Chapter 12: Judgement

“Brothers,” said Leaping Fox, “I have something to confess.”

All of us seven Brothers became quiet at that, looking at the seriousness of his face.

“The teats of a Ronat,” Leaping Fox began. Then he stopped, as if hesitating whether to continue or not. He started again.

“I confess…I may have somewhat fondled with them in my curiosity.”

Little Bird was the first one to laugh at that. “No wonder you use those words to curse!”

We all turned to look at Little Bird then. His words were a little strange.

Little Bird turned sheepish. “Er…I may have somewhat fondled the teats of a Ronat too…”

A long silence.

“What?” He gave a shrug. “These mother Ronats, Brothers. They are not to be underestimated. They kick hard if you try to grab at them.” His two hands made for a grabbing motion.

Another long silence.

“HAH! I knew it, Brother Little Bird,” Leaping Fox shouted. “I was just kidding about my confession! It was all to get you to confess too!” He shook his head like a mother scolding her child. “I fear your antics may trouble your future girlies, especially Mina.”

“Gah! Brother Leaping Fox, your tricks are too harsh! I can’t believe you are still nursing onto that grudge a few months ago!”

Cunning, our Brother Leaping Fox was. He knew exactly what would make Little Bird tick.

He also had a flair for words. And for cursing.

“Teats of a Ronat.”

-Wolf Under Stars

With a quick scooping motion of his hand, the Ritual Master picked up the pulsing scarlet heart that I had dropped, putting it back inside the intricate chest. He closed the lid then. Carefully and slowly, he faced us again.

“You should not protect the Halfing,” the Ritual Master started. “He is not a true Hunter. Protecting him will lead both of you into your own deaths. You will only die a futile death. And that is a death you should be most afraid of.”

He walked closer a step, slowly and purposely, as if daring us to run. No, he was giving us time to run. There were only about ten feet between us now. In front of me, Brother Ronat and Brother Leaping Fox held their blade-spears ready. Not in the Assailing Stance, but in the Guarded Stance.

Their stances spoke much of their intentions. My Brothers would defend me from the Ritual Master to the bitter end.

The Ritual Master gave a cold smile that did not reach his eyes. “The two of you will have to kill me to protect the Halfing behind you. A Guarded Stance will do naught but prolong this.”

The Brothers faltered a little at that. They had killed beasts, true. But they had never truly killed. Still, the two of them remained in their Guarded Stance, their blade-spears pointed upward, extending from the neutral point of the chest.

I formed a bitter smile at that. Here I was, the oldest among them, and I was being protected by the two of them.

I could not even stand up. I felt weak, and I was bleeding in a few places. Blood trickled down my forehead, crossing my brows, and dripping past my eyes. My vision was still blurred, dyed red.

How that happened, I did not know. The blast and the resulting fall should not have been enough to hurt me. Perhaps it was the blinding white light that had injured me and not the fall. Pain wracked my body. I felt weaker than ever before.

No convulsions came upon me, yet I felt as if there was one. I felt even weaker than the times the convulsions came upon me. When I came to Knew blood. My blood.

Lying on my back, even the soft grey grass of the Bleary Grasslands felt like the pricks of thorns, sharp enough to make a grown man cry. Make even a Demona cry. My hands grabbed at these thorns, as if holding onto them could give me back my strength, as if the thorns could carry my weight and hold me upright. But they didn’t. And neither did my hands or legs.

The Ritual Master took his time, as if each slow step toward us could change my Brothers’ mind. It didn’t. But to me, each step of his was like a hammer crashing into the ground, making it tremble. A step into my Brothers’ early graves. There was no way the two of them could take on a full grown Hunter, and a former lead Hunter at that.

I made to speak, to tell my Brothers to give me up. But my voice was stopped cold. My body betrayed me. I willed at my blood. Where was that fire when I needed it? Where was that boundless energy? Another attempt. Still nothing. I tried Surging my blood. Still nothing.

By the the Ritual Master was only seven feet away, within a mere flick of his blade-spear, Brother Leaping Fox shouted. “Stop. I challenge you to a duel. You will battle with me. If I win, you let Brother Wolf Under Stars go. If I lose, I guess you can also take my life. Exchange it.”

He looked toward Brother Ronat, his eyes nudging at him. I could tell what Brother Leaping Fox wanted to do. He wanted Brother Ronat to take me away, flee while he kept the Ritual Master busy. It was an idea doomed from the start. I looked at the three older Hunters behind the Ritual Master. They had impassive faces like great stones looking down from a height.

Brother Ronat shook his head. “No,” he said. A touch of firmness that would not budge. “We die together.” He would not abandon Brother Leaping Fox.

The Ritual Master gave a cold laugh, then directed his cold stare toward me. I felt as if he could see through my very thoughts.

“No need to worry, the three Hunters behind me will do nothing,” he said. “They will not attack you, defend you…or even chase you. There is only me you have to worry about.” He looked toward Brother Leaping Fox. “An interesting proposition, young Hunter. I will accept it.” With a swift twirl, he held the blade-spear vertical, the blade pointed downward. Then he slammed it down into the ground, and more than half of its length became buried inside. “I shall even fight you barehanded. It will give you a small chance to attempt for a struggle at the very least.”

Brother Leaping Fox stepped forward, then he placed his blade-spear gently onto the ground. He didn’t have the strength to replicate the feat of burying more than half of the blade-spear into the ground. “I shall also fight you barehanded then.”

The Ritual Master let out a gruff of a laughter, harsh on the ears. Amusement. “Indeed, a spirit of nobility. You suit the purple heart quite well. It’s a shame nobility always leads to an early grave, young Hunter. You should have taken every advantage I give you.” He paused, as if to make sure his words had sunk in. “There is nothing noble about failing. Winning is all that matters.”

As if on cue, Brother Ronat also stepped forward. “Will you give us another advantage then? A two on one fight. It should be easy for one such as you.”

“I suppose it will not hurt. It would make it easier on me. Killing two beasts with one spear, that is.” He smiled. “The young ones do not heed the old nowadays. Too reckless for their own good. Fear not, I will give you a swift death.”

Just like that, something in me was set afire. Ignited. A blaze that could set the whole world on fire. But the blaze did nothing for me. I made another attempt at speaking, to stop my Brothers’ foolishness, but the words became stuck in my throat with no release. I tried standing up again. It was to no avail. Again and again, I attempted.

And somehow, in that persistence, I found the strength to pull myself upright. Perhaps it was the strength of my two Brothers standing so fearlessly lending me strength. Perhaps it was the guilt that ate away at me like the black flame of decay did for Magus Zelas’ face. Or perhaps it was just the fury inside me.

Anger at the old Hunter that stood before me. Anger at him once being a former lead Hunter. Anger at my own powerlessness.

I picked up my blade-spear which had fallen short beside me. Even in the blast of that blinding white light and in the midst of my fall, I had held onto my weapon. It was a lesson that had become a part of me. Hold onto your weapon even when faltering.

I moved toward my Brothers, each step harder than the previous one. I realize that I was bleeding in places I had not even noticed. There was also an ache in my chest each time I took a step. A fractured rib probably. Just my luck.

I placed a hand upon Brother Leaping Fox’s shoulder. “No need to do this. I will be the only one fighting.” Somehow, in the depths of my body, at an unknown crevice, under layers of unfamiliarity, I found the strength to say those words.

And in that moment, as if on cue, it began raining—it was as if the skies were laughing at my weakness, at my feigned strength. The skies laughed so hard that tears fell. On that day, the rain seemed different. No longer a happy thing, but a sad thing.

My Brothers did not even turn at my words. It was as if they had not heard them. They only continued warily glancing at the Ritual Master. But I knew that wasn’t true. They had heard my words. The two arms supporting my back, an arm from each of my Brother, told the silent, wordless story. They would stay with me regardless of my words.

“Brother Wolf, whatever you can do, I can do better,” Leaping Fox said. “You are heavily injured yet you want to fight by yourself? In your dreams! I will be the one to finish this.” He grinned. “My manhood, after all, is bigger. You know it to be true. I will top whatever you do.”

“That’s a lie,” I said, the small laughter that surfaced in my chest giving me an aching pain. “Mine’s bigger. That pissing contest we did was proof. And is this the time to be comparing our manhood?”

Brother Leaping Fox snorted. “Seems as good as any other time.”

Brother Ronat became even more and silent as if he was bewildered at our conversation in this situation. He merely shook his head at us.

“Brother Wolf,” Leaping Fox said. “You just sit down and let us do all the work. We will take as good care of you as a mother Ronat does her child.”

All this time, the Ritual Master stared at the three of us with cold amusement, never taking a step forward more. It looked as if he was giving us time to say our last words. His amusement did nothing to warm his coldness. “Are you about done?”

Some say that to laugh in the face of certain death is a good luck charm. A show of fearlessness to all-consuming death, so that it could not catch you, grasp you in its time-worn bony hands. Us Brothers? We laughed not because we were fearless, we laughed because we were happy to share in each other’s company.

Like all battles, most begins with but a step. This was no exception.

The Ritual Master took a step forward, and my two Brothers mirrored it. Like the predators of the wild, my two Brothers circled around the Ritual Master who stood in that circle like a great mountain, unmoving and patiently waiting for their moves.

Among the many arts we learned, the atlatl spears, the blade-spear, throwing knives, touches of poison, traps and a few others, we also learned unarmed combat. Unarmed combat wasn’t as important, for we lived our lives on the edges of our blade-spears. Still, there are always eventualities. A blade-spear could break in the midst of battle, or you didn’t have the weapon with you in some situations. Then, one could only resort to unarmed combat in addition to a few other arts, of course.

In the unarmed combat we learned, we used it mostly against beasts. Naturally, that meant that we only went for the fatal strikes. Attacking the eyes were one of the first thing we learned.

But beast and Demona are different, and we had never killed anyone before.

Brother Leaping Fox broke the deadlock first. He moved abruptly. One step forward and in the next moment, a pivot that proceeded into a whirling kick. Brother Ronat moved from behind, executing into a sweeping kick that would knock his feet off.

The Ritual Master moved fast. An unnatural speed that seemed impossible. Faster than anything I have ever fought or seen. Faster than anything Hunter showed us. His fists became blurs, and my two Brothers were blown backward with a fist aimed straight at their stomachs. One by one, but there was not even a second of delay between the two strikes.

I witnessed the scene of my two Brothers flying into the air, and landing against the ground hard more than a dozen feet away. They landed hard enough to tear out the grey grass of the land, throwing up even some dirt. Both of them landed on their backs. Then the dreadful coughing fits. They both threw up blood, some of it splattering their chests red.

An unfathomable strength. An unsurpassed speed.

I laughed bitterly to myself. An impossible fight from the start. Even if I had my full strength, I would have also lost in one move to the Ritual Master, who seemed like a dragon descended into the form of a Demona.

The rain poured harder, washing away some of the blood on the chests of my two Brothers who were trying to still stand up. The blood on my body also seeped into the grey grass of the land. They were dyed crimson as my blood gave colors to their dreariness.

Move. Obey me. Why do you not give me strength when I need it most!

I attempted a Surging in my blood, but I didn’t feel it responding.

“The young are easily given into irrationality,” the Ritual Master said as he moved toward me after grabbing at his buried blade-spear. It seemed to glow with a bloody redness underneath the rain. “They are foolhardy, easily letting their logic ruled by their hearts. But it is an easily forgivable mistake.”

I attempted a half lunge with my blade-spear, willing the weapon to strike at the old Hunter. It didn’t hit. He easily struck it away as one would do to a small nuisance. The strength of that strike, however, forced me to my knees as I still held onto my weapon.

One hand on the wet ground to support me, and the other hand on the handle of my blade-spear, I looked up into the cold eyes of my would-be killer. And he looked down at me.

He hung the blade of his weapon high above me, like a red-tipped executioner’s axe about to swing down at any moment of notice. “I will give you two choices, Wolf Under Stars. Kill your two Brothers and I will let you go free. I will even let you retake the Ritual. Your other choice is to die along with the two of them as they protect you.” His voice was like a dry, seductive whisper into my ears. “Show me that it is logic that rules your heart. Show me that you are a true Hunter, different from the other two.”

I looked at my two Brothers still struggling to get up, blood tracing the corners of their mouths.

Two lives for mine? Or all of us dying?

A voice whispered inside my mind. A gentle seductive voice, almost like the soft folds of a red satin cloth.

Survive. Give the first choice.

I closed my eyes, and blackness filled my vision. Two lives or three lives? It was a simple straightforward answer.

Naturally, the first choice was better. Was it not better to survive? Was it not logical?

The decision came to me upon those thoughts.

I opened my eyes, looking into his frigid stare, at the cold blade-spear that hung above my head like death’s executioner.

Then I closed my eyes once more, letting the blackness take over my vision.

“I choose death. Just let my two Brothers go,” I whispered in the loud, maddening dance of the rainstorm. The pitter patter and the patter pitter of the drops. Of the cold drops that fell upon my neck.

“How disappointing,” he softly whispered back, just loud enough to overcome the pitter patter, the patter pitter. The steps of death traced my footsteps. I was the hunted prey. Not the hunter. Not a true Hunter.

A few seconds passed by, and all I could hear were the pitter patter of the rain drops and the shouting of my Brothers, yelling at the Ritual Master to stop.

Then I felt the wind descend as the blade-spear fell upon me.

A wet thud.

Was I dead?

Strange, I had not even felt anything. There was no pain. Was this what death felt like?

I imagined the eyes of all the beasts and animals I had killed over the past years. Was this how they felt too when they died? A blissful nothingness? Or Hatred? Enmity?

I tried opening my eyes.

And they opened. But there was still the same scene before me.

I could see the rain still falling around me and the Ritual Master standing tall before me. Then I heard his voice, clear and loud.

“Congratulations, young Wolf Under Stars, for passing the Trial of Conviction.” The Ritual Master pulled out the edge of the blade-spear that was stuck in the ground beside me. “You gave the correct answer.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Wasn’t that the wrong choice?”

“The strength of mind to hold a firm belief in yourself, in that of your Brothers. That, young Hunter, is far better than anything what true death has to offer. What survival upon the cost of the lives of others has to offer.”

His voice turned into a sad softness. “Over my many years as the Ritual Master, some Hunters never pass the various Trials of Conviction, no matter how we teach them, no matter how we instill the true spirit of Brotherhood in them. They choose to sacrifice others for their own lives. They are not true Hunters. They do not deserve the true power the Ritual of Age grants upon them.”

It didn’t make any sense. “What about the red heart, then? Why did it reject me?”

The Ritual Master gave a small chuckle. “The red heart is the most powerful of the four hearts. Very few Hunters in all of the Demona tribes become lucky enough to be chosen by it, to have an affinity with it. It is so powerful that the first touch will result in that blinding white flash, a backlash which will leave you injured and weak for a few hours. The one you call Hunter, the one who taught you, he too was chosen by the red heart.”

A small frown, his brows furrowing. “It reacted quite unusually strong when you held it though. Strange, but perhaps that is because you are of half-blood. We have never had a half-blood Demona Hunter take the Ritual of Age before.”

“One more question,” I said.

“What is it?”

“What would have happened if I had chosen the wrong answer?”

His eyes turned hard. “The worst of the ones, the ones that could never become Hunters in their lifetime, I kill them. The rest, I exile.” A sharpness, like tempered steel. “There are no second chances in this trial. You pass or you don’t. Not to worry, both of your Brothers have passed this trial in choosing to defend you. I have seen enough of their hearts.”

I let out a sigh of relief, the droplets of rain bathing me with its cleansing touch, no longer like heavy hammers of burden.

“Now rest, young Hunter. It must be taking everything for you to even kneel, let alone stand upright.”

At his words, I felt myself going weaker, as if letting finally go off my grip upon the precipice of a cliff. “What does the red heart stand for,” I heard myself asking.

A faint chuckle as my vision faded slowly to darkness.

“The red heart. Of strength. Of willpower. Of passion. Of radiance.”

An even fainter voice, as if from miles away.

“And of rage, powerful enough to burn the whole world if ignited. Rest well now, One of Conviction. It will be a new morning by the time you wake, and a new transformation.”