Rus

Before I could manifest into the world, my father was one of the many casualties of war. He died at the age of twenty-one, leaving behind his pregnant young wife, my mother. I did not have the chance to meet the man, but I heard the great stories of my father's bravery and his achievements of conquest. My father was no different from the men of his day. He pillaged villages, reduced the population to slavery, and did whatever you would do to slaves in those days.

The conqueror did whatever he desired, and who could question him? This has made me less emotional about the absence of my father; when I considered that he killed the fathers of other children, too. With the defeat of my father, the remnants of our country fled and sought refuge in another community. The great commander, my father had lost to was the prominent general, Retta Mitsuide, who ironically enough is the grandfather of my pupil, Hideaki. He does not know of this; nor did I, when we first met in that winter of that new year.

Mitsuide did what no man had done before him and annexed the territories of my people. It would be the first time these great families made their mark. Warfare used to be different, but these clans introduced a new way of waging war. They were the first to use the powers of aura against others, and this would lead to the subjugation of the rest of the country.

Soon enough, the rest of the country became subjects to the rule of these five great families, and the people that they conquered served as their slaves, to further their conquests amongst each other. These provinces became the subject of exploitation to further the expansion of their clans. It was the world that I was born into.

My pregnant mother and the little people she could collect fled to the sea! In those days, navigating the sea was difficult, and the mortality rate was extraordinarily high. You would think a mother would refuse to put her unborn child in danger, but that was not the woman she was. It was a brutal voyage that lasted three to five days, but they  quickly found land. It was a strip of land that belonged to a great race of people. I believe, they called themselves the Rus.

In those days, it was not difficult to integrate yourself into a community. However, my mother recalls the people giving her weird looks. Luckily, my mother and her comrades were able to integrate themselves into the village, Belomas, where I would grow up and be educated. This was the village, I was born in and granted citizenship, despite the village Chief of that time hesitant to grant me citizenship.  However, the great warrior of that time, Illya of Muromets, intervened in this matter, leading to my mother and I receiving citizenship.

This same man remarried my mother and adopted me. I cannot say whether his intention from the start was to be with my mother. However, I cannot deny that he was a great man. In gratitude, my mother named me, after him.

He was a great man, but he and I had our differences. For starters, he had naturally favored the sons that my mother had birthed him, but he always showed me his support. For starters, the life of warfare had followed me. Against her wishes, my father began to teach me the ways of his people. In those days, he was thrilled to have me.

"Are you just going to stand there, boy,” Illya said, “If you continue to hide behind your mother, when will you distinguish yourself? Come forward and give it a try. I promise, it will not kill you.”

His words encouraged me, and I stepped from behind the tree and headed toward my father, grabbing his bow. He removed his quiver, putting it onto my back. I adjusted the rope, so it would fit onto my back. Having watched him, I grabbed onto the arrow, but my father smacked the side of my head, saying, “I thought, you paid attention! Grab onto the arrow firmly, and position yourself onto your target.”

I did and released the arrow. It pierced right through the log that he propped up for himself. He had shot at it multiple times, but had never pierced through it. It was here that my father realized my talents for warfare. My mother told him, I was of warrior origins through both sides of my family. This excited him, and he made it a habit of bringing me on hunting trips.

The first thing, he taught me was to be paranoid and swift.

‘A swift warrior would be able to overwhelm the enemy’, he said, ‘and the paranoid live longer than the brave.’

It was an interesting philosophy, for a man who never lived to fear another man in combat. Father had no rival, and his greatness served as an exemplar for me. Our first hunt, nearly got me killed.

“Always remember, Illya, to never hesitate to kill another man,” Illya said, “If he is to threaten the homeland, kill him. Your duty is to your people and your country. A bogatyr is to be courageous, but also to be strong in will and action.”

“Is that why you fight those people so often?” said I.

"It is,” Illya said, “however, it is my sworn obligation to the people. I did not earn my status, as a bogatyr; by sitting on my ass, boy. Like your grandfather and his father before him, I went with my father to do what men do.”

“And what did you do?” said I.

“I learned to fight, but I also learned to kill,” Illya said, “Does that frighten you?”

“No, but do I have to learn too?” said I.

“Naturally, you are my son. Only natural you learn the ways of your people, is it not?”

I was unsure, what time it was; but we walked through the woods for hours, until we came across the most frightening thing, a six-year-old could see: a polar bear. We crossed the frozen lake, the ice began to crack, and my left foot submerged itself. My father noticed this and came to my aid, pulling me out. Before he could scold me, for my carelessness, I stumbled onto my bottom, screaming in terror, as the beast stood on its hind legs, roaring to the heavens.

In any circumstances, a father would grab his boy and make a run for it, but not my father. Instead of the killing machine charging toward him, he charged straight at it. Gripping his axe and swinging it, like, a maniac! However, this did not deter the bear, charging toward him with intent to kill. It released a brutal blow, which slashed through my father’s armor, injuring him across the chest. It was enough to slow him down, and the beast quickly charged, intent to finish off this lowly human.

It was the first time; I felt the need to act, and I did. Grabbing onto my axe, I threw it at the charging beast, injuring its left eye. This gave my father, the chance he needed, and he grabbed onto his axe, finishing off the vile creature; til it drew its last breath. Covered in the creature's blood, he cackled, as he hacked off the limbs; he tossed me, its head.

“That was brave of you,” Illya admitted, “This was not the hunt, I had in my mind, but it will do. I may have killed the beast, but you were bold enough to do that. You saved my life, boy.”

Oh, do I recall the cries of Mother. She gave my father a lecture, to the point the guy had wished the bear had killed him. However, she was quick to attend to her husband's wounds, and made sure that I was alright. She was a good woman, she was pregnant at this time. Before I knew it, my mother gave birth to a boy, who would be named Iziaslav. To some extent, I was joyful, but I felt jealous.

This brother of mine would one day prove himself my rival and challenge me. I recall, my father holding onto the boy, saying, ‘Son of Illya, you and the brothers that yet to come shall help me lay my stake to the crown. For I desire to establish peace throughout land and sea, so not one more child of the House of Illya shall suffer the pains of life.’

And this would not be the last child, my mother have. Three more children would come. They all happened to be males, and I grew to adore these brothers of mine, I admit.

Being the eldest, I had the luxury of many things granted to the eldest child; despite us not sharing the same father. These children were born during a nine-year period. My father, found himself frequently busy defending the village from these rural tribes. He was quite absent from the boys, and at this time of life, I was fifteen years of age. My father had elevated his position to that of village chief. By default, I was his second-in-command, when he was absent.

Iziaslav was nine years old. A bit too young, to be my right hand, but I had spent time sparing with the boy. My mother did not want this life of warrior for any of her sons, but she could not escape this. This was the world, we were born in. It was our destiny to become warriors.

“Brother, why do you stay here,” said Iziaslav, “Do you not want to go fight with our father, Illya?”

“It’s not that I do not want to,” I said, “If I did, who would protect Mother and you guys? Father values his family more than anything, and if he is to entrust me their safety, it is the highest honor that I can have.”

“Honor? There’s no greater honor than taking the life of the enemy!” said Iziaslav.

“We do not have enemies, just temporary obstacles,” I said, “And these tribes will not always be an issue. We will think of something.”

“If they are temporary obstacles, like you say, brother, that just means we will have more enemies,” Izialsav said, “This just will not end; unless someone strong, like Father, does something about it.”

“You speak of father, like he is a god, he is no god. He is just an ordinary man, who bleeds like any other man.”

“Hmm,” Iziaslav said, “Out of all of us, brother, you are the only one that looks more like mother than father. Why is that?”

“You ask many questions, brother,” I said, “The truth is, that Mother and I are not from this country. The homeland of our mother is a land called Uburaria, I heard.”

“Ubu-w-what? Did you say something?” said Iziaslav.

“It’s the tongue of my people. Our mother taught me it, so I would not forget where I came from. She has yet to reveal my real name, but I do not care much for it,” I said, “How about we go back? Mother has her hands full. Let us help her, a bit.”

“To tend to our brothers? That’s the job of a woman, why should we?” said Iziaslav.

“The job of women? A child is the job of two, and a younger brother is the job of the eldest siblings,” said I.

“Not only do you look like mother the most, brother, you also sound like her!” said Iziaslav.

“Do I? I had not noticed, but grab your coat, brother. I noticed, you people tend to be accustomed to this harsh weather, just how do you do it?”

“You ask me? How would I know? I was just born into this part of the world!” said Iziaslav.

Born into it, huh, how much I have forgotten. My birth may have been here, but I was no different from a foreigner, and my face reminded me of it. I wonder, if my mother had not fled, how would my life be? What is Uburaria like, I wondered. Is my home here in Rus, or is it at Uburaria?