Long ago, in the time of great warriors, there lived a boy named Katush. He was the son of the great warrior, Miraz. Because of this, Katush was very popular among the other children in his town.
He and his father lived in a one-room hut in the heart of the town. It was a very rustic place for a great warrior who had won many victories to live, but not everyone, even a great warrior, can have everything.
“Katush,” his father said one evening in front of the hearth, “your thirteenth birthday is in a few days,” he smiled proudly. “You, my son, are to start your warrior training.”
“I forgot about that,” Katush said.
“Yes,” his father replied, “Are you not pleased?”
“Oh, no, I am very pleased. It’s just…well, you know me. I am everything but brave, and a warrior must be brave.” Katush stated.
His mind wandered to that warm summer day of long ago. He had just turned six and felt as if he could do anything. He and his friends were climbing a tree when, suddenly, they heard the sound of cracking wood, followed by a distressed yell.
“It’s Anon!” cried Katush, “His branch is about to snap!”
“Save him!” his friends shouted.
“Me?” he asked.
“Yes you. You are Miraz’s son.”
“I will,” Katush said bravely. He had felt so proud to be thought of as a hero.
The yell sounded again. “I’m coming,” Katush yelled back as he climbed to Anon’s branch. When he reached the branch, he foolishly stepped onto it. There was a loud snap, then came an ear-piercing shriek. Anon and Katush plunged down to the ground.
Katush had not been badly hurt, but his friend was. “Anon?” he asked. “Are you alright?” Anon didn’t answer.
“You killed him!” his friends shouted angrily.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” Katush replied, trying not to cry.
“You’re not a warrior,” said one, “and you never will be.”
Since that dreadful incident, Katush had never been brave again, lest he, or anybody else get hurt.
Katush shivered as he came back to reality.
“Well,” said his father, “that doesn’t mean you can’t learn to be brave.”
“Father, what is bravery?” asked Katush.
“Bravery is doing what you know is right, even if you’re scared to do it.”
Katush nodded, trying to sink it all in.
There was a long moment of silence, then the great warrior spoke, “We start your training the day after your birthday, bright and early. You know what they say, ‘The early warrior gets the battle.’” Katush couldn’t help laughing.
The day of Katush’s training soon dawned. “Good morning, my young warrior,” Miraz said, shaking his son to wake him. Katush stirred in his bed then forced himself up; he rubbed his eyes sleepily. When the day had ended, he was exhausted.
“You were very brave today,” his father said.
“Thank you,” Katush replied, then to himself, “Everything we practice with is fake. If there was ever a reason to use my skills, I don’t think I could be brave enough. I don’t see how anyone can push themselves to do something they don’t want to do.”
The years went by, and Katush became very skilled in sword play. On his sixteenth birthday, his father presented him with a sword. It had a golden handle with red stones scattered here and there all about it. “It-It’s beautiful,” he said, breathlessly.
“I trust you will use it well,” the great warrior said, “It has won me many victories.”
“You mean, this is yours?”
Miraz gave his son a loving smile.
It was not long after this that word came, saying an invasion from their neighboring town was being planned. “They have always envied our town,” Katush said to his father.
“Yes, my son,” replied Miraz. “It is time to put your knowledge into action. Do you think you’re ready?”
“I-I don’t know. I just don’t feel like I can make myself do the right thing. I’m too scared.”
“Scared of what, my young warrior?”
“I’m scared of hurting myself,” he paused, “or my friends.”
“Like what happened to Anon?” his father asked. Katush nodded. He had hoped his father had forgotten about that, but he had not. He blinked as if trying to hold back tears. Anon, his friend, how he missed him.
“I’m going to take a step outside and get some fresh air,” he told his father.
The day was glorious. The birds were singing from the tops of the green-leafed trees, and the sun was shining brightly in the beautiful blue sky. He saw his town. “My friends and family live in this town,” he said to himself. Then a new thought came to him. He wouldn’t be fighting for himself, for glory and honor, but also for his friends and the ones he loved. He abruptly thought that for their sake, he could be brave. He would do what he knew was right even though he was scared to do it. He would fight the enemy.
When the time came for battle, Katush held his head high, and to his army he said, “We do not fight only to be praised and exalted, but also for those we care for. The way we fight affects what will happen to them. If we die, we die for them.” A cheer of approval arose from the soldiers. They were ready to fight.
Katush’ s army fought harder than they ever had before. It was a difficult battle. The enemy was very skilled in weaponry, but they were soon defeated. Katush had won!
Though many had fallen in battle, there were many who had returned. All were highly praised, but none as highly as Katush.
He was glad it was over, but most of all, he was glad to be home with all his friends and the ones he loved. They were now safe.
“You have fought well,” his father praised. “I am very proud of you my ‘great’ warrior.”