When the two moved into the windbreak of pines after what felt like hours of travel. Salor tried to unclench his frozen feet and paws, his limbs so heavy he was afraid he might drop his son. As he finally felt the pressure ease from the thicker copse of trees he entered a clearing. He stepped onto a snow-covered field and found himself facing a giant pedestaled statue, a male canid, his wolf form standing twelve feet high, its silent frozen appearance was made of the smoothest surface, a creamy white that seemed flawless. Salor recognized the hero warrior immediately. Although, once a true master fighter in some previous war, he claimed many victories and he was now more of a symbol of what the best warrior should be. The royal canid clan now produced in droves this designed template fighter, over and over, to participate in wars throughout the galaxy and beyond. A skill all canids were known for, above all else.

Salor stared at the marbled replicate of long clawed fingers, the curling tips were sharp enough to avoid even on the statue. It was said he could shred down to the bone with those claws. A thick helmet covered his head and left his ears upright as if listening to the winds. The thick breastplate was engraved with etched designs of the Platalix invasion when hundreds of canid warriors bound up the steep hillside at a single fighter’s call of defiance and animalistic anger, to overtake the opponent’s camp. The attack wasn’t as well known for its name as it was for the famous chant that was remembered and often chanted even in today’s drills.

“Ki-ya, we will rise.”

“Ki-ya, we will hunt.”

“Ki-ya-ya, we will defeat.”

Salor heard his son mumble something within the bag and he reached over his head and flipped back the cover.

“Who is that?” Spirito asked, his voice speaking in a small tone of amazement.

Salor started to answer but paused when he realized Spirito was not looking forward. He spun around to look behind and saw a second, just as impressive, smooth all-white statue, also twelve feet high upon its pedestal just across the field. This figure was not dressed in battle armor. Another male Canid, wore what resembled a rich robe with etched fringe. He stood with his arms wrapped around an intricate-looking bag, and a few flowers, and both paws were probably clasped in front but they were beneath the deeply draped cuffs that hung down. He did wear a helmet of possibly thin metal or cloth but it did not cover his ears which pointed forward and bowed as if in prayer.

He only recognized this guardian from the many times his wife spoke of his benevolence.

“That is Gias, the peaceful,” Salor said to Spirito. He attempted to ignore the feeling that Gias was watching them. No, not them, just Spirito. As he thought this to himself he felt a growing weighted stare from the warrior as well. He heard Spirito gasp as he caught sight of him.

“Who is that, Da?”

“Valerian, the fighter.”

“Who are they?”

Salor looked back and forth and thought for a moment.

“Do you remember Mama’s story of the Pidgi-midgi?”

“Yes. Ma-ma says I’m like a Pidgi-midgi, a coniplant of two sides.”

“A compliment, son. Com-ple-ment. It means the two of them complete each other. There is a balance between the two things. Valerian and Gias are the complements of each other.”

Salor remembered walking in as his wife told her son about the relationship between Valerian and Gias.

“Pidgi is a spark of energy, always bouncing, the sound of air, the flicker of lightning, my son fidgeting when I’m trying to tell him things.” He could hear her voice teaching.

“Nuh-uh,” Spirito disbelieved.

“Well, Midgi is the solid ground.” She stomped a heavy foot with her sandals.

Spirito stomped and giggled as his much smaller shoe-covered foot tapped lightly.

“Yes,” she smoothed the hair between his ears. “Midgi is also the space around us and has a connection to the soul we are filled with.” Yilta touched the boy’s chest. “But the two are the same thing.” She cupped her paws together and flipped them over and over once more like she was rolling the dough balls of the Draedle cookie.

“Why, mama?” The endless reply was made.

He watched his wife holding in a smile before responding.

“Well, without the solid ground, energy would have nothing to exist for. You can’t spark out of nothing, can you? You can’t bounce without something to bounce away from, right? Pidgi needs Midgi to be who he is meant to be. In the end, Midgi could never have explored space without Pidgi taking her along for the ride. They are a complement. Two halves of a whole.”

Spirito scratched his head and went silent. His ears flattened slightly as he did that thing of his that no other Canid in their family did. No Canid on the planet as far as his father recognized. He became too still, his form frozen for a moment, his eyes focused.

Even the memory of the incident made Salor uncomfortable. The boy paused in a deep sudden unnatural instance and took his mind inside himself.

Soon enough, but perhaps longer than Salor could ever imagine, his toddler son captured his mother’s paws and squeezed them.

“You and Da are a Pidgi-Midgi.

His wife chuckled and wiggled her head slowly from side to side. The boy was too smart.

Salor regarded his wife’s paws cupped gently around his sons, his stomach aching for the truth of the moment of a mother knowing her son would be lost to her teachings to forget her words and move away from her skirts to find his own way.

Young Spirito, finished with the story, happily ran off to find some elusive Pidgi-Midgi’s and Salor watched his wife bite her trembling lip.

Like then and now, he knew she would have found the words to be profound with such meaning and ease. Her gift was what made him mate her, to begin with. His words were not as pure. But he gave it a try. Setting the carry down and brushing its grasp from Spirito he checked him over for any damage. The rumble of his attempt spilled out into the quiet copse. “And so they are like Pidgi-Midgi. Valerian is the other half of Gias. The fighter cannot always fight, he must find peace in something or he will not have naught to fight for. A peace between fighting is the Gias for him. And Gias cannot keep the peace of all that they are. Or the winds would not push together to form the clash of storm clouds to water the lands to grow. The animals would not attack each other to feed. The waters would not rise to push the waves to shore. Gias must have Valerian by her side. They are two halves of the whole.”

His son looked at the two statues enthralled in some inner workings of his brain. His ears flicked in the opposite direction then again in reverse. Salor narrowed his gaze at the youth when he slowly nodded as if he had seen it all. More clearly than Salor saw it and it made him uncomfortable.

“We must head to the temple. You will learn more of this when you attend the training. Let’s bundle you up and stay warm.”

A small yip of agreement was barely heard as Salor re-wrapped his son and covered him within the carrying tote. He turned toward the uncovered path heading out of the copse. His mind refused to recognize the circular path was cleared of all debris including snow. And the flowers at the base of both statues were fresh. The two half circles merged to meet in the middle and to avoid any disrespect Salor walked down the straight line neither for nor against one or the other as he exited copse. He licked his dry lips and re-covered his face once more to part the bunched-up limbs leading into a blizzard.

The fierce storm hit him full on, it pushed the bluster of wind and spit him with snow, a bone-chilling cold struck him front ahead and he leaned into it, almost horizontal. He clawed the ground with his feet and shielded his eyes with his paws. Squinting and shifting, he turned away from trees that crashed and the howls of wind gods fighting massive battles in the air. After a short time, he thought of turning back to the copse but realized he may not find his way any longer.

His forward movement was step-by-step, firm, and persistent. The wind cut at him from all directions.

After searching and struggling to see into the blurring landscape, Salor realized he was seeing a river in the distance. He growled his defiance heading toward the black edge. He felt his fighting spirit drain in shock as he realized what he thought was a river was a gapping crack through the land before him, its width two spans of his height. Much too far to jump and no crossing in sight.

He stumbled to the north to keep moving and followed the maw around to an outcropping of boulders. Squinting, he saw a jutted ridge that hung out over the bottomless pit, reaching out from the other side. It was higher than his side by two times his height but possible to jump too if he didn’t have his son in a bag on his back. He closed his eyes as he drew a deep breath. Standing at the point between the boulders and the jagged cliff edge, he struggled with his decision as he stripped off the pack and gently set it down. Spirito looked up at him from a bundle of blankets and clothes.

Salor yelled through the wind. “I’m going to toss you up onto a ledge. It’s very close but it may bump you around a bit. You will be fine.”

Spirito nodded quickly, his eyes widening.

“I’ll follow behind you.” Salor leaned in and kissed Spirito on the head and quickly tucked the flap over to keep out the cold and his fears. He grasped the two straps in one paw and lifting the bag, he used his other paw to push the bottom upward in a mighty heave. The bag shot upward and over the jutted cliff. Salor grunted into the roar of the gale. Taking five huge strides back, he turned and ran at the gap as fast as he could.

On flat land, with space, he would have dropped to all fours, for more speed but without the space he was forced to leap. His claws dug into the cliff side and he scrabbled to move upward. His paw just topped the ridge when he heard a yip of fright.

His head shot over the edge and gasped, “Spirito”, he cried. The leather carry bag was rolling end-over-end, heading straight back toward the cliff and gaining speed as it rolled back down a low hill it had landed on.

Salor just had a split second to realize the situation when he thrust himself up and sideways to grab one of the dangling carry straps as the entire bag rolled over the edge. The burn of the leather as it ran through his grasp cut like a blade. Salor ignored the pain and tightened his grip.

“Not today, death. You will not take this one today.” He almost slid forward off the cliff when the bag reached the end of its range and jerked hard. But he held tight.

Minutes later he listened once again to Spirito claim he was unhurt. Salor checked his small body twice and clicked his teeth together in a snap.

“This trip is filled with delight.” He murmured as Spirito looked more upset by his food being crushed than his life almost lost. “Let’s get you wrapped up a little and we can walk together.

“Yes, please. The carry bag is very…un-com-furt-able.”
Salor recalled his wife mentioning almost that very same statement three days ago. He put one of his extra shirts over Spirito and let it fall past his knees and over his tail. It would be warmer.

The wind continued to wail but they moved up the hill to suddenly find the smoother pathway at the top.

“There it is, Da. The Temple, right?” Spirito yelled out.

In the distance Salor saw the black castle rising high, its parapets hanging over the land like the darker shadows within the depths of the storm. He saw the flicker of two flame torches set to either side of the arch entrance. As they neared, Salor recognized the dark blue temple guards’ uniforms worn by the two silent canids, a male and female who may have been twins, standing beneath the burning torch lights.

He lowered the face cover as the building blocked the storm’s intent. Spirito unwrapped the bindings from his face and neck, his eyes darting from the guards to the high wall of the black building, to the torches, and into the black depths of the archway.

“Are we going inside?” Spirito’s voice was pitched even higher than normal.

“Well, it would be silly to travel all this way and remain out here, right?” Salor answered.

Spirito nodded but didn’t smile. He reached out to grab his Da’s paw with his own. Salor squeezed it. Looking up at the skies he was not able to see the moon or stars or sun to determine the hour. He worried they had not arrived in time. Did they miss the reading?

“Who is that, Da?” Spirito’s grip tightened.

Salor jerked at the question and looked to find a figure emerging from the darkness within the arch, wearing a long red robe. One of the orders of Skaveen, Salor recognized. The canid carried a long walking stick in his left hand. He was gray whiskered and his ears were laid back. He stared at the young Spirito in silence.

Spirito released Salor’s paw and nodded.

“Yes.” He answered an unasked question.

Salor clenched his jaw. He always wondered why his father never spoke about the Temple visit. The Skaveen were well into the mystic and had many powers.

“I don’t know. Will it hurt?”

The Skaveen’s mouth twitched at the corner, and his eyes brightened.

Spirito frowned. “My sister was here before. All she said was it’s a test. But…” Spirito looked down then back up. “…She was afraid and my sister is not afraid of nothing. So I wanted to know why?”

The elder Skaveen gave a small bow and turned toward the entrance.

“Come.” A voice echoed in Salor’s head.