Makings of a Monster

The room revealed behind the secret door looked like a chapel of sorts. It had an altar with black candles, a human skull and a stuffed raven. There were a lot of black and red velvet pillows on the floor, and the shelves had stuff that didn't look different from Winski's other possessions: potions, ingredients, books and scrolls.

- "What IS this place?" asked Sarevok, his unbeaten eye wide.
- "Let's make us comfortable on those pillows and I'll tell you." They did, and Winski continued.
- "This is a place where I conduct rituals and experiments of a more... clandestine nature. Your father doesn't know about it, and I much prefer to keep it that way. Not that I suspected you'd leap to tell him."
Sarevok grinned at that.
- "Doesn't he own the house, though?" asked the boy.
- "He does, but this has always been a magic laboratory, and so he has never examined it properly, just passed it on to me. I've been in his employ for quite a time, you know."

- "I brought you here for a specific reason, and we will get to that, but we also can talk here without any unwanted listeners. I talked with Reiltar today, and it didn't go as well as I had hoped. As a result I have lost some leverage with him. He knows now that I despise him, and I had to use the leverage I had."
- "Was it about me?" asked Sarevok. He looked guilty.
- "Yes, little one. See, things had gone too far. He is a sadistic bastard, and thinks that you are completely at his mercy. So he will brutalize you more and more to get exhilaration. The very things that makes you so special, your pride and passion and desire and strong spirit, infuriate him and he wants to beat them out of you. Hence he would beat you more and more often, and probably the severity would increase as well. Another reason I had to confront him was your emotional state. Another was that he had proceeded to hitting your face, probably figuring it could be even more satisfying than strapping you. And that I can't allow. Head injuries could kill you, or damage your brain. As long as he's content to flog your back he won't injure you permanently, though the humiliation damages your soul way too much."
Sarevok had blushed furiously and clenched his fists.
- "Last time when he... you know..." he whispered.
- "I know." Winski knew all right. No need for the boy to repeat the humiliating details.
- "...I... I wanted to kill him so much, I wanted to rip his throat open with my teeth but do it slowly so it would hurt a long time. I thought that I could call that presence into me again and then he would pay for every time. And when he does to mother what that man tried to do to me..." the boy sobbed.

- "Yes, he does that too," sighed Winski. "But now I need you to pay attention, Sarevok. Look at me, this is important. I know it would be deeply satisfying. That presence is something important, and I'm sure you would be able to kill him. But YOU MUST NOT DO IT. Not now, not in that manner, not unplanned. You would have the satisfaction of seeing him die, and then what? You could be a fugitive for some time, back to being homeless with nothing but your wits and strength to aid you. Or they'd catch you right away and hang you for murdering your beloved, respectable stepfather who had adopted you out of the goodness of his heart." He snarled the last words.
- "Couldn't I be your son instead? And you could take mother and me and we could move away from here?"
- "It doesn't work that way. Reiltar wouldn't let either of you go. And, as distasteful it is, I think we need him for now. I have no personal influence as I'm just a mage for hire, but Reiltar does. His position in Iron Throne is a position of power, and playing along with him will yield you power as well, once you get older. And I can make you a promise, Sarevok. We will kill him, once he's not useful any more. By that time you will be a grown man, but you will not have to grow up alone. I will guard and teach you. Reiltar is but a fool. He thinks he's something big and grand, but he's only a greedy and ambitious fool. He doesn't understand how special you are. I intend you to fulfill every bit of your potential. You will have your revenge."

- "But when he beats me I get so... angry! It is more and more difficult for me, every time, to just be there and let him. He laughs at me! And if I cry he taunts me and says I must be a girl in disguise and..." the shame was shattering Sarevok's voice again.
- "I imagine he does." Winski's voice could have frozen a fire elemental. "But I have a little something for that as well. I made it clear to him that I'm willing to risk very much indeed if he ever hits you in the head again. I think it shook him enough to make him lay off you a bit in general. Of course, it also made him very angry, and once his short-sighted nature gets the better of him, I'm afraid you'll have to endure his belt-beatings once in a while. But I bet it will make them a bit more easy to endure if you knew that there was a... delayed and subtle pay-back awaiting. What do you know about... curses, Sarevok?"

- "Can we curse him?" The happy grin on his face pleased Winski almost as much as the idea of actually cursing Reiltar.
- "Whoa, don't you advance too fast there! First you sit tight like a good student and listen to my general theory lecture about them!" he chuckled and patted the boy's head. He went on with the lecture, and as always Sarevok was quick to learn and asked intelligent questions. Winski enjoyed teaching him very much. He absorbed knowledge like a dry sponge, processed it with impressive speed, spotted the relevant points without fault and came to independent and creative conclusions.

- "Now, to the... practical application part of today's lesson. First you must understand that he must not suspect us. So, making a, say, pink leprechaun scream into his ear once in the hour "this is for beating Sarevok, so nyah there" would be a bad idea."
Sarevok giggled, a sound very rarely heard. Winski felt an embarrassing gentleness for the child.
- "However, there are subtler means of applying some poetic justice. Are you familiar with the saying "an eye for an eye"?" he went on.
- "Can you make him BLIND?!? So that his eye would pop and it would hurt?" asked the voice of youthful enthusiasm.
- "Ummm, Sarevok. I think this would be a good time for a vocabulary exercise. The world 'subtle' in particular..."

Next morning a very annoyed Reiltar Anchev greeted his son and his magician with a sneer. His other eye was red and puffed and covered with yellow pus.
- "For the life of me I can't figure out what's with my eye! None of the useless Jelena's ointments helped, and the priests didn't know either. This itching is driving me crazy! And the more I scratch the more it itches, " he complained to the pair.
- "Oh dear. Must be some strange virus going about. I'm very sorry, though," said Winski, his expression level.
- "Yes father, I hope you get better soon," said Sarevok in a meek voice. Winski squeezed his hand a little. As Reiltar marched away, he grinned and whispered: "Don't lay it too thick, little one. Even he isn't totally oblivious to sarcasm." Sarevok responded by hugging him shortly. He hadn't looked so happy in a long time.