Peripeteia

This tale begins as many must: with a history lesson, for what are we without our history?

Long ago, while the world still churned with the remnants of Chaos, there were two gods who ruled over the world in harmony. They grew lonely with only one another and so they filled their landscape with the Larklets, our ancient ancestors. The two gods were a part of each other and equal in nearly every respect and were each other’s composite; ability, imagination, and wisdom. However, the gods were not truly equal in the amount of love the Larklets had for them. The Larklets were complex creatures. Who can know what it was that drove them to prefer one equal god over the other? The Larklets disbarred one god from the celebration of the world’s rebirth, the world’s emergence from the pool of Chaos, a horrible betrayal that sliced the excluded god to the core.

The excluded god grew envious of the other and sought to earn back the love of their creation. The bitter god thought, I shall weaken my counterpart, and then the Larklets must love me again!

And so the resentful god plotted against the beloved god.

After many generations of Larklets had passed, long after the original which had betrayed the god had passed on, the bitter god’s plan came to fruition: during the festival, the gods jointly give all their power to prevent the Chaos from overtaking the realm again, for Chaos is a greedy beast, and tenacious, and will forever attempt to rule the world again; but this year the bitter god did not partake.

Thus, Chaos spilled from its prison and infected the once beautiful realm. The Larklets flocked to the weakened god, but, betrayed by the bitter god’s scheme, the god was unable to protect them. The bitter god and Chaos fought over the Larklets, but alone the god was too weak. The battle was hard fought and lasted many days, but Chaos managed to corrupt half of the Larklets, turning them into the beings we know today as Nightlings.

The battle raged on, with Chaos growing ever stronger while the bitter god struggled to prevent the complete destruction of the Larklets. The god saw finally the folly in the plan and gave up what little power remained to the betrayed god. This reconciliatory gesture restored the betrayed god’s strength and allowed the god to drive back Chaos.

Unfortunately, in doing so, the once-bitter god perished. The remaining god, bereft of their long-constant and much loved twin, grieved; in grief, the god could not stand the Larklets any longer, for they had been the root of this evil outcome and were a constant reminder of what had been lost, but equally could not stand to destroy them. Thus the god drove the Larklets and the corrupted Larklets from the paradise; the two groups separated, and the remainder of the Larklets became the Daywalkers.

Some claim the shared heritage between Daywalkers and Nightlings is proof that we are equals, just as the two gods had been, but they are woefully misguided. The Nightlings are aligned with Chaos and inherently evil. They can be tamed and domesticated but some of you wish to let them run free. If you will not accept that explanation and require further proof, recall the days before we tamed the wild Nightling. Remember the nights filled with terror. Remember how our city walls could do nothing to dissuade their damned Craft. Remember the countless lives lost in territory fights with the animalistic Nightlings.

Remember that they are cruel and uncivilized. They lack the ability to form meaningful connections and lack any proper morality. A Nightling can, and will, kill its own family in times of starvation. A Nightling ally is fair-weather at best and a treacherous liability at worst. Must we suffer their existence?

Some say no. Some desire their elimination. Some wish to drown Nightling babes, fresh from the womb.

While having the foresight to take preemptive measures is admirable and having loyalty to one’s own species is a priority, we must not result to such undignified and brutal acts of barbarism. We are, after all, seeking to eliminate evil, and one does not fight evil with evil. One does not pay evil unto evil, for evil, and Chaos, grows stronger with every blow landed and every droplet of blood spilled.

And so yes, we must suffer their existence, for now, but we can certainly train the Nightlings. Have you not noticed how our society has grown thanks to the taming of the Nightlings? Can you not see how our economy has benefited from the labor, from the lack of internal threats?

To free the Nightling would be to condemn it to a life of servitude to Chaos and its base, malicious impulses. Is it not better to teach the Nightling how to behave, rather than allow it to run rampant and destroy at its leisure so that our Enforcers must kill it later?

The Nightling is not deserving of freedom, as some dissenters may claim. The Nightling must, for the good of our society, remain under Daywalker tutelage. Perhaps one day, we can breed out the barbarism and cruelty from the Nightling species.

Valcar Accellir, commander of the King’s Enforcers, stood still with his hands clasped together behind his back and an impassive expression on his time-weathered face. His dark green eyes scoured the ranks of chained Nightlings. The Nightlings were flanked by Enforcers, in case one dared attempt to stage a rebellion. It was an unfortunate truth, but the Nightlings seemed to have grown smarter in the past months, even going so far as to organize and execute rather complex schemes.

Many cycles ago, an empire came to power. This empire was not far-reaching, but it was powerful; its army was fierce and feared. It was disciplined with a practice called “decimatio”, where to punish a wrong-doer, one out of every ten men would be selected through a lottery and subsequently stoned to death by the rest of those spared, regardless of rank and regardless of innocence. It was a cruel and uncivilized ritual.

It’s no surprise that the Nightlings came up with it, Valcar thought with a disgusted grimace. Isn’t it fitting to bring the monsters back to their tradition?

His eyes landed heavily on the Nightling he knew was responsible for the crime. The dark haired beast had destroyed the food stores by setting the silo ablaze with magic flames that resisted all forms of suppression. How the damned creature came upon one of those blasted magic sticks was beyond Valcar at the moment; what wasn’t beyond him was his anger. There had been enough food in storage for the entirety of the barracks and Nightlings to eat well throughout the cold season.

Now they faced the monster of starvation head on, as well as uppity Nightlings.

Valcar ripped his gaze from the guilty Nightling and instead pointed decisively at the one next to the criminal. The Enforcer tasked to that Nightling forced the chained creature to its knees. Soft whimpers escaped the unfortunate Nightling before the Enforcer raised up his club and bashed in the Nightling’s soft skull.

Obviously, it would be a danger to allow the Nightlings access to weapons. No doubt the monsters would turn them against the Daywalkers, rather than obey an order. So the grisly task fell upon the Enforcers.

We don’t do it because we enjoy it, Valcar thought sadly. We do it because otherwise you’ll never learn.

When at last the Nightling stopped twitching, the ground around its smashed skull was soaked. The Enforcer’s boots were coated in a thick film of gore, mud and brain matter. The club in his hand dripped as he returned it to its proper position at his waist and stepped back into his position. The empty space where the Nightling had stood before screamed at Valcar; despite his hatred of the species and despite their dangerous natures, he did not like to kill.

Nevertheless, he walked with powerful, self-assured strides past the guilty Nightling and counted off arbitrarily before he pointed out another victim.

Some of the other Nightlings began to fret, knowing that they were at risk, and tried to change their positions in line, as though that would save them from divine wrath.

Valcar counted off groups of ten. He spared one Nightling in one round of choosing only to pick that very same Nightling in the second round. He showed no mercy. The Nightlings wailed and shrieked in madness and fear.

When the last Nightling slated to die twitched on the wet earth and gave up its final shuddering breath, Valcar raised his voice over the din of panicked Nightlings.

“Those of you still alive,” he shouted, “should silence themselves lest their Enforcer does it for them!”

Silence, at first broken, deepened as Nightlings were frightened back into obedience.

He pointed to his deputy, who stood midway down the line. “Nightlings in the row behind this man are permitted to leave. Follow him to your shelter and rest, for tomorrow marks the beginning of the hardest working days of your pathetic lives.”

His deputy nodded his assent and led his group through the compound to their shacks.

The remaining Nightlings stared at him with a mixture of emotions on their faces. Some looked at him with unabashed fear, others undisguised hatred. Some stared through him, glassy eyes focused on some reality far away.

“Carry the bodies to the Ashpile,” he ordered. At first, they staged a pitiful display of rebellion by not moving, but when he barked, “Pick up those damn corpses or we’ll bury the damn things right here” they immediately set to work. The bodies dripped sanguine tears, staining their flesh.

One Nightling struggled under the weight of a larger Nightling; the dead one’s neck was broken, leaving what was left of the head to flop around.

Anger rose up in him as he watched other Nightlings ignore the weaker one’s struggles. Not one paused to help the small Nightling.

He snapped and called out to it. Its eyes were wide with fear and it dropped its cargo to the ground with a sickening crackle and splash.

“Sir?” the Nightling whimpered.

He ordered, “Stay here.”

The rest of the Nightlings, again, did not look back, instead leaving one of their own behind. Disgusting, he thought. Soon he stood alone with the Nightling and the corpse. He studied it carefully.

Nightlings and Daywalkers were vastly different, in both non-superficial and superficial ways. To start, there was very little sexual dimorphism, leaving the Nightlings looking androgynous to the untrained Daywalker eye.

“Are you male or female?” he asked it.

The Nightling diverted its gaze, unable to meet his eyes any longer, and answered softly, “Male, sir.”

“That’s unexpected,” he said. “You’re weak.”

The Nightling fidgeted but did not make another sound. Off in the distance the sky had turned to a smoggy smear with the smoke from the Ashpile. Valcar had ordered his deputy to make his way there and burn the bodies. He didn’t expect to have been still in the square when the pillar went up and touched the clouds.

Valcar licked his lips, running his tongue over the decade old scar running through them, and without a word picked up the corpse.

This time the Nightling did stammer, “Sir” but with an annoyed grunt Valcar told him to shut his mouth and follow him. He obliged.

The two walked to the Ashpile. The deputy had already sent the Nightlings to their shacks and left as soon as dismissed. Though he eyed the Nightling trailing behind Valcar curiously, he did not say a word.

Valcar threw the body onto the pile of charred corpses. Flames licked at the flesh eagerly, the heat shriveling the skin. Hair glowed with orange fire. Something about Nightling physiology made it more flammable; likely this had aided early Nightlings in choosing cremation as the standard body disposal. Of course they had religious reasons for it, but Valcar couldn’t help but think that if Nightlings were less susceptible to flames then they would not be so opposed to burials.
The flames cast him and the Nightling in a demonic light. The sunlight was rapidly fading and still he stared at the burning pile of corpses. “How old are you?” he asked the Nightling by his side.

“Thirteen cycles, sir.”

So, young then, he thought, turning his eyes back to the flaming sight. No wonder he is so weak. “Now how old is that in Nightling terms?”

“T-Ten spins.”

Valcar was silent for a long while. The last vestiges of the setting sun disappeared, sinking below the horizon, and the inky night sky passed overhead. Briefly he wondered if he ought to head back now and make a list of every Nightling he killed during the punishment. The sudden pop and crackle of the roaring fire captured his attention once more.

“Do you have a name, Nightling?” He could see that the young Nightling was disturbed by the question and unsure how to answer it. “I know you do. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise. Tell me it.”

“Desiderius.”

Valcar nodded slowly. “Go back to the shelter, Desiderius,” he said sternly.

The boy stammered an affirmative and raced off, glad to be free of the oddly tempered Daywalker.

Valcar stood there for a moment longer. Through his many cycles spent dealing with Nightlings, he'd learnt enough of their language to know the meanings of their names. He smiled wryly. “‘Wish’, huh?” It seemed even Nightlings could manage to be optimistic in these times.

As the last body burned down to ash and glowing embers, Valcar turned his back on the remains of the slaughter to write up the names of the dead. His uniform was stained with gore; he started back to the barracks with an odd emotion nestled in his chest.