Chapter 18 The Talent That Never Came

Chapter 18 The Talent That Never Came


Thud.

The Awakening Crystal stood in the middle of the village square like a cold heart torn out of a mountain, and its surface glowed slightly in the morning sun, and the wooden platform on which it stood creaked each time another teenager climbed on it, and the hope it gave was the hope of ignorant people, and they could afford to have.

That day was called the Awakening Ceremony and that was the day on which the life of a man was stripped apart in front of the entire village, like meat on display in a butcher shop, for everyone to analyze and the entire village came just for that, not because they were intrigued but because this was the only spectacle this village ever witnessed.

The boys stood in an orderly manner while the giggling girls stood behind them with their hands over their mouths. The elders watched disinterestedly with their dull eyes and the village chieftain presided over it all. He was seated majestically under a roof, basking in his superiority complex.

One by one, eighteen-year-olds boys moved towards the crystal and one by one, the crystal responded to their presence.

Hummm.

Others were dim, just sufficient to cause the crowd to applaud.

Others glowed brightly, and people had to squint, and those were cheered, and patted on the back, and immediately proposed marriage by families who had hitherto treated them like dirt.

Talent meant everything, talent meant food, talent meant survival.

Talent was that you were not discovered dead in a ditch when the beasts came down out of the hills and then there was Alex.

He was at the extreme end of the line, he was quiet, his shoulders erect and his eyes fixed, as though he were endeavoring to make himself believe that the villagers were not gazing at him with that old eyes.

Alex was an orphan, he had no family name that mattered, no inheritance and definitely no backing.

He possessed only a face that made women blush and men clench their fists, and in a place like this to be handsome and powerless was almost an invitation to be spit upon by the world.

He had been brought up with the murmurs of how he had been found by the Sacred Tree and how he was abandoned there as a curse or a mistake.
They also told him how the village had adopted him because it would be a bad thing to leave a baby in the presence of the spirits but they never made him one of their own.

They gave him to eat, all right but only because it would have been inconvenient to starve him and they left him only because it would have been difficult to kill him.

As the ceremony was still going on, Alex could feel the weight of their eyes on him, it was not hope, not kindness but anticipation, as though they were waiting him to fail so that they could finally have an excuse to unleash all the hatred they had been storing up.

The Awakening continued.

One of the boys came forward and touched the crystal.

Fwoosh.

A pale blue light burst forth.

Water affinity! cried one.

Cheers erupted.

The boy almost cried.

Then another.

Crackle!

Lightning sparks danced.

People gasped.

Then another.

Whummm.

A red glow.

Fire.

The crowd gasped.

The chief smiled with his lips, and was already calculating how to use the future power of that kid to the village.

It went on until the teenagers were all awake.

All teenagers except one.

The line was gone.

The stage was deserted but Alex was all alone at the end of the square, his face was blank but his fingers were a little curled like claws because he could already know what was going to happen.

The village elder, the one who was in charge of the ceremony looked at him.

Not with kindness.

Not with neutrality.

With irritation.

As the very existence of Alex was a stain on the ceremony.

The older called, voice like old bark, Alex. “Come.”

The murmurs increased immediately.

Other girls stood onlookers with anxious eyes.

Some men grinned.

Other old maids were praying, not to Alex, but to pass the time.

Alex stepped forward.

The creaking of the wooden steps made his feet feel their way up the platform, and with each step he took the silence was so great that it was as though it were a scream, and when he stood before the Awakening Crystal he felt the heat of hundreds of eyes pricking his back.

There was the crystal, smooth and cold, waiting.

The older crossed his arms.

Put your hand on the Awakening Crystal, he said, his voice flat. Rouse your beast taming skill.

Alex hesitated not.

He touched and put his palm on the crystal.

It was icy, unnaturally cold, as touching the skin of a dead thing.

Hummm…

Nothing.

A second passed.

Then another.

No glow.

No pulse.

No shimmer.

The crystal was still dull, lifeless, as though not even the hand of Alex was there.

The silence in the square became so great that it was as though suffocation.

Alex frowned slightly.

His palm was squeezed even more as he waited but nothing happened.

There was no warmth in his heart, no alien feeling in his bones, no fire in his brain.

The other teenagers had responded immediately. Some trembling, some gasping, some even screaming as their talents burst into being.

But Alex?

The world was like it did not recognize him.

He gradually pulled his hand back, his fingers curling and he turned his head to the elder as he tried to speak.

His voice came out controlled but there was tension underneath it.

What is it, Elder? inquired Alex. Why not the crystal answering?

The older looked at him a moment.

Then his mouth curled.

Not into a smile.

Into a smirk.

A contented sadistic sneer.

He was like a man who had just found out that there was evidence of a rumor he would like to believe.

So it is true, the elder said.

The mob bent forward.

Alex’s eyes narrowed.

What do you mean?

The older gave a chuckle.

“Heh.”

Then he raised his voice, and was heard by the whole village.

You are very fortunate, Alex.

The words were compliment, but the eyes of the elder were cold.

The villagers began whispering again.

Alex’s jaw tightened.

“Lucky?” he repeated. “Explain.”

The older raised his head and spoke as though he were pronouncing a sentence in the heavens.

“You awakened an empty talent.”

The square froze.

Then erupted.

“What?”

“No way.”

“Empty talent?”

“That exists?”

Some people laughed immediately.

Some gasped.

The girls' faces turned pale, and the men's eyes gleamed like those of wolves who have spotted an injured doe.

Alex's heart pounded one time, and his mouth felt parched.

"What… do you mean empty talent?" Alex whispered, his voice softer yet more cutting than ever.

A wicked smile spread across the old man’s face.

"That is precisely what it means,” he said with excitement. You You have no beast taming talent, none, not even the lowest trash tier. You are empty.”

The elder’s words fell like stones.

Alex stared at him, frozen. His mind raced, trying to deny it, trying to force reality to bend, trying to remember if he had done something wrong.

But the crystal had not glowed, it had not reacted but it had treated him like air.

The elder’s voice became louder, mocking now, stripping away any remaining dignity.

“A rare case,” he announced, turning slightly to address the villagers. A truly rare case of an empty awakening, a boy who will never tame a beast, never form a contract, never stand on the battlefield and will never contribute to this village.”

The crowd erupted again but this time it was not surprise, it was celebration.

Alex’s fists clenched, his nails dug into his palms, he could feel blood starting to bead beneath his skin.

So that was it.

All his life, he had been treated like a bastard and now they had the perfect excuse to finish the job.

A shadow moved.

Thud!

Pain exploded in Alex’s ribs as a boot slammed into his side, knocking him half a step sideways.

The crowd roared.

Alex snapped his head around, his eyes locking onto the man who had kicked him.

Paxton.

Of course it was Paxton.

The village chief’s son stood there with a smug grin, his hair neatly tied, his clothes cleaner than everyone else’s, and his eyes shining with that special kind of hatred that only a spoiled bastard could have.

Paxton had always hated Alex.

Not because Alex had done anything to him.

But because Alex existed.

Because women looked at Alex first.

Because girls smiled at Alex without thinking.

Because Paxton, despite his status, always felt like a shadow whenever Alex was nearby.

And now?

Now Paxton had an excuse.

Now Paxton could stop pretending.

Alex straightened slowly, ignoring the pain in his ribs, his eyes cold.

Paxton stepped closer.

His voice dripped with fake politeness.

“Alex,” Paxton said, “you’ve always been an orphan, and honestly, you were never really a proper member of our village.”

He spread his arms dramatically, turning his head toward the crowd as if he was a noble hero addressing his people.

“I want to propose something.”

The villagers leaned in, hungry.

Some women frowned, but none of them spoke.

They did not have the courage to oppose the chief’s son.

The men, however, were already smiling, as if they could smell blood.

Paxton raised his voice.

“I propose,” he declared, “that Alex should be kicked out of the village.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then the men erupted.

“KICK HIM OUT!”

“We don’t need dead weight!”

“A talentless pretty boy is useless!”

“He’ll just steal our women!”

The words were filthy.

Jealous.

Honest.

Alex’s chest tightened, not from sadness, but from something darker.

Something boiling.

He opened his mouth, about to speak, about to fight back with words if he could not fight with strength.

But Paxton moved fast.

Smack!

A fist slammed into Alex’s mouth.

Pain burst across his lips.

A metallic taste filled his tongue.

Alex stumbled back, blood spilling down his chin.

Paxton laughed softly.

“You don’t get to speak,” Paxton whispered, his eyes gleaming. “Not anymore.”

The men cheered louder, their voices becoming one ugly roar.

“KICK HIM OUT!”

“THROW HIM OUT!”

“USELESS TRASH!”

Alex’s vision sharpened.

He gazed at their faces.

He memorized them.

Every smirk.

Every laugh.

All eyes full of hate.

He was going to recall each and every one.

Paxton raised his arms.

It is determined, he said, and he was enjoying every moment. Alex is exiled out of our village.

Then he smiled broader, as though he remembered something.

And as this is his last present of us, Paxton said, let us give him some hands.

The men knew at a glance.

They were like a pack.

Rough hands grabbed Alex’s arms.

Somebody pulled his hair.

Somebody hit him in the stomach.

Alex fought, turning, attempting to escape, but to no avail.

There were excessively many.

They dragged him off the platform.

His feet scuffled along.

His body slammed against the dirt.

Thud.

Thud.

Kicks landed.

Punches followed.

He heard laughter.

He heard insults.

He could hear himself being squeezed out of breath.

The women stood and looked on with pale faces, some biting their lips, some turning away, but none of them came forward.

They were afraid.

Or perhaps they were simply cowards.

The men pulled Alex in the village streets like a dead body.

Children were running behind them, cheering as though it were a festival.

Someone threw a rock.

Crack!

It hit Alex’s shoulder.

His nerves were pained.

He clenched his teeth, and would not scream, would not give them the satisfaction.

Paxton led the way like a king at the head of an execution.

The blood in his eyes made Alex hardly see, but he could see the back of Paxton, proud, straight, arrogant.

The gate was in sight.

The edge of the village.

The line between the civilized individuals and the forest that devoured the weak.

The men pulled him out.

Then they threw him.

Bam!

Alex fell to the ground.

Mud splashed across his face.

His ribs screamed.

He made a feeble attempt to raise himself, but was kicked again on the side, and sank down.

Paxton came forward, crouched a little, and spat.

Ptoo.

The spit fell on the cheek of Alex.

Paxton spoke now in a low voice, but with venom.

“Scram,” he said. Never come back. I will have you die slowly.

The men laughed, contented.

Then they turned and walked back to the village as though they had just removed the rubbish.

Alex lay there, his body bruised, his face swollen, his mouth filled with blood.

His nails in the earth.

His arms trembled.

He forced himself to crawl.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Every step was like pulling shattered bones through fire.

He could still hear the laughter dying away in the distance behind him.

He did not turn back at once.

He crept till the village gate was lost in sight, till the trees started to swallow the light.

Then he turned his head.

He gazed towards the village.

His eyes were dark.

His lips were moving, his voice was hoarse, cracked, yet full of hatred.

Wait, wait, Alex said to himself. I will kill you all. I will burn that village.

The pledge was like blood.

His body trembled, not with fear, but with fatigue and anger combined with each other into a poison.

He kept crawling.

Minutes passed.

Then an hour.

The wood became more dense.

The air became colder.

His fingers were scraped on roots and rocks.

His nails broke.

His skin tore.

But he kept moving.

He had no other place to go.

At last he came to a great tree, the trunk of which was broader than a house, and the bark of which was old and dark and twisted as though it had been blown about and battered by storms and wars through centuries.

Alex fell against it, gasping.

His chest went up and down like a dying animal.

He recognized it.

This was the Sacred Tree.

The one the villagers never ceased to speak of as though it were sacred, as though it were the very heart of their land.

Here they had discovered him as a babe.

Left here.

Abandoned.

Or offered.

The head of Alex was tilted back and he looked up at the branches that were stretched out like claws into the sky.

He had heard tales.

Others said the tree was blessed.

Some said it was cursed.

Others said that there were spirits in it.

But Alex had never cared.

Not until now.

Now he had nothing left.

No village.

No future.

No talent.

Rightful pain, humiliation, and the scalding need to make them all sorry.

Alex’s throat tightened.

He laughed once, but it was a broken laugh.

Then he laid his palm on the bark.

The tree felt cold.

Still.

Unmoving.

He swallowed blood.

SACRED TREE, he said, trembling with anger and desperation. “If you’re really sacred. if you’re really something more than wood and dirt. then prove it.”

His fingers gripped on the bark.
His eyes narrowed.

His breathing was slow, and it was a control, as of a predator attempting to quiet down before attacking.

I would like to burn the village, Alex said, every word weighty. I would like to kill all those who laughed at me today.

His voice was lower, almost a prayer.I will give anything.

“For that… I’ll pay anything.”

As soon as he said those words, the air was different.

The wind stopped.

The forest went silent.

Even the insects were gone.

There was a weird pressure on the shoulders of Alex, as though the world itself had bent down to hear.

Then…

Fwooom.

A light flashed under him.

A circle.

Runes.

Lines cut in the air, which shone dimly like molten silver.

Alex’s eyes widened.

His breath caught.

The earth beneath him grew cold, colder than snow, colder than death.

And in that instant, his body vanished from the spot where he had been resting, a symbol suddenly appeared and in that moment, his body was gone from there.