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"You should join up," said Lyell.
"Nah, I don't think so," said his friend Nathaniel.
"No, really! You're talented! You should!"
"No, no, I won't I'm not much for battles."
"Oh, well, your choice. But if it was me, I'd
be in the middle of it all! Slash! Cut! Zip!" The yellow Shoyru dodged an imaginary
enemy and drove an imaginary sword into its imaginary belly.
"I'm sure you would," said Nathaniel, a Lupe,
as he leaned against one of the many pine trees in the forest.
"And then I'd stab him in the gut! And I'd --
" Lyell stopped in mid jab. "Did you hear that?
Nathaniel's ears pricked up. He heard it --
a slight rustling in the bushes. Lyell put his fingers to his lips to signal
silence, then slowly crept to the bushes. They shook as he got closer. Slowly,
Lyell reached out and pulled the branches away and gasped -- as seven small
Shoyrus jumped on him!
"Ly! Ly! Ly! Mommy says to come home!" said
a little blue one sitting on his head.
"And she said to hurry, Ly!" squeaked a small
pink on his stomach.
"An'-An' she says if you're late, she-she's
gunna chop offa your tail and boil it in a stew!" cried a green one clinging
to his tail.
Lyell tried to bat them away, yelling, "Well
I can't even stand up with you seven on me! Off! Off!'
He managed to get his brothers and sisters off
on him (except for two clinging to his legs) and tottled off into the bushes.
Nathaniel was laughing at the receding bumps and various other noises when he
felt a small tug on his tunic. He looked down to see a small red Lupe.
''Hello, Eliza," he said, smiling kindly.
"Nathaniel, Mommy says to come home," she said,
taking Nathaniel's hand.
"Alright," he said, allowing himself to be led
away.
Nathaniel and Eliza walked through the woods,
Eliza chatting away and Nathaniel nodding every so often.
"And since it's your 15th birthday, Mommy has
a surprise for you!"
"That right?" said Nathaniel, smiling at his
little sister.
"Yeah! I wonder what it is. Oh! I know! Maybe
it's a cake! Yeah! Or a dubloon! I don't know what that is, but it sounds, but
it sounds expensive! Or-or a petpet! You know, the kind that's kind of like
a cloud? Ooo! Or maybe --"
Eliza was just getting to the paintbrushes when
they crested a hill and came to a clearing. At the top of a hill at the edge
of the clearing was a small house, and they could see a small figure waving
from the porch.
"Mama!" cried Eliza and began to run to her
mother with Nathaniel following at a slightly slower pace.
"Mommy!" said Eliza as she jumped into a crushing
hug from her mother.
"Mother," said Nathaniel, giving her a careful
but firm hug. He was slightly taller than the green Lupe and he had to remember
that she was getting old.
"Come inside," Mother said, beckoning them inside.
Inside was a pitiful one room. On one side was
a table, two chairs, and one log that served as a stool. On the other side was
one bed. In the center of the room was an old, black stove.
The three sat down at the table and ate the
thing they had eaten for the last three years -- gruel. Nathaniel didn't complain,
though. He knew she did her best and that they didn't have much -- his mother
sold herbs and healing plants, but she couldn't afford more than was necessary.
And besides, for his birthday she added cinnamon,
something that they rarely used.
"That was wonderful, Mother," said Nathaniel,
pushing back his empty bowl. "Absolutely delicious!"
"Why thank you," said his mother, getting up
from the table. "Eliza, how about you play outside? There's still a bit of light
outside."
Eliza bounded joyfully from the table and out
the door. Nathaniel got up and started to gather the dishes when his mother
stopped him.
"Set them down, Nathaniel; I'll do them later."
Nathaniel set down the dishes and turned to
face his mother. Her face was shining and her hands were behind her back.
"I have a surprise for you -- doubtless Eliza
has already told you -- did she?''
Nathaniel nodded.
Mother took in a deep breath. "Well, Nathaniel,
you're 15 -- you're growing up. And I thought that since you were growing up,
you deserved this -- Happy birthday, son!''
From behind her back she drew a sword -- a long
sword with a steel blade and a silver hilt with a large blue stone set in it.
Carved into the hilt was the name Davren Whiteshield, and below that, his own
name.
His mother beamed as her son took the sword
speechlessly. He ran his fingers up and down the blade, testing the point to
see how sharp it was.
"Father's sword," he said, still in shock. "And
you had my name carved onto it."
"Yes," said his mother, obviously proud. "You're
growing up to be so much like your father -- he had white fur and an even temper
just like you have."
Nathaniel nodded, then went back to inspecting
the blade as his mother hurried outside to wash their dirty dishes in the stream.
Nathaniel sat there, running his fingers up
and down the blade as his mother and sister bustled around him -- kindling the
fire, getting ready for bed. When it was finally time to go to sleep, he hung
it on the wall in its scabbard (which his mother had kept also). He lay down
-- him on the floor, his mother and sister sharing the bed -- and waited with
his eyes wide open in the darkness. When he heard his mother and sister's breathing
slow down into gentle and even breaths, he quietly got up, took the sword and
the scabbard, and snuck out of the house.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he trotted
across the clearing and into the woods. After a while, he slowed down and walked.
After a few minutes, he came to the place he was searching for -- a small hill
in a tiny clearing.
Walking slowly up the hill, he got down on his
knees in front of the gravestone that rested on the top. Tracing the letters
carved into the stone with his fingers, he slowly spelled out the name -- D-A-V-R-E-N
W-H-I-T-E-S-H-I-E-L-D. He felt a slight burning in the corners of his eyes and
made no move to wipe them away when the tears finally came, pouring down his
cheeks like rivers grief flowing from the heart.
"Why'd you have to leave us, Dad?" he said pleadingly,
staring at the headstone. "Why?"
Another wave of sadness overtook him and he
slumped over the headstone, burying his head in his arms. His father had died
three years ago in battle -- the battle against Darigan. Nathaniel could still
remember the day the knights had come, bringing his coffin draped in the flag
of Meridell. He had kept his little sister from seeing -- she was only five
and he knew she wouldn't be able to handle it. He himself had had a hard time
comprehending it. He and his father had trained together -- his father had taught
him everything he knew about swordplay, archery, hand-to-hand combat, everything
-- it had been almost too much to think that all that was gone. But if it had
been hard for him, it was even harder for his mother.
For months after his father's death his mother
would stay silent. She hardly ate and Nathaniel often heard her crying at night.
She had also taken to stopping in the middle of something and staring off into
space. Sometimes she would say a random fact about his father; like that he
always liked hi meat well done or that he would spend hours agonizing over Christmas
presents to make sure they got everything they wanted. Nathaniel or Eliza would
then have to gently bring her back into the real world by putting their hand
on her shoulder or gently shaking her.
Nathaniel lifted his head and settled back on
his knees. "And now everyone thinks I should join and become a knight -- but
Dad, what would happen to me if I died? What would Mother and Eliza do then?
I know Mother couldn't take another death in the family. I'm-I'm afraid, Dad.
What if I'm not as good as everyone thinks? What if I can't do it? I-I hate
this!!!"
Nathaniel pulled the sword out of its scabbard
than threw it with all his strength. It hit a tree ten feet away and sank in
almost to the hilt, but Nathaniel didn't notice. He was crying, hand over his
ears, trying desperately to control his feeling of helplessness.
Then, slowly at first, the sword began to glow.
It was a soft green glow, but that's no what made Nathaniel look up. He heard
a voice -- his father's voice.
"Nathaniel," it said, slowly encircling him.
"Nathaniel, don't worry. You are worth so much -- don't doubt yourself. Trust
your talents, trust that what other people see in you -- they know you better
than you know yourself. Take the sword, Nathaniel White shield, take the sword."
Slowly, Nathaniel got to his feet, the scene
blurring around him because of his tears, and walked toward the tree. Gripping
the hilt in both hands, he gave it one hard tug and the sword slid free. As
he held it up, the moonlight caught it, and a small echo sounded in his mind.
''Take the sword, Nathaniel Whiteshield. Take
the sword and fight. Fight for home, fight for family -- and fight for love.
Be great, my son. Be great."
Nathaniel, his eyes narrowed and focused on
the blade, brought it up above his head. "I will, Father," he said through gritted
teeth. "I will revenge against those who took your life away -- I will revenge
all those who died at the merciless hand of Darigan. I will be great!"
He raised the sword and brought it down, slashing
the tree in two.
The End
This was originally supposed to be a mini series, but I got side-tracked
with other stories. Maybe I'll write more about him -- he seems like a really
good hero to work with. Please tell me what you think of it!
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