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Part One: Gifts

Chapter One: A Visitor


I woke to the sound of rain.
It was hitting my single window, the only window; in the dump I called my home. Well, it wasn’t really a dump. It was just a long forgotten cellar no one bothered to enter anymore. This was fine by me. I liked solitary. I opened my eyes to the hollowly lit room that was the only room in my “home”. The moonlight shone through the hurriedly covered window, which I had hastily covered with a bright purple rag. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over the room, enlightening the broken chairs and table, and brightening the wreck the room was in. Papers were strewn everywhere, and the shelves that used to hold cans and jars of substances that even I couldn’t distinguish in the state they were in, now were barren, except for a few books I had managed to collect over the years. What I slept on was no more than a pile of dirty, stinky, rags. The only light I could count on was the sun and the moon, no candles were permitted into my house; they might set the whole thing aflame. The only furniture I had managed to “collect” was broken and could not be repaired: a table complete with four chairs; all old and rickety. Strewn across the only accessible chair was my cloak; inside that cloak many pockets, holding dozens upon dozens of knives and daggers. You see, I’m a rogue. For my living, I steal, hunt, and assassinate. It gives a hefty pay, if you have the talent for it. Along the lines, I have learned to stay within the shadows, keep my distance, and let no one know me better than my name. I had gained a reputation in the slums. I live in what was once the Wind Domain, but after the Many Sided War, the Domain was turned into a huge dump, and lost the beauty of what it once was. The Wind Domain was known as the Singing World, every citizen had a distinct voice, whether the sound of wind rustling through dead leaves, or the sucking sound of fire breathing in the air. For this, we were known to make even the water even more beautiful than what it was. We are known to be one of peaceful nations, along with the Nature Domain. The Light Domain, beautiful and gorgeous it’s people and the Heavens that they made their home, were peaceful, but along the same lines, they were harsh, and could turn even the beautiful, horrific. In the slums, I became known for my killing, and a nickname was granted to me. Many call me the “Killer of The Night’, but all around the Domain, I am known as “The Scourge”. Death stalks my every turn, and many have learned it is better to steer clear of my Fortress, or the area I live in, in the slums.

Shaking me out of my doze, a rat crawled out of a hole in the wall. It began making its way around my house, walking along every inch of the rickety old furniture, and the old shelves. All the while, I kept perfectly still, a training instinct I had learned, or I would have died in the field. Reaching for the pocket of my black jeans, I pulled out a throwing knife. The rat then chose to start eating what little food I had. Anger spurted into my brain, throwing reality awry and making my thoughts unclear. The throwing knife was through the head of the rat in an instant. Disgusted at letting my anger get the best of me, I rise, stretch, and walk to the cupboard the food was in. Pulling out my dagger, I realize that the rat wasn’t a regular rat. One detail I noticed was that it was twice the size. “Well that’s odd,” I say to myself, “might as well keep it, check if it’s clean of disease and if it is, store it for the winter”. I stretch again. Should I go back in my makeshift bed? Sleep the night away? Practice knife throwing? Then I remember the job I have tomorrow. “Gypsy Camp”, I say, “an interesting place for a blacksmith to have an enemy…” Thorin, the only blacksmith left in the Domain, was one of my most reliable customers. Why he trusted a lying, cheating, back-stabbing thief like me was a mystery. Too bad he didn’t know I was downright loyal to him. He supplies me with knives and daggers, and I kill his enemies. The man was pretty smart, I have to admit. All of my victims, his victims if you want, stood a threat to his business or were from back in his childhood. I’ve never really pondered his history, but now that I think of it, I should really ask him. If I become friends with the guy, maybe I’ll get more from him. He is one of the only “citizens” of the Wind Domain, which knows my true name.
“Alistair Moon”, he would say, “To what do I own the honour?”
I would reply, “I need restocking Thorin”.
“Enter then, and we shall strike a deal”, the reply.
We aren’t really citizens, those of us that live here. We are refugees, most of us descendants of soldiers in the Many Sided War, or we are just nomads, or wanderers. As of me, I cannot remember, and I have never known, my past. I just have always been here. All I remember, one of my clearest memories, was the face of my Father, words streaming out of his mouth that have never made sense, and are still vague: “Worthless. Let us leave dear heart; he’s as empty as the rest.” These words have become set into my soul, and my soul purpose, aside from survival, are to find my parents, and murder my Father for leaving me. I might find the true meaning of those words too while I’m at it.

Storing the rat in the coldest part of the cellar, I walk to my cloak. Reaching underneath, I pull out my tight, black, short sleeve shirt. Pulling it over my head, I realize why the rat was so huge. The wastes that the Dark Dominion has been piling in the Domain must have started becoming radioactive. The rat must have eaten some radioactive garbage and digested something that was better left alone. Disgusted, I walk back to the cold cellar and retrieve the rat. Swiping my cloak off of the chair, I don it and walk out of my house into the cold, weak summer moon.

Outside, it looks like it does all over the Domain: heaps of trash and waste lying everywhere. Even the trees are littered with garbage. Leaning back, I chuck the rat onto one of these heaps. The next sight, well, amazed me. As soon as the rat hit the rotting heap, a swarm of hungry, radioactive rats jumped it. The rat in my home must have been a child; the rats that attacked the corpse were three times, no, four times larger than it. Their teeth were the size of one of my many daggers, and their whip-like tails could easily slash off a grown man’s hand. Looking into one of their eyes, the size of the palm of my hand, I saw a marvelous sight. In this eye, I saw actual intelligence: a being other than man with a complete intelligence. Startled, I pulled five knives from my pockets into my hand. The next few minutes were critical. My mind started fighting in which either to kill the rats, to rid the world of the monstrous pests and their maybe threat to humanity, or if mercy killing was to be done to creatures next to human intelligence. Well, I didn’t have to choose. While I thought of this, I realized the rat was actually looking at me. Staring at me is more like it. Soon, the child had been devoured, and they all took turns to stare. I was outnumbered: at least ten of them stood atop two mounds. That was when a third factor was added to this equation of life or death: the scream of a little girl.

It came from behind a third mound; she must have just seen her first rat. Lacking the skills I had gained and the restraint I had earned from hours upon hours of excruciating work, she screamed. The rats immediately turned their heads in her direction, and started scampering off. My knives were whistling through the air in an instant, and two rats fell to their razor-sharp blades digging beneath the edge of their skulls. Eight were still breathing, so my work wasn’t done yet. Another thought was wriggling its way through my thoughts: who was the girl? What was her business here in my domain? Why would she come anyways? Thrusting my doubts and questions aside, I ran and jumped atop the first mound. Three rats immediately jumped me; with a broad sweep of one of my long, curved short swords, I had beheaded two. One had managed to gain a lead on me: he had bitten his way into me left arm. Blood spurted from the wound, and I shook him off and stabbed him in the throat; he rolled down the mound and landed with a thump on the other side. I wrapped a cloth around the wound. “Grin and bear it,” I muttered to the air. Watching him roll, I realized one of two things: where the girl was. Where the other rats were was shown clear in the same second; they were circling her. Rats don’t normally circle, heck; they’re too stupid to even have developed an attack formation like that. “They must have picked that up from a pack of wolves,” I wondered quietly to myself.

Ruining my daze, the girl screamed again, and lifted her head to the heavens as if to plead with God; while doing this, she caught her first glimpse of me. Hidden within the shroud of my black cloak, my face the only visible sign that I was human, she screamed and pointed. The next words she spoke haunted me for the next actions I performed: “He who heals the blind, kills the innocent, and lives the life of a nomad, save the life of me!” He who heals the blind? Never had I ever healed anyone of blindness. She spoke as if she knew me, but who didn’t, “The Scourge” was known to the corners of the Wind Domain. Drawing both of my short swords, I leapt from the mound I stood atop of, and landed upon the ground at her feet. The rats immediately jumped at me, and to fend them off, I had to stretch into positions I hadn’t dreamed possible for a rogue like me. As I watched the head of a rat soar into his companion at such a speed that would take it’s life, I wondered where the girl was again. I spun around to see her sitting down upon the ground, staring open mouthed at me. Was it possible to make things any weirder? Right now, I can tell you, that this one tops my books. Gazing into her light grey eyes with tiny flecks of yellow studding them, I comprehended that the girl was, yes she was, blind. I froze mid-stride, and in my turn, gawked at her. She screamed again, and told me not to look at her and fight the battle. I turned around and faced my three width standing opponents, who were now growling uncertainly at me. They knew that death would come if they attacked me. Yet their limited intuition led them to the reason that they should stay and fight. In the next few seconds, they made their decisions.

I apprehended that they weren’t yet rid of their animal instincts, in fact, those same instincts might be enjoying an immense fight with their new, human intuition. I was the one to make the first move. I drew a handful of knives from my cloak and they whizzed through the air in the next few seconds, slicing threw the heads of the only remaining rats. All ten were down, never to get up again. I turned to my newest problem, the girl.

She was staring stupidly again, as if wondering what I was doing. My voice shook as I spoke, and broke the silence.
“What’s your name, child?”
“Eneria”, she answered, while my voice shook, hers simply trembled in fear.
“Calm down, Eneria, I’m safe,” I reassured her, “I’m safe.”
“Are you blind, Eneria?”
The answer was no more than a whisper: “yes.”
“Can you see me?”
If a voice could get next to nothing, she did it: “yes.”
I sat, pondering this. How could she see me, if she was blind? It was impossible.
“Can you see anything other than me, Eneria?”
In the same, small whispered tone, she said “no.”
“Have you seen anyone before, like you see me?” I posed another question right after the first: “tell me your life’s story.”
It took her awhile to recover from the shock she was in, and even longer to answer my question. I started to get up, when she spoke my name, my actual name, which only the blacksmith knows: “Alistair.”
“Finally you speak!”
“Get on with it”, I said irritably to myself.
“Also, how do you know my name?”
She sighed. “I’ve been blind for all my life, never seen anything other than the dark. That discouraging…disrupting blackness, it ruined my heart, and ravaged my brain. I’ve been called insane. I’ve never seen a human in my life; you’re the first thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I like stories a lot…I know legend that even the oldest people have forgotten. I’m twelve by the way. I’ll be thirteen in… months.” With these last words, her hand rose in the air and made a gesture of impatience.

My brain instantly went into action: if she could see only me, there was something other than stories in her brain, and something other than natural fate was at work here. I looked at her long and hard, until she started to move uncomfortably under my stare. I blinked, and then said “sorry.”
“You still haven’t answered two questions.”
She sighed once again, and took her turn to stare into my eyes. While she did this, I took notice of her appearance. Dirty blonde hair, light grey eyes with tiny flecks of gold in them; reminding me clearly of sunshine on rain, she came up to my shoulder; I was six feet, she must have been about five ten. She wore nothing but a yellow gown, which was dirtied and torn into the colour of mustard. She wore tiny yellow gem earrings, and on her feet she wore black low ride shoes. Her face was kind and unknowing; due to the blindness, she probably could feel great depths of emotion for someone. She had an aura of kindness and caring, she also looked as if she would go to great lengths for her friends. She then noticed my appraisal, and smiled. What a beautiful smile! She lit the air with such a wonderful glimpse of the heavens. I immediately averted my eyes.
“A waste to make blind, huh?” she said with absolute exhaustion.
Catching me off-guard, I spoke my thoughts: “heavens yes.”
She began to stare again, and I met it with my own, icy glare.
“I become known of your name in a dream.”
Another off-guard moment.
“What?”
“I’m cold.”
Both of us stood.
“We can go inside, if you like…” My voice trailed off. Never, had I asked a girl into my “house” before. What would she say? How would she react? Oh God, I forgot to clean up the blood from the radioactive rat! Add those to my list of worries. Just perfect.
She grabbed my hand.
“That would be nice.”