Chapter Five: Michael’s Choice

Day One: Dawn

Perched on the outstretched branch of a sequoia tree, sixty feet from the ground, Michael waited.

He had been stalking the deer since the sun made its first appearance over the horizon. Since contending with the slake and leaving home, Michael had walked for three hours before making camp in the forested Orosus Lands. Under the protection of high, full trees and the roar of a small fire, he had slept till dawn and awoken with an appetite. With sixty-six hours to travel over two hundred miles, he didn’t want to waste time hunting; the deer had been a lucky find.

Tracking in the same method his father had taught him, Michael, blade drawn defensively, had stalked the oblivious deer silently through the thick of the Orosus. It had come to rest at a brook to quench its thirst. Michael climbed onto an ancient sequoia. Moving out onto a ledge placed him directly above the deer. Michael would simply drop down, stabbing the deer through the neck. It wouldn’t feel a thing.

Michael shifted to a squat position as the deer lowered itself to the ground, drinking from the clear water. The animal was grown, sporting a full set of antlers; it would feed him for the entire journey…
If it has done nothing to you, his mother’s words came roaring back into his head, why take its life?

Michael responded in his mind, trying to suppress memories of his mother’s teachings; because I’m hungry, mom, and these creatures were put here for our consumption.

It was as though his mother was right in the tree with him, right over his shoulder. A gentle breeze blew through, remember the circle, Michael. As you have harmed others, so will harm be brought unto you. There are other ways of satiating your hunger without slaughter.
Michael winced. His mother, born to a woman who held dominion over nature, had been raised vegetarian. She had passed her philosophies on to her family.

As Michael’s stomach rumbled, the deer raised its head slowly, turning and looking at its surroundings. It was as though the deer was aware that something had come for it, but was either too distant to be a threat…or hadn’t made up its mind yet.

To complicate the matter, Michael heard the words his father had said when they had hunted lesser demons together. If you’re going to kill something, his father had spoken, make sure it can kill you back.

The deer returned to the brook.

Michael sighed. Remembering a wild blackberry bush not too far from here, Michael sheathed his knife by his ankle. He had begun to stand when the ground thundered violently enough to shake the tree. Michael quickly crouched, grabbing tightly onto the branch as something passed beneath him.

As Michael observed, the deer sprang to its feet, not nearly in time to avoid being overtaken by a tremendously muscular, pale, four-legged creature. It bellowed ferociously, a deep, chilling, resonating cry of desperate hunger as it dove upon the deer, eviscerating it with three stone-like tusks that protruded from its elongated, boar-like face. The deer screamed, struggling weakly as the beast slammed it back to the ground, withdrawing its tusks. The deer made a weak attempt to rise; its legs bleeding and quivery. As it rose, the beast thrust upwards, impaling the deer with such force that it was lifted from the ground. The deer gave one final cry, and the beast allowed it to fall to the ground, where it was silent.

As the beast settled down for its meal, Michael landed upon it, stabbing it through the top of its head up to the hilt with his knife. In agony and shock, the beast screamed, bolting upwards. Struggling, Michael grasped the mortally wounded creature by the underside of its neck. As it fought to throw him, Michael forced the creature’s chin upwards, drawing his blade across its throat. The beast fell to the ground, dead, and Michael rolled as it slid, bounding to his feet. His father’s words returned to him as he turned back to the dead beast. Wiping the blade on his blue, woolen pants, Michael replaced his knife. Clutching his prey by the tail, he began to drag it back towards camp.
Michael walked for fifteen minutes before the embers of what remained of his fire came into view. As he neared camp, he frowned: The contents of his backpack had been spilled open.

Dropping the beast to the ground, Michael took a few cautious steps forward and looked toward the surrounding trees. He appeared to be alone, but the slake’s presence meant there was a mirror in the area.

Who said that was the only thing to come through?

Suddenly feeling threatened, Michael slowly dropped to one knee and began to draw his blade…

Cold, sharp, steel touched his throat. The knife came over his right shoulder, his assailant behind him.

Michael gasped involuntarily. He had neither seen nor heard his attacker coming. He froze.

Holding the blade at his throat, his assailant reached down to Michael’s ankle knife and unsheathed it.

“Nice knife.” A voice behind him said. Michael frowned; it wasn’t a demonic voice. In fact, it seemed rather young, like that of an adolescent, maybe younger than him. “Thank you,” Michael replied, unsure of what else to say.

Michael’s own blade went flying off to the left, landing a few feet away. “I need your stuff.” The voice said firmly, “and I need the forak.”

Michael realized that his captor was referring to his kill. “Okay.” Michael agreed.

“I’m going to take my knife away, and you’re going to help me carry my things back to my village. If you resist, I will kill you. I am the greatest fighter in Heaven.”

“Okay.”

Slowly, the knife came away from Michael’s throat. The second it was clear, in a single motion, Michael turned, grabbing his assailant’s wrist with both hands. His assailant yelped in surprise as Michael twisted his arm backwards, clutching the wrist with his right hand and with the left, Michael stole the knife. He was going to take his assailant’s life when he found himself looking into the terrified face of a boy no older than twelve. “Please don’t kill me.” The boy pleaded, wide-eyed and helpless.

Incredulous, Michael slowly lowered the boy’s wrist, keeping his eye on him as he rose. The boy dusted himself off, looking to Michael timidly. “Can I have my knife back?”

“No.” Irritated, Michael turned his back to the boy, retrieving his own knife. He replaced it, approaching the boy. “Who are you, and why were you going through my things?”

The boy shrugged. “I was hungry. I thought you might have something to eat.” He looked to the dead forak. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Michael contemplated knocking the boy out and leaving him. The boy smiled, his eyes pleading. “So, um, feel like sharing?”

Michael chuckled, nodding. “Sure, I’ll share.” He tossed the boy his knife back, and the boy caught it by its hilt with one hand. “You gut the forak. I’ll build the fire.”

The sun was higher in the sky by the time Michael and the boy had roasted up the forak. The boy was competent enough to quickly gut the beast, as though he had done it before. Michael noted that he was good with a knife, but thus far, the boy had deflected all attempt at conversation. Only after opening prayer did the boy finally nod his head towards Michael, who sat on the ground opposite the fire. “Hey,” He asked, swallowing a mouthful of pork, “that reversal move you used on me; where did you learn that?”

For a second, Michael looked across the flame to the boy, and then returned to the forak’s leg. “Old family secret.” He replied.

“Really?” The boy pressed, “Which family? What’s your name, anyway?”

“John.” Michael lied. He had long since ceased giving out his real name; the devastation of his family had made him and his mother pariahs. The less anyone knew about them now, the better.

“What about you? What’s your name?” Michael asked.

“Ander.” The boy replied, “So, you can really fight, then. You ever seen any real battles?”

“A couple.”

“Really?” The idea of real combat seemed to excite Ander, who pressed, “What’s it feel like?”

Michael raised his eyes to Ander. “You always this inquisitive of people you ambush?”

Ander chuckled. “Oh, I wasn’t really gonna kill you, I just…” he trailed off, the expression in his face darkening, and Michael noticed the change.

“Just what?” Michael asked, “What were you trying to do?”

Ander quickly finished his meat and stood up. “Look,” he said hurriedly, “I’m sorry I attacked you. Thank you for feeding me and all that, but I should get going.”

Michael was suddenly concerned. “You live near here?”

Ander quickly nodded, preparing to walk away. “Yeah…my town isn’t far. Thanks again.”

Ander turned around, and Michael quickly got to his feet. “Hey,” he offered, reaching, “I don’t know you, but you were willing to put a knife to my throat for food; there’s something wrong. What’s going on?”

Ander turned, and Michael could clearly see fear in the boy’s eyes.

“Whatever it is,” Michael said in all sincerity, “I can help you. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”

Ander seemed to consider it, and then smiled, his face lightening.

“You’re alright, Michael.” He snickered, “Thanks for the meal.”

“Hey, wait…” Michael tried, but Ander had already jogged off east into the distance.

Michael realized that he never had a chance to warn him about the mirror.

A moment of indecision flashed through him. If he followed the boy, he would lose valuable time on the road to Asgard. If he could figure out what had driven another angel to the brink to survive, then he might be able to do something about it.

Or, he could tell himself that he did the right thing, pack up his possessions, and continue along his way. Situations like these always worked themselves out somehow…and Ander could take care of himself.

Against a slake?

Michael also remembered; there were no villages in this direction from Yevon.

Ander seemed in a hurry to get back to wherever it was he came from…why?

Because something might come looking for him.

Not someone, something.

The boy was in trouble.

Michael quickly packed up his belongings and took one last look at the sun before heading east, following Ander’s trail.