The Journey of a Thief by Dominique Pearce (heavenly.kaos) (best english novels to read .TXT) 📕

a small wooden charm in the shape of a wolves’ head. His long hair was a dark brown color, and strangely enough, two horns like a goat’s coming up from his forehead, and curling down slightly towards the back of his head. But what caught my eye was the long, jagged scar that started on the middle of his forehead, moved diagonally down-right, cut through his right eye, and ended behind the bottom of his pointed ear.
“Thank you,” I said. “For letting me go. I thought I was a goner for a moment there.” I stood up. He wouldn’t look me in the eye anymore. He just kept staring at the ground. “I apologize for attacking you.” he simply replied. “Had I known you were a Sage, I wouldn’t have come here.” I could see a remorse in his eyes, though he wouldn’t look at me. “No, really, it’s okay.” I stood up. I decided now should be the time to ask questions. “Why are you by yourself?” I asked. “I’m not an expert, but don’t elves travel in clans?” After a hesitation, he said, “I don’t have a clan anymore. They left me.” I looked at him a little longer. Upon second glance, I realized why he was too thin. He must not’ve had any food for days... he could die. My heart lightened, and a smile came to my face.
“Why don’t you come in?” I asked him. “I’m sure you must be tired.” He lifted his face, and looked me in the eye. He seemed puzzled at first. But eventually, he followed me inside my little cave.
I started the fire and offered him the rest of the food I had. “I know it’s not much,” I told him. “But I want you to have it. You must be hungry. Here, take it.” Hesitantly, he accepted the bread and cheese from me. “What’s your name?” I asked him. He took a bite of the cheese, set it down, and looked down at the small fire we were sitting around. “I don’t have a name.” he replied. I was surprised. “But you must have a name. What do people call you, when they want your attention?” “I mean, I don’t have a name anymore. I was exiled from my clan. My name was taken from me.”
Exiled? “Why?” As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back. I could tell by the look of his face the memory saddened him, and he didn’t want to think of it. “The elves minds are filled with poison. They are obsessed with beauty and think it the only thing in life worth living for. They seek to massacre the eyeblights, thinking they are aliens in their world of beauty and do not deserve to live in our precious sanctum.” He looked up at me, and saw that I was somewhere between puzzled and scared. “What are the ‘eyeblights’?” I questioned. He looked back down at the fire. “The eyeblights are the creatures the elves deem to ugly to exist, and so must be executed by the winnowers. Ceidre, the prefect of this area - the Wren - , used to say, ‘The eyeblights are the world’s greatest tumor; the winnowers have an unpleasant job, but a necessary one.’ That’s the job I had... I was a winnower.” That explained the armor. He was an assassin. Strange.
“I had life figured out, I guess you could say. Everything was going in my favor. Then one day, I was called to a duel. In short, I lost, and as my prize I won this lovely scar across my face. In a culture of beauty, the most beautiful are worshipped as gods, while the disfigured elves are treated as scum. A single cut of a blade across one’s face could mean the difference between eating at a royal feast and scrounging through the dungheap for scraps.” He paused and sighed. “There was no avoiding it. As far as the Promenade was concerned, I was disfigured. And for disfigured elves, there aren’t much choices between death and exile. My fate was sealed from that moment. Now, I can’t even hunt. These lands of Wren belong to the clan, and I do not. It is forbidden I slay an animal here on this sacred land.”
As I listened to his tale of woe, I couldn’t help but feel we had a lot in common. Both of us were banished and shunned by our own kind, and thrown out in the cruel world to die. We are not as they are, and as he said, there aren’t much choices for freaks of nature like us. “I guess I know how you feel.” I assured him. “I’m an exile too. Have been for years, really. Unlike you, I don’t know what it’s like on the other side. What it’s like to be loved...” This time I bowed my head, and simply stared at the fire. I had said to much.
“You were excommunicated from your clan?” he asked. “I can’t imagine why. You are a Sage after all. You must be highly respected, by everyone. And you don’t seem to have any scars I can see. I don’t see why you would be exiled.” I almost laughed at his assessment. “I was exiled before I was a Sage, and things haven’t ever really changed just because I have a title now. Besides, my culture doesn’t take beauty quite as seriously as the elves do.” I tried to make a joke out of it, because I knew if I didn’t I would cry. I would cry and cry, just like how I did when I was little. Sometimes even now. Cry at how cruel and unfair the world was, at why it seemed like I would never have a happy ending, cry for my mother...
“If it makes you feel any better, I do have a scar, it’s just on my hand. That’s why I wear gloves all the time. To keep it covered up, so no one will see it. You see, it’s one more thing we have in common. We were both exiled because of a scar.” He almost laughed this time, though I don’t know why. “We are both Rogues, then.” he said. I was puzzled. “A Rogue?” I asked him. “Yes, a Rogue. That’s what we elves call the exiles. They have no clan, they are rogue elves.” He looked away from the fire, and instead looked outside to the night. “That makes us a clan of our own,” I joked. After a while, I thought about it. “That’s it!” I exclaimed. “You can join my clan! Then, you can have your name back, and you can hunt on these grounds! It’s the answer to all your problems!”
He looked at me skeptically. “Me? Join a Sage’s clan? You would allow it?” “Of course silly!” I replied. “How could I ever turn you down? You’ve been exiled, just like me. We really are a clan of our own. We can do whatever we want, you don’t belong to them anymore. You’re free.” He paused and thought about it. The more he thought, the more he liked the idea. ‘A clan of our own...’ he seemed to like the theory.
He looked me in the eye. “If I’m to join your clan, I will need a new name.” I took that as a yes. But I had to give him a name? “Why do I have to give you a name? Can’t you just use your old one?” He shook his head. “An elf’s name is a reflection of their character, and one of their most prized possessions. My name was taken from me, and can no longer be used. You have to give me a new name, as a reflection of my character.” I thought about it. What would make a good name for him? He’s an exile, an independent. A rogue elf.
“I know.” I said. “How about ‘Rogue’? It fits you perfect!” He seemed to like the idea, and smiled. That was the first time I had seen him smile that night, and the last. “Very well, Rogue it is, Prefect.” Huh? Why did he call me a prefect? Ah well. He’s happy. Better him than anyone else in this world be happy tonight. He seems to need it more than anyone, anyway.
. . .
It was getting late, so I gave Rogue a phial of some of my best fish bait, had him help me collect some more wood, and sent him off. It was cold that night, but no rain, so at least I would stay dry. And luckily for me the fire should stay all night, so I wouldn’t freeze to death. Still... I fished around in my pocket for my dressphere. Oh, what would I do without one of these. An entire wardrobe in the shape of a small bright green sphere that fit in your palm and didn’t even weigh half a pound. I pressed the little button, and a hologram appeared of my warmest outfit, a pair of knee-high, fur-lined black leather boots, some thick, skin tight white wool pants, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a long midnight blue cloak with a long hood, completely lined with white fur. I pressed the button again, and the hologram scanned my body and duplicated the outfit on me, replacing my current outfit with the hologram. I was suddenly warm, inside and out. I knew this would keep me nice and warm for the night.
I lay down on my back, near the back of the cave. I breathed a heavy sigh, and closed my eyes. My encounters with Luneth and Rogue that day had really shaken me. It made me take a good long look at my life, and I think it was then I realized how miserable I really was. I always knew I was sad, and it seemed like I always had something to mourn for. I was always in some kind of pain, nearly for as long as I could remember. But now... I think it was then that I began to feel like I was beyond happiness. Why? I thought. Why me? It always seemed to happen to me...
I opened my eyes, realizing there was no possible way I would be able to sleep tonight. I took off my left glove, and held up my hand to the light of the fire. My left hand, the one Kiu had been interested in, that she claimed was, ‘all powerful’. I never saw my hand that way. If anything, I thought it a curse. Especially that scar, the one I hoped no one would ever touch or see. It was still there, in the center of my palm, even though I prayed that someday it would go away. It was a peculiar and unnatural mark, a larger crescent surrounding another crescent, with a small circular dot in the center of the two. I wasn’t big in size, only about two inches in diameter, and was a deep, dark, purplish-black bruise color. It was the kind of scar no natural thing could ever hope to cause.
I hated this curse I was born with. It was dangerous and lethal, and because of it I had always been despised. I could barely handle the fear I lived with everyday. For fear it was that I covered up my hands with dragonskin gloves, the purple wing membrane