Toruk stopped running from the Shadow. He quickly felt around a nearby tree for a wayward branch thin enough for him to break off but thick enough to wield. Toruk soon snapped a worthy branch off a tree trunk and gripped it with both hands. Then, after hoisting the stick above his head, he turned around towards the sound and smell of the heaving Shadow standing some paces behind him.
“Come on!” cried Toruk, waving the stick. “Let’s go!”
The Shadow smirked, even laughed, for he believed blind Toruk to be utterly powerless. He stood before the young Lijian with his monstrous defenses down, smiling, chuckling at Toruk's offensive stance, salivating, his yellow beady eyes growing excited.
Then Toruk charged the creature, running straight at the Shadow, screaming "arghhhh!" as he aimlessly struck the creature with the stick as hard as he could, causing the Shadow to stagger back in shock and humiliation. Toruk advanced and struck it with the stick again, hitting the creature’s head, his shoulders, his back. The Shadow moved defensively, trying to deflect Toruk's assaults but he received more blows than he expected.
The Shadow should have fought harder; he should have shown Toruk no mercy. But in the present fight, the fearlessness the Shadow saw in Toruk’s face suddenly distracted him, instantly conjuring the memory of when he was forcibly removed from Matla Mountain Peak, when the Galu armies obedient to the Voice kicked him out and hurled him down the Mountainside.
The Shadow could not forget that day, though he tried. He was just Nuru then, a young, fully trained Galu filled with promise, with light, with untold powers and gifts. From his point of view, he had merely a difference of opinion with the Voice Upon the Mountain, but the Voice had refused to entertain it, citing Nuru’s unacceptable obstinate position. So Nuru had fought back. He had grabbed sticks, stones, even pieces of Mountain rock and forged them into weapons. He had fought as valiantly as he could, hoping to remain on the magnificent Peak forever, hoping to change the Voice’s mind and allow him to live without serving humans so zealously as he was required.
And in the battle, the other Galus obedient to the Voice had fought as fearlessly as Toruk was fighting now, completely unafraid. They had hurled sticks, stones, even Mountain rock at Nuru, trying to push him off the Peak’s cliff. The Shadow recalled the moment he was struck by a sharp steel sword hoisted by one of the Voice’s Galus. He was just at the edge of the Peak’s cliff, the glorious blue skies above him, the Matla Valley below, fighting with all his strength until he felt a sting just below his right jaw. The tip of a Galu’s blade had punctured the flesh there, instantly drawing blood, stunning Nuru speechless. He was seized with fear and anger that he had incurred an injury on the Peak, for such was supposed to be an impossibility. No injuries of any kind could ever be sustained on the Peak, according to the Voice, for it was a place of healing and renewing of life. Yet there was Nuru, bleeding from the base of his head near his right jaw, unsure of what to do next, angered at the mar to his beautiful countenance, frustrated that the Voice had apparently allowed him to be hurt.
“Ne pheki sal! (I hate you!)” Nuru had screamed in Olc, his new made-up language, for there was no word for hate in Vana, the language of the Voice Upon the Mountain, the language of love. “All of you! I hate all of you!”
“Nuru, recant your hatred and return to vana (love),” offered the Galu in Vana, though, like all Galus, she understood every language. “You have one last chance to change your mind.”
“Never!” Nuru had replied in Olc. “You hurt me! I will never love you!”
“You disobeyed the Voice,” reminded the Galu. “And you betrayed your own promise to the Voice. It was you who put yourself here.”
“No! You struck me!”
“Nuru, come back. Come back to us.”
“No!”
“Nuru, you are the brightest of us all. You are the smartest of us all. You had the Voice’s ear. He did everything you suggested. Come back. Speak in Vana. Come back.”
“I do not want to serve them anymore. It’s beneath me!”
“But that was your promise.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Nuru, when the Voice called you, just like he called all of us, he asked you to accept. He asked you to transform into a Galu.”
“So?”
“And you said yes. And you came here. I, myself, trained you in the powers of reading the future, Nuru. Remember your promise, your acceptance?”
“I lied.”
“Nuru! Are you this rebellious?”
“Humans are weak. They smell. They cry. They always need to be pushed and pulled. They’re just a burden, a waste of time. I was tired of it!”
“But you rarely served the Voice’s people.”
“So?”
“Nuru, come back. I will show you a better way. See, the Voice’s army is ready to lay down their weapons for you. Come back. I will take you to the Voice myself. Speak in Vana, Nuru.”
“I will never serve humans.”
“But that is what you were called to do.”
“What about me? Who will serve me?”
“Nuru, that is ridiculous. Here you have everything. Do not be so weak.”
“I never wanted to leave. It’s you that pushed me to this cliff!”
“Nuru, I will give you one last chance. Then, it will be over. The poison of rebellion cannot remain on the Peak. You know that.”
“Over for you, not for me.”
“Will you follow the Oder of the Galu?”
“No.”
“Will you serve the Voice’s people?”
“No.”
“Will you serve the Voice Upon the Mountain?”
“No.”
“Will you keep your promise to remain as you were transformed, to remain as a beacon of light for all and to not fall into darkness? Will you promise to speak in Vana?”
“No!”
Then the Galu struck Nuru in the same spot again, digging the tip of her blade into the wound, ensuring that the injury would never heal, intentionally marking Nuru for life, branding the young Ulan as the one who had betrayed the Voice and was unceremoniously kicked off the Peak.
The Shadow had tried to dismiss that day, but he could not. Instead, he had buried it deep in the recesses of his mind, thinking it would never resurface as it was doing now while Toruk struck him. He had vowed to never be in that position again, to never experience the humiliation and blow to his pride as he had experienced on the day he was forcibly removed from Matla Mountain Peak.
Yet though the Shadow’s ego was stunningly bruised, he decided to fight back. He balled his monstrous hands into fists, stood up on his hind legs and swung at Toruk. His aims were sloppier and weaker on account of the resurfaced memory still playing in his mind, but they were effective, nonetheless. Each time the Shadow swung, Toruk jumped back, unwittingly moving closer to the People’s Pond. He could not see the Shadow, but he could certainly hear it, particularly the movement of the Shadow’s fist in the wintry air which created a whisking sound each time the creature swung.
“Leave me alone!” cried Toruk, moving back, still holding his stick, frantically swatting at the Shadow. “Get away from me!”
“The Voice Upon the Mountain is lying to you. I know it is him who is helping you. Don’t trust him. Whatever he is telling you is a lie,” said the Shadow in Lijian.
“What do you know?” replied Toruk, waving the stick.
“He wants to make you his slave. He wants to destroy you. That’s why he is helping you find the Waterstone.”
“No, you are the liar!”
“Ma! (No!) That’s what he told you about me so he can keep you from the truth. He will press you into slavery. You will have to do his bidding. You will have to work for him! You will have to please him!”
“Get away from me!” yelled Toruk as he struck the Shadow again with his stick.
The Shadow lunged at Toruk in response, but the young Lijian quickly dodged him. Then the Shadow opened his mouth and growled loud and strong, angered by Toruk’s boldness. He dropped to all fours and charged at Toruk, but again the young Lijian evaded him by quickly backing away.
Toruk could hear the Shadow smacking his lips. He could hear the Shadow’s monstrous mouth slurping with drool. He could hear the Shadow grunting in anger, frustrated that Toruk was still standing.
The Shadow charged the young Lijian again, this time nearly touching him. But again, Toruk dodged the Shadow by quickly backing away. It was a peculiar game of cat and mouse, the Shadow charging and Toruk backing away right on time.
“You’re not going to get me!” said Toruk, waving his stick.
“You’re weak!” the Shadow screamed. “You’re blind!”
“But I’m alive!” Toruk screamed back.
“Not for long,” warned the Shadow as it readied for another charge.
But the image of Toruk’s mother was so strong in his mind, he could almost smell her perfume.
“You’re the weak one!” yelled Toruk, forcefully lunging forward, waving his stick.
The defiant act again stunned the Shadow, for he too was struggling with a memory of his own, that of the moment he was unceremoniously hurled down the Peak’s Mountainside.
“You’re the rebel!” said Toruk, successfully striking the Shadow with his stick.
The effort proved fruitful, allowing Toruk to precisely place the Shadow’s position in front of him and beat him further.
“You’re the poison!” said Toruk, again striking the Shadow with as much power as he could muster. “You’re the dark one! It was you who created the poison! You’re the reason for it all! You took my mother and father! You took my eyesight! You poisoned Ceto! You cursed Satqin! You’re the reason I have to get the Waterstone! It was you, always you!”
And with each statement, Toruk struck the Shadow on his back, his head, his torso, his legs. By the sound of the stick beating the creature, Toruk had found the Shadow to be quite hairy, covered with long, shaggy fur like a dog. Yet the Shadow’s digits were outfitted with the longest of human-like nails, and the Shadow’s voice was as human-sounding as Toruk’s. Though the creature seemed as an animal, Toruk realized that he was not completely an animal. He was something else, just as his father had told him. The Shadow was a creation all to his own.
“I will get it!” cried Toruk as he beat the Shadow. “I will get the Sacred Waterstone! You can’t stop me!”
The Shadow was grunting and groaning in true pain, for though Toruk wielded a mere stick, the Shadow had not suffered such a beating since the Peak. His tortured pride exacerbated his pain, making the stings, burns, and pokes all the more excruciating. When Toruk hit him in the shoulder, the Shadow emphatically cried out in agony. When the young Lijian struck him in the back or on the legs, the Shadow gritted his teeth as the sharp stings radiated across his monstrous body. When Toruk beat the Shadow’s arms, the creature pulled them back and began licking his hands, attempting to heal injuries.
Then Toruk did the unthinkable and beat at the Shadow’s head causing the creature to immediately jerk back, for Toruk’s stick had come too close to the wound. The miss triggered yet another memory to resurface in the Shadow’s mind, a time when he was still Nuru, standing on the Peak, gasping at its beauty.
“We never die,” was what one of the Galus had told him. “Once you complete your transformation into a Galu, you will never die, Nuru, at least not at the hands of men. Only the Voice, who created the Order of the Galu, can destroy you forever.”
The memory should have strengthened the Shadow and invigorated him to fight harder, but instead it frightened him, for here the Shadow was, gripped with pain, incurring true and lasting wounds from Toruk’s little stick. The Shadow thought that perhaps the power of eternity was leaving him or had already left him since his sores were not quickly healing as they used to. He felt blood trickling down his arms, his legs, even his back. He saw gashes on his arms where Toruk had beat him. Even his breathing was labored as if this moment was to be his last. The creature staggered as Toruk beat him, unable to run away on account of the pain, but too stubborn to surrender. He merely hung his head low and took Toruk’s blows, unsuccessfully attempting to deflect them with his arms.
“Take that!” cried Toruk as he worked, sensing that he had the better of the fight. “I’m going to destroy you!”
Though Toruk did not know of the Shadow’s eternal power, he fought with all his might while the Shadow grunted and groaned in response. It was an arduous endeavor, causing Toruk to sweat profusely, his clothes hanging on him haphazardly, his hands tightly gripped around the stick, his arms repeatedly striking, striking, striking.
Soon, the Shadow was overwhelmed by Toruk’s beatings and eventually shrank to the ground, his head covered by his monstrous arms as he groaned in pain. Toruk heard the movement. He followed the Shadow’s scent, the Shadow’s groans, quickly realizing the Shadow had fallen. The young Lijian bent down to strike at the Shadow’s head as hard as he could. And for the first time in the Shadow’s life, he was knocked semi-unconscious.
When Toruk could no longer hear the creature’s heavy breathing, with the stick he felt around the ground, feeling for where the Shadow lay, careful not to touch the creature with his hands. Then he glided his stick over the Shadow’s body, his monstrous feet, his legs, his torso, his arms, realizing that the Shadow was laying on his left side with his right side exposed. When Toruk felt what he believed was the Shadow’s neck, he positioned his foot right where he felt the Shadow’s jaw connected to his head, right at the bottom, right where Uncle Quinn had described. Then the young Lijian stomped his foot with all his might, forcefully digging his heal in the very open wound Uncle Quinn had spoken of.
A long, low hiss escaped from the Shadow’s lips, echoing across the Forest, through the trees, triggering Rame and the other hawks to angrily take to the skies. Toruk repeatedly pounded his foot on the Shadow’s open wound, thinking his actions would destroy the creature forever. The Shadow, unable to bear the pain, finally drifted into the darkness of full unconsciousness.
"Good," Toruk mumbled triumphantly to himself as he sensed the Shadow’s stillness.
The young man then dropped his stick and ran. As he rushed, he marveled at his fearlessness, his apparent victory over the creature his father had forbidden him to encounter. He could not wait to tell Uncle Quinn that he was right, that the mark upon the Shadow was his weakness, that anyone, even a blind person, could defeat the Shadow by simply stomping their foot upon his head.
Toruk felt a sudden spark of faith ignite within his heart, soon inflaming his human spirit, filling him with overwhelming joy. Though Toruk could not see, somehow he now felt he could. I killed it, Toruk thought. Ij. (Me). Blind me. I killed it! He tried to get me! He tried to confuse me! He tried to turn me around, but I killed it with my ijp (foot). Me!
He could not believe his good fortune, his fearlessness in the face of a famed monster. Never could Toruk have imagined that the very creature his father had warned him about and the one that Uncle Quinn had described with great detail was defeated with a stick and stomp of the feet. The young Lijian laughed aloud as he ran away from where the Shadow lay, giggling with glee, reveling in the freedom he now felt, for the weight of fear was lifted once he heard the Shadow’s seemingly last breath.
Meanwhile, the Voice Upon the Mountain had summoned the Yuli Wind, unbeknownst to Toruk, to break through the blockaded web of bent and distorted tree branches the Shadow had created. The Wind had been working behind the scenes, quickly and quietly while Toruk was in battle, snapping each branch in two, overriding the Shadow’s wicked commands and ordering the trees to quit their blockade and resume their straight stances. Thus, when Toruk turned west, finally escaping the Shadow and the People’s Pond, he easily ran through the narrow opening the Yuli Wind had created through the trees, resuming his original path to the Chena River.
This side of Satqin was like a valley, nearly treeless, decorated with ragged rocks, hills, and short coarse grass. The hills rolled like camel humps, up, down, up again as they led to the Chena River.
Even in haste, Toruk could not help but recall one youthful summer when he was but a boy swimming in the middle of the River, quietly treading in the sun-speckled water rippling in the summer breeze while he looked around, scanning the lush green canopy of trees lined on the east of the Riverbank, drinking in Matla Mountain to the west, still snow-capped, standing shoulder to shoulder like soldiers with their captain, the Peak, towering to the heavens, gazing at the sky, its sun rays splashing on his face as he cooled in the smooth River water, its liquid warmth wrapped around him, lulling him into trusted security. Of all the questions Toruk had whispered to the air in his youthful fantasies, the Chena River had never lied to him. To him, the River remained as it always was, pure, fresh, and deep.
Toruk ran, staggering in the growing cold wind, panting, his lungs tight as icy air sliced through, his arm bracing his head, his coat bellowing around him like a flying cape, his bag flapping in the wind. He rushed, leaping over the dead wood, the rocks, the natural mounds, his arms flailing, almost losing his coat. He scampered up the grading slopes, barreled down small hills, half running, half slipping on ice. He expertly darted through the spaces between the trees as if he could see them, shifting left, sharp right, then left again. Animals hid as he whisked past. Wintry air stung his face now crusted with dried blood and frozen tears. Toruk kept his face focused ahead, intentionally ignoring the baleful raptors circling above him, squawking in anger at the defeat of their master.
As Toruk ran, the Voice Upon the Mountain suddenly boomed, his words gliding upon a sliver of the Yuli Wind.
"My worthy Toruk, you have done well!” he said. “Come! Come for the Sacred Waterstone! Come! Ij lemi. (I love you.)”