Forgotten Son

By: Chryseas Posted on: May 02, 2010

Looking down at my arm, I check that my chameleon tattoo is activated. The reflection in the glittering waters at the harbour's edge is unfamiliar and distorted. The image smirks as my lips twist into the same visage. I keep myself hidden well in the little bit of shadows I can find using all my guile and skill. My companion next to me is shrouded, his Mhun features hidden by years of study in subterfuge.

Our quarry crests the horizon, the familiar and distant hippocampus figurehead barely distinguishable. I nod to my companion and I can smell the venom as he readies his fangs. I ready my blade, Striking Talon, and position the scabbard. Checking my basic tattoos again, moss, boar, and shield; I nod to myself.

I give a single sharp seagull cry, indicating the ship is within sights. Two would tell the others in the party that the ship was within docking distance and a falcon's call meant time to strike. I remember when those calls use to mean something else for me. Father was an amazing Runewarden, but he was always a seafarer at heart. As a Nerai he worshipped and revered those unforgiving and varied waters more than life itself.

His voice echoes into my childhood as we stood on a similar harbour port, staring out at the setting sun. 'If ever I die at sea, that is all I ask of this life. There would be no greater homage for my body to pay than to join Father in His Embrace.'

I grumble to myself not issuing a sound from my throat. An old wound, yet fresh enough to give me the drive I needed today. To think I thought he loved me and wanted me by his side to learn all he knew. I remember the day he became almost godlike in my eyes and beyond reproach. Mother said we were going to live far away and have a better life where I could flourish and reach my full potential. She packed a couple of backpacks and a small kitbag for me. It was a flurry of downy grey feathers and commotion as mother's wings twitched quickly.

"We must hurry, my son, my wondrous Arnav, before your father returns. I will take you to my home of Hashan. You'll have every opportunity for success, far from this dreary, wet Isle." Mother cooed softly to me as she lifted me in her arms and held me tightly. I was only a bare six years old, but I knew something was wrong.

The door in my memory of that childhood home slammed open and father's fierce Rajamalan silhouette burst into view. "Where are you going with MY son?" Father's friend and first mate, Eskil, stood to the side with his stout dwarven arms crossed and peering about.

"Home, Caelos. Arnav may be Rajamalan like you but his heart beats true to Lord Vastar. He needs room to grow away from this stagnant Isle. I refuse to let him be cast adrift upon the seas." Mother's voice was so angry and resolute. I remember cringing into her skirts, wishing the bad feelings would just go away.

"I refuse to let him leave with you. Arnav is the greatest treasure in my life, I won't let you pilfer him away while my back is turned." Father nodded to Eskil, "Eskil, my son."

Eskil nodded and picked up the young Arnav, taking him outside. 'I learned to tie my first nautical knots that day...' Tail lashing in the present, brushing against some cargo crates on the pier, Arnav watched the ship pull further into view. The sails were full making use of the abundant breeze.

My other memories of that day are bleak, filled with alot of yelling and crying. Mother gave me a journal to keep and kissed me on the cheek. As deeply abandoned I felt was how much my father elevated in my heart and mind. Father wanted me even if mother left. Before I learned to read, life was easy. Days, weeks, months passed, but I only counted my life from one gift to another that father would return home with.

A wax tablet so I could practice my letters on, an exotic pouch of woven seagrass, a military style pack, and delicious deer jerky that stung my eyes were some of my more cherished and remembered gifts. Father always brought me one new thing. Once, he even thought it might help if I had a statue of his likeness from Lothos. That was his response to my fears, 'Father I'm afraid I won't remember your face when next I see you.' He chuckled softly, thinking me a child still at thirteen and returned with this gift a month later. The answer to any of life's problems was an exotic present to distract and entertain a young mind.

Years later, prompted by other disappointments involving missed birthdays and important events in my life, I confronted my father in a tentative way. I was anxious and worried, feeling like he might hurt me again by his absence. But he was my father he loved me.

"Father, my seventeenth birthday is soon, if you leave now you'll miss it. It's supposed to be a special birthday of remembrance to prepare me for my trials in the Flame. I don't want to ever forget you..." My voice echoes anguished words from the past in my mind.

"Arnav, I won't miss it I promise! I just cannot miss this opportunity; the fish are out in force. You know all my sea voyages are for you. We have a good life here in New Hope, right? The trades I make and the fish we catch all contribute to our family. Once I've earned enough, we will settle down. I should have enough by the time you enter the Flame to own my own ship then I'll train you to be a knightly Runewarden as well as a Seafaring Captain. You and Eskil will Captain my fleet of ships some day." Father beamed with pride, giving off his usual air of self-confidence and certainty. He always knew the right things to say and do. Even at sixteen my heart refused to let go of my father's divine-like aura my mind perceived.

Birthday number seventeen came and went. The day was spent with me eagerly sitting by the harbour, waiting for his ship to return, much as I'm doing now though with a much different heart. I slept amid some crates and awoke to find the local fishing dog curled up next to me. No sign of father or his ship. I trudged home, taking my anger out on all his gifts to me. I remember screaming to the void, "Gifts DO NOT fill an EMPTY heart!!!"

Eventually, my fury knocked something loose, an old journal I'd forgotten. My mother's handwriting bloomed into view as I turned the cover. It was an intimate discussion of a mother to her son and I read it slowly, drinking in her words for an entire day. I fell asleep with the book, then woke up to turn the last page as dawn's light cascaded across my face. It was directions to her new home.

I packed light, taking with me a handful of gold and my mother's journal. I left a note for my father and departed from my childhood home. Eskil stood at the docks helping my father as they unloaded. Our eyes met and I gave him a sullen glare. I didn't want to have anything to do with the people or things that kept me from my father.

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I watch in the present as my father's ship draws near. I cry out the two calls of a seagull and could feel the air tense about me. The sea and that ship, father's flagship now for his fleet of merchant vessels, stole half my life and all of my youth. I will reclaim my lost years back again.

Allowing myself to wade in my memories, I think back to when I met my mother again. She was patient and kind, buying me a journal so I could properly record my thoughts and life for the Flame Trial. Many of my memories, even now, began with that journal. It was also the first and only thing that greeted me upon returning from the Flame as is the custom.

The first entry of my journal bid me to seek out my father before reading further. I had written that it was important to experience this pain again and to be ready for anything. There weren't many details on that first page except a self-apology and I set out with determination. Who wouldn't want to meet their own father?

"Caelos? Caelos Caspron? I... Well, apparently, I'm your son." I spoke the words with trepidation back then, how little I knew.

"Who's that?" The grizzled old sailor looked me up and down. We looked so much alike. Black Rajamalan fur and the same body build, though I was the leaner for my youth. "Arnav?" His voice said in a wistful whisper. "No. I have no son."

"But. But you called me by name!"

"No son of mine would have left as he did. I gave you -everything-. Gifts from overseas, exotic food to dine on and a solid, stable home. You wanted for nothing!" His throat growled low, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. "You come to my docks obviously through with your Flame Trial. Well, LOOK, LOOK at my ship. Look what you left behind and spit on as you snuck out my door."

In the middle of his tirade, the raw emotion of that last day hit me full force. I could not recall where my words came from but they issued from me like a deluge, "Gifts do NOT replace an empty heart and cold hearth!!"

Caelos was obviously taken aback; he uncrossed his arms and gave me a bewildered look. "You were my world. I did everything for -you-."

"You did it for yourself and your own vanity. Your Lord Neraeos should be proud. Gracing His seas as often as you do." My mouth was a sneer by this point and I turned to leave.

Eskil stomped in front of me, peering at me unscrupulously and thumbing the dagger on his belt loop. "Stop bothering your father. You were an ungrateful cub from the start, carrying on like this. Take your father home, he's been through a rough journey."

I scoffed in his face and turned to my father with a growl, "Tell your bodyguard to watch his back, the next time he thumbs that dagger at me I'll be sure to slice his hand off." I stepped aside facing away from them both and began my new life. I could not imagine how threatening me would have ingratiated me back into my father's home, but I was no longer the same cub I was in my youth.

Reading the remainder of the journal at a quiet table in the Crystal Leaf Inn, I made some decisions about my life. I remember journeying to Delos, becoming a Blademaster and seeking out my mother once again as I studied my arts. She taught me all she knew and showed me the path to Lord Vastar. My mother knew before I did, I've felt a sense of completion in my soul ever since taking that step.

My friend beside me gives out his falcon call, stirring my thoughts back to the present. I watch as my father's ship manoeuvres into port. I creep closer from shadow to shadow. I call out to my raiding party, "The Captain is mine!"

The plank lowers as I hear my father's voice boom from aboard the ship. My party members descend upon the initial crewmembers that disembark, striking with deadly force. I stay hidden, nodding to my friend to join the fight; I'll be fine by myself.

Eskil predictably runs into the fray first, steps ahead of my father and I intercept the burly sailor. Drawing my blade and slashing him across the back, I force Eskil to turn and seek me in the shadows. His monk-trained fists breach my defense and land blows on my arms and chest, but no quicker do I strike him at the knees sending him sprawling. As he attempts to stand, I hamstring him and turn a deadly gaze upon him, clenching my fists.

Leaping forward with speed bourn from months of training, I strike Eskil in the chest, forcing his heart to fluctuate. I grin up at my father, who was still letting his friend do the dirty work and waiting on the plank. Touching my chameleon tattoo I return to my own identity and thrust a penetrating strike to Eskil's jugular. My mouth is a self-satisfying sneer as I watch the light leave his eyes recognizing me at the very end.

My father gives a resonant bellow, working up a fury, as he wrinkles his pristine white Captain's outfit. Unsheathing his two broadswords and gripping them tightly he launches at me, poised for a double slash across my body. I touch my shield tattoo, watching my father slam against it harmlessly. Before he can react further I take an unarmed strike at his hands, watching as he releases his broadswords from numbed fingers. I draw Striking Talon and slash my father across the chest twice, an "X" over his heart.

As the dark Rajamala before me tries to clot his profusely bleeding wounds, I reach out striking him at the neck then his stomach. I smile viciously observing his muscles locking up and meeting his eye as he realizes he cannot even stomach eating the bloodroot to save him. I lean in close, almost as if embracing my father after all this time.

I tsk at my father's ineptitudes. "You're rusty old man. Not even a pipe on your person I bet. Too much sailing, fishing, and carousing, not enough training."

I whisper intimately in his ear, "Now what shall I do? For once, it is I who has the power over you... to grant or deny you what you wish and want the most. What do you wish... father?" My words echo softly to him like a lover, but imbued with a vengeful loathing from years of neglect. The raid battles on around us, but I know my combatants, we will win and they will get their spoils as I get mine.

My father's throaty voice pleads, "I wish... for life... my son... my treasured Arnav."

Smirking at him I reply, "Oh. NOW I am once again treasured? I will grant you your wish, but not in the way you imagine. I remember your words from my youth, I told myself in my journal to memorize them well for this day."

With the strength from an entire childhood of frustration, I push my father's paralysed form over the edge of the docks. His body splashes in the salty waters below and I watch him sink into its depths.

"I did not kill you, so you are alive, father. But I granted your wish; you are now in His Embrace as you've always wanted. The seas took you from me and now they can keep you."