“Mom, it’s going to take some time for what you just said to… well, sink in, but I still don’t understand why you got so upset about my tattoo. Isn’t it possible that my birth mother did magic and that’s why it’s there?”
She paused. He could tell she was trying to figure out what to say.
“Your tattoo was put there by magic. I’m sure of that now, but the thing that has me so upset is that your tattoo is, well… I’m not sure how to explain this. Arkin knows more about this kind of thing than me. The tattoo is Elven.” She sighed deeply after saying this.
“‘Elven’? What do you mean, ‘Elven’? Does that mean that an Elf put it there? Why would they do that?” he stammered. He didn’t like the thought of magic, but to think that an Elf of all things had put the tattoo there was almost too much. The queen hated the Elves and would stop at nothing to kill any in her territory or anyone connected to them.
“It’s a crest, Legon. An Elven crest, the kind they mark all of their children with. Like I said, I don’t know much about it, but Arkin somehow does. Before I thought that maybe the tattoo was just done in the same style as the Elvin ones, but now…” Her face was blank and pallid; the color in her eyes seemed to leak out, leaving them weak and frail.
As this last statement hit home Legon felt his jaw begin to fall open. All brain function came to a screeching halt. First fear came in, then terror, then denial. Arkin was wrong, or his mother had misunderstood him. His first parents probably knew magic and liked the Elven tradition like she said. He knew that if it was an Elven mark then the people who killed his parents, or at least his mother-“Maybe my dad is still alive,” he thought- worked for the queen and may have even been Iumenta. This placed him in danger. If the tattoo was from an Elf then he could be seen as a spy and killed, or if the mark was from a human he could be seen as an Elven sympathizer and killed-two possibilities with only one outcome.
For the first time, Legon began to appreciate the sacrifice his adopted parents had made on his behalf. They had placed themselves in danger by harboring a possible enemy to the state. At the same, time he was angry with them, not because they had done anything wrong, but because they were there and he needed someone to be upset with. His mother was looking intently at him. Her face was dry, and it hit him that he had been quiet for a few minutes.
“Sorry mom… I blanked out,” he began.
“It should be me who is sorry. We should have told you sooner than this, and it’s a horrible thing to drop on someone.”
For some reason this made Legon even angrier. They knew they should have told him but they hadn’t. Was it because they didn’t care about him? He had been of use, taking care of Sasha so they didn’t have to, and working in that shop… was he nothing more than labor? No, that wasn’t right. His parents loved him and they just wanted him to be happy. What was wrong with that?
He stood suddenly. “I need to get outside and get some air. There’s so much going through my mind. I’m sorry Mom. Thank you for the tea.”
She nodded at him and seemed relieved. “Take your time dear.”
He walked out the back door and toward the forest. A walk in the woods would be good for him. It was overcast today, which matched his new mood. The gray sky made all of the bright colors of the field become more vibrant, and made the ground soft under his feet. When he got in the woods the air was thick and misty; there wasn’t a sound. The heavy air and the mist reminded him of something… a dream maybe. It felt as though his feet were carrying him of their own accord; he had no idea where he was going. He saw a deer go bounding by and snap a branch. That too seemed to remind him of something.
His mind flooded with thought; he knew that this news of his tattoo would change his life in ways he could not yet comprehend. He couldn’t go to a big city. If he did his tattoo would be seen for sure. He might have to go south to the resistance, but he didn’t like that idea. He would be too far away to help the family with their taxes. But that wasn’t his problem — it was his family’s. He had to protect himself or he wouldn’t be able to do anything for them. It felt like his emotions had been taken over, controlled by something other than himself.
“It’s not my fault if something happens. There’s no point in both Sasha and I getting hurt, or worse,” he thought. He could just leave them to their own devices. His mind and emotions jumped wildly from fear of the unknown to anger. He thought maybe they had the hardship coming anyway. It would have come sooner if not for him. They were lucky he had been around.
He stopped and looked around, trying to see if he recognized his surroundings. He thought he was on top of a hill. He couldn’t see any landmarks through the mist, but the ground in front of him looked disturbed, like there had been a struggle there not more than a few days ago. There was something else that was in a bush, something small, brown and square. Puzzled, he went to the bush and bent over. It was a book. He picked it up and thumbed through the pages. It was handwritten and looked to be a diary. He knew he shouldn’t look at it, but he couldn’t return it to the person if he didn’t know whose it was. He stopped at an entry that was dated three weeks ago and began to read.
Today was a bad day. I had another one. It was horrible. I threw up all over the place, and I hit the back of my head on my brother’s mouth.
It was Sasha’s! He knew he should stop reading, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to. He remembered that episode, Sasha writhing on the ground while he’d tried to hold her. He felt his lips where the back of her head had hit. He didn’t know he was bleeding at first; his mother was the one to see. By the end of the episode his face and chest were covered with his own blood and he’d cut his face on the ground. He read on:
I can’t remember what happened. I almost never do, but he was covered in blood when I came to. Oh I hate this! I’m a monster! He’s so big and I still hurt him. I feel so bad. If it wasn’t for my brother I don’t know what I would do. The people in town are right, I’m cursed, I’m a demon, and when Legon leaves the queen will take me. I’m so scared. A lady in town told me that they will make me a whore and give me to the queen’s men for their pleasure. Maybe I deserve it for being a freak. I mean look at me, I can’t make a living, I’m a burden on my family… at least when I’m gone my family can have their lives back again and…
He stopped reading. The string holding his emotions broke. Now his problems seemed not to matter. He thought back on what just crossed his mind, how selfish he’d been, how… he felt an odd flash of heat and without warning his stomach turned. He tossed the book aside and began to throw up on the grass. He felt more heat, saw blue spots, and then nothing.
Legon’s eyes opened and he felt his head pounding. He raised himself up on his hands and saw a pool of semi-dry vomit in front of him. He must have been out for a few hours.
He wondered what time it was. He got up and walked to the book and picked it up, but something was off… what was it? He took an inventory and it hit him — he didn’t have a torch, candle, or anything else to make light. The sky was still covered in clouds, so he shouldn’t be able to see the ground at his feet, but he could.
Legon swept his gaze out to where the town was. He gasped. It was there right in front of him. Just a hazy outline, but it was there. He began to feel uneasy. Maybe there was something wrong with him. He began back toward his house through the woods that were dark to all but him.