By Aditya Krishnan
The tall trees sprawl across the rolling hills. The sky glows with a vibrant blue as the clouds sail with tranquillity. The winds blow south, brushing through the anchored trees. The radiance of the sun trickles down upon the forestry, imparting its luminosity upon the trees. The shrubbery below the canopy festers and squabbles over mud and light. The weeds and grasses climbing and seeping through the muddy soil find themselves in envy of the giant trees who continuously bathe in the light.
Mounted on the peak of a tall wooden giant, a creature of short stature surveys the vast foliage maintaining an attentive mind upon the low-lying underbelly. She possesses an ornate tail sewn with greyish blue feathers. Streaks of dark grey stream across the feathers, she appears pale and mottled with lightened colour across her body. She extends her talons and moves across her treetop abode, in search for the suitable perch. Honed, whetted and dagger-like, her talons promptly latch on to each thin branch. The bird never loses her balance even as the gales harass the evergreen giants. Dark streaks colour the plumage surrounding her eyes, while her eyes themselves glow a searing orange. Immeasurably potent eyesight grants her focus in between the gusts and the canopy. Her beak evokes the sight of a barbed arrowhead, raring to dash across the forests and tear through the airstream with killer precision. Her foreboding aura unnerves the petty critters below who take shelter from her droning gaze. She stays perched, seeking for an opening through the dense forestry.
The entirety of the forest with its trunks and branches, the thickets and the shrubbery; it was all nothing but the hunting ground of this menacing hawk. A thin and elongated furry little mammal prances across the forest floor in search for opportunity. It appears miniscule yet flexible, squeezing and wiggling across the forest floor. The weasel sniffs and scrounges the soil in search for smaller prey. Its muzzle shaped head sifts through the grainy mud and crumpled leaves. The vines and bushes seem to provide the meagre creature with a sense of safety however nowhere is safe in this forest. As the weasel catches sight of the predator perching on the treetops, it is gripped by fright. Its fear forces it to prowl within the confines of claustrophobic thickets. However, nearly nothing can evade from the searing sight of the hunter from the sky. No crevice, no convoluted bush can provide safe harbour. As soon as the weasel seeps through the undergrowth and moves into the exposed clearing, the hawk glares and unfurls her hefty wings as though she were hoisting a banner of war. Her dense wings are long and flutter with the squall. The gusts grant her staggering speed as she tears through the air, descending upon her prey. The scrawny weasel squeals at the sight of the dashing hunter, it launches itself up to speed and bolts across the seedy clearing. The slender critter may scurry forward as much as it wishes, but despite its more than valiant efforts at survival it will not last, as long as it is within the hawk’s eyes. She is mounted and riding upon the mighty winds, making the speed and strength of the gales hers. The hunt forces her to find a path through the dense and impenetrable foliage, the canopy and the shrubbery may appear to be impenetrable for the untrained but for the hunter there is no barrier she cannot slice through. Her graceful sailing wings retract towards her body while her talons immediately cram in. The hawk shoots through the opening between the branches, losing virtually none of her speed. The weasel still festers and charges ahead, the hunt seems arduous. The path towards the weasel cuts through a slit guarded by diagonal branches. The hawk tilts her body, furls her feathers and opens her talons. She turns through the branches, placing her talons on one of them. Her strength enables her to leap from the branch, forcing immense pressure downwards in order to instigate a powerful upthrust. As she hurls herself upwards, her wings and feathers flare and spread out, her tail tilts downward and expands with the spreading of her wings.
The crescent shaped wingspan of the mighty hawk casts an unnerving shadow upon her prey. The hawk’s wings are a grim omen for those bound to taste the talons. She dashes down with winds at her back, her wings close in giving the impression of a fletched arrow, and her talons are clenched as though it were a fist primed for a furious strike. The gap closes hastily between predator and prey as the arrow is about to land on the target and then…. The clenched fists strike the neck, swiftly opening and extending the claws. The talons dig deep into fur-laden neck and scrounge out the bloodied flesh, the deed was done. Prey had been predated, the weak had been culled and the strong grow stronger with the culling. There are various truths which define the lands under these laws; the cyclical essence of all beings is one truth which holds an almost inescapable grip.
Without you I thought that I could find a life for myself deep within this wilderness, but the more I find myself further and further away from the light you lit for us I realised what that meant. We were cast out and forsaken to a cold world, yet you offered me warmth. Now that you are with me no more, all that is left is yearning. You were sent far away to a world from which only a few ever return, a world which the lords and princes holler on and on about. You left me wondering why you gave your life to this world which has hated us forever, the longer I think the less answers I find. There are no leads and no certainties I can go by, the only thing that is certain is that I must find you. I don’t think I have what it takes yet I will still make the journey. I cannot suffer without meaning. I will find you…
The shining sun begins to dim. The daily journey of daylight reaches its epilogue, as the sun begins sinking into the western horizon almost as if it were advancing further and further away into the uncharted. The nourishing light that bathed the forests now fades into a serene gradient, slipping into the vast mosaic of clouds and deeper beyond. The reign of the light comes to an end. Skies of fresh, clear and light-tinted blue begin to turn to the gloom as the expansive darkness spreads, engulfing the eternal sky in its shroud. The incumbent moonrise draws the murky air of mystery towards the forests of this land. The haunting fog of the night simmers through the forests as the air ruffles the leaves, unnerving the land. Weak winds fail to coerce the forestry, the trees continue to stand straight and hold out. Despite their stable posture, the harassing and haunting air of fear grip the foliage. Circumstances of distress and nightly horror surround the northern forest.
As the bushes settle down and ease up after the silent whispers of inactivity hint at the absence of danger…a white-hot flash tears through, slicing the tension with a knife’s edge. The light is blinding and raging hot, leaving behind the flaming husks of leaves. A tall darkly figure races across the thickets, domineering with each pace it covers. The white flashes emanate from the trail of the shrouded one. It appears to be in hot pursuit, increasing speed and moving with haste. Each second, each moment the pressure rises, the speed skyrockets, the strides get heavier, and the flames grow stronger. Trees, branches and leaves enrage, the blazing flames worsen and agitate. The frenzied light of the fire highlights the ghastly visage of the undeterred runner, a toned yet mildly emaciated body wrapped in black and grey garb, a dark headband covers his forehead, and his face, tattered and coarse. He is tall and slender, ceaselessly galloping across the intertwining roots and reeds. Locked on to by his unwavering sight is a small child, wearing a suit covered in rancid dirt and sludgy mud, his back is turned to his assailant as he scurries through the forest. The feeble child’s wheezing nose is broad, exhaling and inhaling deeply in unrest with each stride. Dreadful shrieks cue his attacker on his position. The forest with its thorny vines, deciduous thickets and runny roots; seemed to close in on the child and trap the timid little boy in an impenetrable prison. The lad resorts to making various twists and turns through the labyrinthine woodlands seemingly in an attempt to beguile the aggressive pursuer. The assailant discharges more and even more fire, expunging furious anger at the foliage. The assailant ascends a tree with terrorising pace, hurtling and slithering through the thick boughs and branches without any error. The marauder gracefully sprints over tall trees with ease, all in an attempt to close the distance and run the prey down. Every moment the child takes to turn back and look, the more sluggish his movements become. The situation looks bleak, the menacing demeanour of this arboreal assassin demoralises the boy. The wreathing, entwining roots of a dried old tree curl over the route the kid races on. His trembling legs hit an undergrowing root, immediately he loses balance on impact.
Mud splashes and gurgles, flying up into the air as the quaking boy dashes into the ground as if he were a poor bird shot down by a hunter. Finding the meagre energy left within his broken and dismayed soul, he writhes and slightly rises up. Turning his head towards the blackened, bleak and haunting woods ahead of him, the fear that gripped his round face now deepens. The utter horror of what was ahead pushed him into a state of silent panic, the sight directly opposite to the misty woods was equally horrifying. The unnerving silhouette of an arboreal terror prowling through the trees, making great haste with each step stared into the poor child’s innocent eyes, offering him a brutal and grisly end. The orange and white flashes of fire jabbed through the plaguing black mist of the woods. Dreadful darkness and malicious light clashing together, causing worries to spiral within the boy’s soul, churning agony through the air with each visceral moment. The assailant descends from the blazing heights, his streaking striated garb streaming through the thickets like smoke, his aura exudes disturbance and rage; predator had closed the gap between it and prey, clenched fists and a hungry beak primed to grab what was wanted, the deed was to be done.
A fluid and streaming arrow screeches through the predator’s advance, tearing through the grim man’s attire and skin. The pursuer finds his motions hindered, the convulsing sensation of a cutting strike sets in. His body stumbles, staggers and crashes down, clasped by the force of the sudden tear. His dark garb is now muddied with the irritating sludge of failure, a long hot-pursuit and coursing adrenaline comes to an irate end. The stumbling predator immediately jumps up and turns his sight towards the direction of the well-shot projectile. Vexed exasperation emanates from his eyes and wrinkled cheeks, gritting his dirty teeth as his eyes race across the surroundings. His sleek yet grubby arms wriggle around a woven bag slung on his belt. Gripping the small coarse sac, he lights a clicking spark with his fingertips. As he prepares his arm for a violent launch seemingly to raze the entire forest down, another arrow carves through mists, impaling the arm that clasped the object. Shrieking in great pain at a steel tip punctured through his flesh, he drops the sac which now rages into a blazing orb of white fire. The firebomb falls to the floor and instantaneously explodes into a tall and outrageous salvo of flames. The darkened man is swallowed whole by the flames he himself once wielded, his skin boiling and roasting turning black and red, shrivelling. A brawny young man emerges from the shrubbery, wielding strong armour. His eyes marked with dark bluish paint and his garb painted with imperial blue. Hajime rises from the thickets with stern eyes as the frightened boy wails at the gruesome sight. This terror will NOT persist.
The young child’s wailing steadily ceased as the flames that engulfed his hunter’s body came to a lull, the boy’s mouth hung wide open completely dazed and astonished. The distressing and macabre sight of a blazed corpse was thoroughly seared into his mind however the frightful remains of his assassin were not the cause of his wide-eyed surprise. Hajime, the man who bravely spearheaded the assault against the coastal fortresses of the Wakou raiders had searched for him and saved his life. He wriggles across the grimy forest ground and stands up; his stature seemed too miniscule compared to his towering saviour.
“Hajime….I mean sir… you found me, and you rescued me.”
The boy’s arms tremble as his head immediately turns low out of some sort of frightful respect.
“Soldiers are not allowed to leave the barracks, that goes for the misfits too.”
Hajime interrogates with stringent severity, seemingly displeased at the boy’s presence in this burning forest. The trail of blazes glow and haunt the boy as the sinking sense of panic grab a hold on him, the glow of fire and Hajime’s harsh gaze only make the panic sink deeper. The child nervously shivers in the heat and responds,
“Sir! I….wished to search for…. My brother, I know he was sent deep into raider territory; I will find him and bring good honour!”
This response visibly irks Hajime; his voice begins to coarsely spout,
“It would be quite foolish of you to assume that small fry like you would be capable enough to manage such a daunting task.”
The calm composed and concentrated rage of a hardened warrior like him greatly unnerved the boy.
“I….I’m sorry sir, I am just….I’m afraid for him. You know sir he’s…he’s my brother…”
The frightened child begins weeping, feeling apologetic for his unsanctioned actions but what else could the boy have done? In the child’s eyes this was the only possible path for him to take, the only choice reserved for him. Desperate times did always call for desperate measures. The child’s wailing wet eyes, his clenched fists, the way he submissively kneels before his elder and senior; it was clear that the boy wished for none of this, the raider’s chase, the burning forest, all he wished for was to search for his brother.
The cold pitiless and stoned heart of the bold warrior wavered at the sight of a poor weeping kid. “Brace yourself lad,” Hajime kneels down to his level, looking him in the eye. “You are the son of the Middle Kingdom, A nation built by legendary heroes. The crimson blood of our demigod forefathers courses through your gifted veins as well. It brings great displeasure to see one like you whimpering at the site of his bravery.” His tears come to a slow halt as Hajime’s words reverberate within his ears. “But I would have been killed if it had not been for you sir…” (He interrupts) “You continue to fail to consider the fact that you were born for greatness. Decades of mastery under the battle arts have raised our nation to majestic heights, the same tenacity I also see in you.” Hajime’s passionate statements beam with eloquence, capturing the impressionable boy’s curiosity. “It’s best we return soon” Hajime says these words in an almost caressing, kind tone.
The boy’s small bead-like eyes glimmer with cheer and hope, his eyelids and cheeks now wiped of wet and sorrowful teardrops. His brother was the only person who mattered to him, the only one who helped him get past the dire straits of his childhood. The world of the warrior was their only path of mobility. If it had not been for the Kingdom, the boy and his brother would have most definitely faded into obscurity. Hajime gave the boy something he desperately yearned for, something he searched for, turning towards each and every corner. A young hatchling hurled into a world of conflict and misery, despite being of brave birth the boy seemed to have learned how to fight before learning how to walk. The legends enshrined in the Kingdom histories and Hajime himself were gods, idols to him. The urge to emulate his idol’s path was an urge that rang too close to home for the little one. He aspired to attain honour and respect; he aspired to become legend; his hope was now drawing him towards Hajime’s warpath.
The red rugged suit draped around his body was covered in the soaking mud of the mossy undergrowth. The hatchling’s life was already catapulted into the perennial horror. Wiping the dirt and grit off of his bruised face and stained clothes, Boy calls out to his dramatic saviour.
“Will you find my brother? He was sent early into Wakou…I fear for his…” Hajime responds, “Cease your worries, he will be found.”
The boy’s worrisome wintry visage disappears as the summer of reassurance glows. The flames which ravaged the island forest soon come to a standstill as rain begins pouring from the faucet of the skies. Humid and muggy air fills the surroundings. The duo of warrior and child seem to trot away into the distance. Fright and fire fizzle out as hopeful yet uncertain winds set in. A journey ahead rife with despair and sorrow yet the pair set out with the hopes of carving their desires. The urge to resist is ever-present; the perpetual ordeal however continues to fester…
The burning forest was only the beginning. Misfit children like the boy have been sent to conquer the southern territory in the name of the Middle Kingdom. This angered land was Wakou Island, a far cry from the glorious prestige and bountiful harvests of the Kingdom. The soil of these southern reaches was infertile and inept, nothing grew, and nothing thrived. The mountains of this island, like a wall of divine construction, halt mere mortals from treading too far. The cold winds made even the stoutest of all soldiers shiver in their agonizing frostbite. The horrifying jungles stifle and choke even the bravest of souls. A land of meager tribes, a land of infection and disease and a land rife with unimaginable predators give this island its name and stature. This is Wakou, called so in the northern tongue. It is a land of infertility, sorrow, and horror.
“No soldier, no captain and certainly no lord or prince would sail to these southern wastes with any hope of victory. No one would dare tame the gruesome wilderness. No ant could ever crack a mountain open as if it were an egg. Only I could, I would be the one to stray far from the comforts of a warm bed and platters of savory meals for attaining glorious salvation through the tremors and flames. Only I can guide them. I am Hajime, the warrior. I will set this world right, only I can.”
By Aditya Krishnan
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