Chapter One
(Author's
Thang: Dear readers! It has been a long time! I'm sure many of you have
already forgotten about Byrshk and his cool blue eyes. I do apologize for
keeping you waiting.
I was hoping on releasing this right
after the site went back up. But if you briefly scroll down, I've wrote myself
quite a lot! And I didn't want to release some of it, cuz some people would get
bored easily over the story advancements.
Well not a lot of action, but a lot
of words…. Btw, I just finished Mr Stephen King's On Writing book, so tell me if you think I've improved! Tell me if
it was worth my 15 dollars! Hahaha, just kidding, anything by Stephen King is
worth my money. ;-)
And tell me to keep going and what
you thought about the tale so far. Cuz that's what makes me write. To impress and inspire. )
******
Byrshk the Druid slowly turned to the dazed sorceress to whom he passed
his amulet. "I would like everyone to have a feel of it before I'm done my
story," he said, quietly studying her.
Her eyes were fixed there, as if ignoring him, watching something
mysteriously interesting in the piece of jewel. Her face was filled with a
magnificent blue glow, and her small hands cupped it securely, afraid to let it
go.
She continued to stare at it for a moment, while a few others watched
her anxiously. But then she came to, and blushed. She hesitantly passed it on
to the small-sized Barbarian next to her, who took it confidently, perhaps
thinking he was too strong for its entrancing beauty. The Druid smiled, and cleared
his throat.
******
A boy sat on top of a tall tree branch, eating an apple and
half-watching some of his friends play kickball. He was deep in thought, and
those sounds of the wind rustling the leaves, feet batting against the hard
hollow ball of branches, and excited voices exclaiming when the ball hit home,
seemed very distant.
His thoughts dwelt upon his father. They were dark, confused and angry
thoughts. A quiet breeze surrounded him, but inside his head was a fierce
storm. His chest felt heavy with hopelessness, and every breath was an effort.
He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he cried for help. But the consequences of
that... it just made him feel more trapped.
His father shocked, confused and scared him a great deal, even though
they were almost always together. The closer he got to the age of sixteen, the
more evident this fearsome part of him grew. The closer he got to the Age of
Becoming, the harsher, blunter, and more stubborn his father became.
"What's the matter, my dear Byrshk?! Your anger radiates through the air
and ripples like a strong wind! I'm sorry to have interrupted you, but my
fellow friends and I were actually enjoying our rest!"
"I'm not angry," he replied emotionlessly. Trunks, who had talked with
him for a thousand times now, knew something was terribly wrong, despite of his
casual tone. Something was always wrong when young Byrshk sat here. He knew it
was his favourite spot to sit in when he needed some quiet. Out of all the
trees, he came back to this one time and time again.
And Trunks knew he not only provided a good sitting spot that nobody
knew about, as well as a high and well-shaded place that gave a good view of
the forest and of Byrshk's home, they enjoyed each other's company. He liked
having him here. A tree, especially one as young as him, often thrived for more
action than the worms on his leaves could provide. But he often worried for his
companion.
"Then what-", Trunks began, but was quickly interrupted by the boy.
"Shh! He has a visitor!" A tall man, dressed in unfamiliar
and strange clothes, was walking along the trail which led to his house. He slowly climbed the stone steps and knocked softly
on the wooden door. He waited without movement, head down and not interested in
the things around him. The vines on the steps made no hostile movement against
this stranger, to the boy's curiosity. A few moments later, a woman showed him
inside.
From his observations, the boy knew he was not a Druid. But, his father
often had visitors from other lands, so it didn't surprise him. The boy,
however, somehow found out (a gut feeling?) that this man was not good news.
He heard soft mumbling moments later. He tried to climb higher, careful
to keep his head in the bush of leaves, but he still couldn't make out what
they were saying. Suddenly, there was a load thud, probably his father banging
the table, and then followed by a trail of high-pitched mumbles, which he knew
was his mother trying to keep everything under control. But he also knew his
mother was next to useless in terms of power. Now, his heart was beating
quickly, and Trunks, too, felt very nervous.
He waited, and then the visitor emerged from the door and left quietly,
showing no signs of anger or depression. He followed the path to their
neighbours, walking quickly and with his head down like before.
******
"Oh, Glór-an-Fháidha the Great, the Wise, and the flourishing father of
the Túr Dúlra forest!" he began. As the eldest of them all, he was lawfully
responsible for doing these ceremonial introductions, which he personally
thought pointless and time-consuming. He was also the only one calm enough to
remember the consequences of not following customs. They didn't mean anything
to him, except that he wouldn't get spanked in the public or some other
humiliating event. And the others…they were far too busy hitting each other,
laughing wildly… just being children.
"Please tell us a tale of far away lands! Of thrilling adventures! Of
brave heroes who have fought through magnificent quests, and conquered bold
kingdoms!"
"A natural soul is a happy soul. My child, you do not have to do the
informalities if it is not your true desire! Be true, I do not mind it at all.
In fact, I admire it," the tree echoed back. It was a grand voice, and it
thundered through the entire forest. Yet, not even a leaf shook, and not a
sound was made- it would have been fascinating to outsiders.
The boy sighed with relief. "Of course!" he agreed with good-nature. He
smiled and laid down comfortably on the long grass. After a while, he lifted
his head, and whined, "C'mon guys! Don't you want to hear the story! Come sit
down!"
The other children finished up their games, and jumped down to their
seats. They waited politely, smiling and staring up at their overwhelming oak
sage that dominated the Western part of the forest.
They were actually quite far away from it. But this was officially the
place to talk with their deity, without having to constantly keep your head so
high to cause discomfort on the neck (as meetings here were often long, but
exhilarating and educational to the eager mind).
Where these children now sat in the cool afternoon… was the official
Site of Summoning, if you like, where long, lush grass flourished, as if
nurtured by the oak; as if the oak's wisdom and life flowed through its roots
and into the ground around it.
Where these children now sat in the cool afternoon…was where children
and men alike had to introduce themselves, respectfully declare their purpose
for summoning the great oak's spirit, and thank it with the biggest words they
knew. It was all in the books, written by the first of the Druids and to be
followed by the last.
Where these children now sat in the cool afternoon… was a sacred site
where the great oak sage Glór-an-Fháidha stood high in the sky, and watched
over the Druid cities grow on this green hilly grassland that dominated the
land west of the central city. The very oak who watched the first of the stone
cities turn into a forest kingdom of towers and hollow tree lodges.
Sure, it gave generous advice whenever the men sought for it. It shared
with them its deep pool of knowledge unquestioningly. The oak thought man would
differ from most animals with their intellect, that they would work together,
love each other and flourish as the rulers of the jungle, and eventually,
protectors of their realm. But as their civilization advanced slowly, the oak's
hopes and dreams for its favourite specie fell in dismay. In a way, the oak
foresaw this turn of events.
As time flows softly, things change, little by little. Knowing well that
it could do nothing to help, the oak watched sadly. As time flows softly,
things change, mostly for the worse.
"As time flows softly, my dear children, things change, little by
little…. Your wise oak sage is unsure of what to do." He laughs softly
and sighs.
"Can you start yet?" a kid said.
"Yeah, let's go…" another whined. There was a moment of silence; the oak
stood still. But they were innocent and only children- they grew impatient,
instead of cautious.
Behind the great oak, the long grass rustled. The children cocked their
heads.
"What was that?"
"Yeah! What was that, Matté?!" they asked the eldest child.
"I think it was something moving back there. But I don't know what…"
"It was too big to be a rabbit…"
"Right…"
"Was it a lion? A snake? Is it gonna to eat us, Matté?!"
"Don't be silly!" He bopped him on the head. "It wouldn't dare touch
us. Our fathers would hunt them down if they did! You know that! And besides,
Glór-an-Fháidha is right there in front of-"
There was an abrupt silence as Matt stopped mid-sentence. A bird chirped
in the distance. The kids stared at Matté, trying to hear what he just heard,
but could only hear their own hearts pounding softly.
"What-"
"Shhh!!!" he whispered. Another moment of idleness. He stood straight
from his crouching position and his eyes smiled of confidence, but also with a
hint of irritation.
"Oh great guardian," he began with sarcasm, "you wouldn't be hiding
anything from us, would you?"
The oak said nothing.
"Perhaps you forgot, but let me remind you! Only Druids of High Status, and
their sons, are allowed in Western Grasslands area, also known as the home of
the Forest Deities! That excludes
poor, dirty children!"
"Matté! Children are children," the Great Deity explained with patience.
They have the need for entertainment just as you! Why must you differ-"
"I don't care!" he screamed back. The other children gasped. "I don't
want ugly, filthy children near me! Mother told me they have really bad
diseases! Get them away or I will scream for papa!"
There were several rustles in the grass, each fading off and away from
the direction of the children. Matté's horrified face quickly melted into a
smile of success as he dropped his act. There was time, not too long ago, when
a child could have been slapped and forced to kneel for a day or two for doing
something like Matté had just done.
But times have changed. Now, the House in power would have just
shrugged, gave a quick "rules are rules" explanation, and dismiss the case
without much interest.
"Now that everything is settled, where were we?" Matté said in a sincere
voice, and gave a wide smile.
******
He finally decided to do it. It didn't feel right. It was all black and
messy inside.
He entered the room, easing a hanging vine out of the way. He stepped
onto that very tile for the hundredth time since he was a baby, but felt
awkward to his surroundings.
"What is it, boy?" his father cut in roughly. He was preparing his catch
for the dinner table. (The sight seemed ironic to him, and perhaps even funny
in another situation, since he was too masculine to be doing what his mother
usually did.)
His father was sensitive to his feelings, as he was to his. So, he
decided to come right to it. He didn't know of any other way, anyway.
"Father," he began, and let out a sigh. He looked up, watching the high
ceiling. A cluster of vegetation was wrapped around the wooden planks which
supported the roof. They stared mutely at him, seemingly dead like the material
used to build the house, but he knew they were watching him, perhaps afraid for
him. "I've decided not to join the House of the Wolves."
Not I don't want to, but I've decided not to. Ever since he was a
child, his father called all the shots, his father made all his decisions for
him.
The phrase felt awkward, but so natural at the same time. Free at last!
His father stopped his knife. Byrshk expected him to yell, but he
remained silent. He turned around slowly, blinked once, still holding the knife
loosely in his hand.
"What did you say?"
He repeated exactly what he said, with the exact tone, glancing at the
knife a several times. You broke it to
him at just the right time and place, a voice said inside him, and smirked.
He knew that did it; it was the sort of thing that got his father off.
He knew, instead, he should have apologized deeply and excused himself when his
father gave him a second chance. But he was too tired to care for these things
now.
Byrshk dropped just quickly enough for the meat knife to miss his head.
He thanked the Forest Deities that he was not too lost in deep thought.
The blade spun furiously, creating a round circular object that could,
because of its sheer weight, slice through anything like butter. Byrshk heard
it zoom past his ear, turned and swiped at it- like the motion of an eagle
taking a fish out of the water- and sprung his hand back in a wiping motion.
Standing up fully now, the boy gripped the wooden handle in front of him, and
stared at his father with wide eyes.
Ywyck stared back at his son with deadly eyes, neither surprised at
himself nor at his son's feat (after all, he taught him to do it).
Now, Byrshk's expression of surprise has turned into something like
arrogance, only it wasn't a look of surprise in begin with. His eyes shot open
because it was merely a sign of caution. His father's abrupt action, in fact,
surprised him little. He just happened to
have a knife in his hand, that's all. If it had been a fruit, he would have
thrown it all the same, and I would have caught it. He knew his father
would never hurt him without a reason, or cause him a wound as serious as that.
After all, who would destroy his own lifelong work?
Without leaving his father's
eyes, he stumped the knife on the wooden beam where it should have landed. He
then held his hands out low in a semi-ready stance.
His father, as if taking his queue, wiped his hands slowly on his
deer-skin shirt, studying his son. Then, he too took up a stance for himself.
"It shows. You were born a Barbarian," he said with the same kind of
arrogance in his face. Inside, he smirked to himself, and thought how funny the
situation was. His father was usually the talking one, teaching his goddamn
lessons. And he always kept quiet, following the orders without question,
partly because his father demanded it, and partly because it was his own
nature.
Now he seemed to take charge of the things here. He wiped the thoughts
of the consequences away- the doubts would only slow him down or confuse him to
make the wrong choices. It was too late to turn back now.
There was hot tension in the room. The vines curled up against the
wooden beams closely. His heart pounded mercilessly against his chest, and he
knew he had no chances against his father in a real fight. But he could escape,
that is, if his father still had those thick human legs when he passed through
the door. He knew he could outrun him normally. And he didn't think his father
was going to use It, because it wasn't his style to show a bit of compassion,
chasing after anyone. At least, he hoped not.
"We Druids don't need a leader who can't even control himself!" Byrshk
tempted again. Oh no! a part of him
thought. This part was afraid, thinking of the punishments to come, and holding
him back and telling him to stop at once. But another voice inside him
whispered in excitement, It rolled out of
my tongue, just like that. It was the stronger part, and it knew he could
no longer step in this household, (which many wished to enter, because of the
size and mainly because they wished to actually meet the master of the house in
person) or receive any punishments. Free
at last! it cried.
"I can no longer stand the sight of you and your members of the House!"
he continued, with a hateful tone now. "I thought our Guardian and Leader was
supposed to be a warm man, defending the innocent and always coming to their
needs! You know, at first I looked up to you with pride! I was always proud to
admit who my father was. Now…all I see a crude man who abuses his power,
doesn't do his duty properly, and harasses the weak just to impress his
friends! You… excuse of a Druid Guardian…Ywyck!"
Ever since he was a child, Byrshk had been forbidden to address his
father by his first name. He never understood it; it was neither in Druid
culture nor… in any culture, really. It was always father, or da, with the
exception of when he was alone in the Western Plains, right after a beating or
another public prank pulled by his father and his savage House members. Then it
would be "Fucking Ywyck", or "Ywyck that piece of heartless shit". He, unlike
his father, had more self control and never let those slip in his presence.
But now, plain "Ywyck" was really just enough. With a "why you…" through
his clamped teeth, Ywyck lunged forward like a towering fortress and drove his
fist at his own son. Byrshk, who had his guard up from day one, used the hard
of his forearm to push the attack away. But the hand was as thick as a log, and
he was surprised to find that he could only budge it slightly. Previously aimed
for the chest, the shot rammed into the boy's shoulder, making an audible crack
in the socket.
Ywyck, following his animal instincts, totally forgot it was his son who
he was dealing with here. He stepped forward for a left, which this time,
Byrshk crossed both his hands to block. With tremendous effort, he managed to
push the lumbering arm away. Knowing he couldn't stay defensive forever, he
dropped his right hand below his waist, formed a fist with it, pushed his other
arm into a defensive position in front of his head and leaped forward,
preparing for an uppercut to the chin, and hopefully a knock that would keep
his father dazed long enough for his escape. Nothing real damaging, of course,
his father was a tower of muscle, standing almost two feet above him, and he
had muscle everywhere, including his chin. It was his job, to stay strong and
protect the Druids.
As Byrshk made his move, his mind was filled with coldness. While his
body battled instinctively, his mind planned out the strategy. And during this
time, a voice inside him, like some sort of battle calculator, reported that
his father (in this form, that was) had power and endurance, while he had grace
and agility. Over and over this mechanical voice told him, while he made his
move: he has power and endurance, you
have grace and agility… he has power and endurance, you have grace and
agility…he has power and endurance, you have grace and agility… he has power
and endurance-
And experience. Fifteen fucking years of it, from
fighting Rogue Bandits, Demons, and pirates from God knows where.
You have-
Nothing but an inexperienced, soft heart that will get
you nowhere but hell on the battlefield. You will lose because you are (too
full of the human milk of kindness?) too pathetic to hurt anything.
Ywyck's long, giant arms hammered into Byrshk square in the chest,
sending him flying back before he had a chance to touch anything. Now on the
ground, and gasping for air, Byrshk looked up at his da, thoughts squirming
madly inside his head. One hand supporting his weight on the ground, the other
on his chest (though it didn't hurt as much as it would seem, for his father's
hit was not intended as really damaging), he tried hard to focus.
The fight is lost, Byrshk. Just get ready for the
spanking/whipping of a lifetime. Or perhaps it wouldn't be spanking or
whipping. Perhaps it would be a full public beating.
No! The battle isn't lost until your opponent
has fell, another voice told him. Ironically, he recognized it to be the
voice of his father, his teacher. He found that his lessons usually returned to
him at around these times. To think back, he actually enjoyed his father during
his lessons. Sure, there were often bleeding noses and ears if he didn't do
satisfactory, but these were times when his father was calm and thoughtful. In
addition, the setting would usually be beautiful, with a cool breeze from the
sea, or an endless sight of vast greens, without a hint of corruption that is
civilization.
"Stay down, fool! Stay down and this pointless fight will go on no
further! I don't want to cause you any permanent damage, but I will do whatever
it takes!"
There was a moment of idleness (for calculations?). Byrshk ignored this
proposal and gave no reply. He now stood crouched down, studying his father as
he moved slowly towards him. He had already assumed that he had given up, and
had a kind, "let's talk this over" expression on his face, with his hands out,
preparing to embrace his hurt son.
Let's talk this over, my ass. Byrshk knew his father never talked anything over,
as this bad imitation implied. And his embracing hands were every bit as fake
as a woman's penis.
Byrshk suddenly realised something. Now
was his chance! His only one, perhaps! He knew it was a cheap thing to do,
perhaps even dishonourable, but his father always told him to do whatever it
takes to win. And he wasn't prepared to lose this time.
Learning that his hands were too short to conduct any successful
attacks, he leaped up from his crouching position, and saw his father thrust
his massive palm forward in attempt to knock him back down. Luckily, he just
happened to jump high enough to avoid the attack.
Step one- O.K.!
Instinctively, he kicked on leg up, deliberately missing his target's
head, pulled down and locked his father's arm in between the fold of his leg.
Then he raised his leg, twirled his hip with the speed of an animal, and
connected the hardness of his foot to his target's left ear, all with a
predator's grace.
Step two- Perfect!
The ear's the place of balance, his teacher reminded him in a calm, matter-of-fact
tone.
I know, that's why he is on the ground like he should
be, Byrshk thought with frightening
coldness as he stood there, sadly looking down at his father. With that, he
bolted through the door, slung on his backpack with one swooping hand, which he
packed earlier and left on the doorsteps in preparation. Distantly, he heard
Trunks, his favourite and only real (tree) friend, telling him to visit often.
He thought he also heard the other trees and small animals gasp, but he paid
them no attention.
There he kept running (and occasionally jumping or swinging from tree to
tree), unsure of his destination. He never really looked back, but a passing
thought about the possibility of his father chasing after him did occur.
However, he thought he didn't hear any wolf growls.
I should be fine then, he told himself.