Chapter 5
One Day
Shala’s quarter staff blurred in his hands as he twirled and spun, defending and attacking. His father moved before him fast and strong, showing him no mercy. The exertion thrilled Shala, but a true hunter gave away nothing; nothing that could be used as an advantage by an opponent. And Shala knew that anything could be used as an advantage. He even tried to hide the fact that he was sweating, but with his father pushing him to his limit, that was easier said than done.
It had been a week since Shala had killed the deer, and though he was now considered an adult, that didn’t mean he was given any extra privileges. In truth, he had been working even harder ever since.
After killing the deer, Shala had carried the burden of the dead carcass back to his village where those who had watched him complete his task were waiting. And like Shala had assumed, his father was one of that group.
He recognized his father instantly with his dark orange fur and two curved daggers hanging from each hip. Shala’s father was tall even for a Sol and carried himself in a proud, almost regal, manner. The Sols, in general, were a proud kind, but Shala’s father was the alpha of the tribe, which meant he was in charge. Sols didn’t have lords or rulers; they had one male who had proven himself to be capable of leading the tribe. One day Shala would be expected to take his father’s place as the leader of their village. But only if I can prove myself.
Shala had seen his father many times during his life, but the day he’d killed the deer was the first time his father had looked him in the eye. And then what had happened next Shala knew he’d always remember. His father had walked forward, taken the burden of the deer off Shala’s shoulders, and then had embraced him. It was a brief moment, but Shala would never forget it.
After that day, his father had taken over all of his training. Shala was glad to be spending time with his father, but that didn’t mean they ever talked very much. Of course, Shala had expected nothing less. We are Sols, not those childish, fairy folk of Rolath.
Shala and his father worked from dawn till dusk, and sometimes from dusk till dawn, on everything from fighting techniques and weapon play to Magick usage and even tracking and hunting. Shala already knew how to survive in the wild, but now he was learning how to become a part of the wild. That way when the need arose, and it would, he’d be able to fight in the wild. He was a true hunter; the next step was becoming a true warrior of the Sols. A warrior of the Filan to be more exact.
There were actually two types of Sols in the world of Livinthia. Those of the Palagric Forest were known as Filan, while those of the Grey Mountains called themselves Pheela. They shared many similar characteristics, but they could be told apart even by an untrained eye.
The Filan had adapted to the warmer climate of the forest by having thinner fur, and with the amount of vegetation in their habitat, their coats tended to be colored in shades of green, brown, orange, and even red. Also, they were usually leaner than their relatives to the North, but this made them more agile and better climbers.
The Pheela, in contrast, had matched the cold, harsh mountain peeks of their home with heavier, more muscular builds covered in darker, thicker fur that kept them warm in the frigid temperatures of the higher altitude. Their demeanor was also more reclusive and more hostile to outsiders than even the Filan, who had never been known to be the most welcoming.
Shala knew about the Pheela. He knew them all to well. They were the reason he had to train. They were the reason he had to be ready to hunt and to kill even as young as he was. They were the enemy of all Filan. And to Shala’s knowledge, that’s how it had always been and that’s how it was always going to stay.
With that being said, Shala had yet to see a Pheela. But everyday he expected to find one around the next tree. That’s what he had been taught since he was a youngling, and he knew he wouldn’t become a true warrior until he took the life of a Pheela. Because of that fact, Shala had once hoped he wouldn’t just stumble upon a Pheela out in the forest; that would be too easy. He wanted to go hunt one in the Grey Mountains and take his enemy’s life where his enemy called home. That’s how he wanted to pass that test. I do not want to be cheated of my kill.
But things had changed since Shala had killed the deer. He’d never taken a life before that day, and the weight of what he had done still hung heavily across his shoulders. He wasn’t sure now if he would be able to kill again, especially if it was killing another Sol. But if I can’t kill, what is the point of my life?
That was on the back of Shala’s mind as he dodged a swinging attack from his father. The quarter staff whistled through the air just above Shala’s head as he flowed into his next stance, turning the weapon in his hands before striking out for his father’s chest. But his father was too quick and deflected the attack easily before countering in the same motion. The move caught Shala off-guard, and his father’s quarter staff slammed into the back of his leg. Shala lost his feet and another blow to the torso sent him crashing to the ground.
The impact exploded the air from his lungs, leaving him unable to breathe. But he ignored the pain and rolled away, jumping back to his feet in a flash. He held his weapon at the ready, prepared for another attack. He’d learned his lesson the first day of his father’s training that just because he’d gotten knocked to the ground did not mean the fight was over. But this time, Shala’s father merely stood there still with one end of his staff in the dirt.
“Yous are distracted.”
Shala looked at his father, hearing the unspoken question in his voice. “The Pheela,” was all Shala said, dropping his guard slightly.
A soft growl rose from his father’s throat, but it was silenced quickly. “They trouble yous?”
“Why do we have to fights them?”
His father studied him, and for a moment, Shala thought maybe he had asked a stupid question. But then his father continued, “What did yous feel after you killeds the deer?”
Shala knew the answer to that; he thought of it often. “Sadness.”
His father nodded. “And now yous don’t know if you can kills again.”
Shala looked up, hoping his father wouldn’t be disappointed in him.
But his father did not look displeased and merely turned his head away thoughtfully. “I felts the same after my first kill. Most do. It’s what separates us from those of the Shadow. Remorse,” he finished quietly.
A full minute passed as Shala waited for his father to continue. He waited for his father to tell him how to get over this feeling. He waited to hear how the Pheela were the enemy, so it was okay to kill them. He waited to hear how he wouldn’t feel this sadness and pain after every kill. He waited to hear that everything would be okay.
But instead, his father turned back to him and said, “Yous have a duty, my son. A duty that will bring sadness as surely as thunder brings the rains. But yous must fulfill your duty because your people need you to. In war, yous cannot hope for peace, you have to fights for it.”
Shala didn’t want to, but he understood what his father was saying. He might not want to kill, but he had to. The Pheela weren’t going to spare his life just because he wanted to spare theirs. His people weren’t going to be spared just because he wished for peace. This war was his life, and he had to live it. “For my people, I will bear the sadness, father.”
His father nodded. “I hope one day yous won’t have to. But until then…” Shala’s father lifted his weapon. “We must continue.”
And that was the end of their talk. They began their training again, and Shala fought with all of his focus. Or at least, he tried to. But his mind lingered on their conversation. He would kill, but only if he had to. He would kill, but he’d never give up the hope that one day he wouldn’t have to. One day, maybe I will be the Sol that brings peace to these land.