A Story Less told (The Legend of Greg) Book 1 of 2

Chapter 1: The Child

Khoi shuffled his feet in the dirt as he trailed behind his father.

"Mother does not believe I am strong." he muttered. His father sighed.

"You have the strength of a god, Khoi, your mother worries because you are different. The village accepts you well enough, but the world may not. You must learn to accept this." he said calmly.

"They other boys do not accept me. They call me names." he said sadly, peering up with the most vivid blue eyes most have ever seen. His pale skin did not recoil at the cold wind as it howled. The boy was quite warm.

"And you must live your life with strength to prove them wrong. Is that why you hurt that other boy?" he asked.

"No, father. He disrespected Saran. He looked upon her with greed. It was not the first time. I only pushed him away. I did not mean to hurt him."

"Then you did not act selfishly. Protecting your sister is honorable, I am proud of you. Only be cautious next time."

"Proud? Mother says I should not fight." he said confused.

"Your mother wishes you to stay hidden, learn to raise crops and live a simple life. You are not a farmer as I am, Khoi. You were a Gift from the gods, destined for greatness and given strength for more. I am proud because you showed restraint. You did not fight when they called you names, yet you fought when they preyed on your sister. I am also proud that you restrained your anger. You could have killed him easily, but you did not." he said with a smile.

"His father went to the elders." he noted.

"His father is afraid of you. Most fathers would have spoken with their son's attacker directly. Even the men fear you Khoi."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you are not like us. You are better than us, and they fear what your power can do if you chose to use it against them. You must learn to use your strength for the betterment of the world, and the downfall of those who prefer greed to progress. It is written, you are the one to unite the tribes, but you must still earn that right." he assured.

"I do not look like the others. Am I not your son?" he asked. Etlaan looked hurt and concerned.

"You are my son. You were a gift from the gods and you are different, but you are as much mine as your sister. Never forget this." he said proudly. As they headed back to the village with their trade, Khoi sniffed the air, growling slightly.

"What is it?" his father asked, knowing his son's senses were strong.

"Smoke." he said, feeling a tingle of alarm. Etlaan grabbed him up and climbed to his horse, immediately kicking it to move faster, no longer concerned about the supplies or the strain on the horse. He rode full speed over the hill and he could smell the smoke as well. The rich bitterness of the scent of burning hide from a few Ger burned to the ground, stung his nostrils. The fact that they were not either of his was little comfort as he rode straight at the village, noticing men on horses moving through his home. His father handed him a primitive knife.

"Do not attack them, but defend yourself if you must." he ordered, halting the horse and tossing him to his feet to ride alone into battle himself. He drew his bow and began firing into the raiding party as Khoi stood panicked, nervously holding the knife in his shaky hands. He hid behind the wood-pile as he watched the foreigners raid his village and his own people falling to strange weapons. The strange riders wielded long blades made of something he had never seen in such quantities: metal. He gripped the bone handle and looked at the stone knife, wondering if it would be useful against such magical weapons. He watched, tears in his eyes as his neighbors were slaughtered, waiting for his father to return with his family safe and sound, but time seemed to go forever and only more dead nomads covered the ground. He couldn't wait, it was not in his blood to watch and do nothing. He felt no fear for himself, only his family. Khoi rushed in, and no sooner did he reach the village fence, when he was struck with an arrow. He fell, staggering to his feet from the pain. He felt his strength drain from him, feeling only the fear of a child not yet 13 years old facing death and impossible enemies. He dropped to his knees, panting and trying to pull the arrow from his thigh, giving up as the pain spiked. He was done, defeated...until he saw the body lying a hundred feet from him. His neck-hair stood on end as the pain of the arrow dulled and became nothing.