Lost Eight

TWOPride-2

‘Bah, stupid wretched host.’ he cursed suddenly, after tripping over yet another stone.

Adjusting to his petite dimensions was a challenge. He constantly misjudged his footing; those watching would no doubt assume that the child he inhabited was intoxicated, or instead had some kind of disability or illness. Travelling at night had made things even worse, with only the distant glow of the Night’s Lights to illuminate his path. At any rate, his current host was impractical for long distance travel. His muscles ached and his body grew tired, not helped by the increased gradient of the terrain. The rolling, snow covered hills gave way to harsh rocky relief, dissected by winding streams of clear water that trickled from large springs dotting the landscape. The snow began to recede, and crooked black trees sprouted from the rocky crags at strange angles, their leafless branches reaching out to ensnare those daring to approach them. The southern lands were harsh and unforgiving, similar to their cousin borderlands in which he had spent many passes. However, unlike the black sheep of the family, the southern lands had a breath-taking alpine quality, which even he could appreciate. Over the passes, he had all but forgotten the land’s majestic serenity – time had a habit of distorting one’s memory. Yet his disconnection from the land was surprising, given it had been his introduction to Freylar, shortly after his arrival in the domain. Specifically, he had arrived in Freylar through the Ardent Gate, stronghold for the Knights Thranis who occupied the ancient redoubt. Bent on returning to his point of origin in Freylar, he intended to use the Waystones ensconced in the redoubt to return to his homeland. There, he would acquire a new host, one perfectly suited to his twisted needs, after which, people would learn to fear the name T’mohr once again.

Eventually, the ground started to descend, leading him towards a long narrow pass. He vaguely recognised the ominous path that cut a straight line between two immense opposing rock faces. He tried to recall the pass from the fragmented memories of his past, though he had seen similar canyons before in the heart of the borderlands. It was difficult, therefore, to tell if his failing memory played tricks on him, by merging such impressive sights into one. Regardless, he continued to will his inadequate host forward. The weak illumination from the Night’s Lights penetrating the canyon became increasingly dim with each advancing step. Despite trying their best to ward him off, he embraced the shadows, moving further into the darkness. Fleeting silhouettes danced along the top of the canyon walls; clearly, those lacking the courage to face him preferred to watch instead.

‘Irrelevant.’ he muttered quietly to himself. ‘Get in my way and I will release you!’

He quickly reconsidered his words, however, only moments after ushering them. Though his conviction was never in doubt, arguably his current host was ill equipped to deal with any real threats. Without Krashnar’s ability to shape flesh, there was little he could do to improve upon his current form. Though the notion grated on him, he would have little choice but to play the role of the innocent if set upon by multiple opponents.

‘Play the long game.’ he muttered once more.

Two thirds of the passage had been put to his back when at last those watching him finally decided to break cover. Up ahead, a silhouette moved to block the end of the narrow passage, with a cursory rearwards glance revealing two more. Unsurprisingly, the cowards had moved into a position favouring an ambush. Yet despite the sound tactics, he was unfazed by their obvious manoeuvre – he had dealt with far worse. Nevertheless, a child would likely react very differently to the present situation, he mused.

‘Mummy, I want my mummy!’ he cried suddenly, before dropping to his knees and babbling nonsensically.

As he forced tears to roll down his host’s soft cheeks, his innards began to hurt from the joy of laughing so hard inside. Although Krashnar had been significantly more entertaining, the child would do, at least for now.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked gently, trying to form a connection with the child.

The young boy turned his head away, staring at the dusty ground. Tears streamed down the boy’s face, the wet trails glittering in the dying light. He looked down the alley once more; the child’s attackers were slowly disappearing from view, no doubt having had their fill of karma for the day.

‘They’re gone now. I don’t imagine they will be back.’

The young boy continued to stare at the ground and sob, as though stuck in a loop, unable to break the cycle of anguish tormenting him. He rubbed the child’s back once more, trying to ease the young boy’s perpetuating anxiety.

‘It’s over now. You don’t have to cry.’

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears; the boy continued to cry, as though unable to consider any other course of action. He felt awkward, unable to console the sobbing child, and was conscious that onlookers might suspect him of being the cause of the young boy’s distress. He waited for a good few minutes, hoping that the boy would eventually calm down, but the wailing continued instead. His patience rapidly wore thin. Having reached the limit of his experience with such situations, he carefully placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders and gently turned the child to face him. The whimpering boy lowered his head even further, desperate to avoid any form of eye contact, as if doing so would somehow shield him from the pain of the world around him. He tried again to communicate with the child, but all his attempts to do so failed miserably. Even placing a finger under the boy’s chin, in an attempt to raise his head and make eye contact, resulted in failure. The child turned his head to the side once more, before continuing to sob.

‘Why won’t you talk to me?’ he asked softly.

Whilst struggling to communicate with the young boy, he gained his first glimpse into the hardships of parenting, realising then just how difficult it was to care for a child.

‘I’m your friend. You can talk to me.’ he continued, softening his voice even more.

‘It’s just that they were not nice to me.’ responded the child at last, wiping their nose before sniffing repeatedly.

‘I’m here now. They won’t hurt you again.’

‘They might come back. They might kick me again. And then that will hurt me. And it won’t be very nice. And I might cry.’ replied the boy, whose dam of silence now gave way to a torrent of speech.

‘I’m thinking they might come back. If they come back that won’t be good. If they come back, they might hurt me again.’

It was clear to him now that the young boy had an extremely narrow view of the world, and thus fixated on single issues, finding it difficult to let them go. He needed to give the child a new train of thought, one that would take them away from the alley, preferably to some place safer.

‘We need to leave this place. Do you have a place to stay for the night?’

‘What about the boys? They might come back.’

‘Don’t worry about them. Where are your parents?’

‘They’re at home.’

‘And where is that?’

‘Over that way.’ replied the boy, pointing to where their attackers had ultimately retreated.

‘Of course it is.’ he muttered quietly under his breath. ‘OK, well let’s get you back on your feet. After that, we can figure the rest out.’

He stood up and bent down to help the child back onto their feet. The alley was clear, their attackers presumably long gone by now, but given his companion’s disposition, he knew that going anywhere fast would be a chore.

‘Come on.’ he said in a strained voice whilst helping the boy upright.

Without further word on the matter, he took the child’s hand and began walking down the alley in the direction indicated by the boy.

‘I don’t want to go that way.’ protested the child, immediately shaking his hand free and letting go.

The boy planted his feet firmly on the ground and folded his arms in defiance.

‘Come on, we need to get out of here.’

The boy made a “hmph” sound, signalling his flat refusal to travel in the direction indicated.

‘Look, it’s going to get dark soon and you won’t want to be out here by yourself.’

Again, the difficult child expressed their audible dissatisfaction, this time turning their back to him, arms still folded. He wondered if there was a time when he had acted in such manner. Trying to persuade, or perhaps even coerce, the young boy into meaningful action was maddening. It dawned on him just how black and white the world was perceived through the eyes of a child.

‘Suit yourself.’ he replied agitatedly, after which he began slowly walking down the alley.

Fighting the natural urge to turn around, he pressed forwards, knowing that looking back would likely discourage the boy from following him, assuming his ploy actually worked. Whilst continuing to walk down the alley, he listened carefully, trying to discern if indeed the boy was following him. Upon reaching the end of the passage, he took a right turn, disappearing from sight. He waited patiently, hoping that the child would eventually round the corner to join him. After, what seemed like an eternity of waiting, it was clear that his plan had failed, and that the child’s stubborn demeanour had bested him. Finally giving into his urge, he poked his head back round the corner. The boy remained standing in the alley, arms still folded with his head down, gaze firmly fixed on the ground. Even from a distance, he could tell that the child was still whimpering by the distinctive rise and fall of his diaphragm.

‘Man alive!’

How was it children could be so obstinate, he mused. He thought back to how he had seen other parents deal with similar situations. Giving in and doubling back was not the answer, but neither was maintaining their current stalemate, hoping that the boy would eventually cave in. He needed to try a different approach and meet the boy half way, if they were to stand any chance of finding shelter by nightfall. Deciding to alter his tactics, he walked back round the corner of the alley and knelt down with his arms outstretched, gesturing to offer the boy a hug. Seeing his attempt to broker peace in the corner of their eye, the child slowly turned to face him.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Let’s have a hug.’

Slowly, the boy began shuffling towards him. Having finally made some headway, he stood up with his arms still outstretched and slowly edged towards the child. Eventually they made contact and embraced each other in a well-deserved hug.

‘Let’s get you home. You can show me the way.’

With newfound enthusiasm, the boy led him out of the alley and back round the corner, as if the entire incident had never occurred. The tears were gone, instead replaced by an eagerness to show him where the child lived. He was astonished at how quickly their ordeal was cast to the wind, no longer of any relevance in the child’s exceptionally targeted mind. Like a checkbox on a form, containing a cross or a tick, that part of the boy’s life had now been dealt with – he envied the child’s ability to forget and move on.

‘You can see my mummy and daddy. And then I can show you my bedroom. And then we can--’

‘What’s your name?’ he asked, repeating his very first question.

He deliberately cut the young boy short, hoping to head off the child, preventing them from becoming fixated on another irrelevant point of interest.

‘My name is Kai. And my middle name is William. And my surname is…’