War Within

Chapter 1: So It Begins

Jak threw the knife at the target, getting a straight-on bulls-eye.

"You're getting quite good with the knives, dearest," said a soft voice, floating from the kitchen. A short, frail woman stepped up and gathered her son into her arms. "I'm so proud of you!" she said as he returned the gesture. She had the best son in the whole village. Jak was obedient, a good warrior, and got excellent grades on his schoolwork, not to mention adventurous and brave. He was energetic and good at sports… she couldn't have asked for a better son.

"Mother, is dad able to see how good I am getting?" Jak asked eagerly, tossing another knife at the target.

"Of course, sweet-heart. And he's just as proud of you as I am." Mother always had a hard time when it came to speaking of Father. He had passed away before Jak had been born, and even now that Jak was almost five years old, it pained her to talk about it. But it encouraged Jak to do better, and Mother would do anything for her baby boy.

"When am I going to be able to play with the swords?" Jak asked, throwing yet another knife. This one went a bit crooked and ended up hitting the side of the barn, startling the yakows feeding inside. Mother's expression changed. When can I play with the swords? Jak thought it was all a fun game. He thought that learning to fight was just a game. He hadn't stopped thinking about the swords since he saw his mother practicing with one secretly, since it was forbidden in the village for women to handle weapons.

"When you're old enough," she answered.

"When's that?" Jak asked innocently.

Mother snatched up Jak and took him to her story-telling rocking chair. The one she put on the porch on rainy afternoons and children gathered round, finished with their chores early, to hear one of Mother's stories. But, without the crowd, it was just Mother and Jak sitting in their tiny family room.

"Jak, knives and swords are not toys. They can really hurt someone if not given the proper respect," Mother began. Jak listened intently. This was one lecture he hadn't heard on at least five different occasions, and Mother had never sounded so serious. Jak also knew better than to interrupt Mother in the middle of a speech.

"It takes much practice to use a sword or throw a knife. Yes, you are good, Jak, but it takes more than good aim. You have to treat each knife, each sword, each weapon, with the proper respect. Weapons are made to kill, to harm, so they must be used with care and concentration. You must be trained to use them properly."

"I understand, Mother," Jak said after a long silence.

"I'm glad. I will tell you when it's time to use the swords, Jak. I almost regret letting you start with the knives in the first place," Mother said, noting the cuts that were scattered across Jak's hands and arms. "So, to make me feel better," Mother continued, turning Jak around in her lap to look him straight in the eye, "will you make me a promise?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Will you promise me to always respect your weapons and use them with care?"

Jak considered this, looking at all the cuts on his hands. He knew he would agree, but how could he respect weapons if they were made to kill? That was dishonorable, wasn't that what the schools taught? That killing was dishonorable? Jak turned to Mother. Her blonde hair was long and swayed gently as she rocked, back and forth, back on forth… Her brown eyes searched his face anxiously.

"Mother, how do you respect something that is made to kill?" he asked.

"You treat it like it can kill. You have to be careful and gentle, always watching what you're doing. Treat the weapon like the murderer it is," she said, a smile springing on her lips. Jak felt his own lips stretch into a contented grin also. "So, do you promise?" Mother asked, her smile fading.

"Yes, I promise."

"Good. Thank you. You can go back to your knives now, but remember our promise."

Jak walked solemnly out to the backyard. This time, though, Jak picked up the knives and sheathed them carefully, like he had promised. After that talk with Mother, he didn't feel so light-hearted about tossing the knives. He needed to think more about what he was doing. Jak put all the knives away under a loose board on the porch except for one special, curved knife, which he hung at his side.

He went to his thinking place, high up in the barn loft, hauling himself through the whole in the ceiling without the usual ease. He collapsed in a pile of hay and took out his knife. It was a special knife, a golden handle and a slick, sharp blade. There was a seal that had been molded into the shining, bullion handle. Jak had no idea what it meant, but he knew that the knife had belonged to his father, so it was associated with him somehow.

He ran his fingers carefully around the curved blade, not with the carelessness he had before the talk with Mother. She had been right, he needed to treat the weapons he used as if they really could kill. But what were they really made to kill? Why had mother let him practice with the weapons so much earlier than the other boys? Why did he have to keep them hidden? All these questions spun through his head and Jak found that he knew the answers to none. It was at this time he realized how secretive the whole village was, always hiding things and gossiping to each other. Then a thought occurred… war.

Jak sat up and sheathed the knife once again when he heard a startled scream from inside the house, startled out of his gory thoughts of war. Down the hole he dove, almost spraining both his ankles, but landing gracefully enough to keep from injury. He sprinted out of the barn and straight into the house, drawing his knife.

"Mother!" he called. He heard another shrill cry. Running through the family room and into the bedroom, he saw the source of the panic.

"Jak! Get it out of here!" Mother cried, pointing to the muse settled on the end of her bed. Its yellow-green eyes shone and its coat sparkled delicately. He picked it up obediently. It licked his face and purred as Jak stroked it.

"Aw, Mother. Can I please keep it?" he asked sweetly.

"NO! Get it out of my house!" she shrieked. Jak walked reluctantly out of the room. How badly he wanted a pet muse, like all of the other children, but Mother wouldn't have it. She thought that they were evil, curse-casting creatures that spied on people. Yet, she saw them licking Jak and playing with him, never once getting a scratch on him. She would let him practice with knives, but he couldn't have a pet muse…

Once Jak had safely taken the animal outside, Mother sat on the edge of the bed, breathing out a sigh of relief. She hated to not let Jak have a pet that he wanted so badly, but she just couldn't let him have one. Especially not a muse! Mother didn't know why, but she was absolutely terrified of the little monsters. They scared her to death, with their glowing eyes and flicking tails… She just didn't like them, same as cats.

Jak… He was so different from the other boys in the village. His hair color, his eyes, his attitude. Most of the boys were insensitive and disobedient. She knew his obedience came from his father, his sensitivity from her personally.

Thinking of this, a vivid image of her wedding came to her mind. Her white dress and frilly veil, Jak's father, in his black tuxedo with the classic white shoes. There wasn't a better man to be found anywhere. He was loving, hard working, friendly, and stern. That was why Jak always listened to her. His father had taught Mother to be stern when needed and she had punished Jak appropriately, making him listen to her.

Mother knew that Jak was made fun of at school. The others said only nerds could get such good grades and would stand up for their mothers. Yes, people made fun of Mother, and Jak always stood up for her, reminding her how close she and Jak were.

But how long could Jak go before he couldn't take the bullying anymore? He was good with knives, but even after their talk, could anger get he best of him? Would he end up hurting someone and getting them both cast out?…

Mother was startled back into reality with cries of fear from outside the fence surrounding her farm. She jumped to her feet, grabbing her sword from its hanging position on the wall, and sprinted out of the house. She saw panic and chaos, people running and screaming. From what, she didn't know, but it was obvious that no one was playing wolf.

She started towards the fence, planning to unlatch it and help fight. Then she remembered, Jak.

"Jak!" she shouted. She ran into the barn. "Jak!" she called again. What would she do if she couldn't find him? The people had been counting on an invasion for a long time, for prosperous places attracted war, but no one had thought it would come this soon.

"Jak!" she hollered one last time, emerging from the barn. The yakows stirred, upset about all the chaos. The yakows could wait, Mother decided, Jak was her first priority. She looked around in desperation, looking at the wall of villagers running for the outskirts of the village, to what she assumed would be an ambush… Where could he be?

Mother saw a flash of blonde in a crowd of warriors and immediately ran after them. Jak and herself were the only villagers with blonde hair and no other boy would be walking around with the soldiers.

"Jak!" she called, leaping the fence. Her long skirt caught and ripped. Mother was too determined to get her little boy to safety than worry about a lousy article of clothing. She charged through the wave of frightened people. Like oncoming traffic, they were. She pushed and fought her way through to the band of fighters. She quickly and effortlessly plucked her boy out and began running.

"Mother, I want to fight!" he protested.

"Jak, we don't even know what these things are. What if you get hurt? You won't ever be able to practice with the swords," Mother said. She was now going in a specific direction, away from the people, and away from the enemy at the same time. Down a narrow dirt alley she ran, avoiding being seen by everyone, still carrying Jak. Mother ran across a large stretch of open road and turned into a barn.

"Mother, where are we?" Jak asked, looking around the unfamiliar shelter. It had piles of food and baskets of water piled in the corner.

"Jak, listen to me. A friend and I thought this was going to happen, so we prepared. There's food and water here, enough for at least a few weeks. My friend said that if war did break out, she would meet me here and take care of you." Mother was talking so fast it was hard to understand, but Jak deciphered and understood the general message.

"But why don't we follow the villagers?" Jak asked, looking through a window.

"Because," Mother said, fiercely slamming and locking up the shutters of the window, "I think there will be an ambush waiting for them. I think that whoever it is we're fighting has more brain than we give them credit for."

Just as mother finished, a woman with two children barged through the door. Mother, being startled, unsheathed her sword and turned to face the intruders, pushing Jak behind her.

"Oh, Macy, you scared me," Mother said, relief legible in her voice. The other woman, Macy, set her children down by Jak and she and Mother, her sword once again sheathed, embraced each other.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Macy asked. She was obviously frightened out of her mind.

"Macy, I'm positive there'll be an ambush. If the enemy has any sense at all, they would've been able to guess we'd run."

"Yes, you're right, as you were about the invasion," Macy said.

"Mother, where are you going?" Jak asked, his voice wavering a little.

"Jak, I have to go fight," Mother said, looking earnestly at her son. He looked petrified. She knew it wasn't about the war, no, nothing like that would ever scare him, but he was scared about her fighting. "I'll be okay, I promise."

"But what if you're not okay?" Jak asked, tears forming in his eyes.

"Then you'll have to go with Macy. We decided that if this happened, we'd move to Sandover Village. It's not too far away, and I promise you'll like it there," Mother said in a desperate hope to keep Jak from crying. It was useless, the tears came.

"B-but it won't be the same without you!" he cried. Mother gave him a big hug.

"Now, would a real warrior cry?" she whispered.

"If he had to," Jak replied, equally quiet. Mother was stunned. She had never seen Jak not cheer up immediately to this question, or heard another answer other than 'no.'

"It's time for you to get going, it looks like they need help out there," Macy said, trying to lessen the tension of Mother's leaving. But Mother made no move to release her little boy. Finally, after what seemed hours, Macy laid her hand on Mother's shoulder.

"I love you, Jak," Mother said. She put him down and walked out the door without another word or a backwards glance.

Jak curled up in the loft of the barn. It wasn't comforting as it usually was in his own barn, but it was something. Better than the ground, vibrating from the explosives and guns.

Days… weeks, maybe, Jak Didn't know, they were stuck in the barn. They always had a fresh supply of milk from the yakows that were left in the shed, and, when needed, Macy butchered a hog or something. Jak, when no one was looking, practiced throwing his knives, still keeping the promise to Mother to be careful with them. If it hadn't been for the cries from outside, Jak would've thought that life was normal again. They still did chores and ate meals, the only thing that Jak really missed was Mother. There had been no word from anyone, but, at the same time, no one knew that they were in the barn.

Finally, while Jak was throwing knives on a tedious, bright afternoon, a horn sounded. It was a familiar sound: loud and piecing, with a low tone. The village had won! Macy and the children burst from the barn, the two girls crying in relief, the other boy smiling. Not Jak. Jak knew mother would have come by now had the battle been over, but she had not. He ran ahead of the rest, fingering the knives at his belt, looking around warily. But even though he took all the precautions, everything was lost upon him. He was looking for his mother and nothing was more important.

Almost everything was the same as before, all the crops were ready for harvest, the grazing fields were covered in long grass, and the sun shone. But things were also very different, Jak noticed as he ran down the long dirt road. There were no people laughing, the birds were not singing, the fresh, salty breeze smelled of death and rot. Jak saw why as he approached the main road. There were bodies everywhere, dead and wounded, soaking in spreading puddles of blood. The birds feasted on some of the deceased, and people were crying and attending to as many wounded people as they could.

"Mother!" Jak cried. Tears came to him again, filling his eyes and clouding his vision. "Mother!" His voice drew shrill and cracked. He stumbled on through the streets, praying he would find her standing up straight and tall, waiting for him, just like before. But he didn't find her. Then he saw a pile of dead corpses piled off to the side of the road. Despite his absolute disgust and the taste of bile in his mouth, he forced himself to walk over to the pile of bodies.

And there… laying in a puddle of her own blood, was his mother. He didn't speak, but he fell onto his knees beside her, landing in her blood. He looked her over, was she wounded or dead? Then he spotted it, gleaming in the sun. A knife was protruding from her stomach, blood seeping. It was obvious this wound was recently made, which means she fought through most of the war.

Jak lifted her head off the ground. He felt the matted blood on the side of her head, where she had also been injured. But, through all the blood loss and pain, through all the mortal wounds and grief, she managed to open one of her eyes. It rolled around as if she couldn't control it for a moment before focusing on Jak. A smile played at her lips.

"Jak…" she said, ever so weakly. Jak strained to hear her. She gasped for air, then spat up blood. Jak wiped it off her chin, still saying nothing.

"Are you… going to be okay?" Jak asked. It was a stupid question, he could tell the answer just by looking at her, but something made him ask it. She didn't answer. She wouldn't waste her breath on such obvious things.

"Jak, you… need to go to Sandover… with Macy," Mother said in between gasps and coughing up blood.

"Mother! You promised you wouldn't get hurt! You promised you'd be okay!" Jak shouted through his tears.

"I tried…"

At this point, Macy had caught up with Jak and stood hovering over him, watching them, listening closely.

"Mother, what will I do without you?" Jak asked. What would he do? Just be an orphan and beg for food? Become a soldier? He was only a child! But Jak got no answer, his mother was dead.

Jak closed his eyes and pulled his knees to his chest. Who would murder a little boy's mother? Who would be so heartless? How could he go on without her? Who had killed her? How would he get revenge? That was it… revenge. He would get revenge, no matter the cost.

"Jak, let's go," Macy said. He ignored her. Kneeling over his mother, gathering courage from somewhere deep inside him, he braced the body with his hand and pulled the shining knife out of her stomach. He body gave a little shudder and then everything was silent. Jak knew her spirit had fled to somewhere much better than this war-torn village.

"You're too young for knives. Give it to me," Macy said in concern. Jak didn't answer her. He vowed not to talk to anyone until his mother's death was avenged. Other than that, he would be silent. He would become the warrior his mother had seen in him and he would keep his promise while doing so. But Jak didn't give Macy the knife. Instead, he took one of his throwing knives, just an ordinary one, from its sheath and gave that to her. He put the new knife in the old one's sheath and stood.

It was going to be a long time before he spoke again…