cracking sound for emphasis; at her wide eyed, fearful nod, Lyil smirked and relaxed his grip on her slightly, and let go of Daxter completely, who fell down in a bawling heap.
"That's better. And look, we're home." He said mockingly, voice positively dripping with sarcasm. He tugged Ulia up to the house, rolling Daxter's huddled form out of his way with his foot.
"Stay out here and keep outta my way for a while, kid. The grownups have stuff to do." Lyil hissed, wrapping an arm around the woman'supper armand tugging her to the door way.
"Ma…Mama!" Daxter whimpered, scrambling to his feet and rushing towards the door. Ulia, a look of panic on her once-young face, shook her head frantically.
"No, Daxter! Um, stay outside and play for awhile. For mommy, okay? Please, honey. J…just go..." She whispered, fighting panic. Daxter bit his lip anxiously, eyes wide with fear and tears.
"Bu'…mama…!" The redhead whispered, eyes darting from his mother to the man holding her and back again. Ulia shook her head again, needing him to understand and just go… Lyil, however, was loosing his patience.
"I said GET, runt! So move!" He shouted, raising a fist. With a squeal of fright, Daxter flailed backwards to get away, landing on his backside. He quickly tore at the ground, lifting himself up and running off with a fearful backwards glance. Lyil snickered cruelly, lowering his hand and latching it onto Ulia's waist, who couldn't manage to suppress a shiver.
"Well, now that that's taken care of…" Lyil growled suggestively, tugging his horrified and unwilling wife through the door, slamming it shut behind them.
At the sound, Daxter slowly stopped and looked back, eyes wide, heart pounding frantically in his slight chest; the young boy had no idea what to do.
There was nothing he could do.
-.-.-.-.-
It didn't take long for things to go from bad to worse. Lyil wasted no time in making himself at home once more – nor did he waste any time regaining his strangle hold on the small family. People like him were all the same: domineering, obsessive, violent. Due to some strange combination of situation and personality, they managed to somehow come to the conclusion that certain people belonged to them, and could be dealt with however they saw fit. It was the kind of thing that had slowly escalated over the years: the violence creeping to more dangerous levels, the verbal abuse getting harsher; the sneers, the disrespect, the utter disregard. The rules of society did not apply with them behind closed doors, and the sick rush of control was their greatest pleasure in life. Lyil was a sick and twisted man, and there was simply no reasoning with him.
And Ulia was a helpless bystander to all that her cruel husband did - if she tried to stop him, it just increased his enjoyment of the whole affair – or it triggered his rage, which was damn near unstoppable. It was better to go along with it and try to prevent it from escalating, she reasoned, then trying to stop him - which was about as useful as walking up to a yakow bull during the breeding season and poking it in the eye. Neither was a wise move. And it didn't help their problems that the man loved to drink.
And he wasn't a happy drunk, by ANY means…
It was only a few days later, in the middle of the afternoon, and the dark haired man was still in the midst of enjoying his "triumphant return" – which included indulging in the some of the strongest forms of liquor the island brewers could manage. He'd come back to the hut early from the tavern to demand some food, catching Ulia and her son by surprise. Daxter, who had been spending the majority of his time outside lately, and therefore relatively safe from his father's temper tantrums, was playing in a corner of the main room when his father stormed inside. Wide blue eyes snapped up in shock, only to meet with a frigid matching pair staring straight at him. His drunken concentration not being the best, his focus quickly shifted far too easily from food, to the anger that built up in his chest every time he looked at his son, and the darkly pleasant surprise that he'd managed to catch the boy at home for once. A twisted grin crossed his lips as he glared down at the huddled form.
"Come 'ere, boy." the man snarled, grabbing the child's lean upper arm in a tight grip and tugging him over, even as Daxter fought the whimpers rising up in his throat. Lyil looked him up and down with a sneer, before gulping down another shot of Lurker Whiskey, which he had conveniently brought back with him from the bar. Ulia stepped out of the other room in fearful surprise, gasping at sight; Lyil tossed her a smoldering glare, jerking a muscled arm back towards to room she just exited, flinging liquor across the floor.
"Get back in there and cook me some damn food, woman!" He shouted, inadvertently tightening his grip on the child's shoulder. Biting her lip so hard she tasted copper, Ulia reluctantly slunk back into the cooking area after forcefully tearing her terrified gaze from her son. Distraction gone, Lyil focused back on child he held in his bruising grip.
"Look at you. You're pathetic." He hissed, glaring down at the flinching child. "Nothin' more then a weakling; you're a disgrace to the whole island." He paused, spitting down by Daxter's foot as though he tasted something foul. "You're such a scrawny little shit, always cringing like a whipped crocadog. Show some backbone once in a while, you runt!" Lyil snarled, giving the child a good smack between the shoulder blades, making him let out a hollow yelp as the air was knocked out of him, the force straightening him up from his huddled stance. The man let out a short, cold laugh.
"Disgusting. I can't believe you're of my blood. If you didn't look like some cheap, ugly imitation of myself, I'd have to think you mother had been whoring around on me, eh, bitch!" Lyil half-shouted towards the other room, giving the doorway a good glare; the room remained heartbreakingly silent. He didn't expect an answer, and only paused to bark out a harsh laugh and take another gulp of liquor straight from the bottle.
Glancing back down towards the boy trapped in his grip, his eyes suddenly hardened at the sight of tears silently falling down Daxter's rounded cheeks. Eyes that suddenly seemed to burn in his hazy, drunken rage.
"What the hell is that!" He shouted, giving the child a violent shake by the shoulders. "What in the HELL do you think you're doing?" The terrified boy didn't answer, only staring up at his father with watery eyes and trembling limbs. Rage further colored the man's vision red. "Only weaklings and girls cry! And I won't have a weakling in my household!" Lyil shouted, suddenly backhanding Daxter across the face.
Daxter couldn't even hear his own cry as he felt harshly onto the floor, senses clouded with a ringing in his ears and the taste of blood on his tongue. He lay there limply in pain and shock, the only movement coming from his shaking shoulders as he sobbed, just wanting the ache in the side of his face to fade.
"…A disgrace to think I spawned this spineless worm! Damn weakling…" Lyil continued to hiss, staring down at Daxter's sprawled out form with eyes unfocused in his drunkenness. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper that could barely be heard over the youngster's hiccoughing sobs.
"Creatures like you… they dun't last long. Not in the seas. Not on the ships. Not on thes' islands. First fish to be eaten; firs' to go." A slightly manic sneer spilt his face in two, canines bared to the light.
"Maybe… ma'be I should just…help you along a little bit." He whispered, toeing the young redhead's form over with a booted foot. Daxter let out a whimper. The grin widened, as the said boot quickly pressed down on a tiny hand, pressure slowly increasing on the young joints. Daxter's impossibly wide eyes darted between the horrifying look on the man's face to the boot over his hand, before letting out a wail as the force became painful.
"You could break…so easily…" He murmured, head tilting eerily to the side, as he stepped down more, a satisfying pop echoing up to his ears; a panicked scream of pain…
"Lyil!" A sudden shout from behind, and the coolly violent man turned, alcohol making him so thankfully distractible… only to have a food platter smashed over his head, ceramic shards and yakow steak flying. The man dropped with a loud thud, nearly landing on top of the still bleeding child, who, with widely surprised eyes, scrambled up and back into a corner, clutching his battered hand and sobbing as silently as possible.
Ulia dropped the two rim pieces of the platter still clutched in her hands to the floor, her own green eyes wide with shock at her own actions. What had she just done? She simply hadn't been able to stand by and listen to her child's cries any longer, but now she had endangered them both even further! Tossing a panicked glance Daxter's way, she saw him gazing at her with an awed look in his eyes. She let out a slightly hysterical laugh that sounded more like a sob.
Slowly dropping to her knees, she braced the wall for support, overwhelmed by the audacity of what she had done. Lyil would…oh, Precursors, he would…! She looked over at his prone form with a shiver and could tell from the shallow rising of his chest that she hadn't killed him – he was just unconscious. She couldn't be sure if that was a good thing or not.
Daxter was slowly inching his way away from the corner and over to the forms of his parents, eyeing the limp body of his father with hesitant fear and curiosity. Ulia quickly raised a hand and shook her head, warding him off.
"Daxter. J-just go." She looked up at him, green orbs dark with fear. "Go, Daxter. When he wakes up, you cannot be here." The child made to protest, but his mother interrupted him. "If I can't find someway to explain this to him, he is…. He is going to wake up, Daxter, and he is going to be very angry. Do you understand what it will be like when that happens, baby?" Blue eyes widened in understanding – Daxter knew, and the thought absolutely terrified him. His daddy was going to be so mad… The child let out a sob. Ulia bit her lip, wincing at the huge purpling splotch on the side of his face, blood dribbling down the middle from a cut cheekbone. She cupped his other cheek softly in her hand, gently running a thumb over the unmarred skin there – Gods, she had to keep him out of Lyil's path.
"Go Daxter. Don't come back until its safe." She whispered, lightly pushing him towards the door
With a trembling lip and frantic look, the young boy stumbled up and out the cracked door, racing off to the furthest end of the island, stumbling and blinded by tears.
-.-.-.-.-
Somehow, by the grace of the Precursors, Ulia was able to get out of that situation without so much a drop of blood spilled on her part. After sending Daxter away, she had quickly cleaned up all evidence of her unusual show of bravado, (including the ceramic shards and mashed potubers in Lyil's hair.) Luckily, her husband was so drunk that he hadn't even woken up, and was simply sleeping all that liquor off, so he didn't wake until the next day; and when he did, it was with a raging headache and little memory of the day before. Hiding her trembling as much as possible, she had quickly told him 'what had happened' when he had irritably questioned her about why his head hurt so damn bloody much.
He had, of course, come home so drunk that when she had called him to come and eat, had turned around too fast and gotten dizzy at the sudden movement, tilting over dangerously and crashing into one of the house's support beams head first. Lyil, hung-over and embarrassed, his stanch male-pride damaged by such an explanation, blamed her for his little misstep; she, as his wife, should have prevented such a thing, (of course,) – but she still managed to escape any further repercussions from the event other then a bruised cheek and a cranky male to deal with for the rest of the day.
Ulia was relived it was just that; and was able to breathe a bit easier afterwards…at least for a while.
-.-.-.-.-
After that incident, Daxter was now forced to deal with staying away from home even more then before. Of course, it was hardly the most enjoyable situation; but if he wanted to keep from getting hurt, he had to stay away from the house whenever Lyil was around – and that meant he had to stay away from his mother, the only person who truly seemed to care about him. SometimesUlia had him stay at her friend's house, but it was so boring over there…and there was the slight fact that he tended to end up annoying/distracting/or breaking something that belonged to the older woman. He didn't like to play with the other kids (more like they didn't like him first), and any time with his mother was quickly interrupted. But, thankfully for them, Lyil eventually went back out on the boats to get back to doing his job and fish – and though it was only for short trips, a few days at most, those were the blissful times that Ulia and her son were able to spend together.
"Daxter! I'm going to get you!" Ulia shouted as she ran after her son, caught up in an impromptu game of chase. They were currently on the far side of the island gathering firewood, where the terrain was rougher and there weren't any houses. Daxter was running about, weaving and dodging into and around the small bushes in the area, trying to hide from his mother – it wasn't exactly helpful that he was giggling and laughing the entire time.
Ulia, panting and flushed with exertion, was none the less smiling with the absolute joy of the moment. Rare moments like these were the ones that kept them going, and made life worth living. It was especially nice that they were able to forget their troubles during these times as well.
Daxter let out a shrill squeal of surprise when his mother rounded a boulder, suddenly much closer to catching him than he had thought. With another peal of laughter, he darted off in the other direction, winding his way around the massive rocks and making his way up the gradually increasing slope of the hillside. With a fond chuckle of her own, Ulia followed, allowing Daxter to outpace her, so the game wouldn't end too quickly.
Hardly anyone ever went up the cliff sides, and only then it was usually to retrieve a straying goeep or something similar – there was no useable food or growing space up there, nor any flat and steady ground to build houses on. The rocks were mildly unstable; rumor had it that the small mountain of rock used to be higher many generations ago, before part of it collapsed, the majority of it falling into the ocean and creating the dangerous rocky outcroppings that surrounded a side of the island. No one knew how old the island was – or what kind of history it had before their ancestors discovered the chain of islands many centuries ago.
As the game continued, they found themselves further up the hillside than either of them had ever been before. Ulia was seriously starting to consider calling Daxter back down, as the rocky slope was starting to get rougher and lose some of its footing.
Daxter, meanwhile, had found himself a nice nook between some rocks to hide in, giggling in excitement. His mother would never be able to find him here! Stifling his laughter as he heard her approaching, the young redhead squeezed further back into the outcropping, feeling rocks and gravel come loose in his slight grip. Blue eyes blinked slowly with confusion, as the young boy felt a jolt go through the stone at his back. With a sudden resounding crack and a massive shifting of rock, the chunks of sandstone fell back, having lost the precarious balance of gravel anchoring it, creating a slight cavern into the mountainside, pulling a dumbstruckredhead in with it.
Ulia's head snapped up at the sound of the rock slide, heart jumping to her throat at the sight of dust rising from an area slightly around the mountain. And the sound of a tiny scream of fright, gone mostly unnoticed over the crashes.
"Daxter!" His mother screamed, scrambling over the rough terrain over to the small hole in the hillside. Coughing on the dust, she quickly leaned in the gap, peering through the gloom to see if her son had been caught in the collapse.
"Daxter! Are you in there? Baby, answer me!" She shouted frantically. A weak cough answered her almost immediately.
"Mama?" A sob. "Mama! I think I fell in somethin'…" Ulia gasped in relief, tightening her precarious grip on the rocks and leaning further into the hole.
"Daxter? Where are you? Can you get up, baby?" She heard a slight shifting of gravel not too far down as the small boy stood up, followed by a stifled sniffle.
"Uh huh… I'm okay…" Daxter stood up carefully, whimpering at the pain from his skinned elbows; he shook his body, getting the gravel off his clothes and out of his hair, though his skin and clothing were still covered with a fine, tan dust from the rocks. Blinking in the settling powder, he could slowly make out the opening he had fallen through, not even six feet over his head, a blob of light in the slopping wall. He cracked a smile at the silhouette of his mother leaning down towards him, and waved.
"Hi, mama!"
Ulia had to pull herself out of the gap quickly, to avoid pitching forwards at the sheer absurdity of the situation. He was lucky not be crushed under a half ton of rock, and he just… She sighed, and leaned back in, shaking her head.
"Daxter? I think that's definitely enough playing for one day… Come over to the wall – can you climb out?" She asked, thinking their might be a slope of rubble for him to clamber up. Daxter started forward, thinking he probably could make it up, when he caught a faint glow out of the corner of his eye. Nose scrunching up in confusion, he waved an arm at his mother.
"Just a minute mama…" He muttered distractedly, as he rounded a narrow crevice and disappeared from her sight.
"Daxter? Daxter, get back here this instant!" She shouted, starting to lower herself into the gap. Faintly, she heard her child answer with a whine.
"But, maaamaaa, I FOUND somethin'!"
"I don't care if you've found the lost city of the Precursors, you get back over here right NOW!" She hissed in rare display of genuine anger, sliding the rest of the way in the small cavern, nearly cracking her head on the jutting rocks. She quickly crawled through the tunnel Daxter had found, guided by the same slight glow that had attracted the easily distracted young boy.
"Daxter, if you don't come here right now, you're going to wish your father WAS home today!" She threatened, immediately regretting the reference. Shaking her head and staying firm, she squeezed though another tight curve, and caught sight of the little, slippery, redheaded eel, sitting back on his heels, with his mouth agape, illuminated by the glow.
"Daxter, I mean it! Come here right…!" She reached out to grab him, only to see what had shocked Daxter into silence, and was reduced to gaping as well. There, half buried in the rocky mountainside, tilted nearly on its side, was a forgotten Precursor oracle, lightly glowing in the darkness.
Daxter was the first to break the silence, turning curious eyes to his mother's own awed look.
"Mama? What is it? It looks silly – it's got big bug eyes." He said, giggling slightly. His mother shot him a look, clapping her hand over his mouth.
"Hush, Daxter! It's a Precursor Idol – you shouldn't mock them!" She whispered, biting her lip in superstitious fear. With the islander's belief that the Precursors watched over them – made it possible for them to survive in their isolated homes, and controlled the tides, it was no wonder that regarding an idol in an form of disrespect was simply out of the question. The redhead made a face and twisted away from the hand.
"They still look goofy…" He muttered, scowling at odd looking statue. Ulia was torn between horror and shock at her son's naive defiance. Shaking her head, she grabbed his arm.
"Come on Daxter – we need to get out of here, anyway. This cave could collapse any minute, and I don't have anything to make an offering with…" She started to pull him away, only to be interrupted by an impossibly deep voice, which made the cavern rumble with its sound, twin redheads snapping around to fearfully stare at the source.
"A Fated One approaches, and awakens my long slumber…" The Oracle growled out; sightless, cavernous eyes seemingly staring at the quivering pair, and yet at nothing at all at the same time. Ulia tugged her son into her arms fearfully, her own eyes wide; the young boy gave a frightened whimper, which actually seemed to refocus the metallic statues 'gaze' and attention to him.
"Ahh… The Companion. Darkness clouds your future, small one." Ulia gasped, tightening her grip on her child almost painfully, even as the cavern continued to shake with the voice.
"You have an important role to play in fate; but you are not yet ready…" The Oracle paused and the cowering pair got the impression that it had seemingly looked around, taking in surroundings that were far beyond the unstable cave, before turning its blank yet piercing gaze back to the trembling child.
"And your destiny lies far from here, child." It's "gaze" seemed to flicker towards Ulia and back to Daxter again; there was a rumbling sound, and a few pebbles fell from the ceiling. The Oracle quickly resumed.
"Do not allow darkness of any form to overwhelm and envelop your true self… And do not fear the return of the glorious light, for all paths must come to an end eventually…" And the Oracle fell silent; the resonating glow that had increased during its short speech quickly beginning to fade. The only sounds that were left were the sounds of the pair's rapid breathing. Finally, the trembling boy lifted his head from his mother's chest where he had attempted to hide his face, and peered up and Ulia's equally stunned eyes.
"M-mama? What…?" His mother quickly interrupted and shook her head.
"No, baby. Not now. We're leaving." She whispered, physically unable to raise her voice any louder. She gulped, quickly scooping the relatively light child up into her arms and made her way back out of the small cavern. As soon as she managed to crawl out the tight crevice and into the sunlight, a deep cracking noise echoed from below. The sound of rocks breaking filled the air, and a wave of dust and gravel blew out from the exit, surrounding and engulfing the pair before settling back down again.
Ulia stared back at the once-cave in shock – they could have been killed...! …But they had gotten out just in time… She felt a wave of foreboding shoot through her. It was just…far too coincidental. But then again, when precursor relics were involved… The young mother frowned in consternation – she didn't want to think about this.
But as she carried Daxter home, she just had to wonder just what the oracle had meant. 'Darkness' was in his future? His 'destiny'? Oracles were believed to have a knowledge and power over the future, but she had never heard of or witnessed one speaking before. It was supposedly rare for it happen; only when it was talking of someone greatly important, like one of the great sages of eco that were rumored to live on the mainland; or when someone had a great task or destiny to fulfill… Was Daxter of an important fate? She glanced down at her son, now asleep in her arms, thumb habitually clasped in his mouth. He hardly looked like someone capable of great deeds…or of darkness. Ulia shivered as the oracle's words ran through her again. Darkness? Was her tiny, innocent son capable of darkness?
Ulia, of course, didn't think that was possible at all. But… She paused, a thought sending a shiver down her spine. What if Lyil had caused more damage to Daxter then she knew? What if…instead of just hurting his body, he had also tainted his mind, as well? Had he been warped by Lyil's hatred and violence?
Or was he simply more important than anyone had ever considered him to be? …Even her?
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-