Haila: The first adventure

1
My History

“Yahoo!”
“Yippee!”
“We’re out; we’re done, never to return again!”
“Yah! Or at least for me, M’bro m'dear. You’re going back again next year, while I’m off to HS! Hah, bet you’ll get Mrs. Devlin, too.”
Oh, sorry, best I tell you what happening, otherwise you’ll be very confused. Haila here. Yes, the same Haila that happens to be the title of this book. What can I say, this book happens to be about me and my adventure: it seems only logical that it should be named after me. By the way, while we're on the topic, I must commend you for an excellent choice: my story is quite unusual. Before you can move on, however, I should correct you about some very important misconceptions you almost certainly have. I bet, reading those first four lines, you thought I was a human being of about twelve years of age on Earth. Wrong on all accounts.
First of all, I’m no human, but an Issik. Issiks are one of the native creatures to Austar, much before the Humans came (more about them later), and are often, wait what am I saying, always described as a weird combination of deer, bird and fox. Now, don’t you get the wrong impression! No beaks and weird noses for us. We have the head of a deer which melds into the body of a fox ending in hoofs of a deer, and also, once we’ve reached a certain age, we grow wings. Not little parrot wings, but grand eagle wings, white lofty wings. I got my wings early so I had time to perfect my flying and am now one of the most advanced in my grade. Issiks are not the only species on Austar, far from it actually. We have a whole assortement of them, ranging from the solid winged kangaroo-like Kloreas to the vicious desert-loving Kreel and their pacifist cousins Vreel. Issiks themselves – purebreds anyways – are rare.
That brings me to my second point. Wherever this Earth of your's is, we're far from it. Austar is actually called Austar 16 because it is the sixteenth planet from the center of our 'solar system' which contains four variously-sized suns (Admin, Gunin, Ctozin and Thmin) and a large planet-like meteor that shoots through the solar system every twenty years or so named Uracl. It is a vast planet, with no oceans that I know of, but with an abundance of different climates.
M’bro is my ‘bro, and therefore the nick name M’bro. I can’t even remember his real name, and now even his friends and Mom call him M’bro. It’s like I made him a new name. Well, you see, we were very exited because school had just finished (who wouldn't be excited?), and we got marks to be proud of. Being proud of such good marks was the last thing we had on our mind right now. Mom is like the Village Story Keeper. Anytime there is a campfire, then everyone turns to Mom to tell them a story. She is a strange Issik, and hauntingly wise, kind and nearly all-knowing. Everytime we have good enough marks, she tells us a story. It is an event envied by all and a priviledge me and M'bro are desperate to keep. It is peculiar to see a young troublemaker such as my brother here to come home right after school without having to be told and finishing his homework just so he could listen to the story (this is not to say that I have not had my own sleepless nights to study for one test or another). Insane.
In fact, Mom is one of the most mysterious stories herself. You see, my father came across her out far in the woods, one day when he was following a bunch of thieves. When he found her, she was slightly ragged, and seemed kind of stressed. He described her as a peculiar creature, having an earring in her left ear and a weird mark on her right. Still, he could tell that she was an Issik, and they were very highly regarded at that time, considering the ruling family was purebred Issiks. As the story goes, he was charged with her “rehabilitation”, and after a while, the two fell in love, married, and then my father died.
Actually, I prefer to believe that he didn’t die, but rather went away for a bit. Still, even if he died, he died heroically. One night, when he and his squad (he was the commando of a squad from the elite force that was sent from the capital to protect our town from raiders) were out on their usual patrols, only this time, they didn’t come back right on time. In fact, most didn’t come back at all. About an hour or two after they were expected back, everyone was getting very panicky and that's when Mom began to worry. Well, about that time, a single member of the squad made it to the campsite. All they got out of him was that they were attacked by some type of terrorists. He guessed that they were terrorists for they only attacked the Issiks (this was a time of rebellion against the rulling class), and if the others had not tried to help their friends and co-workers, they would have been spared. Unfortunately, in the commotion, many of them died. After intense prodding from Mom, he admitted that he didn’t know what happened to Dad, only that he shouted for someone to go warn the town. The survivor quickly moved out of the fray and made his way towards the town. Even though he got out of the fight just moments after it began, he suffered many wounds. Well, rumors spread fast, and soon, the fight was something more of legend, and some even blamed Mom for it saying that the terrorists were really after her, that’s why they killed the Issiks, because maybe they would turn out to be her. Those assaults quickly died down when they found Dad’s bloodied up scarf in the woods. Everyone knew that the only thing that kept Mom going was that Dad might still be alive. So when the scarf was found, no one wanted to break the news to her. No one keeps secrets from Mom though. Her piercing stare would make the mute talk. Dad’s death never had that much of an impact on me. I never really knew him; after all, I was but three years old when he left on that routine round. Sometimes, I can almost hear his cheerful voice again, though. Despite the fact that I knew him better, I know that it’s M’bro who shares the bond with him. You see, it was merely a week after M’bro was born that Dad left. In fact, he wouldn’t have left, if the vice-commando hadn’t fallen fatally ill not long before. ..
I know what you might be thinking, and lets get this cleared up quickly, because I must have gone through this each time someone tells this story. You suppose that the vice was in with the terrorists, and pushed Dad to go so that he would be killed and the vice would then become the new commando. Well, first of all, he’s not the evil plotting type – really quite friendly actually – and second of all, after the scarf was found, he frankly said that he would not be able to do justice the memory of his friend's (my Dad) work, and turned down the job. After making that gallant speech, he jumped off a cliff. Well that certainly shocked the community into a stalemate.
You could say that those were dark times. In less than two days, we lost the best, bravest and most honorable sons, fathers, and husbands that the town had ever known. No one wanted to take charge for fear of disregarding the fallen's memories, and yet it was obvious that to move on, the community needed a leader. The boys in the town suddenly grew up faster, and became far more protective.
In fact, M’bro is the perfect example of that. He doesn’t seem to understand that I can take care of myself. Of course, it’s nice to have someone watching your back, but it can get annoying after a while. Like just this year, a boy in my grade (therefore 3 years M’bro’s superior) began picking on me. Nothing serious, just making me stand out a little more (not like I wasn’t standing out enough, I’m a pure-bred Issik, my mom, to this day, is a town-wide mystery, and my dad was killed in that cursed battle). Well, M’bro caught him at it, and before anyone knew what was happening, M’bro was on top of him. Mom apparently had a talk with him after I came home complaining, but did he change? Of course not. That would be just too... I don't know... normal maybe?
M’bro always puzzled me with his curious ways. M'bro could bring a smile to the most crancky of faces – no exception – and his truly innocent and childlike manner just made you want to laugh (unless you're like me, and you've lived with this your entire life. Then you just want to slap him.) At the same time, however – and completely contradictory to his happy-go-lucky style - M’bro always seemed to be on the lookout for people who wanted to hurt us, mentally or physically, no matter where we were, what we were doing or who was with us.
In a way, M’bro was my dad now. I know it seems rather weird to have a father who is 3 years younger than you. His protectiveness gives you the impression that he is older and far more wise (nothing could be farther from the truth!), and most of his traits are ones you would expect from a typical, caring father. Don’t be fooled, he often reminds us that he is still a child, and enjoys being that way.

For example. . .