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O, Lord of Wisdom! Woe is me!
For my son is the son of the devil. For my own blood has run black, and my fire has turned bloody. For the sweetness of my smile has been replaced with bitter tears, and I dance no more.
O Lord of Wisdom! What have I done to welcome death into my house, and decay into my bloodline? The stench of rot fills my lungs, and laughter my ears, - but cold is that laughter, and dark as the longest night! That voice is not my child's, but that of evil speaking through him. The fire flickers as the scream of another helpless critter pierces the quiet of my home. What being's life is he ending this evening? What body is he throwing into the claws of eternal cold?
O Lord of Wisdom! Woe is me, for my son is the son of the devil. The neighbors forbid their children to play by our garden. My garden, planted into benevolent earth with my own two hands. Woe is me, and bitter tears fill my eyes for, whenever a strong wind brings the sand from our yard to theirs, they sweep it off with disdain and whispered curses. How my heart breaks then! How my song ceases, and hands tremble, and my flowers wilt.
Woe is me, for the sand round our home will soon all turn red.
And the sky above it - black with countless, ceaseless birds of death, which come to ravage his victims and speak to him in evil tongues.
Woe is me, for a devil I bound myself to with holy vows. Weak are my hands from the terror he brings upon me. Aching is my body with the bruises he leaves. Cruel has turned my precious child with the lessons he's taught him in blood and silence. Blissful was the time when his eyes sparkled bright, and now they only gleam with cold fire, dead fire, when he ties another innocent creature to a fence in scorching sun, or breaks its joints, or drowns it in our well. O Lord of Wisdom, spare me from knowing, for it will stop my heart to learn what the devil does to my child when I am away from home.
O sun, when you will tomorrow cross the middle of the sky, I will no longer have a child. My family's name will be taken away from him, and known he will be as no one but a heretic. Empty will be my home without him, and empty my hands without his to hold. Empty my garden without his laughter, and empty the kitchen without the songs we shared. By daybreak he will be gone - like a nightmare.
O fire, do not die, for darkness I fear most. In the dark the devil inflicts upon me his greatest tortures. O fire, blessed red of your flame, blessed red of my eyes - for your courage I ask to endure whatever he shall do with me tonight. For my son is the son of the devil, yet I will do anything to protect him from harm, so I pray that the devil comes to my bedroom tonight instead of his.
O, Lord of Wisdom, blossoming truth! May my child's sleep be sound on his last night in this home. May the desert sky watch over him as he wanders as he is sentenced to, without a name, a weapon or any food. May the water soothe his fevers when my medicines and my song will no longer be able to reach him. May the fire in his heart conquer all evil. And oh, blessed earth, may your flowers remind him of my garden, wherever his path takes him in this vast, vast world.
***
At dawn, the door to the boy's room creaked open, but he pretended to be asleep. When the room fell quiet once again, he opened his eyes to the sight of a small package of food on the desk, as far away as possible from the scattered bones, feathers and teeth.