War Introduction

Izara had three older brothers and one younger sister. His brothers’ names were Agara, Zerezic, and Hallone, and he could remember a month or so before Loro came into his life when they went with his father to the war.

He recalled that it was early morning when he fell from his bed in time to see the youngest of his three older brothers, Hallone, slipping out the door. He stared for a long moment, wondering why he was going somewhere in the middle of the night, the morning so early that everything was still dark. He then realized that his two other brothers were missing as well.

After an indecisive moment, he got up quietly, careful to not wake up Binlan, his little sister, in the same way Hallone had woke him. He admired his sister for how deeply and easily she could sleep, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that was good in war.

And that’s what this was about. War.

There was a land far, far over the sea that was called Averlane, and in recent years there had been a vicious war going on between the Lyalltines and the natives of Averlane, in which the Lyalltines that lived there, that had been worshiped there, had since been treated like a lesser race, a corrupted race. This degeneration had spanned over the span of centuries so that the wolves that were native to Averlane could be called Averlanians themselves.

It was not the Averlanian Lyalltines that chose to be worshiped, but it was the humans that chose to change their views about them, to horrific effect.

“My boy,” Izara heard his father rumble when Hallone caught up with their two older brothers, “You knew we had to get started early.”

“Sorry, da,” he said sheepishly, his eyes immediately going down.

“Sorry won’t solve arrow wounds,” his father replied, but he gave him a hearty thump on the shoulder. “If you’re going with us, I just want to make sure to keep you alive. It’s not pretty, and it’s not fun. War is a disease, and though it serves its purpose, and the fewer sons I have to bury the better.”

Their father always sounded cheery, even when delivering grim insights. Belkian was a large man and just as large as a wolf, and if the Averlanians had any sense of fearful superstition about Lyalltines, it was Lyalltines like him that brought them alive. Like Izara, he had dark red fur. Agara, his eldest son, had red fur as well but it was a lighter shade. Zerezic was white like their mother, and Hallone had tan, brindled fur.

“I know, da,” Hallone replied, appearing a bit embarrassed.

“Just come help us with this so we can be done with it by the time the sun rises,” Zerezic snapped impatiently, already bothered by needing to carry so many crates to his father’s ship, especially with the steep incline. A few other Lyalltines were preparing to leave as well along the shore, and they also appeared annoyed and unnerved. It wasn’t a wolf’s work, and it wasn’t comfortable for them, but those that had decided to join the Averlanian war effort had long since accepted that as a reality.

There was a kind of glory that came with it that appealed to their human side. There was something noble about fighting to free fellow wolves that an ordinary wolf couldn’t hope to achieve. A common wolf wasn’t capable of matching the march of war in the same as a man was, and there was nothing wrong with it, but nothing was saving them when it came to the ways of men.

Hallone gave his father a long look, but his father simply motioned for him to go with Zerezic. “We don’t want to wait for the sun to get too high in the sky, do we? May as well get it done while it’s still dark and cool enough to make the work easier.”

Hallone nodded sulkily and went with Zerezic to help him lower down one of the massive supply crates. At that moment Agara returned, but Belkian lightly touched his son’s shoulder and motioned toward where Izara was hiding and watching. This sort of thing was easily noticeable to a Lyalltine. Izara started to move back as if he could take back his father seeing him.

“None of that, Izara,” he called. “Come here, lad.”

Izara didn’t feel like a lad at the age of fifteen, but his father was clearly wiser. He stopped backpedaling and stepped forward, his eyes to the ground apologetically.

“None of that,” Belkian barked, marching over to him and lifting his head lightly with a hand under his chin. “Someone like you shouldn’t be caught anything but dead with their head hanging like that. Don’t you have any self-worth, lad?”

“I would think Izara should hang his head, hiding and sulking about like that,” Agara added, though his tone was light and not unkind.

“And I bet you didn’t even know he was there until I pointed him out,” Belkian countered, grinning wider and thumping Izara on the back. “What are you doing out here, lad? Did you want to go with us?”

Izara could see the honest gleam in his father’s eyes, the way that he was absolutely sure that fighting in the Averlanian war was the absolute pinnacle of pride and self-worth, rather than staying on the island where nothing really happened. Even Zerezic, who had a penchant for complaining, was eager to fight beside their father in the war.

Only Izara wasn’t the least bit interested in the war. He didn’t feel all that confident that he would come back from it, and he still thought he had plenty of lazy days left in Wolfholm. He didn’t consider himself a child at the age of fifteen, but that didn’t mean he thought that war was the right way to spend his youth. Not for wolves he didn’t know.

It was true, however, that two of his closest friends were Averlanian Lyalltine orphans, brought back from the last time that his father had gone.

They were dumb and brain-washed and would never be able to care for themselves. Only people like Belkian’s family could really care for them as they couldn’t hunt, farm or survive on their own. Izara still considered them close to him, dearly close, like siblings. They were raised with him, after all.

His disgruntled expression was evident on his face, and Belkian gave him a knowing look. “Listen, Izara. Don’t leave anything silent. If you’ve got something to say then say it. Don’t be afraid to be wrong or right. Just say what you feel, and the rest will fall in place later.”

Izara nodded, and though he wasn’t certain if he agreed with his father, he did know his father would push it until he said what he had to say and he didn’t want to keep him and his brother away from preparing to leave more than he needed to.

“So did you want to go?” Belkian pressed, appearing hopeful and proud, and it wall poured out.

“No, I don’t want to go. I don’t like the war, and I don’t like the thought of risking my life for a people that are so far, far away. What about those here?”

“That’s very wise of you to ask. What about those here? Who’s going to watch over them if we’re all gone to Averlane. There was a time when a wolf was just likely to be Averlanian as they were to be--Wolfholm--before the war broke out. Maybe it was their close relationship with pure humans that did it, but it was Red who made it so we could sail far and wide. It was Red who made it so we could live in harmony with them. It was Red that made us human as well as wolves, and without good wolves like you and me there can’t be good men reminding the nations of what’s good and bad, and that includes in Wolfholm,” he answered.

He nodded and answered, “but why is it our duty to save them?”

“Because, Izara, trouble doesn’t stay in one place. It spreads, and if we don’t contain Averlane then Averlane’s neighbors where her wolves have gone will go Averlane’s way as well, and then their neighbors, and soon the wolves of Wolfholm will be considered a disease rather than a people,” he answered. “The war will not only be here, but it will be a slaughter. The wolves of Averlane used to be noble. Now they’re like the cubs I brought back from there, like Khalyi and Jerzio.”

“They’re good wolves,” Izara answered, feeling anger rising, and Belkian smiled knowingly.

“They are good wolves, but they’re broken as well. They were broken before they had a chance, and they need people like you and me who’s willing to dig them out and protect them, save them. Nothing is more painful than to see what they’ve done to them and other cubs. Nothing is sadder than to see a broken wolf. A broken person. That anger is just a taste of what I feel when I think of what they did and are doing in Averlane. You understand?”

“Father, don’t you think he’s too young for this?” Agara asked, eyeing the way Izara appeared on the verge of tears and Belkian merely chuckled.

“What do you think, Izara? Are you too young to go to war?” He asked with a wide grin.

“No, I’m not,” he answered bitterly, “but I’m not going to leave. I’m going to take care of mom and Jerzio and Khayli and Binlan and Marchiz. Someone needs to. Someone needs to be brave enough to stay behind when they see their father and brothers go so far away for what they believe in. I believe I should stay here.”

Belkian stared for a moment and laughed, ruffling his hair with his great, big hand and answered, “I knew I could trust you, my lad. Go back to bed, Izara.”

“I want to help you with the crates,” he answered, though he eyed them with a sort of distrust, not knowing if he was strong enough to try.

“Get some sleep, Izara,” he repeated. “I want you to be wide awake when we depart,”

He looked at the crates again, but Agara was already moving away, and his father was pushing him back toward their home. Izara looked back stubbornly and was tempted to tell him that he would go after all. He took a few steps back toward the house before glancing back again.

But he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t as big or strong as his three older brothers, and he doubted he would ever be. He simply wasn’t as driven as them, so he went back to bed. Binlan was still sleeping deeply, unaware that he had gone.

He stared at her for a long moment and then went back to his bed. He knew that he wasn’t doing this simply for the sake of her, or anyone else.

 

They left around midday. Izara’s best friend, Marchiz, was standing beside him. Jerzio and Khayli rarely came out on days when people were leaving for Averlane. They didn’t leave their room, and they dreaded people talking about it. It was a contrast to how they were usually obliviously cheerful. It only occurred to him on days like this. There were other times when his father had gone to Averlane, but this was the first time he had taken all three of his brothers. Agara had been going for a while now. His first time had been when Izara was four and it had also been the time after Jerzio and Khayli had been brought back. Izara couldn’t stop crying that time because it felt like his father was trading in his brother for two other children, though after he had grown to love the two like siblings.

“It’s just going to be the two of us, huh?” Marchiz commented, and Izara glanced at him and smiled, appearing almost meek.

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean there’s still going to be Jerzio and--”

He trailed off when he saw the way that Marchiz rolled his eyes, the white-haired boy dismissive of anything of the sort. “Yeah, and your sister.”

“Yeah,” Izara replied, feeling momentarily annoyed, but he couldn’t blame him. They were...different. It was unmistakable, and he couldn’t just act like they weren’t. It made him think long and hard about what it meant to come back from a war like Averlane as he watched his father and Zerezic shove off. He heard that Agara was a terrible swimmer, so he was glad that Zerezic was with him. He was a great swimmer despite the Lyalltine superstition. He supposed a wolf that could swim had less of a chance to drown.

“Don’t worry,” Marchiz told him, arms crossed, “at least you’ll still have your mother.”

Izara didn’t respond, not knowing how to with Marchiz despite how his father always told him to speak his mind. He could see his mother down by the water, waving to his father who was on the boat by now, waving back. Belkian looked up at where the two boys were standing and waved at them as well, a big grin on his face.

“I don’t think I considered what it would be like if they didn’t come back until you said that,” Izara admitted after a long, long while, watching as the boats grew smaller and smaller on the horizon.

Author's Note

I would appreciate any positive thoughts on how this is going, whether it be constructive or simple praise. Criticism is welcome as well as long as it's constructive.