Prologue
After this, Zesta knew he would never, ever, be the same person he used to be.
‘Be still. It can hear you,’ his father whispered, pointing at the bushes. ‘Never underestimate the instincts of a creature.’ He watched his father tightened his grip, making the dagger in his hand appear deadlier than ever.
‘It’s a young, father,’ Zesta protested. They were known as hunters in their village, a silent and skilled profession. His father taught him basic hunting techniques when he was a child and Zesta could remember like it was yesterday his first successful hunt. His father and the villagers knew Zesta was many times better than his father- sharper, quicker and more focused. But Zesta had never hunted a young. He had never wanted to.
‘And we need to eat. The villagers need to eat,’ his father replied; his eyes fixated on the moving foliage. ‘In this circumstance, our hunt becomes a need, son, and what I am doing is not made by my choice.’ He knew his father meant well but as he turned to look at the young creature, now its body visible, he could not stomach the thought of killing and feeding on it. ‘I need you to imagine it as a creature bigger than it is.’ Zesta swallowed hard. ‘Are you ready, Zesta? If you are not, then I will not force it against your will. I am giving you a choice.’
He could feel the stare of his father and though the words were heavy, he uttered, ‘I am ready, father.’ He gingerly moved in separate ways from his father towards the young. He halted whenever he heard himself stepping on and breaking twigs or brushing against the branches because he knew any sound would cause the young to flee. The forest was quiet and he could hear the creature nibbling on the tiny leaves and occasionally snorting. He looked at his father who was waiting at the other end. Just before he leaped forward, Zesta took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was prepared for what was to happen.
But it happened so quickly and unexpectedly that he froze for seconds after the leap. He could hear his father shouting at him to run but Zesta knew he would never leave his father, in danger and in pain, alone. It was larger than him or his father. The dagger in his father’s hand was a few feet away from him. His father was on the ground, injured and vulnerable, like how the creature was. As his father warned him to escape, he could see his father carefully retreating. There was no shield or barrier or anything solid behind him that he could use to protect himself from the creature. Zesta ignored his father’s warnings and held his dagger close. The only thing that could protect his father from danger now was him.
Zesta rushed towards his father until he stood before the parent of the creature. He felt his hands trembling as he outlined the size of the creature. The creature moved forward, growling. It had long, sharp tusks, and when light reflected on its body, Zesta could see a mixture of black and brown colour of its skin. Zesta did not know what to do. He had never stood before a provoked and ferocious creature like this that the only thing he thought was right to do was to lower his dagger, surrendering himself to the might of this creature.
‘What are you doing?’ he heard his father but he did not reply. He looked the creature in the eyes as if he could communicate with it. Zesta raised his palm outwards slowly so the creature could see he was harmless now, and in an almost begging tone, he said, ‘Forgive us.’ The creature moved forward but Zesta remained unexpectedly calm. He raised and lowered his hand alternatively. ‘We are sorry.’
The parent wanted to charge at Zesta but its young came next to it and rubbed its nose. The parent retreated, turned and both the parent and the young fled into the bushes, lost from their sight.
He turned to look at his injured father and kneeled next to him.
‘That was incredible,’ his father said, almost speechlessly.
‘I thought it would attack,’ he tore part of his sleeve to wrap the wound at his father’s leg.
‘It was going to, Zesta. But it didn’t,’ his father said and then let out a cry as Zesta tightened the bandage on his leg. ‘There is something you need to know.’
‘Not now, father. You need to get healed,’ he replied. ‘We’ll have beans for dinner,’ Zesta teased. He threw his father’s arm over his shoulder and slowly lifted him off the ground, and he retrieved the dagger.
‘Get us back to our hut. There is something you need to know, there is something you need to have, fast.’
***
Sean was busy deriving a formula for continuity equation that he did not realize his mother was at the door.
‘An assignment?’ she asked, startling him.
‘Mom, I didn’t know you’re here,’ he replied.
‘The door was open and I saw you at the table. I came here to give you this.’ It was a tiny white velvet box.
‘Mom, what is this?’ he released the pencil in his grip, shifted his body towards his mother and reached for the box in her hand.
‘It is your birthday gift. I want you to keep it until tomorrow, when you officially turn 21.’
‘Thanks, mom,’ he replied and attempted to open the box before his mother stopped him.
‘Open it tomorrow. No cheating, no peeping. It’s the rule.’
‘Is it a game or something?’ Sean grinned, ogling at the box, intrigued by his mother’s playful act. ‘We’re not rich.’
‘It is from your father. He said that your life will never be the same again,’ a smile stretched across her face.
Sean could not understand what his father was trying to tell him. He wondered if it was a puzzle to solve or a code to decipher, but when he looked at his mother sitting across him, knowing something and not telling, Sean decided to quit those thoughts.
‘Dad must have his reasons,’ he said, shaking the box this time but there was no sound.
‘Come, dinner is ready,’ his mother changed topic, ‘and after dinner, finish whatever you are doing.’
When Sean wanted to reply, he noticed his mother had left the room and went downstairs to the kitchen. So, he drew his table drawer and placed the white velvet box inside, and then he exited the room to join his mother.
Little did Sean realize that the box then gleamed in white light; it shone brightly through the wooden table and the glass window panels, and then seconds later, the light dimmed and faded, leaving the white velvet box in the dark confines of his drawer.
***
Zesta chopped some firewood then tossed them into the fire while his father sat beside it and watched, outside their hut, warming his body and smiling to himself.
‘I’ve never spoken about your mother to you,’ his father said, breaking the silence. Zesta sat opposite his father and held his cup of beans. He did not reply his father. He did not know what to reply. He simply nodded. ‘What you did reminded me of only what your mother would do.’
Zesta knew his mother died when he was young but he never spoke of or heard about her from his father. In other words, he did not know what happened to his mother. ‘How was mother?’ Zesta said. ‘How was she like?’ He lowered his cup so he could see his father clearly.
‘She was… incredible,’ his father described in one word. ‘Your mother was the most beautiful person I have ever met and she was always there to support me, to support us, even till her dying breath.’
‘If only I could remember how she looked like,’ Zesta uttered.
‘I never forget a face, and you look like her.’
‘What happened to her, father?’ he asked and his father went silent. ‘Father, I am old enough to deal with grief, mature enough to understand the misfortune that befallen onto us. Tell me, father, what happened to mother?’
A lump began to build up at his father’s throat. He saw his son, grown up and wanting to know the truth, and he recalled the moment he and his wife fled the kingdom, Magina, the home of his and her ancestors that was at the brink of chaos and destruction, overruled by Darkness and betrayed by an ally. ‘There is a reason why we came and live in this village,’ he began to speak. ‘We came to hide from the Darkness, we ran to escape from falling together with Magina because in our early days, there was a prophecy of this land that tells of a stranger who will lead the rise and bring back the glory days of Magina. You will be part of the rise of Magina because it is in your blood.’
‘The Darkness brought nothing to this land but misery and gloom,’ Zesta responded. ‘Why has there been no fight against them?’
‘Constantly,’ his father replied. ‘Every moment we speak, a village fights for survival and freedom, and it is only a matter of time the Darkness finds us here in this village.’
‘Then we shall need to prepare for them,’ Zesta said.
‘Much is easier said than done, son. The Darkness feeds on the dark side of us and every time we move forward to gain back our land, we tend to get blinded by vengeance, power and greed, and these make them twice ahead of us. Your mother, she was a casualty in a fight.’
‘Mother was killed in a fight in the hands of the Darkness?’ Zesta stood and felt his body burning in anger, in confusion, and in desperation.
‘You have to calm down, son!’ his father exclaimed and attempted to stand. ‘You do not know what the Darkness is. You…’
‘The Darkness killed my mother, tortures the people and forces us to live in fear. That is all I need to know about the Darkness!’ He never felt such emotion in him before. He could already taste the sweetness of revenge in his mouth when he clenches the throat of the man behind his mother’s death.
‘Vengeance is dark. Discard whatever your thoughts are!’ His father shouted, limping towards his son.
Zesta felt his body was being taken over. He felt his surrounding was filled with gloom and dust, and in a corner of his heart, he liked the feeling. His mind went blank and the only thought that controlled his speech and movements were those of blood and revenge. He could hear voices, whispers, chatters around him, all at once.
‘Don’t succumb to the Dark, Zesta!’ his father reached him and placed his hand on his shoulder. His father’s hand lit and he felt a strong thrust that pushed him to the ground. Zesta’s vision of the night and the fire and the hut slowly returned, and when he scanned to see his father on the ground, he dashed towards his father.
‘I’m sorry, father.’ And he lifted his father carefully off the ground. His father was unconscious. He brought his father into the hut and pulled a blanket over him on his bed. The night became chilly and Zesta returned outside to the fire, hoping for its warmth to stop his shivers but the firewood was almost completely burnt. He could never forget, in the midst of being taken over, the voice that spoke to him. It was deep and hoarse, and when he shut his eyes, he knew who it was.
‘I found you,’ the voice said one last time.
...to be continued
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