My Hero

By Bella Raine

“Middon, report,” Chief Commander Phezznibbet Maplebark ordered his second in command. He adjusted his bandolier of knives, the leather strap rubbing his fur the wrong way as the fellow Xintixa saluted him. “At ease. What’s the news?”

“The Xintixling and her mother are being surrounded by the Bittlian in the western quadrant of the forest.” Middon slung a quiver of arrows on his back. “And there’s something you must know…”

“Yes?”

“The child’s father is Lonalen.”

“The one who killed the Bittlian leader three moons ago?” The already tense relations between the two species had been thrown into utter turmoil after a low-ranking Xintixa—Lonalen—accidentally killed the Bittlian king while hunting.

“One and the same.” Middon buckled a scabbard around his waist, the formality of the ranks dissolving into the friendship of two battle-scarred brothers-in-arms.

As he sharpened his antler bone knives, Phezz dug through his memory to find a picture of the Bittlian. Finally, he formed a mental image of his last encounter with them, nearly four seasons ago.

When they attacked his home and injured his daughter.

Phezz fought back against the horrid memories rising in his mind and focused on the image of the Bittlian. Reptilian in appearance, the Bittlian had claws dripping with venom and nearly impenetrable scales. Phezz found some comfort in the fact that the Xintixa had no venom and were fast and agile enough with their winged arms that they could easily escape the ground-bound Bittlian.

He would not—could not—let what happened to his daughter happen to Lonalen’s family. Phezz holstered the now razor-sharp knives. “We must make haste.”

***

Phezz crouched on the tree limb beside Middon, his eyes locked on the young Xintixa, Pricilia and Lonalen’s wife, Margreet.

The Bittlian crawled all around them, luminescent scales on their backs catching the sunlight with a menacing glow.

“What’s the plan, Commander?” Middon’s voice said gravely in his ear.

“First and foremost, Pricilia and Margreet must survive. Celeon!” Phezz motioned to the nearby lieutenant. The black furred Xintixa silently left his post and came to them.

“Celeon, you’re in charge of the ground forces. Take one half of the troops to the trees across the clearing. Make as much noise as you can to distract the Bittlian. Middon and I will take the remaining troops to rescue Lonalen’s family.”

“Sir, they outnumber you three to one.”

Phezz hesitated a moment. “We’ll make it fast.”

Celeon saluted and vanished into the treetops. Half of the troops soared out over the clearing, making their way to the nearby trees, silent as a whisper.

A minute later, cacophony filled the air as the Xintixa yelled and rustled the trees.

Phezz held his breath, waiting for enough Bittlian to move away from the girls and towards the noise. He held a hand in the air, waiting for the moment to give the signal. He thrust his hand forward. “Now!”

He and Middon soared from the treetops, the troops close behind. They landed in circle formation around the girls, and the troops thrust themselves into battle around them. Clashing swords and the cries of dying Bittlian filled the air. Bittlian were falling but so were Xintixa. They needed to hurry.

Margreet cradled Pricilia in her arms sheltering her from the fray. Phezz touched her arm, and relief covered Margreet’s face.

“I knew you would come.”

“I’ll take Pricilia.” Phezz picked up the small Xintixa and held her tight against his chest.

Memories flooded back of when he used to cradle his daughter as she was healing, and a surge of righteous anger against the Bittlian flooded his chest. Pricilia’s fur trembled in fright, and he hoped his touch was as soothing to her as it had been to his daughter. Middon swung Margreet into his arms and ran out of the battle, headed towards the tree.

Phezz was about to run off when fiery pain erupted across his back.

He whirled to see a Bittlian bringing his sword around for a second strike.

Pricilia screamed.

One winged arm protectively covering Pricilia, he unsheathed a knife and threw it at the Bittlian. It soared high above his head. The Bittlian advanced closer, his sword arcing back for a final blow.

No! He withdrew another knife, and it sailed through the air, finding its mark in the Bittlian’s chest.

Ignoring the pain of his torn right wing, Phezz followed the same path Middon had, heart pumping with adrenaline as he ran. Pricilia held so tightly he could barely breathe. They made it to the base of the tree and joined Middon and Margreet as they scrambled safely up onto a branch. Chest heaving, he unfurled his wing.

Pricilia raced to her mother who clutched her tightly, sobbing.

Middon steadied the two for a few seconds and came to Phezz’s side.

“You all right, chief?”

“Are Margreet and Pricilia all right?” As the adrenaline began to wear away, pain coursed through his wing. He peered through blurry vision at the mother and daughter.

“They are without harm, thanks to you. We need to get that wing looked at.”

Better him wounded than Pricilia.

Middon shot him a look before walking to Margreet. “I must get the commander to a doctor. Lieutenant Celeon”—he pointed him out in the retreating band of Xintixa—“will provide you and your husband both an escort to our camp.”

Margreet clutched his arm and then looked at Phezz. “Thank you, both. The guard was threatening to kill us… if you hadn’t come when you did… You saved our lives.”

“It’s our job, ma’am.” Phezz nodded, and Middon led him away.

“Wait!” Pricilia tore away from her mother and raced over to Phezz. She threw her arms around his legs, hugging him the same way his daughter always did. “Thank you, Mister Commander.”

Phezz’s throat clogged with emotion, and he gently ran a hand over her head. “Stay safe, Pricilia.”

“I will. And sir?”

“Yes?”

She smiled shyly. “You’re my hero.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bella Raine is a middle grade writer with a passion for reading pure books and writing for God’s glory. Daily inspired by God’s love for her, she writes stories that reflect that through family and friendship. When she isn’t writing, she is probably drinking some kombucha, making fluid acrylic art, or hanging out on her small farm with her family.

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