Cast Out

...[W]e ask only this: that you remember us, not as enemies, but as tragic sisters, changed into a foul shape by fate or God or evolution. If we had kissed, it would have been the miracle to make us human in each other's eyes. Instead we killed each other
-Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game

Our time here in the Web is almost finished. Soon we will cast our eyes abroad to the lands that surround us, though they are still shrouded in mist. Still there is one more item to discuss while we are here. Look around you. Look at the people passing by. Do you see them? Do some of them appear...less than human? Ah. Yes, you see them. Those are the outcasts who have sought their final refuge here. Those are the Misbegotten. I have mentioned the Misbegotten in the past. In fact, the first Alyria story that I wrote ("Icarus") was about a Misbegotten. However, I have never fully described them, nor explained why they are here. So then, let us begin.

The plague that ravaged Alyria as part of the Rape had dire consequences. The Blessing was only the rarest aberration that it produced. Many were twisted by the plague is more obvious, more hideous ways. Some grew extra limbs. Others devolved into mindless beasts. Still others were mutilated in ways too horrible to describe. These roamed the wilderness and barren streets as the plague fires burned and the dragons wreaked havoc across the land.

Slowly they were pushed back.

Slowly they were destroyed or hounded into waste areas.

Many thought that the threat was gone. Then the first malformed child was born. Something in the genetic code of the survivors had been injured or broken. While so many bore healthy children, a few bore freaks. The panic began. So often the children were abandoned, exposed to the elements. Other times mobs formed to force the parents to give up their misshapen child or bear the consequences. I remember the village where they burned a family alive. Surrounded their house and threw on torches until it blazed. Someone stumbled out of the house, burning, begging, pleading, and they pushed him back into the house. The smoke of its burning rises forever.

This is the secret shame of so many on Alyria. The fear and hatred run deep. To this day the Misbegotten are banned from the Citadel upon pain of death. The High Lords demand it. The Keepers even require it. The streets below us still run red with the blood of the Misbegotten. That is why those who still retain their human faculties flock here. Here they are welcome. Here they are accepted. Here they can retain a semblance of civilized living, without having to flee into the wilderness.

Oh yes, many Misbegotten live in the wilds outside the Citadel. Some live quietly, merely seeking to be left alone. But there are others. Misbegotten bandits raid villages, striking back at those who rejected them. Even worse are those that have lost their power of reasoning, becoming mere animals. Many stalk the night, running or loping or galloping, seeking man-flesh to eat or violence to assuage their terrible pain.

It is at this point that I need to be honest. In the beginning, I had no formed purpose for including the Misbegotten. They were a necessary outgrowth of other concepts and seemed to fit. If anything they were an excuse to have monsters in Alyria. When in doubt, six Misbegotten attack the characters. How stereotyped. How hackneyed.

However, their true purpose has slowly become clear to me. The Misbegotten are not "just" monsters. Rather, the Misbegotten are the embodiment of the Other. Those who are not like us, those who we look on with fear, with hatred, with loathing. Alas, it is all too easy to turn on those who are different from us simply because they are different. The Misbegotten are no exception. So many live out their days in pain from their deformities as well as from the rejection of their neighbors.

However, the issue is not quite that simple. There are Misbegotten worthy of fear and hatred. Some were born bereft of humanness. Others have chosen the darker path, taking their rage and hurling it back against those that despise them. Violence and anger are all that remain to them. They have embraced their Otherness, rejecting and hating their oppressors as their oppressors have done to them. And the cycle builds and feeds on itself. One day, it is going to explode, and God help those that are caught in the blast.

I am saddened as I watch these crowds go by. So many with so much to give, forced into hidden darkened places, beaten and abused, hunted and destroyed. For a moment, just a moment, I wonder if anything will ever change. Are these Misbegotten doomed to flee forever? Is violence the only answer? Will the cycle be broken? Or is there another way?

I cast my voice upon the wind, but the wind gave no reply.