Walking around I hear the sounds of the earth seeking relief;
I’m trying to find a reason to live; but the mindless clutter my path;
Oh, these thorns in my side – these thorns in my side;
I know have something free; I have something so alive;
I think they shoot ‘cause they want it.
~ Creed; Bullets, 2001
“What shall we name him?” Reneva asked her Amnan. She called Ogden her ‘Amnan’ or ‘beloved’ in the ancient tongue; a blessing under which he could not contain his bliss.
Though they were only teenagers, they had ideas of starting a family. Ogden, still fourteen, and Reneva, sixteen, would often meet in their secret place to study, flirt, or just steal away from the adults and other teens of their village. Their secret place was under a solitary oak, large and regal, aged beyond memory, standing alone in a tiny glen. It was an odd place for an oak to grow surrounded as it was by the mountains and jungle, but grow it did and proudly so. There they reclined, facing each other, their bodies touching discreetly.
Ogden leaned against the trunk of their mighty oak and stared deeply into Reneva’s eyes. They had spoken of children in the past, the making of them as well the rearing, but they had never breeched the subject of names. Couples were not considered serious until they spoke about their unborn children’s names. Only in those cases where the child was a surprise, as Ogden was, did the name go unconsidered until birth. Ogden remembered the stories his mother told about how her inner parts would twist with desire to name their baby; to name her son. His father told similar tales.
At that moment, his parents, Glanoia and Wonton, sat again – once again — before the Council defending their son from tribal expulsion. It was an annual farce, this defense. The Council would convene for special congress to discuss Ogden and the curse under which they believed him to be – and subsequently brought upon the tribe; every year he was granted asylum because there had been no other signs against him. Concluding each defense, the Council would begrudgingly honor the ancestral traditions and allow him to stay. A stern warning always accompanied the decision; the slightest sign against him would bring the full weight of irrevocable expulsion upon his brow.
As the Council held audience before the elders and those not standing watch, another council of sorts was having its own discussion.
“… and I hate him,” Troq seethed, mid-rant, “so does Reneva; and so should you!”
Diablo, weightless and invisible, stood on Troq’s shoulders, whispering into his ear.
Twelve young trolls nodded in understanding and agreement with their leader. The youngest of them was thirteen; the oldest was Troq himself at seventeen. For months – almost two years — he and Reneva had trysted behind Ogden’s back, plotting the events and timing of that day. When they weren’t scheming their scheme, they were entwined under the covers of their embrace.
“I say we make it clear,” Troq suggested, unknowingly parroting Diablo’s whispers, “I say we show Ogden just where he stands in this tribe and how righteous his expulsion will be.”
It was common knowledge that Ogden had been born under dubious signs; the elders sometimes even going so far as to suggest the signs formed a curse. Cruel as children can be there is nothing to stand in the face of someone dissimilar amongst a cabal of similarity. Ogden paid the price for his birth and differences on a daily basis. That day, he would pay more than he had ever paid; it was to be the cheapest of his life’s instruction.
There was a general murmur of assent from the twelve gathered around Troq. Nodding to them in general he took up his slingshot, they their own arms. He lead them out of the village and to the place Reneva had spoken of; “secret place”, indeed.
“But we’ve never – ” Ogden couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He and Reneva had never known each other in the way of mates, and yet here she was, speaking to him of names.
Love dripping from her eyes like dew on a virgin stem, Reneva reached for Ogden’s face and slowly caressed the cheek around his tusk. “We need not – ” she paused, smiling shyly and trying to keep the blush from her face, ” – in order to speak of names. Our love is strong and has faith; one day we will be met with our children.”
Taking her hand in his, Ogden kissed her knuckles. His heart pounded heavily and he marveled at the woman his love was becoming; Ogden only hoped he would be strong enough to be her Amnan and make her proud she was his.
Ogden heard the snickering before he heard the words, but could not react before they were spoken.
“I’ve always been partial to the name ‘Troq’,” Troq jeered.
Reneva and Ogden stood hastily, shocked someone had found their secret place and rudely intruded on their privacy. But it was Troq; Ogden knew where Troq trod, trouble followed. Trouble followed Troq until the both found solace in Ogden’s anguish.
“You are not welcome here, Troq,” Ogden said, still unable to locate Troq’s hiding spot, “show yourself so you may leave.” Ogden tried to put himself between Reneva and Troq but found he couldn’t until he knew from where Troq threatened.
Snickering was the only reply Ogden received. He heard more than Troq’s voice, confirming what he already knew; he and Reneva were surrounded. It was so much the way of a bully; strong enough in front of those that backed him up but unable to function without those backing him.
“Perhaps you should ask Reneva if she wants me to leave,” Troq suggested with a sneer, stepping from the shadows in which he was hiding. As he did so, twelve other young trolls followed suit.
Diablo jumped from Troq’s shoulder to Reneva’s, gleeful in the unfolding of these events. It had watched Ogden, shadowed him in all things, and knew the time was drawing nigh; the Legion would call for their new Warlock and it was up to Diablo to have him prepared.
“She has chosen me as her Amnan and allows me to speak for her; we do not welcome you; any of you.”
Turning to be sure he was close enough to Reneva to interject himself between her and Troq, Ogden was stopped short when he saw the contemptuous sneer on her face. His start was apparently humorous; she giggled maliciously as he stood with mouth agape; realizing her betrayal.
Diablo whispered into her ear.
“Fool,” she spat. “How could you believe that any will choose you as Amnan?”
“But – “
And Diablo whispered again.
“Fool,” she repeated, cutting him off. “If it weren’t for my mother lusting for your father you would have been expelled long ago.”
Ogden was dumbfounded, staggered by the weights piling upon him, unable to defend himself, verbally or otherwise. The world began to blur.
“Look, Troq,” Reneva taunted, pointing a scornful finger at Ogden, “he’s going to cry.” Then, in a sing-song voice used for babies, she mocked, “Is widdle Oggie gonna cwy? Hmm? Dere, dere, widdle Oggie. Cwy and won home to mama.”
Unable to stop them, the tears dripped down his cheeks; Reneva sauntered to Troq’s side; Diablo chuckled with malicious mirth.
“I – I – ” Ogden choked, weakly calling after her, “I – love you, Amnan.”
When Reneva and Troq embraced and kissed passionately, Ogden felt his stomach lurch and his knees buckle. As they cooed with each other one of the twelve aimed her slingshot and loosed a smooth stone towards Ogden’s head. It hurtled through the air with a slight whistle. Her aim was true; it resoundingly scored her mark upon his head. The first shot taken, the rest quickly followed from slingshot or blowguns or simply thrown; the mob stoned Ogden without remorse and without restraint.
Reneva took her slingshot from Troq and withdrew the stone she’d concealed in her robes in anticipation of that moment. Taking careful aim, she waited for just the right moment to strike. Diablo nearly danced with glee as it whispered the stay into her ear. As Ogden, pitiful in his physical and emotional agony, struggled to face her once more Diablo nearly shouted, “Now!”
She let fly the stone. He saw it coming; his heart splintered as it did, but made no move to protect himself. The stone hit its mark, shattering Ogden’s jaw with the impact.
Their sport concluded they left him where he had fallen, bleeding from eyes and ears, from nose and mouth, weeping in physical and emotional agony. As they left, they laughed and joked, jovial as children at a carnival, drunk on the euphoria of their assault, deaf to Ogden’s defeat.
His attackers’ celebrations fading into the distance, Ogden felt his life draining from him. Diablo landed weightless on Ogden’s back. Uttering Ogden’s true name, Diablo sunk its claws into his mind. Ogden was not aware of Diablo’s presence, only the broken dreams and memories of betrayal that it flashed before his mind’s eyes; images of he and Reneva enraptured in an embrace; quiet moments of gentle promises; visions of futures with wife and children and grandchildren. Interspersed with those images, Diablo whispered Ogden’s ever-present tether to the Burning Legion; sqrt(-4).
The Council finally adjourned, Glanoia and Wonton returned to the business of their day; he practicing the arcane magic his line was famous for, she training her roguish talents, the same that made her line infamous. Only when night claimed the day did they worry for Ogden’s absence.
Skipping the communal first meal (the first of three meals a family shared at night was always with the other members of the tribe), Glanoia and Wonton searched for their son. Troq, Reneva, and the other twelve remained silent and acted the part of concern and worry for theirs and their parent’s sake.
Fearing the absolute worst, Glanoia and Wonton searched the surrounding jungle well into the depths of the last watch. As the sun neared the horizon to push back the skein of night, Wonton stumbled into a tiny glen, dominated by a solitary oak, standing large and regal. Beneath the oak lay a shadowy form, motionless and prone.
Noting Wonton’s approach, Diablo withdrew its claws from Ogden’s mind, finally bringing the torment to an end.
Carefully approaching, Wonton’s heart sank as he recognized the form of the shadow; as he recognized the body of his son. Choking back his panic, he bent to his son and rolled him over, seeing the extent of his injuries in the waxing morning light. Desperately, Wonton pushed his ear to his son’s chest, daring to hope.
Weakly, he heard the ‘d-thump-thump’ of a heartbeat.
Thanking the gods, he held his son close and tried to figure out how he could get him to the shaman without Glanoia seeing him like this.
“What are you doing, Wonton?” his wife asked from behind him, “Is that Ogden?”. He knew he could not shield her from her son’s wounds now. Seeing him, cradled in his father’s arms, his injuries so grievous he appeared dead, Glanoia’s knees buckled beneath her. She wasn’t aware of it, but she wept his name as she fell to the earth.
“Ogden!”
[...] Chapter II: Outset of Instruction [...]