Nabalor heard the whistles through the air behind him and he instinctively launched himself upward. Twisting his body to face the ground at the peak of his leap, he snatched one of the objects flying by beneath him.
     The instant he landed, he sprinted to the nearest tree off the forest trail. He jumped, kicking off the tree trunk in quick succession to reach the first tree limb.
     As he crouched on the limb, he coiled his slate-purple pointed tail around his waist to minimize his profile. Waiting for his attacker to appear, he stared incredulously at the object he still gripped in his hand.
     It was a tree branch. Did someone really just throw a bunch of sticks at me?
     The snapping underbrush below gave way to a man with brown hair tied tightly into a topknot. Nabalor flung the stick at the man’s back and leapt down.
     Without turning, the man caught the stick. In the same motion, he dropped his opposite shoulder and thrust his leg upwards.
     Nabalor widened his eyes at the kick he was about to fall onto. He deflected it with a hasty side kick before dropping into a roll on the ground. He flipped back up to his feet to see the point of the stick heading for his face.
     He shot his hand to the outside of the man’s stabbing arm. Grasping the forearm, he pulled the man sharply into a punch at the temple. But the punch glanced harmlessly off the man’s palm strike while he used the momentum of the pull to smash into Nabalor.
     Nabalor let his fall turn into a backwards roll. Instead of getting back up, he swept his leg in an arc at the man’s feet. As the man hopped over the leg sweep, Nabalor whipped his tail to wrap around the man’s ankles and yanked him down to the ground.
     Before the man could regain his breath, Nabalor pinned his chest down with a knee and punched down at the man’s throat with the middle finger’s mid-joint braced against a clenched fist.
     The punch stopped suddenly, an inch away from a broken windpipe.
     Nabalor smiled at the man and stood, arm offered to help him up. “I guess I win this time, Ramoth.”
     “You cheated,” Ramoth said, grudgingly taking Nabalor’s arm to pull himself up. “I would’ve had you if it weren’t for your sneaky tail.”
     “A tiefling’s got to do what a tiefling’s got to do against you wily humans,” Nabalor said, his grin crinkling the light beige skin around his silver, pupil-less eyes. “Plus, you were the one who threw a sneak attack at me first.”
     “That was good, wasn’t it?” Ramoth laughed. “I had to improvise with what I had.”
     “You couldn’t have used something other than the kindling we’re supposed to gather?”
     “Nope. Had to be that.”
     “Yeah, yeah.” Nabalor bent down to pick a few branches off the ground. “Lucky for us, I started a pile earlier. Let’s add what we can to it and head back before the Abbot gives us extra chores for being late.”
     They bundled up the kindling and strapped them onto their backs. Silhouetted in the setting sun, they raced each other up the hill to the monastery they’ve called home practically their whole lives.

#

     At dusk, the monastery bell rang nine times. A procession of Delkhrun villagers slowly made their way to the edges of the courtyard.
     Nabalor stood with the other monks in two solemn lines on opposite sides of the stone dais. He tightened his topknot of black hair and adjusted the cowl of his ceremonial robes to better cover the two horn nubs on his forehead. Having made sure his tail wasn’t poking out from under the robe hem, he straightened up again.
     Definitely don’t need another talking to from the old Abbot about scaring the villagers, he thought.
     Abbot Ziahalab stepped onto the dais and a hush fell over everyone. He carried a staff reinforced with bands of steel along its length. It was a sacred symbol of his office, passed down from one Abbot to the next. His robe’s cowl was thrown back to reveal his topknot, white from having seen its fair share of winters. But he moved with the measured strength of someone keenly aware of what his own body and spirit were capable of. And though his demeanor was often stern, there was always compassion in his gaze.
     I’ll figure out how to pull off that stern compassionate air one day, Nabalor thought.
     The Abbot was as close to a father he had ever since his infant self was left on the monastery steps. He said that though he never knew who Nabalor’s parents were nor how to care for a tiefling child, he knew it was up to him to raise the child. And Nabalor would always be grateful to him for that.
     “Friends and neighbours of Delkhrun,” the Abbot said, raising his staff. “We are privileged to stand in the Shade of Izarkes.”
     The villagers gasped as all the torches around the courtyard dimmed simultaneously. Their flames didn’t lessen in size. They just turned grey as if all light and colour ceased to exist within them.
     At the centre of the dais stood a simple wooden platform stuffed with kindling. Carefully laid atop the platform was the body of a man, dressed in clothes of austere grey.
     They did a good job on the face tonight, Nabalor thought. He looks like he could draw a breath any second now. He knew though that the man’s breath had long gone after he drank the Nectar of Serenity earlier this afternoon.
     “And we are humbled,” the Abbot continued, gesturing to the man’s body, “in the presence of one strong enough to turn away from the temptations of our sinful world.”
     He raised his staff again and the area around the prone man darkened even more. Rising up from the ground were black tendrils of shadow so dark that they snuffed out every particle of light in their path. The tendrils wrapped themselves around the man’s body until only his face showed from the cocoon of shadows.
     “Here lies an inspiration to us all,” the Abbot said, head bowed. “A soul selflessly given and steadfast enough in faith for Izarkes to continue lengthening the Shade that is our salvation.”
     He turned back to the crowd. “To which family do we owe this great debt? Come forth.”
     A teary-eyed woman and a trembling boy trudged up to the Abbot. The boy clutched at his mother’s long skirt, unable to tear his eyes away from the body wreathed in shadows. The woman, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to bring herself to look at it. Instead, she focused her attention on comforting her son.
     Nabalor frowned. Your family just received the highest honour possible, he thought. And this is how you react?
     He would’ve given anything to have parents this noble. But all he had from them was his name. Apparently, they didn’t bother to knock on the door, but had the thoughtfulness to scrawl his name on a piece of paper tucked in the blanket.
     “Come now, ma’am,” the Abbot said, laying his hand on top of the woman’s head in blessing. “You have nothing to worry about ever again. We will make sure you and your son’s needs are provided for from here on out.”
     The woman quickly wiped away her tears and mustered a smile. “Thank you, Abbot.”
     “It is the least we can do for the wife and son of such a brave man,” the Abbot replied. He glanced down at the boy and beckoned him closer. “How old are you, my child?”
     The boy looked up at his mother and she gave a small nod. “Six, Abbot,” he whispered before retreating into his mother’s embrace.
     “Why, that is a wonderful age. Tell me, would you like to be as strong as your father up there one day?”
     The boy nodded.
     “Then here is what I propose,” the Abbot said. “We will teach you how to be strong here at the monastery. Just like all the nice monks you see before you.”
     The woman’s face paled. She tightened her grip on her son’s shoulders.
     “You will have a warm bed and all the food you want,” the Abbot said. “And your mother will see you grow up strong and be very proud of you. Won’t she?”
     He looked up at the woman and a cry erupted out of her. She cut it short with a hand to her mouth. With her other hand, she pushed the boy towards the Abbot.
     “Ma?” the boy asked, turning back to her.
     “It’s alright,” the woman replied, smiling through her tears. “Go with the good Abbot and the monks. I’ll come see you as often as I can.”
     “We will never forget your generosity,” the Abbot said, gently holding the woman by her shoulders. “If you ever need anything, just ask and we will always answer. Alright?”
     The woman nodded as her tears fell freely to the ground. The Abbot stepped back and bowed deeply to her. Tears also fell from his eyes when he straightened. “It is settled then,” the Abbot said, taking a deep breath. “Izarkes in His infinite wisdom has found us a new brother to protect and guide the living to seek refuge in His Shade.”
     He knocked his staff on the ground twice and a monk led the boy away. Nabalor and two other monks took up positions on three sides of the wooden platform as they were handed torches with grey flames.
     “Purity in life for serenity in death,” the Abbot intoned, raising up the fourth torch.
     “May Izarkes’ Shade embrace us,” everyone chanted, bowing their heads.
     Nabalor touched his torch to the kindling beneath the wooden platform, as did the Abbot and the two monks. Grey flames enveloped the man’s body just as the shadows flowed over his face.
     A few villagers helped the shaking woman back down the hill while others looked on in silence. One by one, they dispersed until all that remained were the monks and the dying fire.
     Light and colour returned. The sacrificial ceremony was complete.

#

     Nabalor swept up a pile of ashes in the courtyard. It had been two weeks since the sacrificial ceremony and there were still traces of it everywhere.
     He paused when he heard voices in the corridor.
     That’s odd, he thought. Most of the brothers not on chore duty should be in the Great Hall for evening prayers right now.
     He peeked around the corner and saw the Abbot with a hooded beggar wearing ragged clothes. Two senior brothers stood off to the side. The Abbot and the beggar seemed to be in the middle of a heated exchange.
     I’ve never seen the old Abbot look this angry before, Nabalor thought.
     He watched as the beggar kneeled in front of the Abbot, clutching at his robes. The Abbot kicked the beggar and waved the two senior brothers over. They started hauling the beggar away from the monastery.
     I’ve got to see who could’ve riled him up, Nabalor thought. He doesn’t usually treat beggars this way.
     He kept to the shadows as he followed them. When they neared the main gates, he ran behind a bush in front of the side wall. He pressed against the wall and a section swung open a crack for him to slip through to the other side.
     He’d discovered this hidden exit by accident a few years ago when he took a break from pruning the bush in front of it. He’s not sure if anyone else even knew about it as the wall had been so overgrown with vines.
     Sprinting into the forest, he made for the trail the beggar would be walking on and spotted him up ahead.
     “Sir, wait,” he cried out.
     The beggar turned around and Nabalor’s breath caught. Moonlight glinted off a pair of horns on the beggar’s forehead. A pointed tail emerged behind him, poised to counterbalance his next move.
     “You’re a…” Nabalor said, his voice trailing off.
     The tiefling’s eyes widened. “Nabalor? Is it really you?”
     “H-how do you know my…”
     “I’m…it’s not safe here,” the tiefling said, peering through the shadows. “Follow me.”
     They ran off deeper into the forest until they reached a clearing. The tiefling sat down hard on a log, panting as he tried to get his breath back.
     Nabalor had finally regained his senses. He sat on a boulder across from the tiefling and stared at him, hood thrown back now to reveal long grey hair and silver eyes Nabalor once dreamed of seeing a long time ago.
     “You’re him,” Nabalor said.
     The tiefling started to smile, but hesitated when Nabalor didn’t return it. “Why bother coming back?”
     The tiefling winced and looked away. “I…I wanted to see how you were doing.”
     “Oh yeah? Twenty-seven years later, you just want to casually drop in to check up on the son you left behind?”
     “That’s not fair.”
     “Then tell me what’s fair. Please.”
     The tiefling nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I came back for you once, you know?”
     “Great. I feel much better now.”
     “That’s not what I…I just wanted you to know I tried.”
     The tiefling took out a flask and offered it to Nabalor, who raised his eyebrows and pointed at his monk robes. With a sheepish shrug, the tiefling sipped from the flask before continuing.
     “Before you were born, your mother was going through a very difficult time,” the tiefling said. “She had always been ashamed of our…ancestry. It’s not uncommon. I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen the way others look at us.”
     Nabalor shook his head. “The Abbot and the brothers were always kind to me.”
     “Really? And what about the villagers?”
     “They…Well, I don’t know. The Abbot always told me to hide my horns and tail whenever they visit the monastery.”
     “And you never wondered why?”
     Nabalor shrugged.
     “Well, take my word for it,” the tiefling said. “Most people out there don’t like our kind much. It never bothered me. I couldn’t care less what others think. But your mother though…it really got to her.”
     “So what did you do?”
     “What tieflings have always done. Just keep living our lives.” He took another swig from his flask. “I tried my best to remind her of that every day. There were good days. Lots of good days. But often when evening rolls around, she…”
     His eyes glistened as he tapped his temple with his finger. “She’s just not there.”
     Nabalor didn’t dare move as he listened. This is the moment he finally got to hear his parents’ story. And it’s not at all what I thought it’d be, he thought. He tried to call up the anger he’d spent years cultivating if he ever met his parents. He couldn’t do it.
     “Was she…happy when she had me?” Nabalor asked.
     “Like you wouldn’t believe,” the tiefling said with a wide grin. “We were both so excited. The morning we realized she was pregnant, we spent the whole day starting a list of baby names. We kept adding to the list as the months passed. And then when you were born, we took one look at you and gave you a completely different name.”
     Laughter shook his shoulders. “It’s funny how that happens. You just looked so much like a Nabalor. Still do, actually,” he said, brushing tears from his crinkled eyes. “You brightened our world so much.”
     “So what changed your mind about me then?”
     “No, no, it wasn’t like that,” the tiefling said, getting up to move closer to Nabalor. He stopped when Nabalor leaned away. The tiefling sank onto the grass. “Please, if there’s one thing I want you to understand tonight, it’s that both of us loved you very much. In our own ways.”
     “What do you mean?”
     The tiefling pulled up a blade of grass and started twisting it around his finger. “Not long after you were born, your mother got very scared. She kept saying that our ancestors cursed us and that’s what will kill our baby. One day, I came home from the market and couldn’t find you two. She likes to take walks in the woods so I went looking there. And that’s where I saw her.”
     “What was she doing?”
     “She was holding you in her arms, her face lifted to the sun,” the tiefling said, voice shaking. “All was still. Peaceful, really. Except she was waist-deep in the middle of the river.”
     Nabalor suddenly found it hard to swallow. “Was she trying to…did she—”
     “I don’t know,” the tiefling replied. “I don’t think I want to know.” He unwound the blade of grass and watched the circulation rush back to his finger. “My only thought was to get you out of there. It wasn’t till I got to the riverbank with you safe in my arms that I called out to her. Then she just turned around and followed us home. Like nothing happened.”
     The tiefling clasped his hands behind his neck and gazed up at the moonlight filtering through the dark foliage. Nabalor could see every line of worry that made its home on the tiefling’s face over the years.
     “The monastery could’ve helped her. Some of our brothers are healers.” Nabalor said.
     “Right, the monastery,” the tiefling said with a bitter laugh. “Because they really have our best interests at heart.” He caught Nabalor’s frown and he raised his hands in apology. “I’m sorry. I haven’t told you yet.”
     “What?”
     “I took your mother straight to the monastery the day after the river incident. We weren’t believers, but I didn’t know what else to do. And much to my surprise, the Abbot agreed to help her.”
     “We open our doors to whomever Izarkes sends our way.”
     “Yeah, well, I was thankful at first. She attended every sermon she could. Prayed every day. And the Abbot always made sure to personally bless you on your little baby head. Your mother liked that a lot.”
     “Did she have any more…incidents after that?”
     “No. She did seem happier. More present. So one day, I thought it’d be okay to leave her for a few hours.”
     “What do you mean?”
     “I didn’t trust her to be alone all that time. I went everywhere with her. Just to keep an eye on things, you know? But that didn’t leave me much time to look after the house. That day, I couldn’t put off getting supplies from the market anymore so…”
     The tiefling drank deeply from his flask. “I came back to the same nightmare of an empty home. Ran to the river, first thing. Not there. Then I ran to the monastery, where monks were already at the gate to stop me. And they told me that she’d…offered herself to Izarkes.”
     A chill numbed Nabalor’s entire spine as the tiefling continued. “I knew enough about the religion by then to know what that meant. I shouted for the Abbot to come out and he did.”
     “What did he say?”
     “He said there was nothing we could do because the ceremony was already complete. I begged him to at least let me take you back home. But he refused. And said Izarkes will find a way for you to serve.”
     Nabalor stood up and started pacing. “So that’s it? You just left me there like that?”
     “Of course not,” the tiefling said, also standing up. “I tried to push past them to find you, but the Abbot knocked me to the ground. Then the other monks held me down as the Abbot poured some kind of liquid down my throat. I blacked out after that. When I woke up, I found myself lying in an alley of some city, left with nothing except the clothes on my back.”
     “Yet you were able to come back for me, you said. How?”
     “It wasn’t easy. I had no idea where I was and no one wanted anything to do with a tiefling. Especially not one at rock bottom. It took years of working odd jobs before I could scrounge up enough supplies and a map to make it back here.”
     “To do what? Break me out of a monastery filled with monks who know 72 different death strikes?”
     “Sure. Yeah. If that’s what it’s going to take.”
     Nabalor shook his head and laughed. The tiefling soon joined in and they laughed until they had to sit down to avoid falling over.
     “Look, I never got that far,” the tiefling said when their sides stopped hurting. “Didn’t come with a plan. I just wanted to see if I could spot you and then figure it out from there.”
     “Let me guess – you snuck in with monk robes stolen from the clothesline.”
     “No…but now I wish I’d thought of that,” the tiefling replied. “No, I camped out on a tree that overlooked the monastery courtyard. I could see over the walls from there.”
     “Impressive.”
     “Your old man has his moments,” the tiefling said, flashing a grin. “It took two days before I finally saw you playing in the courtyard with other kids. You must’ve been three or four years old. And you…your face was so full of joy.”
     Nabalor watched the tiefling’s eyes brim with tears and he had to look away. I’d never seen anyone cry because of me before, he realized.
     “I thought about the hard life we’d have if I were to take you away from there,” the tiefling continued. “And I…I just couldn’t.”
     “I think if you’d tried, I would’ve gone with you,” Nabalor said, softly to hide his voice breaking. “No hesitation. You know, I used to dream every night that you’d come get me the next day.”
     “Yeah. I imagine you would. But I’d never forgive myself if I ended up leading you into greater danger.”
     “But it wasn’t your decision to make!”
     “And neither was it a child’s!” the tiefling shouted back. He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “I’d already lost the love of my life. And I damn well didn’t want to risk losing my son. So yeah, maybe it was a selfish choice. But it’s one I’d make a thousand times over because you’re all I have left.”
     Nabalor got up so the tiefling couldn’t see the rush of tears to his eyes. “So, what, you’re back because I’m finally old enough to decide for myself?”
     “And you deserve to know who your parents were.”
     “I thought I did. I really didn’t think highly of you two.”
     The tiefling nodded, a pained expression on his face.      “Well, what am I supposed to do now?” Nabalor said, pacing again. “I can’t…I mean, the Abbot raised me. He was there for me when you weren’t.”
     “I’m not saying to turn on him. You heard our side of the story now. Ask him for his. Then you can piece the truth together yourself. Would you do that for me? Please?”
     “Alright, alright. I guess I can ask him tomorrow after morning prayers.” Nabalor suddenly realized how late it was. “I have to go. It’s way past curfew.”
     “Yes, go,” the tiefling replied, urging him onward. He called out to him as Nabalor was about to take off. “Hey, listen, I’m camping right in this clearing for the next few days. And if you decide you want to leave with me, I’ll be here. I’ll wait for you. Okay?”
     Nabalor nodded and sprinted back to the monastery.
     As shafts of moonlight flashed by, his mind kept oscillating between three different images: the Abbot teaching him his first fighting stance that turned into the dismissive kick the Abbot gave to the beggar who became his father waving back at him from the clearing.

#

     The next morning, Nabalor woke up to a hushed commotion throughout the monastery halls.
     “What’s going on?” he asked as Ramoth rushed up to him.
     “The Abbot called a sacrificial ceremony. It’s about to start.”
     “What? Now? They didn’t even ring the bell yet.”
     “Yeah, it’s odd. The Abbot said the villagers aren’t needed for this one. It’ll be just us brothers.”
     “That’s never happened like this before, has it?”
     “Not that I remember. Maybe the senior brothers would know from before our time. We can ask them after.” Ramoth dumped the extra ceremonial robes he’d been carrying into Nabalor’s arms. “But right now, you have to put these on or you’ll be late. I’ll see you out there.”
     Nabalor quickly threw on the robes. As he dashed to the courtyard, he could already hear the Abbot’s voice resonating through the crisp morning air. “We are privileged to stand in the Shade of Izarkes…”
     Taking his usual place, Nabalor noticed many of the brothers whispering and staring at the sacrifice on the dais. He turned to see what the fuss was about and his whole world suddenly seemed to press in on him.
     Lying there on the sacrificial platform was his father’s body.
     Nabalor almost didn’t recognize him. They touched up his face so that most of the worry lines he’d memorized from yesterday had gone.
     But what made Nabalor’s blood run cold was the sight of two clumsily painted-over circles on his father’s forehead.
     Where his horns used to be.
     “No,” Nabalor whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “This isn’t right. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop!” He clung to the repetition of that last word as if it were a mantra that could pause time and make everything alright.
     He opened his eyes and saw that all the stares were now directed at him. He realized his whispered mantra had swelled to a scream at some point as the echoes still hung over the unwelcome silence.
     Nabalor’s mouth went dry. He tried in vain to get his words out. “This…this isn’t–”
     A backhand struck him across the face.
     Nabalor fell to the ground as his vision blurred. He barely made out the silhouette of the Abbot standing over him.
     “Are you done?” the Abbot said, pointing his staff down at Nabalor. “Or would you like to interrupt the sanctity of this offering some more?”
     “You…you can’t…” Nabalor said, in between spits of blood from his mouth.
     “I can’t what?”
     “You can’t go through with this ceremony.”
     Nabalor stood up, the stunned silence of the brothers weighing heavily. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ramoth desperately making shushing motions with his hand.
     But then his gaze fell on his father’s body. And it steeled him to boldly meet the Abbot’s glare.
     “This is not a true offering,” Nabalor said. “If it were, you would’ve had the bell rung to call the villagers as witnesses.”
     As the whispers resumed among the brothers, the Abbot narrowed his eyes at Nabalor. “This old tiefling came to us last night, on the brink of death from a sickness that could not be healed. His dying request was for an immediate ceremony, while his soul was still with us.” The Abbot turned to the brothers and spread his arms. “Who are we to refuse the will of Izarkes?”
     Nabalor’s heart sank. And there it was: the first lie that bolstered the hardening truth to his father’s story.
     “Why would you do this?” Nabalor asked. “You knew full well he was not ready in mind or spirit to offer himself.”
     “And how would you know?”
     “Because I spoke with him last night! I spoke with him and I listened. Just as you taught us to do our whole lives.”
     “Clearly, you have not paid attention–”
     “And clearly you didn’t actually listen. He came here last night to let me know he’s my father. That’s all he wanted. Just a chance to be a father to me again.” Nabalor stepped right up to the Abbot’s face. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
     “If I were you, I would choose my next words very carefully,” the Abbot said, knuckles whitening on his staff.
     “I’d rather you look me in the eye and tell me that sounds like someone who would offer himself.”
     The brothers didn’t bother hiding their whispers anymore. Everyone suddenly seemed to have a vocal opinion about what’s going on.
     “Is it true, Abbot?” Ramoth called out from the noise.
     The Abbot raised his hand and all was silent again. “Your parents abandoned you here. I took you in out of compassion. Raised you among brothers so you would never feel alone again. And this is how you repay me?”
     “I’m not sure I believe your story anymore. Not after what you did to my father.”
     “So you call him ‘your father’ now. Some stranger who just showed up out of nowhere.” The Abbot walked in a slow circle around Nabalor. “You would take his word and not mine? When I was more a father to you than that tiefling ever was?”
     “Yes,” Nabalor said, staring straight ahead in defiance. “Because, unlike you, I realized that this must be Izarkes’ way of helping me let go of my past so that I may achieve serenity in death one day.”
     “Do not sully Izarkes’ name with your filthy, tiefling mouth!” The Abbot slammed his staff against the back of Nabalor’s knees and forced him to kneel. “You ungrateful child! I saved your life and set you on a path free from sin. If it were not for me, your crazy mother would have tried again to drown you in that river a long time ago.”
     Nabalor felt fury roiling within him for the first time in his life. “All these years, you told me you never knew my mother,” he said, rising up to face the Abbot. The Abbot hefted his staff again, but Nabalor gripped it tightly. With one pull, he brought the Abbot face-to-face with him. “Did you kill my mother like you did my father?”
     The Abbot looked at Nabalor with the same contempt he saw him give his father yesterday. What was left of his paternal illusion that Nabalor once desperately clung to shattered.
     “Izarkes gave her the serenity she asked for and you should be content with that,” the Abbot replied.
     A cloying crimson red suddenly stained everything Nabalor’s eyes could see. He pulled his fist back to punch the Abbot with the entire might of the fury he could no longer contain. The Abbot released his hold on the staff to sidestep the punch.
     It was then that Nabalor saw the flames engulfing his entire fist. The flames blazed brightly in the chaotic churn of yellow and white that fire was meant to be. It was a glorious contrast to the grey torch flames around them.
     Before he could react, the flames coalesced into a fireball and shot out.
     Straight toward the sacrificial platform.
     Nabalor watched in horror as it ignited instantly, along with his father’s body. What have I done?
     He stared down at his trembling hand. No burn marks. Not even a hint of pain. But he could feel his hand yearning for the heat of the power. And the thrill of the struggle for control in its palm.
     “Heretic!” the Abbot shouted, backing away with fear and loathing in his eyes. “You know the consequences of wielding elemental magic. And still you do so on consecrated grounds? You brought this on yourself.” He chopped his hand forward at Nabalor. “Izarkes’ Embrace!”
     The brothers swung into action as they’ve drilled thousands of times against unwanted intruders.
     The first wave cut off Nabalor’s escape and formed a ring around him. They kept their stances low and their staves pointed to the centre of the circle. The second wave of brothers leapt onto the shoulders of the first wave and pointed their staves downward, again at the centre of the circle.
     Nabalor stood in the middle, trapped.
     “Wait,” Nabalor said. “I swear I didn’t mean to–”
     “Oh, I think you did,” the Abbot said, standing on top of the dais with flames still blazing behind him. “I always knew your kind could not be saved. But I, in my pride, thought I could be the first to exorcise the vile nature you were born with. I see now how truly hopeless you all are.”
     He raised his voice to command the brothers still holding their formation. “In the name of Izarkes, strike down this demon! Let him join his parents in the hell they should have stayed in. They do not deserve a place in our world.”
     As one, the brothers on the ground level of the formation thrust their staves at Nabalor’s legs. He leapt up and was immediately beaten down by the staves on the second level. Only the Abbot’s staff that he still held saved him when he instinctively raised it above his head to absorb the blows that rained down on him.
     Back on the ground, the first staves darted out at his midriff. He ducked, but they quickly retracted and jabbed under his legs to flip him onto his back.
     In that moment, he spotted one of the brothers on the second level struggling to keep his balance.
     There’s the weak point, he thought.
     He rolled up into a low crouch just as the first staves descended to pin him to the ground. With a short hop, he landed lightly on top of the staves as they wedged into the ground where he had lain a second earlier. He launched off the makeshift platform of jumbled staves toward the brother he’d set his sights on.
     As he flew through the air, he spun his staff from one side to the next to ward off the second-level attacks. He kicked out at the struggling brother, who managed to block it with his staff. But he was too off-balance by then and fell off from the shoulders of the brother he was standing on.
     Nabalor took the newly vacated spot atop the bottom brother’s shoulders. Grabbing the robe of the brother next to him to steady himself, he jumped again to climb onto his back. He used the torque of that motion to wrench the brother into a twisting backwards fall together.
     Using the brother’s body to break his own fall, Nabalor let the momentum carry him forward into a roll away from the circle.
     “Please,” Nabalor said, picking up his staff and backing away. “Don’t do this, brothers.”
     He desperately searched for a friendly face. Instead, all he found was hatred. Not the hate brought on by betrayal as he would have expected. It was the kind tightly coiled, waiting deep in the shadows for just one excuse to openly bare its poisoned fangs. And it reared up in every pair of eyes he met.
     My father’s right, he thought. That look had always been there. I just pretended not to see it.
     The nearest brother took a running leap with his staff raised for a downward smash. Nabalor parried the swing with one end of his staff and rotated to crack the other end against the side of the brother’s head.
     I have to get out of here, he thought as he saw more brothers advancing. He turned and sprinted for the main gates. A few steps in, he heard a low hum behind. He whirled his staff around to deflect three incoming staves thrown at him.
     One of the throwers rolled under Nabalor’s staff and came up to deliver a twin punch to his stomach. Nabalor leaned back to lessen the blow, propping himself up with his tail. Then he pushed his tail off the ground, adding an extra burst of force behind his knee that rammed into the brother.
     Seeing the other two throwers running at him simultaneously, he swung his staff low at their feet. As they jumped, he skip-front-kicked the middle of his staff and sent it flying horizontally to crash into both of them. Catching the staff as it bounced back toward him, he continued to the main gates.
     Nope, he thought when he saw that several brothers had just reached the gates and were ready for him. He veered away to the side wall. Secret exit it is.
     His hopes were dashed though when he saw Ramoth standing with his staff in front of the bush that hid the secret exit. I guess I wasn’t the only one who knew about it.
     Without a word, Nabalor lowered his centre of gravity in a wide stance and readied his staff.
     He already got his answer from the set of Ramoth’s face. In one moment, Ramoth chose to wipe away the years of brotherhood they once shared. There was nothing more to say.
     Ramoth charged with his staff and shunted Nabalor’s aside before lunging forward at his chest. Nabalor raised the back end of his staff above his head so that the attack slid away before whipping his staff around to sweep at Ramoth’s front leg.
     Shifting his weight onto the back leg, Ramoth lifted his front leg to evade the staff. He stepped forward and leapt into spinning down strike.
     Nabalor blocked the strike with the middle of his staff and pushed back. Jamming his staff in the ground, he vaulted straight into a flying kick.
     Ramoth leapt back to avoid the kick and tried to bring his staff to bear, but Nabalor slammed his foot down on it. He let go and ducked as Nabalor spun his staff into a cross-strike. Ramoth came up on the other side of the swing. Trapping the staff under one arm, he aimed a roundhouse kick at Nabalor’s head.
     Nabalor shielded his head with an elbow pressed against his ear just in time before the kick connected. He dropped his staff as he staggered from the impact. Ramoth took the staff and swept Nabalor’s legs out from under him. As he landed on his back, Ramoth moved to drive the end of the staff into his throat.
     Nabalor reached up with his forearm and redirected the staff to slam into the ground beside him. He quickly grabbed the staff to pull himself up and then pivoted.
     The air swished as Nabalor’s tail arced over to slash Ramoth’s cheek.
     Nabalor yanked the staff back and made a run for the secret exit. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Ramoth didn’t bother chasing him. He just stood there, blood running down the gash on his cheek.
     But it was his eyes that made Nabalor flinch. There was nothing left in them anymore except pure rage.
     Wrenching his gaze away, Nabalor made his escape. As he ran through the forest he’d grown to know so well, he couldn’t stop thinking about his father’s body still burning back there.
     I’ll bring the whole monastery down on their heads, he vowed. I won’t stop until Izarkes Himself is destroyed.
     He felt fury rising once more from his very core. This time, he watched his hands glow white until flames erupted from every pore. He willed them to continue burning.
     And if they hate elemental magic so much, then that’s what I’ll learn to harness against them.