by Tyler Earp
* * *
As they were walking back to their homes Riley and Abe broke off, as they didn't actually live in the condos that Charley and Nina did. They decided that they would meet in a few days after Abe told them, “We won't be able to hang out this weekend. Our parents are taking us fishing for Memorial weekend.” They waved and walked back down the road, splitting off to their building.
As they walked, Charley turned his head to Nina. “What do you think this means? This whole thing with the Barghest, and my parents knowing something?”
She looked back at him. “What I want to know is how we ended up in the very store that just happened to have the book that you would need… It's weird that I ended up getting tired. I mean, I was in track this year.”
Charley frowned. “That is weird. I didn't even think about it.”
“Yeah, you were just trying to be heroic. Don't do that again,” she said and then punched him in the arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
She looked at him with an iciness that chilled him, even in the blazing heat. “I don't need someone to save me. Don't follow me.”
Charley stood there gaping as she climbed up the ladder to the tree fort above. Charley shook his head, walked toward the building. All he could do was shake his head. I just don't understand girls…
He shook his head once more and walked into his living room. His parents were both sitting on the couch and followed him with their eyes as he plopped down in a chair. His mother broke the silence. “How was the library, Charley?” she asked, trying to be as casual as possible.
“It was all right.”
“Did you see anything… strange on the way to the library?” she urged.
At this, Charley started to understand. “No, we didn't see the B… dog. It was really hot though.” Charley watched their faces and noticed signs of relief.
“That's good. I gave a call to the pound. They said they would keep an eye out for a large black dog, especially when I told them that it attacked you,” his father announced.
His mother looked at him. “What do you want for dinner? We thought we would go out. You could bring Nina.”
“Nina's mad at me right now.”
His mom looked at him with intent. “What happened?”
“I don't know. The heat got to her, but she wouldn't stop to rest. I made her, but then she got mad and said that she didn't need someone to save her. It's just weird!”
His mother smiled knowingly. “Oh, I think I understand. Charley, she wants you to see her as strong.”
Charley looked at his father, who just shrugged. “But she is strong.”
His mother sighed. “Don't worry about it, Charley. You'll understand eventually,” she said as she got up and walked into the hallway.
His father shook his head. “She's been saying I’ll understand those kinds of thing eventually to me as well– But you know what? I still don't have a clue most of the time,” he said with a chuckle.
On a whim, Charley concentrated on his dad and thought to him, Tell me what's going on.
His dad turned back to him, a glazed look on his eyes. For a moment, Charley thought it had worked, but then his dad froze and something snapped and rushed back into Charley. “Come on, Charley. Let's go get some food,” he said with a cautious glance at Charley.
Charley instantly got a throbbing headache and had to rush to the medicine cabinet for Aspirin. Too weird…
Three
Talking to Squirrels
“The unexpected happens all around us. All you must do is look.”
- Unknown Swordsman
Six weeks earlier…
Bored. That was the word that came to Castor's mind as he sat on his iron throne. He didn't know how his father had managed these people and their constant need to harass him about tiny matters.
“Why should I care that his goat was killed?” he had asked his aging father once. He still didn't understand the answer he had been given. His father had always been one for giving what seemed to be pointless answers to him.
“You shouldn't care that the goat was killed. The goat was going to die even if that death wasn't by killing it. You should care about the act.
“Why was the goat killed? What was the value of killing it? Those are the questions that you should ask yourself,” was the answer that his father had given him. Castor huffed. Completely useless.
The reason he still sat on the throne every day to see these peasants was due to his father forcing it on him. He sat on that throne and listened to what the farmers had to say, and he either had the offender pay the repairs or he dismissed the offense depending on the situation.
And Castor hated every moment of it. He had big plans to change his boring life. Castor was a young man, still barely more than a boy in the eyes of many of the servants, he knew.
Most of them still saw him as the little boy that had stolen the plate of sweet rolls meant for a visiting Kind and then handed them out to peasants, rather than the hardened warrior he become in the last decade. Castor felt he was constantly undermined by their indirect disobedience.
A man wearing a rather colorful tunic approached him. He bowed to Castor, the mockery clear in his action. “My Lord, Castor, the next one is waiting. Should I allow him in, or do I send him away for the evening?”
Castor rubbed his temples with his first three fingers and thumb. He lowered his hand. "Have him approach, Samuel. He has come this far, why disappoint him now?"
Forcing his bloodshot eyes to focus on the approaching figure and noticed some things: the man was tall, though not nearly as tall as himself. He wore clothes that would have put even Samuel, his major-domo, to shame.
The man's blood-red tunic and dusk colored cape appeared to almost shimmer in the light from the painted windows. His walk could be described as a shuffle. One leg pulling in front of the next one, as he had three, pull in front of the next one. The man then bowed until his greasy hair almost swept the ground.
His voice was nasally and scrapped on Castor's ears as he spoke. “Lord Castor, I was once an adviser to your grandfather. As you know, your father, and his father before him, are the reasons that Granhold has grown so strong. I flatter myself in saying that parts of this success came from my humble advice given to them,” he said, and then bowed again, this time his hair did touch the stone ground.
Castor looked at him, rubbing his chin. It was true, his father had kept a secret adviser that he would consult on matters of importance. His father had always seemed different during those times, abandoning his cool, level-headed behavior. He would go into fits of rage and smash everything near him after meeting with that secretive man.
Afterward, the country would begin to flourish as it never had before, though at the expense of the poor, slaves and indentured. He decided to test him. His father had once told him the name of the man who had been his secret adviser, and he intended to find out if this was that man.
“Adviser, what is your name? I will need something to call you by when I need you.”
The man bowed once more, but now there was a smile on his face. One that appeared almost victorious. “My name, Lord Castor, is one that is so old that even I find it hard to remember. I will tell you the same that I told your father. I am Darnel to some, and the Creep to all.”
