Ignoring History [Ranger's Apprentice]

Chapter 42

~🌲Gilan🌲~

Tales of the kalkara had been passed down for generations. They were the stuff of legend, old folklore that mothers told hyperactive children upon the coming of night. They were terrible creatures, larger and stronger than wargals and great predators of the mountains. It was said that one look in their eyes left the mind and heart paralyzed. No one had ever survived an encounter with the kalkara.

Stories. That's what Gilan had thought they were. Simple bedtime stories to scare little boys to sleep. It had worked on him when he was younger, and Gilan wished more than anything that he was still a child hiding beneath his covers. Instead, he was standing on the Celtic-Araluen border in the midst of a great battle. The Mountains of Rain and Night towered in the distance, and if he knew his geography, the Celtic Fissure was close too.

None of that mattered though. The kalkara were real. And their eyes... they were red. Deep and dark red, filled with bloodlust and hatred and all-things-tragic. Red like fire whose smoke blotted out the whole sky, tarnishing the light of the sun. They were red like the very horns of the devil himself.

And yet, they were also mesmerizing. Hypnotic and spellbinding-just like fear. It was the feeling of dread, but Gilan could not tell for what. Despair with no way to make better, sorrow with no joy on the other side. The not knowing of what was to come, the feeling of being lost in the dark. It was the knowledge that he could do nothing to stop the imminent future, a fear that glued his feet flat on the ground, slackened his arm, and loosened his grip. Sweat perspired on the back of his neck, and his sword clanged uselessly onto the ground.

The sound of battle surrounding him might as well have been silence because he did not hear. Could not. All he could do was watch as the beast approached, and he was even failing at that.

Suddenly, he was taken back to a more peaceful time. Back home to Caraway, where the wind brushed against the quiet meadow and the sea washed waves to shore. Except it wasn't peaceful at all.

His father was angry. He would not admit it, but Gilan saw it in the way he drew his shoulders back. His fists were clenched tight, chin set straight as he marched across the open grass. Gilan scrambled to keep up.

"I'm sorry!" he said for what must have been the fifth time. "It was just a bit of fun, I didn't know-"

His father spun on his heels. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Gil," he said. "Don't you know that you are one of the brightest kids I've ever known? The brightest kid. You have to know that, right? You're a natural with that sword of yours, and you have the head of a brilliant tactician. You are the very person that so many of your fellow peers aspire to be. They dream about it, hope it beyond any measure of hope, and they train for it night and day just so they can be a sliver of what you are. Don't you know that?"

"Father..."

"Don't "father" me! I may be your father by blood, but here on these grounds, I am your battlemaster and you are an apprentice. There is no special treatment, no days off because you want it, and definitely no higher rank because you are friendly with the baron. Do you understand that? Those are all things you earn, not things that you have. You have to work for it the same as any other cadet, do you understand that?"

"Father, I-"

"Gilan."

Gilan stopped in his tracks. He looked up into his father's eyes and caught a glint that made goosebumps dance down his back. A cold realization settled in his bones as he realized that it wasn't anger that plagued his father. Not anger but fear.

"You have to promise me to never do that again. Even if you have the authority or power, you cannot make anyone, not even a friend, do anything that may put unnecessary harm in their way. Even if it isn't physical. You simply cannot. It's not a prank if it isn't funny. It's manipulative, and it is cruel. Do you understand?"