by Gene Stiles
“You are Izon. You have always been Izon, yet you look like one of the People,” he said, the words tumbling from his mouth. “How is it that the Clan and the People both accept you as one of their own? Why do they not hate you for being different?”
“It is my looks that have always been an asset,” she said, her smile growing upon her lush red lips, “but they are also my bane.”
“There has always been a Keeper among the Izon and they all looked roughly like me. They are used to my kind. But you are incorrect if you think the Keepers were always welcomed. There were many among the Izon that hated us for our difference. I, myself, was almost killed by such a group.”
Loki stared at her, his mouth gaping open, stunned by the revelation. She leaned back on the swing and curled her long legs beneath her, taking a moment to quiet those memories, still painful after all these years.
“When I first met the People - what the Izon called the Ancestors -, because of my looks I was seen as a curiosity, enough like them to be somewhat accepted, but never seen as the same or an equal,” Haleah continued, her words soft in the silence of the night. “Many saw me as barely more than an intelligent animal and many hated me, chief among them Cronus, their leader. He had me tortured for weeks and I would have surely died if not for Morpheus.”
“But they love you here,” Loki mumbled, shocked at her story. “How can that be and how can you not hate them all for how you have been treated?”
“I earned my place among the Izon and the People,” she said affectionately. “I learned with them. I hunted with them. I fought with them. I cared about them. I earned their respect.”
“No matter who you are, what you look like or what you do, there will always be those who dislike or outright hate you,” she told him. “It matters not if they are Izon or of the People. Luckily, these groups are small. Humans are, by far, kind, loving, tolerant and understanding. It is how the Creator made us and intends for us to be. If not for my friends and those who love me for what I am, I would never have survived to become as incredibly happy as I am.”
Loki pondered her words for some time, staring at the swirling grains of the oak deck and came to a terrifying decision.
“May I share a secret with you, Lady? Will you promise to keep it to yourself?” His brown eyes glistened with the coming of tears, his trembling voice pleading with her.
“Of course,” she replied with a nod, taking his hand once again. “I promise.”
“I am half Izon,” he whispered, wet lines forming on his blushed cheeks. “My mother was attacked by a band of them and raped. I am that sorry result.” He could speak no more, his face buried in his palms, sobs wracking his chest.
Haleah knelt down beside Loki, wrapping her arms around him in a warm, loving embrace. She said nothing, just held him tightly until the pain played itself out. She pulled his head against her chest, running her fingers tenderly through his long locks.
“I know, Loki,” she whispered once he regained his breath. “I have always known. I am so sorry. What happened to Amelia was heinous and horrible, but it is not your fault. No one has a right to blame you for the terrible deeds of others. You are your own person and, from what I have seen, a pretty great one.”
“How did you know?” He looked at her, shocked as much by her admission as by her use of his real name.
“We have people in Atlantis,” she replied. “There is little that happens there that we do not know about. We have all heard the stories.”
“So everyone here knows what I am?” He sounded so frightened Haleah was quick to reassure him.
“No. We know what happened to your mother, but no one knows you are a child of that act.” She softly brushed the river of tears from his face. “In fact, very few here or in Atlantis even know she had a child. Rhea and Hyperion kept that secret close. That is only your secret to share. There is more than one woman named Amelia, so no one made the connection. But you must realize you have nothing to fear here in Home. No one would hold such a thing against you.”
“They would not hate me for being both and yet neither?”
“Of course not,” Haleah returned, smiling understandingly and tussling his hair. “You may not realize it, but you are not the only one of your kind here.”
“I am not?” he asked, his eyes going wide.
“Not at all,” Haleah laughed gently. “I am born of the Izon. Morpheus is of the People. That means all of our girls are just like you. The best of both worlds! In fact, there are many Cros here in Home.”
“Cros?”
“Yes,” Haleah smiled. “Do you know what Cro means in Izon?”
“Halfling.”
“Yes,” Haleah nodded. “That is the term of endearment the Clan started for such children. We all use it now. If you have not noticed by now, we of Home do not judge someone on the shape of their bodies nor color of their skin, but by the content of their heart. We are all one people under the Creator. Love is not subjected to race or appearance. Many ‘mixed’ couples love and live among us and they are blessed with many children.”
“Then why have I not seen them?” Loki was puzzled. Where were they? “Are they kept in a different, separate part of the city?”
Haleah could not help herself. She laughed loudly, tussling the boy’s hair playfully and hugging him close.
“Silly boy,” she said, kindly. “They are scattered among the Izon children and those of the People. You have played with them, worked with them and ate with them. You never noticed because no one cares. No one sees them as anything but the product of two people who love each other, no different from you or me.”
“Why did you not tell me before?” Loki reddened both with embarrassment and from a spark of anger glowing in his heart.
“I waited until you felt safe enough to trust me and my family,” Haleah replied. “This is your secret to share, not ours. We would never betray you in any way even if it was done for a loving reason. You are a part of us.”
So Loki let his secret go and spread among the citizens of Home. Haleah was right. No one despised him for it. They made jokes and commented no wonder he was so big and strong. The Clan claimed it was because he was an Izon in the body of an Atlantean. The People countered by saying it was from them he got his good looks. Loki felt as if a mighty weight was lifted from his shoulders. He did not have to be ashamed or to hide his true self. It was a true miracle. He found friends and an acceptance he never though he would.
He found another thing he never experienced before. Family. After a week, Rhea and Hyperion returned to Atlantis, but Morpheus and Haleah included him in their home as one of their own. The girls treated him as the brother they always wished they had, climbing on him, wrestling with him as they did their father and relying on him to protect them and do things they could not. Only Ida and Adrasteia treated him otherwise, vying for his attention in ways strangely different from the rest. His heart felt unburdened and joyous, basking in the love of community and family he had only read about before. Loki never wanted to leave.
Now came the fall. Rhea and Hyperion returned to take him back to his old life, a life he hated passionately now that he found something else, something better, something wondrous. He could not give it up.
“You must,” Rhea stated firmly, no matter how much he pleaded and argued. “My children were torn from me. I will not do the same to Amelia. I gave her my word you would come back home at the end of summer. Good or bad, she is your mother.”
“But she does not even want me!” Loki looked to Haleah, seeing the tears welling in her sky blue eyes. He threw his arms around her and implored her to let him stay. “Can you not talk to her for me?”
“I am sorry, Lokoda,” she said, raising his face to hers, tracks of wetness shinning upon her rosy cheeks. “I must agree with Rhea. You will always have a home here, but you must go back for now. Speak to Amelia. It is up to you now. Stand up for yourself and do not allow her to mistreat you any further. Come to a decision
together. We will be here when you need us.”
Loki spoke not a single word on the long journey home. He sat in the rear seat of the sled, his dark eyes swollen and red. He leaned against the glass-paned window watching the cold, dank landscape pass by, not seeing the beauty that excited him on the trip to Home. Thick, roiling black clouds spread a bleak, gray blanket over the earth that matched the dreary desolation filling his heart.
By the time they settled upon the yellow, unkempt, scraggly lawn in front of Amelia’s battered, dilapidated cabin, the sullen sky openly wept with a torrent of tears that hammered the hard, rocky ground. Through the thick veil of raindrops, Loki saw her standing upon the porch, fists buried against her hips. She seemed unreal, blurred by the dim light and wavering through the downpour like some demonic, vengeful wraith awaiting the chance to wreak havoc upon her hated enemy.
Loki was silent as they unloaded his meager belongings and lay them on the damp porch. Amelia said little, not inviting them into the house or thanking them for his safe return, yet her stance spoke volumes. Her slovenly appearance, dirty tan dress, uncombed hair, said she cared for nothing, not even herself. Her thin body trembled with months of pent up rage seeking an outlet upon his tender flesh. Her dark brown eyes flashed like the cracks of lightning tearing the fabric of the air with the burning scent of ozone, burning with malicious intent. Amelia’s full, red lips twisted into the malignant grin of a vicious, savage beast about to devour its helpless cornered prey.
He watched Rhea and Hyperion return to their sled, their eyes downcast and ashamed. He felt the dejected helplessness in their hearts and saw the plea for forgiveness shining in their eyes. Loki kept his face blank, thanking them quietly in a flat, emotionless voice. He knew there was no point in begging them to take him back. He understood now and did not blame them for their actions. This was a choice he must make for himself. He must face his fear on his own and, for once, decide his own fate.
Once they were lost in the dark curtain of rain, Loki turned to face his mother. Amelia stepped aside, motioning him to come inside, a predatory snarl bright upon her lips, red flames burning within her dark eyes. He dropped his head, his broad shoulders slumped and resigned, and walked into the filthy, dusty living room. He noted the unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, the grime thick upon the windows and counters and the trash strewn throughout the rooms. It was almost like seeing this place for the first time. Loki was not angry, just deeply saddened by what he saw.
Before he could speak, Loki sensed the splitting of the air currents behind him and spun away as a large wooden rod ripped the space his head had occupied. Years of beatings and abuse caused him to cower instinctively, raising his arms to ward off her sadistic blows. The cane smashed against his muscled forearm, shattered into pieces that exploded across the room. Some of the sharp splinters flew backward, slashing into Amelia with bloody result. She dropped the stick screaming, her hands flying to her face as she fell to her knees on the hard wood floor.
Loki rushed to her aid, horrified at what he had done. He did not intend to hurt her and it ripped into his heart like fragments of wood. He hit his knees before her, tears filling his eyes as he reached for her.
“I am so sorry, Lady,” he wept. “I did not mean…”
Before he could finish, Amelia erupted from the floor, slashing at him with gnarled hands tipped with murcat claws. He fell backward with the sheer power of her brutal attack, landing hard on his spine. She was on him before he could breathe, her talons tearing into his flesh, her bloody face black with murderous rage. Her fists plummeted him like hammers, fueled by demoniac ferociousness. Loki kept his arms over his face and head, protected them from her maniacal fury. She shrieked incoherently like a feral, rabid animal, her spittle spraying over his body.
Loki had enough. His terrified heart slowed, simmering with an anger of his own. His cinnamon eyes closed to mere slits and his full lips tightened across his face. Rolling to one side, he tossed Amelia off of him, sending her tumbling along the floor. Before she could regain her feet, Loki pinned her to the floor, locking her flailing arms above her head and her kicking legs beneath his powerful legs. She twisted and fought, trying to bite him, screeching and howling like an injured wild cat, calling him all kinds of foul, vile names and promising horrid punishments when she was free. He ignored it all, waiting until her fury ran its course and she lay limp and spent beneath him, bathed in salty sweat.
“No more,” Loki said firmly, rising to stand above her. He stepped away from his mother, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet.
“How dare you touch me?” Amelia raised herself upon her elbows, staring at him, glowing red embers flickering in her eyes. She spit at his offered assistance, muscles bunching to assail him once more.
“Do not.” Loki read her intent and shook his head. “I do not wish to harm you, but you will never hit me again.”
“What will you do? Beat me and torture me like the vicious animal you are?” Amelia did not attempt to rise. She just stared at him with unquenchable, barbarous hatred as if knowing this day would come. “Just like your fathers did? Is that what you will do to me?”
“No,” Loki replied, his face impassive and his voice calm and quiet, not letting her know how much those barbs cut into his soul. “I will never strike you. I am not the scum who hurt you and I am sorry for your pain. But there is nothing I can do about the past. I am done being blamed for something I had no control over. I will take no more of your abuse. I am better than that. No more.”
“Get out!” Amelia screamed, coming to her feet crouching like a maddened, slathering beast. “Get out, you filthy, disgusting creature! Get out and never come back!”
Those were the words Loki wanted so badly to hear. He turned his back on his mother so she could not see the faint wisp of a smile brightening his face. He stepped onto the porch, picked up his pack and walked out into the pouring rain. Loki heard the door slam behind him and Amelia’s continuing howls of ‘Never come back! Never come back!’ but it mattered not. Loki was happy.
Rhea was not at all surprised to find the soddened boy on her porch when she opened her door at the hard knocking she heard later in the evening. She listened sympathetically as Loki told her how events unfolded after she left the house while he warmed himself before the fire. She comforted him and held him, assuring him he did the right thing. She fed him a hot supper and sent him up to the guest room to get some rest after his mentally and physically exhausting day.
After she was sure Loki was asleep, Rhea stared into the dancing flames in the hearth, her mind lost in the way they changed from yellow to orange, to red and blue and back again. She leaned close, sitting on the edge of her polished oak rocker, staring at the glowing embers at the bottom of the logs and sipped on her hot, sweet green tea. The heat of the fire blushed her cheeks and set her golden hair to sparkling in the shimmering light. She knew this happen after Loki spent time in Home. It was part of her plan.
And she hated herself for it.
Amelia tore through the cabin ripping curtains from the windows, howling in pain and vilely cursing the Creator for the horrors He spit upon her. She yanked faded, dusty tapestries from the polished pine walls and flung them into cobwebbed corners. Her dresser drawers were jerked open and their contents scattered across the floor. She picked up the logs stacked beside the fireplace and threw them at the windows, cracking and shattering the glass. Amelia grabbed her clothes from the piles and tore them into frayed pieces, kicking over the furniture and tossing the cushions at imaginary monsters hiding in the darkened shadows.
Her rage had been building in the pit of her stomach like a nest of vipers, foul and poisonous, in the weeks the boy was gone. It burned in her soul like a bubbling bowl of acid, searing her mind and flesh with hellish torment. Without the boy as an outlet for her fury and self-loathing, all of her agony turned inward, consuming her in a boiling bath of fire.
And then he touched her.
When Loki
pinned her to the floor, her mind shredded like a spider web in tornado. His hands locking her arms over her head while he sat upon her filled her with helpless horror, nightmarish memories flooding her soul. She did not see the boy any longer. She saw the wild-haired, fur-covered creatures panting above her, their stinking breath hissing in her face, their salty saliva dripping on her torn and bloody cheeks. Amelia felt the weight of their animal bodies crushing her chest as they took turns pounding into her tender virgin flesh. The noise of their laughter and repugnant taunts assailed her ears, roaring so loud the sounds became mush, blocking out all other noises with a rumbling blanket of thunder. The pain of the blades slashing her skin and muscles over and over again as she writhed in anguish, the ropes cutting into her wrists and ankles, she felt as if it were happening anew. The horrid, fiendish memories overwhelmed her tortured mind and scattered her sanity to the winds of the storm.
Amelia fell to her knees in the middle of the destruction she had wrought, broken and weeping, exhausted from the carnage surrounding her. She wailed like a pathetic animal, alive and terrified as it was eaten by a vicious predator, her cries echoing around her. She prayed then. Prayed to the hated Creator to end her excruciating misery, begging Him to forgive her for whatever horrific sins she had committed in life to deserve such painful punishments.
He heard her and replied.
Sparks from the crackling fire, carried by the wind blowing in from the shattered windows, set fire to the fragments of cloth and wood scattered around her. The blaze spread quickly, igniting everything it touched with the intensity of its heat. The walls hissed like maddened serpents, filling the dilapidated house with hot steam and smoke. Amelia smiled, waiting thankfully for the bonfire to consume her, welcoming the searing release of its kiss.
Within moments the house was gone, reduced to a smoldering pile of ash and blackened beams quickly put out by the steady rainfall. In the middle of the heap lay a curled corpse, knees to her chest like an innocent newborn infant. Amelia was gone, free at long last to return happy to the blessed arms of the Creator.
