To be worth something

“He's too sensitive to survive this world.”

Lingshi heard his parents' hushed conversation from his bedroom before his eyes could open fully and their words made his elven blood run cold.

His sheep-wool blanket made no difference to the iciness that enclosed his frantically beating heart, so he pushed it off and climbed carefully out of his bed. His brother, Itou, continued to sleep deeply as he opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. Following his parents' voices through the farmhouse, he found himself standing outside the kitchen.

“– nothing is working,” said his father, Kishu. “I've tried to teach him how to use a sword, how to ride, how to hunt, everything a man should know, but he refuses to learn. He either hides behind Itou, even Hakane sometimes, or he disappears into the forest until I'm too busy to teach him. And even when I do manage to catch him, he's useless at all of those things.”

Lingshi covered his mouth in case they could hear the change in his breathing as easily as he could heard the rhythm of theirs.

“He doesn't pay any attention to what I tell him, he's clumsy, he hurts himself all the time, and he can barely look at a wounded animal without crying his heart out,” continued his father.

“But, dear, he's just a child,” said his mother gently. “And children are bound to make mistakes. You know that just as well as I do.”

“Child? We don't even know how old that child is,” grumbled his father. “I've tried everything, Jie. Everything my father taught me. Every trick that worked with the other three, but it's time we face the truth.”

The little elf grabbed his ear, the one closest to the door, and squeezed it hard but it didn't stop him from hearing his father's next words.

“Lingshi's always been different from us and that's not going to change. We both know he doesn't belong here.”

“What do you mean he doesn't belong here?” Jie's voice wavered the way it did when she was upset. “You don't mean –?”

“He should be in Mokutou,” said her husband. “With his own kind.”

Mokutou. The land of the Light elves. Almost two regions away. Lingshi's silver eyes watered. He wanted to go back to bed and pretend the whole exchange had been nothing more than a particularly cruel nightmare. He was used to those. But this –?

“I might not have brought him into this world myself but he's still our son, Kishu,” said Jie tremulously. “How could you say such a thing about our own son?”

“A human cannot father an elf.” Kishu groaned as if he had been chopping firewood all day. “I'm saying this for his own good.”

Why does everything good have to hurt so much? thought Lingshi as his own inadequacy chained his feet to the floorboards.

But his mother was standing up for him with a determination in her words that he had never heard before. His heartbeat slowed yet tears continued to burn at the corners of his eyes.

“Even if he wasn't our child,” said Jie, lowering her voice. “You saw what the note said. We cannot send him to –”

“He can't stay here,” said Kishu. “We've done all we can for him now.”

“But –”

“It's time for us to let him go.”

Lingshi heard the weight behind his father's sigh as he ran down the hallway, rubbing his sleeves across his eyes. He heard his mother gasp as he pushed through the front doors and let them slam shut behind him.

Weak moonlight highlighted patches of the path leading into the forest, away from the garden that smelt of fresh tomatoes, peppers, as well as other fruits and vegetables. The musky evergreen trees all around him failed to offer the comfort he usually found buried in their scent.

If they're going to get rid of me anyway, I might as well leave on my own now. Father always said I came here with nothing. It's only right I leave in the same way.

But the young elf had grown used to eating meals with the family that raised him. Just as his feet had grown used to the protection of his shoes. He stumbled painfully over something hard and unforgiving in the shadow of the trees, and landed on all fours with a whimper.

He tried to get back up but Kishu was right. Uncertainty locked his knees and he struck the ground only because he lacked the resolve to discipline himself. And, with the moon and the darkness as insouciant witnesses, he wept harder than he ever had before.

“Worthless,” he sobbed. Dark blue light crackled around his fist each time it landed. The mud beneath started to dry up and crumble away. “I know I'm worthless. But why – why do I have to be worth something? How would they like it if someone threw them away because they were useless?”

He had no idea how much that question would haunt him for decades after that oh so regrettable night.