I've been wanting to update this collection for awhile, but you know how things go. This one is a slightly different take on the 'origin' story. Expect some violent imagery.
............
Destroy the temple!
I heard the call echo through those chambers. The bodies of women and children lined the halls in our wake, but none of the dark pools that spread outwards could be called innocent. Evil pulsated from every stone in that place; were I blind and numb I would still know the moment my feet passed the threshold. Death. Murder. The walls screamed for it, and their plea was answered in generous terms.
But not all was death—a few of my Harper kindred managed to steal babes from their mothers' arms before they could fulfil their father's desire. I have never considered myself a faint-hearted man, but the sight of a mother screaming for mercy for only to earn herself an extra moment to wring her own child's neck is not something that I will easily forget. It defied every natural law, but perhaps the nature it called upon was not so different than the one we believe we know.
We were ordered to save as many children as we could. I did not understand why—these were children of prophecy, their future as determined as if it had been carved in stone. And in a way it was; the words of Alaundo are inerrant. The Children shall bring death in their wake. Some argued that it was necessary that they live in order to stop this from coming to pass, but how could they hope to succeed? They shall all die, whether through a sacrificial blade or the prosaic tooth of time. Their essence shall rejoin their father. The Lord of Murder shall be reborn—it is inevitable as the rising sun.
......
A number of us stayed behind after the rescuers had fled to ensure that no foul priestess or servant of the dark one escaped with their life. I admit I did not heed my orders; the soft logic of the Harpers had failed to impress me for some time. I passed through the halls alone, guarded only by my magic, and where I heard the frightened wails of a child I silenced them. I felt no guilt. These were children of the abyss, their very existence an abomination. I was certain of this. But then, something occurred to change my mind.
I pursued some snivelling servant into a chamber. If not for all I had seen that day the horror of that room might have given me pause; a cold altar stood in the centre, fresh blood dripping down its side like a scene from an abattoir. The scent of it filled the air and the bodies of murdered children and priestesses surrounded the vile plinth, their last duty to their evil god performed.
The man pleaded for his life like an old woman, crawling over the bodies to pull himself away from me. Disgusted by the man I raised my hands—but too late I realised it was a ruse. When he had pulled far enough back he drew a wand and a blast of energy hit me, driving me hard against the stone wall. My consciousness drifted but thankfully my protections triggered and hammered the man with a spell. He cried out in pain and the wand slipped from his grasp and went sliding away across the floor.
We both stared at it in a trance, each of us lying dazed from the other's strike. I knew I needed to rise, I needed to finish the man before he could rally some other assault, but then—something moved.
A child had been lying in the dead arms of a woman. I had thought him dead as well but now he rose up from her grasp, sleepy-faced and mellow as a boy wakening in his gentle mother's lap after a picnic in the sun. His little lad's tunic was stained with the marks of violence but it troubled him not. He rubbed his eyes, and spying the object of our interest he toddled towards it and grasped the wand in his hand.
The little boy thought he had found quite a prize, and held the wand high with a smile and a laugh. My heart jumped; such weapons were triggered at will and there was nothing stopping him using it against either of us. But if there was violence in the boy's heart he kept it hidden. Rather he examined the wand keenly, looking it over in that curious way children do. I knew I could not rely on the devil-spawn's charity though so I raised a hand to strike the boy down, but suddenly the servant called out to him.
"Boy," he rasped. "You know your father's bidding. Destroy your enemy. Point the wand and fulfil his commandment!"
The boy looked at the man, cocking his head at the request. The import seemed to be beyond his comprehension for he merely let out a childish laugh.
"Do it, boy!" the man commanded. "Strike your enemy!"
The child just laughed again, amused by the strange game. He raised the wand, holding it in mid-air, his eyes flitting between the pair of us as he weighed the choice in his mind. His small mouth twisted in happiness. My heart leaped but before I could act he let out a cry, and pointed the weapon directly at his father's servant. Lacking my protections the wand took full effect. The man's flesh burst into blue-tinged flames, cooking him down to the bone before a scream could even escape his lips.
......
The lad stuck his little fingers into his mouth and stared in awe at the remains. No tears came into his eyes, nor any sign of joy. Simply—surprise. His fingers still stuck in his mouth he turned and looked at me. I had my chance to act, but I do not know what stayed my hand. Perhaps the blow had softened me in some way. Rather than casting a spell I spoke.
"Give me the wand, child."
He still stared, weighing the command of a stranger.
"Give me the wand."
He held out the weapon, pointing it at me with a quizzical look on his face. I tensed, but spoke the command again. Slowly the child lowered the wand, not breaking his gaze from mine. He came to me in quiet steps and gingerly placed the wand in my outstretched palm.
I looked then into his face, truly regarding a Spawn for the first time. He seemed so—childlike. An absurd thing to say, and I felt it even then. I expected a demon with glowing eyes, not the soft orbs that regarded me from the round babe's face. How like a child that one might see on any street, on any farm...I thought there must be a mistake, that some ordinary boy had been mixed in with the Children. But I knew what he was. And it was then my revelation came.
Strike your enemy, the man had said. But he had struck at his father's servant, not at me. I did not think for a moment he anticipated the result but even in his child's game his choice was plain. Of course the irony in the man's words was obvious; in truth we were both his enemy. We both planned to end his life. Why did he choose that man, not I? Was it some lingering memory of cruelty at his hand? Did he naturally point at the man he knew rather than a stranger? The lad was young, very young, barely old enough to walk. Perhaps I read too much into the simple act of a child, but I sensed something...more. Here was no mindless servant of Bhaal. The child had free will. And in some subconscious way he had chosen me as his protector.
The lad had been regarding me while I worked this over in my mind, but he grew tired of the stranger and returned to his mother's side. He plopped himself down on her wearily with a sigh, his small hands clinging to her bloody robe. With a groan I rose up and looked at her face.
Even in death it bore such cruelty that I wondered how this woman had ever been a mother. No compassion was hiding in those dead eyes, no trace of tenderness could be found in her twisted mouth. A beauty, yes, but cold as iron. Her hands were frozen in such a way that suggested she'd been clinging to something when she fell, most likely the child that now cuddled her lifeless frame.
How could that boy hold for her affection? I could scarce imagine her ever expressing to him a mother's kind touch. Had he ever known love? The sight of the poor orphaned child struck at me, further cracking the ice within my own cool heart. He was just a boy, after all.
I reached for the lad to pull him away from his mother. He let out a shrill scream and refused to let go of her robes. We struggled but I managed to free him. He wrapped himself around my neck as I carried him away, blubbering softly to himself over his loss. I wrapped my arms around his warm little frame in turn and bore him from the darkness, into the light of the fading sun.
........
I found the Harpers at our meeting point some distance from the dark temple. The night drew around us but I found the spot easily from the sounds of children's wails. The sight of a group of battle-hardened warriors and mages gathered around a fire, tending to the cries of fussing babes nearly brought me to chuckle. Men and women more suited to cutting down slavers now playing nursemaid with varying degrees of success.
Despite this I somehow felt self-conscious about my charge and seated myself some ways from the others. A few of the older children played together near the fire but my lad stayed near me, watching them with curious eyes. He did not seem interested in play with his fellows. It somehow occurred to me he might be hungry so I offered the lad some food from my own pouch. He took the offered gift and I felt a strange pleasure in watching him eat, like one might have when a wild animal takes food from one's hand.
He took an interest in me as well and watched me as he ate. Now that my nerves had calmed it struck me how handsome a lad he was. His eyes were a rare shade of green, like the new leaves of spring. They were almost hypnotic, and perhaps the only true hint that his heritage was anything other than human. In every other respect he seemed a normal boy. He suddenly grinned at me through his mouthful of bread and I found myself smiling in return.
One of my brethren, an aged mage, came and sat near the pair of us. For all the years I had known that man little seemed more out of place with his character than the sight of him holding a young boy to his chest.
"You rescued a child?" he spoke quietly.
"As did you," I replied, feeling somewhat defensive.
"Yes, I...pulled him from an altar, from underneath the very knife of his dam. They are but children, are they not? They do not deserve such a fate."
He spoke hesitantly, as if trying to convince himself of the words. He was an academic amongst us—in truth, he had been the one who researched the prophecies so thoroughly for the Harpers. He knew better than most of their fate, and yet he seemed plagued by the same unexpected uncertainty as I.
"One child," he continued, gazing at the boy that slept in his arms. "Only one."
"And yet there were many," I replied.
"So many," he answered.
Oddly I noticed that my lad was watching him, with a different expression than which he regarded me. Almost as though he recognised the man. But my fellow Harper paid him no mind, instead running a rough old finger over the delicate cheek of the boy he held, seeing little else in the world. The child yawned and stretched but merely turned his head aside and returned to that blissful, secure sleep of infancy.
"What becomes of them now?" I asked.
"It is not for us to decide," he replied, suddenly regaining some of his old manner.
Just then our commander called us all for a meeting. My lad looked at me, but although no noise left his lips I almost fancied I could hear his thoughts.
...........
The Harpers themselves were in disagreement with what to do with the children. Some thought they should be raised together, others separately. Some thought they should be sent with ordinary families to live, others thought they should be imprisoned forever. In the end the children were divided, intended to live with Harpers who would masquerade as ordinary civilians. They wanted my boy. But I had rescued him, he was mine.
My reaction baffled me more than I can say. I never had a son, my work ever kept me from taking a wife. But when he placed his small hand in mine I felt a certain warmth, the warmth of the fatherhood I never knew I had missed. He had a sort of—keenness about him that belied his tender age. I even thought of a name, though I did not speak it then. I called him Ronen. And watching his almost pleading eyes I knew I could not let him go.
I took him in the night and we fled in secret. Oh, they might have found us, but in truth I think they were pleased one of the Spawn had departed. Together we travelled back to the nation of my birth. It was a long, long journey. The boy spoke almost none at first though I knew him capable of speech. Instead, he—watched. He observed everything, no matter how minute. A curious habit for a child, I confess. I began to show him books to pass the time. He did not know the letters but he took to it immediately and soon read aloud with me. I knew little of children but it seemed a remarkable feat, and I felt as much pride as if he were truly my son.
But now at last we are home. I feel such hope now, such a natural joy that has been long lost from my life. Ronen has taken to me as much as I have to him, and I have little doubt he will grow to call me father. I shall teach him all I know, and perhaps one day I might share with him the truth of his heritage. With that black temple so far behind us I cannot see it now—how can this bright little lad be a devil-spawn? He runs, he laughs, he plays...he is a child. An extraordinary one perhaps, but still just a boy.
All fathers however need a trade to bring in coin and I find myself little different. A wealthy merchant in the city has offered me a position, and though the man is reputed to be something of a brute I cannot think how that would affect us. His wife however is a rare treasure, and it strikes me as another of the mysteries of this world how so delicate a creature was intended to be his lady. I should like nothing more than to show her my boy, especially as it seems they have no children of their own. I know she would delight in him as much as I.
As ever Ronen seems to know that I am thinking of him, and he is smiling at me even as I write. He is sitting on the bed, playing with a bird's feather. Where did he get that, I wonder? No matter. He is holding it up for me now. Ah, my lad—you have good cause to smile, for your future is bright.
W.P.— 1348