[[ This originally started off as an entry for the contest, but I lost interest in submitting it as such, and just want a review. This is a story about how Azaan really got enlisted in the Farotopain army... well, part of it. Sorry, I just really like Azaan's character. If there are any hideous mistakes that you can't figure out how I could make them, blame the fact that it's 5 in the morning, and I can't seem to sleep. So, yeah... R&R, if you would? kthxbai ]]
The attacks always came at night, and always when the moon hid her face from the world. They would come, swift as the wind, with their torches and their swords gleaming in the firelight. A cacophony of screams would rip through the still night air, only to be abruptly cut off. The village had become used to these attacks, and accepted them as a part of life. Their kind was never trusted, never wanted, and never left alone. They adapted, attempting to put up stronger defenses, move farther away, or fight harder. Their efforts were in vain: every month, the attacks would come, and every month, their village would be raided. Every time before, he villagers managed to drive them off before dawn.
This time would be different.
Azaan’s eyes snapped open as the first cry split the calm night air. Almost as one, he and his mother bolted upright, clinging to each other in fear. “Maman… they’re back,” Azaan whispered, his small fists clenched around the folds of his mother’s dress. The elder daemon nodded silently, gathering her child in her arms. They stared at the shuttered window of their tiny hut, watching as the orange hue grew stronger and stronger along the edges. Azaan swallowed nervously, wriggling tighter against his mother as the screams drew nearer. She smoothed his hair absently, her eyes distant as she listened to the discord outside.
Nihari suddenly stood, hefting her child against her hip. Her thoughts strayed a moment, musing that Azaan would soon be too heavy for her to carry this way. They grew up so fast… She banished the thought, focusing on gathering what she could. “What’re we doing, maman?” Azaan asked, his brow furrowed with worry. They had never left the safety of their hut before. During the other attacks, they had simply huddled under the covers until the shouts of victory rang through the streets. Then again, during the other attacks, the shrieks of agony hadn’t been close enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck, either.
“This is not a normal raid, papoocha,” Nihari explained, swaddling Azaan in their raggedy blanket. The younger daemon drew the blanket tightly around himself as if it would ward off harm. “What do you mean, maman? We’re gonna beat ‘em, right? Just like the other times?” Azaan insisted. When his mother didn’t answer, Azaan suddenly felt afraid. Being a daemon, Azaan was naturally perceptive, and Nihari’s furtive behavior clued him in. These were not the usual bigoted humans that usually pestered the daemons. “Who are they?” he asked quietly, clinging to his mother as she hurried to the door.
Azaan had his answer once the wooden barrier was flung open. All around them, fire raged, the heat surging through the air. Ash-skinned daemons fled, carrying their worldly treasures--children, heirlooms, food and blankets. Nihari swallowed as she spotted gleams of silver between buildings, and shuddered violently when she made out the insignia on their banners. “Farotopia, papoocha. A recruiting party,” she answered, spitting out the word “recruiting.” Hefting Azaan, Nihari turned on her heel and fled down the street, her arms wrapped tight around her child.
The burning village was soon replaced by night-shrouded woods. The way Azaan was held, he could only see over Nihari’s shoulder. The view of the flames became more and more obscured, until finally they were completely hidden by trees. Even still, screams and shouts rang out from all around them. Nihari drew up suddenly, panting hard. She let out a vehement curse, her breath misting in the air. One of her neighbors shrieked ahead of her, signaling an ambush. Picking a random direction, Nihari resumed her dash, her breath coming out in near-panicked whimpers. Azaan, sensing his mother’s unease, in turn became more and more frightened.
Nihari skidded to a halt once again. Azaan, staring wide-eyed over her shoulder, saw the shadows form around the two of them, then slide apart to reveal shining armor. They formed a circle around the two daemons, yelling orders in their garbled tongue. Moving deceptively slow, Nihari knelt, easing Azaan to his feet. “Papoocha,” she said in a low voice, her eyes slowly changing hue, “when I tell you to, I want you to run as fast as you can. Find one of the other families; they can’t have gotten them all.” Azaan’s brow furrowed in confusion, then cleared as he processed his mother’s unspoken intention. “Maman, I won’t leave without you! I don’t wanna go alone!” Azaan pleaded, tugging his mother’s dress insistently. Tears began to well in his eyes, and a sob became trapped in his throat, cutting off his air.
This would be the first and last time Azaan wept.
Nihari’s hand moved with the speed of a striking snake. Azaan jerked away, clapping a hand to his now-burning cheek. “Never cry, papoocha! Never let them see your weakness!” Nihari snarled, her eyes now completely red. The soldiers drew closer around them, inviting a hateful glare from the female. She hissed at them, baring her fangs in warning. There were a few chuckles, but Azaan couldn’t understand how anyone could find anything humorous in this situation.
Nihari bolted. She hurled herself at the ring of soldiers, screeching a battle cry. For an instant, the circle broke. “Run! Run, papoocha!” Nihari ordered. Strength surged through Azaan’s legs, sending him crashing through the ring of steel. There were several cries of alarm, along with his mother’s curses. Once, Azaan almost turned back to look, but his mother’s voice snapped through the darkness.
“Don’t you look back, Azaan! Do not shame me! Never look back, never break, never show them an opening! You will run now, but when the time comes, you will never yield! But for now, RUN!!”
Azaan’s feet pounded against the dirt as he wove through the trees. Always behind him, always too close, were the shouts of the soldiers. Though her physical voice had faded long since, Nihari’s words still throbbed through Azaan’s skull, driving him ever onward. He panted like a wounded animal, thrashing noisily through the foliage in his haste to escape.
Before he could react, an arm snaked out, wrapping around the young daemon’s middle. Shrieking with rage, Azaan kicked and clawed and bit, struggling to get back on the ground. The soldier, however, was encased in steel, so Azaan’s efforts were in vain. The soldier laughed, the noise causing hatred to flare in Azaan’s stomach. His arm tightened around Azaan’s midsection, cutting off enough of the daemon’s air that he had to either stop fighting or asphyxiate.
Trying to breathe and attack his captor, Azaan had no choice but to be carried as the soldier rejoined his comrades. Calling out jovially, the soldier lifted Azaan slightly to show off his prize. Azaan stopped fighting as he looked around and realized just how many daemons had been captured. Frantically, he looked for his mother, but couldn’t spot her in the crowd.
The soldier holding him casually tossed Azaan to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Before he could recover, Azaan’s wrists were bound tightly together, and his legs secured with a length of rope long enough for walking but not much else. Once he was tied to his captor’s satisfaction, he was shoved into a sitting position along with the other daemons. The captives sat silently, all glaring with a heated intensity at the Farotopian soldiers. While outwardly the humans shrugged it off, it was obvious that they were unnerved by the unnatural silence emanating from the daemon villagers.
It was almost a relief to the soldiers when the translator strode from the woods, diverting the daemon’s attentions. At the first glimpse of ash-colored skin, the daemons as a whole broke into furious hissing and spitting, cursing their traitorous cousin. The daemon held up his hands for silence, patiently waiting until the captive’s curiosity overcame their anger. “Do not be afraid for your lives or your families,” the translator announced. “No one from the village has been harmed. If you do not see your loved ones here, then they are in one of the other gatherings scattered throughout this wood.
“You have been impressed into the Farotopian Royal Army. From this day forward, no matter what your age, ability, or gender, you will serve your country in some way, shape, or form. You will cook, you will clean, you will train, and you will fight. Do not attempt to flee, as the guards are very good at catching would-be deserters… and very good at punishing them.
“Accept your fate, and you will do well in your enlistment. Do not fight it; there is no escape for our kind,” the daemon finished. He stepped back, allowing the soldiers to move forward, hauling the captives to their feet and bind them for travel.
As the soldiers secured Azaan to the other daemons, the child found he couldn’t take his eyes away from the translator, Nihari’s words still burning in his brain.
Never look back… never break… never show them an opening…
This daemon had been broken a long time ago. He spoke the human language fluently, and actually flushed when one of the soldiers clapped him on the back. Azaan scowled, his lips drawing back to reveal his fangs. The translator happened to meet Azaan’s eyes, and his look of pleasure faded as he read the scorn there.
Never look back… never break… never show them an opening…
The translator was the first to look away, shuffling his feet anxiously before turning and moving into the woods. Azaan spat on the ground after him. Already, he had accepted that he was to be a part of the Farotopian army. It seemed inevitable to him… but also, it presented an opportunity. Azaan shifted his derisive glare to the soldiers as they began leading the daemons through the woods, presumably back towards the castle. I will allow you to control me… for a while, he told them silently, but you will never own me. One day, you will look back, and you will realize that you all have been doing my bidding from this very day. One day, instead of you standing over me…
I will own you.
