Section I: Fervor
Chapter Two: Proselyte
9th Age of Reclamation, 13th Cycle
Sanghelios, Urs Prime System
Aten
The sword is not your tool.
My winter clothing weighed heavy on my body. It had to be heavy in order to ward off the cold of the mountains, but it weighed me down somewhat—made my movements less smooth, less precise. The white and gray patterns on the outer waterproof layer of cloth, however, allowed me to blend into the snowy environment of this forest made white by Nature.
It also prevented me from freezing to death, I suppose… Though keeping me from freezing to death and keeping me warm were two separate things; my clothing kept me alive, but not comfortable.
The sword is not your weapon.
To be truthful, I could barely feel the cold.
Almost from the day I could stand, I had been trained to fight. My Guardian never seemed to harbor any desire for me to join a warrior's crèche…yet he had always pushed and trained me to the brink of exhaustion six days out of every seven. Every seventh day was a day of rest, during which my Guardian taught me the more…passive aspects of the warrior's path.
A little cold weather was not the most painful thing I have endured.
You and the sword are one.
Even now, his words still echoed in my mind. Spoken to me time after time as he battered me and broke me under his wooden training stave. Words of advice, words of wisdom, words of philosophy, words of experience… My Guardian always had something to talk about while he bloodied me up.
I am a Proselyte. Most of us who don't follow the path of the warrior become farmers, blacksmiths, craftsmen, or grow up to follow some other trade. Those of us who do aspire to wear the blue armor of a Minor in the Covenant Army, however, had to first be recognized as Proselytes by our Kaidon. I had achieved this five cycles ago, when I was thirteen, by participating in a gladiator-like tournament against dozens of other younglings roughly my age.
I had not won the tournament. I do not think I was even exceptional when it came to my swordplay. But skill with the sword was not the only way to earn the blessing of one's Kaidon. You had to earn the Kaidon's respect to become a Proselyte, and that was exactly what I did.
My bigger, faster, stronger peers beat me within an inch of my life. I left the trials with over half the bones in my body broken, a fractured mandible, and mild internal bleeding. Do not mistake me; I defeated many opponents during the trials, but the most skilled swordsmen of the bunch were…vicious fighters. What gained me the title of Proselyte was the fact that I never once accepted defeat. Every time I was knocked down, I would climb right back up to my feet. I would bloody up my opponent some more, get knocked back down, and repeat the process until the drillmasters halted the round.
In a way, although I did not win these fights, I did not lose them, either.
"Your opponents have superior hands and feet," the Kaidon had said to me during the judging, after the trials had concluded, when he would select who from his state was worthy to become a Proselyte and who would have to try again. "Yet you have proven yourself to have the heart of a warrior. Had the trials been a true battle against the Humans, I am sure you would have fought to the death."
I had earned his respect, and therefore, his blessing. Which was why, five cycles later, I found myself silently crawling and plodding through a snow-covered forest up in the Lhetae Mountains, which formed the State of Oenairem's the northern border. Not too far away from my current location was a small village populated mostly with trappers and loggers. A sabretooth snow manx had apparently killed three children from that village this past month. An impromptu hunting party had then been sent out to kill the beast, and half of them had returned badly mauled—they had not been prepared for such a hunt, and especially not in the dead of winter.
Last week, I had been summoned to Oenairem Keep. Normally, Proselytes would have to individually undergo their own set of trials at the Keep, observed by veterans from the warrior crèches. The Kaidon had other plans for me. He told me that he was not going to 'waste my time by having me show off to the veterans with children's sticks'. He told me of this village's snow manx problem and ordered me not to return without the creature's pelt.
"It will take more than skill with a sword to stand toe-to-toe with one of Nature's deadliest sons," the Kaidon had said to me. "A true warrior fights with his heart and his wits. Trust your heart, Aten. And use your wits."
And so, when I arrived at the mountain settlement, I had been invited to meet the village's elected Ret, or headman. The village Ret informed me that the Kaidon had instructed him to provide me only with food and non-combat-related supplies. They were not allowed to give me shelter, weapons, or medical aid—though I would not have accepted medical aid, even if it had been offered.
In a nutshell, I spent a single night in the village, loaded up on bare food supplies to keep me from starving in the woods, and set a small trap of sorts. Later, the trap had been sprung by the snow manx, so I set out into the woods in pursuit.
So if you wondered why I was in the middle of a snow-covered forest armed with only a small hunting knife and a spade…there is your answer. There were many things—actions, decisions, victories, beatings, bruises, wounds—that had all come together, now; all of my training with my Guardian had been leading up to this very point.
My final act as a Proselyte. Kill a giant, bloodthirsty sabretooth snow manx with my wits and my warrior's heart.
I would not have it any other way.
The weather favored me, today. The breeze was minimal, so I could still see the tracks left by the snow manx, along with an accompanying trail of small crimson stains.
An elderly orchard keeper from the village named Etam 'Lhusav had agreed to give me one of his pet madras to use for bait. The madra he had given me was old and very sick—it had not been expected to live into next week. I had drugged it into sleep and placed it at the grove where the village's three dead children had been snatched. Before dawn, I'd heard a disturbance in that grove, and when I'd gone to investigate, sure enough, the madra was gone. All that was left were its tracks…and that trail of small crimson stains—the unfortunate madra's blood.
I have been following the twin sets of tracks—blood and pawprint—for several hours, now. This snow manx was smart—its home was far enough from the village for it to eat and rest without having to worry about dealing with unwanted Sangheili guests. Unless, of course, a Sangheili arrived with the sole intent of bringing its pelt to his Kaidon. Indeed, I was about to complicate the beast's simple life.
I followed these tracks throughout the rest of the morning. It wasn't until sometime after midday that I finally found the snow manx's home. There was a large, ridge-like rock formation that loomed over this part of the forest. The snow manx appeared to reside in a cave at the base of the cliff face.
I flattened myself to the snow-covered ground and slithered forward. I reached the top of the incline I was on. My vantage point allowed me to overlook the gully in front of the cliff face, as well as the dark entrance to the snow manx's cave.
My breath caught in my throat when I saw the beast itself. It was a magnificent creature. Smooth, pure white fur blowing ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. Two long, curved fangs glinting in the sunlight. A mouth stained red with madra blood.
The remains of the madra I had used as bait were splayed out in front of the cave entrance. The manx was still feasting on the poor old beast. I was comforted by the fact that I had at least made sure the madra was unconscious throughout the entire ordeal. I would have sacrificed dozens of madra to gain a position in the Covenant Army, but still…easing its passing was my way of saying thank-you.
It was time to get to work.
As the suns made their way into the west, I worked myself to the brink of—past the brink of—exhaustion. There were plenty of fallen branches around this area, which was good because I needed those branches for my plan. Had they not been around this area, I would have been required to forage deeper into the mountains to find what I needed.
I gathered around five or six of these large branches. I took three of them and broke them in half so that they were roughly the size of the wooden training staves most Proselytes honed their swordsmanship with.
I then set about digging a moderately deep hole—not very long or wide; just a little bit deep. I accomplished this with the small spade I had been carrying on my back since dawn. While the Kaidon had forbidden the village from providing me with weapons, he had said nothing about common tools.
I would not use the tools as weapons, though. That would be overstepping my boundaries.
It was nighttime by the time I finished digging my hole, but I did not sleep. I crawled into the hole, where it would be easier to keep warm, and started whittling down the jagged tips of the broken branches. It was not hard work, but it was very time consuming. It took me most of the night to sharpen the six snapped branches into pointed stakes.
I had no light source, other than the faint, silver light of the crescent moons, so after I finished making the six stakes, there was not much else I could really do. I needed to plant the stakes in the base of the hole, but I did not want to do that until I was out of the hole…and I would not be leaving the hole until daybreak, when I could see everything clearly.
I passed the time by carving absent-mindedly away at one of the three remaining branches. Once or twice, I could have sworn I'd heard movement out there in the darkness, but when I peeked over the edge of the hole, I saw nothing but a hibernating forest.
When Urs, Joori, and Fied—our three suns—began to show themselves, I resumed my work. I used the spade to dig six narrow shafts into the bottom of the hole. A pointed stake went into each of these new shafts—sharp end pointing up, obviously. Once they were planted, I filled the shafts in around them with the recently shoveled dirt, packing it in firmly, making sure the stakes were firmly fixed.
The branch I'd been whittling all night had been sharpened too far for it to be used as an effective stake—breaking it in half would make the sharp end too small, and I had no time to whittle an entirely new stake, so I just had to cast that branch aside.
This was the part where I had to hurry. It was past dawn, now, nearing sunrise. Normally, this would be the time when wildlife would crawl from their homes to begin their day—they did not do so now, obviously, because it was in the middle of winter. I had to hurry because I knew that if the snow manx was following its schedule, it would be prowling the woods around the village right about now. Soon, it would start heading back.
I had to be ready before it arrived, otherwise it might sense me and attack me before I was sufficiently prepared to take it down. I suppose I was lucky it did not catch my scent during the night—perhaps I did not think this all the way through. But at this point, I was not going to beat myself up over something that could have happened, but ultimately did not happen.
Of my six branches, three had been halved and converted into stakes, and a fourth had been whittled beyond viable use, which left me with two. At first I thought that this would not be enough, but I soon saw that this was actually a rather perfect amount. I crawled out of the newly-made spike pit and lay the two branches on the ground across the surface of the hole, side by side.
I then hurried back off into the woods and gathered an armful of much smaller, thinner branches. Sticks, basically. These sticks were placed around and on top of the rim of the hole and the two larger branches, forming an effective lattice. With a rough lattice in place, I filled the larger gaps with twigs so that the snow I was about to cover it with would not fall through.
It was already sunrise by the time I got to the final stage of finishing my little manx trap. I could not actually see the sunrise because of the mountains, but I could see the dark, navy blue, early morning sky shot through with streaks of amber and red-orange that heralded the suns' rise. The snow manx was no doubt on its way back here at this very moment.
The last stage of completing the trap was simply gathering snow and covering up the hole. The lattice of branches, sticks, and twigs kept the snow from falling into the pit, which would have ruined the trap. Had it been any other time of year, or if there hadn't been enough snow, or if the snow had been the powdery sort, I could have used earth and leaves to the same effect…but covering it with snow was much easier.
The snow out here wasn't all that deep—just a few inches—so I did not need to go overboard with the concealment. I just dumped it on and smoothed it over. As a finishing touch, I placed two of my smaller leftover sticks on top of the concealed trap, making them form a small X. I did not want to accidentally fall into my own pit, nor did I want the manx to miss the trap because I had forgotten where it lay…that would have been embarrassing. Potentially fatal, as well…but mostly embarrassing.
The suns peeked over the slopes of the mountains to my east, finally bathing the area in sunlight. I took a moment to close my eyes and relax, basking in the morning sunlight. For that short amount of time, the loudest noise was the sound of my own hearts beating. The forest was silent. I'm sure a place like this would be like Aether to the Ascetics. Those old priests would love the silence.
But I was no Ascetic, and I was not here to relax. I had to be constantly on my guard. The only reason I was the hunter and the snow manx was the hunted was because the beast did not know of my presence. But the moment it sensed me, our roles would reverse. I would become the hunted. This was part of my plan, obviously. But if I was caught off my guard, I would become something else entirely: prey.
And possibly dinner.
There were two giant trees not far away from the hidden trap that were close enough to the gully for me to see both my trap and the snow manx's home. I lay back down on my stomach once more, discarding the sharpened tree limb, and waited.
I do not know how long I lay there waiting for my quarry. Well into the afternoon, no doubt; the snow manx must have been taking a bit of a detour. I helped myself to a square of grahla jerky—courtesy of the villagers. After all, I had not eaten for over a day, now. Twenty-four units without food was a long stretch.
The square of jerky did not do much to stave off my hunger. In fact, I believe it simply reminded me just how hungry I was. Still… I suppose it was good just to have something in my system, even if it made me feel hungrier. Energy was energy.
I am proud to say that despite my discomfort, I did not lose patience, not even for a moment. I lay still as the trees and bushes around me, making no noise save for my own breathing. And I did not complain once, though I did come close to doing so many times. My patience paid off when I saw movement in the corner of my eye.
I did not turn my head to look. I kept track of the movement with my peripheral vision until I was able to see it properly. Sure enough, my friend the snow manx was back. Luckily, it did not seem to have eaten any of the village folk—the blood dripping from its mouth was not that of a Sangheili. It must have had a meal that was not worth dragging back home, which would explain its delay.
Now was my chance to get its attention, before it slunk away into its cave. I really did not want to have to draw it out of its cave if I could help it…
Getting the beast's attention turned out to be one of the easiest tasks I have accomplished out here, so far. All it took was a single rock.
I did not hit the beast—it was too far away for that. But the rock striking the ground was enough for the snow manx to catch sight of me. It gave a low, rumbling growl, baring its fangs. The first thing I did when it saw me was to run.
This was not an act of cowardice. This was just me exploiting the snow manx's chase reflex—once it turned to see potential prey running away…well, it simply was not the kind of creature to let a meal on legs throw a rock at it and then stroll away unscathed.
I sprinted faster than I've ever sprinted before. Within moments, the white-furred beast had reached the two large trees which I had been resting on. It was nearly breathing down my neck. Just watching it run, I was able to see how it had so easily handled the group of village folk who had tried unsuccessfully to hunt it down.
Looking back on it, I really don't know how I was able to make it past my trap before the snow manx could separate me from one or more of my limbs; the whole thing was just an adrenaline-soaked blur. Not that it really mattered, though…and you are about to see why.
My trap worked too well. Even putting a small portion of one's body weight on the lattice of sticks would be enough for it to give—it was very sensitive. When the snow manx reached the trap, it was stepping forward on its front paws. There was a loud snapping, crashing sound as the trap gave way, and a triumphant rush of relief came over me. I slowed down, expecting to hear the beast's howls of pain…only to see the snow manx leaping over the now-revealed spike pit, claws glinting in the sunlight, front paws outstretched.
Though its front paws had broken the top of the trap, its feet had landed on solid ground just shy of the pit. Before it could tumble down onto the stakes, the snow manx used its powerful hind legs to propel it across the gap with an almighty leap. I'm sure the snow manx had just experienced an adrenaline burst of its own.
I did not even have time to swear. A lifetime of avoiding my Guardian's well-aimed strikes with a practice sword suddenly kicked in. Even before the snow manx could land, I was already diving out of its way, tucking into a tight roll, and landing back on my feet.
My mind was racing at the speed of light, now. Though I did not have time to swear as the manx nearly brained me, I was cursing myself out on the inside. How stupid I had been, placing all my trust in a single plan. What if that plan had failed? What would I do then?
Those were two very good, very important questions that I had never asked myself, and I was suffering the consequences… I now had an angry predator within limb-ripping distance, and nothing to fight it with except for a measly little knife…and perhaps something else… An idea appeared in my mind like a plasma torch lighting up a dark cavern. Everything seemed to be moving so fast, but there was one thing that stood out from everything else: the pair of giant trees that I had been resting against.
I was already running back to those trees, ignoring the protests from my leg muscles as I ran at speeds beyond my normal endurance level. I nearly stumbled once, but I recovered almost as soon as my balance wavered. Had I actually stumbled, I never would have left that forest alive.
The fourth branch, the one I had whittled beyond use for the trap, was still lying in the snow where I had dropped it. I managed to scoop it up before I was forced to dive to the side once again by the snow manx when it tried to pounce me.
As I had planned, the sharpened branch could be used as a spear. But now the snow manx was between me and those two trees…and I needed those trees. My mind processed the situation, and I knew that my predicament was not a favorable one. I could not hope to run around or away from the creature—it was simply too fast—so I settled for a more unconventional solution. Once it leaped at me again, I made my move.
Instead of backing away, I think I surprised the snow manx when I stepped forward. I did not give it time to ponder why I would commit such a foolish act, however; as I stepped forward, I inverted the makeshift spear and brought its thick base crashing into the side of the snow manx's head, throwing it off-balance.
The snow manx howled at the sudden pain as it landed well to the side of me, its intended prey. It whipped back around, teeth and claws bared. Before, it had simply been chasing me to earn a meal, but now…now it was angry.
But again, I did not stop and watch its reaction. When I stepped forward and delivered the blow to its head, I kept right on going and broke out into another sprint. By the time the snow manx had whipped around and resumed its pursuit, I had reached the trees. I threw a glance over my shoulder and saw the white creature bounding after me, thirsting for blood.
The problem with using a spear against the snow manx was that it could simply smack away or even snap the branch without very much effort. And even so, achieving a killing thrust with a sharpened branch would be very difficult on the first try with a creature like this…and if I failed to kill it with the first blow, I would then be defenseless.
Better to make the snow manx do all of the work for me… And now that I had angered the creature, it seemed to be chasing me with even less caution than before, despite its near-death as a result of my spike pit. I had to make sure the snow manx would pounce me…and also that it would not be able to twist away and attack me from the side.
And so, I backed up between the two trees and waited on the other side. Just as I had planned, the snow manx stormed right up after me. It pounced right through the two trees, claws ready to slice me to ribbons.
I swiftly spun around to face the predator. The moment it leaped into the air, I planted the base of my makeshift spear firmly onto the ground and leveled the point at the pouncing manx. The creature must have sensed its mistake, but it had pounced through the two trees—there was nowhere else for it to turn. It landed on my spear with a sickening noise that I will not describe.
As the fatally wounded creature started howling in agony, I pulled out my knife and granted the beast a quick, merciful escape from its pain. "I am sorry, brother," I murmured to the deceased snow manx in apology, wiping my knife off before sheathing it. "But I am not here for you to eat. And neither were those village folk."
I allowed myself a short rest. After all, I had burned a lot of my energy running from the beast; I needed to recover some of that energy before I could proceed. I ate several more squares of grahla jerky, had a quick sip of water, and waited for my breathing and heart rate to go back down.
I rose to my feet when I was sufficiently rested. I had resolved not to spend another night out in these woods. I probably would not reach the village by nightfall, but I was not going to stop, even if it took me all night. I crouched down in front of the dead snow manx and threw its front legs over my shoulders, supporting the creature's head, shoulders, and upper torso on my back. Its hind legs trailed behind me in the snow as I started moving forward.
I staggered at first under the weight of the white beast, but quickly regained my balance and fell into a steady, rhythmic pace. My people were not a race of weaklings…but this beast was pretty heavy, as snow manxes usually go.
I took a deep breath as I set off, pausing momentarily to adjust my hold on the snow manx's body. This was going to be a long walk…
