by North, Lena
“Yes. What we did yesterday… it was the right thing to do. Still, I had a hard time to fall asleep, so thanks for staying up with me last night, Mickey.” I said.
“Yeah. Shitty thing to do, but you’re right. It was the right thing. Didn’t bother me like it did you, though. Mac had to shake me around quite a bit to wake me up,” he said.
“Mac?” I asked.
“Yeah, didn’t he tell you? He woke me up, said you were having a hard time and we needed to be there for you.”
I had turned and rested against the counter. My gut did a free fall at his words, and I stared at him, not knowing what to think about this. He shut off the heat and started transferring the food onto plates, glancing over at me.
“His name is Falk,” I whispered.
Mickey straightened and turned fully toward me.
“You’re interested in him, Wilder?” he asked gently.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe,” I added because I was, and I didn’t want to lie to my best friend.
“Okay,” he said, and added, “Cool name.”
“Yeah,” I said, happy that he didn’t ask more questions because I wouldn’t have any answers for him anyway.
I’d never been in love, not for real, but I had seen how love consumed my mother to the point where nothing else mattered, and I was not at all sure I ever wanted to have that kind of feelings.
“Why did they leave so abruptly, Hawker and the others? Do you know?” I asked to change the subject.
“No idea. Did you notice that weird thing they did, though?”
“Yeah, totally off how they just froze for a split second. Maybe they had ear plugs or something?” I replied.
“They didn’t, we would have seen,” Mickey said. “You’ll go to Norton to talk to your dad today, right?” he asked.
“I might,” I said evasively.
“You should. You need to hear what he has to say, but Wilder? He needs to tell you even more.”
He put the plates on the table and motioned for me to sit down.
“Maybe you don’t see that, but I do, and the others do too. Hawker has something to tell you, and I think he wants to, but he’s also afraid that you won’t like it. I have no clue what it is, and it could be something really awful, but he’s not a bad man, so whatever it is…” he trailed off and looked at me under his brow as he picked up a fork. “You need to keep your cool, yeah?”
Then he started shuffling food into his mouth, and I thought about what he’d said.
“Okay,” I mumbled finally, through a huge mouthful of eggs.
***
I’d been in the car for a while when I noticed a huge sign advertising that turning off at the next exit would take you to heaven and that this apparently was a store called Bozo’s. I chuckled and moved into the exit lane. I wasn’t in a hurry, and it was past lunch time, so I figured I’d take a look at the store to see if Mickey had pulled my leg when he got me the leather bitch outfit. Then I’d find somewhere to grab a bite to eat. Maybe Bozo’s heaven included sandwiches, I thought as I parked outside the huge building.
“Darling!”
I jumped when someone shouted this unexpected endearment a split second after I’d entered the store. A man came toward me, and I didn’t quite know if I should turn and run, or start laughing. I suspected strongly that I was about to meet Bozo himself, so I continued into the store.
“I’m Bozo, and I love your hair! Adore it! Totally!” the man said, and his voice wasn’t loud, but he somehow ended each sentence with an exclamation mark. “Delicious!” he concluded as he stopped in front of me, but he drawled it out like it was four words; Dee-lee-shee-uz.
I tilted my head back and looked up at the huge man in front of me. His shoulders were so wide that I wondered if he had to walk sideways through normal doors, and his upper arms were thicker than my thighs. His brown hair was pulled back in a man bun, and he had a neatly trimmed, brown beard. He wore regular blue jeans and a frilly, lavender blouse with large burgundy flowers. He had matched his lipstick quite expertly with the color of the flowers, and his turquoise eye shadow was applied flawlessly. In spite of the weirdness of seeing a bearded man with lipstick, I found myself thinking that if I ever were to make an effort with my makeup, I would absolutely go to Bozo for advice.
“Hey,” I said and felt how my mouth widened in a grin.
He twitched when I turned my face toward him, and then he pulled me into a huge bear hug. Wow, I thought. That was taking customer service to the extreme, wasn’t it? Then he released me and stepped back.
“You are Hawker’s girl!” he exclaimed happily.
“Um, yeah,” I confirmed.
The thought of my rough, tattooed father hanging out with this man was mind boggling.
“Fantastic eyes, darling! Love them! I have tried for years to make your dad take a walk on the wild side with me, but alas, no luck. Yet!”
I started laughing, and I hoped that he wouldn’t be offended because he was a bit of a fruitcake, but he was also huge and seemed enormously strong. Lucky for me, Bozo started laughing too.
“Come! What can I get you?” he said.
I looked around, and it seemed at first as if Mickey had been right. Everything in the store was huge. Then my eyes fell on two piles of black tees. The store’s name was printed on the front in a super cool bright orange design. One pile had regular men’s tees. The other one seemed to be v-necked fitted t-shirts for women. Damn that Mickey, I thought.
“Got one of those in my size?” I asked and pointed to the tees.
“Sure! You like?” he asked as he rifled through the pile. Then he held out a tee in front of me, pursed his lips, and tossed it to the side. “Hawker might spank me for this, but I’ll get you one that is one size too small, darling. Show off your assets better!”
I giggled at the visual he gave me.
“Hawker spanks you often?”
“No baby girl, not at all, I’m sad to say. Not yet!” he said and winked at me.
I laughed even more then. I really liked Bozo.
We chatted a while as I paid for my tee and another one in Mickey’s size that had “fruitcake and lovin’ it” printed in purple and pink on the front. Then I asked Bozo if there were any restaurants around and he exploded with joy.
“You absolutely have to go to Carson’s, darling!” he almost shouted. “He’s the master and commander of our grill, and his food is dee-vine!”
He picked up his phone and started tapping the screen.
“Had to make him open a restaurant, though. All that food made my butt bigger than our cows’,” he muttered as he fiddled with the phone.
I blinked and tried not to laugh again.
“There!” he exclaimed happily. “He knows you’re coming.”
Before I could utter one word, Bozo pulled out a map and pointed out the way. I had to get a bit further off the highway but he showed me a small road that would take me back again, and since he was so genuinely excited that I would eat at his man’s restaurant, I couldn’t find it in me to object. Anyway, I was in no hurry, and I was also curious about what Carson would look like.
Bozo followed me out, and when I drove away, he was waving goodbye with both his arms in the air. The lavender blouse was flowing around him like a soft cloud.
I laughed as I followed the road Bozo had shown me on his map, but not at Bozo or his strange appearance. I’d loved his kindness and boisterous enthusiasm for life, so my laughter was simply from happiness.
Carson’s wasn’t far down the road, and I walked up the steps slowly. My foot hurt a little, but I’d left the cane in the car again, not wanting to have to explain it. I’d use it when I was around Hawker, though, I thought. When I opened the door, I fully expected another enormous and flawlessly made up man to come running, and I braced.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Carson was tall but wiry. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt and
had not a speck of makeup that I could see. He also looked a lot like Miller and hence Kit, and I felt my brows rise when he came toward me.
“Yeah,” he rumbled in a deep voice that didn’t quite fit with his slim frame.
“What?” was my impolite greeting.
“You’ve met my boy,” he said, which apparently was an explanation.
“What?” I repeated because his explanation made absolutely no sense at all.
“Kit,” he said.
I blinked.
“What?” I said for the third time.
Then I shook my head to clear it from confusion.
“I’m sorry, are you Carson?” I asked.
“Yup,” he replied.
I waited, but he didn’t elaborate. He kept staring impassively at me, and that annoyed me.
“I get that you’re some kind of silent mountain man, Carson. You still need to explain, or I will turn around and go back to Bozo and let him do it,” I snapped.
His face split into a wide grin.
“Jeez, the apple didn’t fall far did it?” he asked, strangely.
I growled, but he just started laughing.
“Come, Wilder. You can hang with me at the grill while I fix you a plate, yeah?”
Then he walked away and since my stomach rumbled from the dee-vine smells from the kitchen I followed him. Christ, I thought. I’ve started thinking like Bozo speaks.
“Kit’s my son,” Carson said as he put a plate next to his grill and started to pile up meat of various kinds.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m guessing Bozo isn’t his mother?”
He barked out laughter at my question, and I smiled back at the man.
“Bo will love it when I tell him you asked that,” he chuckled. “No, Kit’s ma died a long time ago. Then Bo came along and persuaded me to walk on the wild side with him. Haven’t regretted it one second.”
Then he turned to me, and his face suddenly looked gentle and sweet.
“Thank you, Wilder,” he murmured.
“For what?” I asked.
“Bo called me when you’d left the store. A lot of people laugh at him, but you laughed with him. He knows the difference, and we both appreciate you doing it.”
“The world is full of a disturbingly huge number of idiots,” I said. “No need to thank me for not being one.”
His face softened even further, but then he grinned.
“You are so much like your father, Wilder. Good for us to have two of you. Bet you drive each other nuts, though.”
“You’d win that bet,” I said.
Laughing loudly, he handed me my plate and indicated a back porch at the same time as a couple of car doors slammed outside the entrance.
“More customers,” he said and walked away.
I sat down in the middle of the huge porch. There were a few other customers already and as I started eating, Carson showed a party of six to a table. When I put the first piece of meat in my mouth, I understood how the man could fill such a remote place with customers.
“You like?” Carson rumbled as he passed me.
“Dee-lee-shee-uz,” I drawled with my mouth full and winked at him.
More car doors slammed in front of the house, so he moved away with a wave and a loud laugh. I ate the gigantic portion he’d given me, thinking that I had to come back, but not too often. My butt would most assuredly become cow-sized if I did. As I ate, I texted my girls, raving about the food, sending pictures and telling them we had to make a road trip. They replied instantly and we agreed that they’d come with me to Norton a couple of weeks later, and we’d stop at Carson’s on our way up there. We’d stop at Bozo’s too, I thought. My girlfriends would laugh with Bo as well.
When I’d finished my meal, I pushed the plate to the side and spread a map out in front of me to figure out the way back to the highway. It had seemed easy when Bo showed me but I hadn’t been in these parts before, so it seemed wise to look it over one more time.
Carson passed by to pick up my plate and then he put a huge cup of coffee in front of me.
“I could fall in love you,” I murmured, still focused on the map.
“That’s what they all say,” he replied, and leaned over the map. “It’s quite easy to go back to the highway. Just pass around Threy and take a right turn.”
“Threy?” I asked, not finding it on the map.
“Yeah, right where we are,” he pointed. “It’s not marked very clearly. It was our biggest garrison a long time ago, though. Treville was built up to support it, and when there were fewer fights the garrison was abandoned, but the village remained, and grew. There are still ruins in the forest, quite well preserved actually and well worth a look when you have the time.”
Then someone called his name, and he smiled at me and strolled away. He didn’t have any employees but somehow managed without help. The place was a peaceful haven and the calm pace with which everything moved was soothing. I leaned back and looked into the forest surrounding the house. My eyes fell on the map, and I smiled.
The stories I’d read, the ones Willy had tucked away in a box in his house in Norton, were very cleverly put together, I realized. They had told about the guard stations along the forest line, naming Three as the biggest one, and this could be what Carson had called Threy. Three-village would be Treville, of course. How unique to weave the whole story around our history, I thought and wondered again who could have written it.
Carson’s coffee was as good as his food, so when he offered to top me up, I readily accepted. As I sipped the strong brew, I pulled out my phone and started flicking through the pictures, thinking that I had to share my day with Mickey and send him the photos of my meal. Then my eyes fell on the pictures I took in the cave, and my stomach dropped.
I’d told Mickey about the dead man in the cave, and said that I’d let Hawker know, but then I’d forgotten. Too much had happened and I’d simply forgotten. I held my breath as I looked at pictures of a dead man with long, bright red hair that looked like flames of fire. The stories I’d just been thinking about was fresh in my mind, and suddenly my pulse was beating fast and hard.
Vildman.
The name seemed to echo in my head, and I felt goose bumps starting from my legs, moving up over my body. I couldn’t hold the phone anymore because my hands were shaking too much and I was afraid someone would notice.
It fit. The man I found in the cave could very well be Vildman, the man who fathered the girl who told the first part of the story. He had disappeared in the mountains with an injury in his side, into his lung. The timing fit too, his clothes seemed to come from the time in our history that had seen the end of widespread civil wars.
I clenched my hands around my coffee cup and drank deeply, as my mind raced with the implications of what I’d just discovered.
If the man in the cave was Vildman, then no one knew. Who could have written these stories if they didn’t know about him?
But if no one knew, then the stories had to be true. Or?
Suddenly a lot of things seemed to click into place, one after the other. The books had ended at the beginning of the prosperous times, and our main city was called Prosper. Our top swimmers were all huge, and they were all blonde. There had even been talk about the swim teams not allowing kids to participate if they had darker skin or the black hair that was common in the mountains. Our scholars were often heckled for their pale skin, and it was often joked about them not spending enough time outside. Our lawyers and judges had with few exceptions dark skin and dark hair. It seemed to fit in with how they had been in the stories, where the blonde people living by the beach had been strong swimmers, the pale tribes from the north had started writing down their history, and the dark-skinned people from the settlements had been the ones with common sense and reason.
It was a mind-boggling thought, but when I thought more about it, I shrugged it off. It couldn’t be true, of course it couldn’t, but it
was a sweet thought that what the boy called Troy had started had also been what won in the end. What he had built had become a huge, successful city and if the two other villages had even existed, they were long gone. We had no cities with names that resembled neither Dragoncourt nor Pantano, although Troy had built his village around a settlement called the Heather Houses so the names could have changed, of course.
Then it hit me. Heather Houses. HH. Double H… Oh, shit. What if it was true?
I felt the goose bumps come back and quickly finished my coffee. I tried not to think at all, but my mind didn’t cooperate and as I looked around to find Carson another thought hit me. The village in the north, where the first girl, Vilda, had come from had been called Nordby. That was old language, meaning the north village. They’d also said they called a small village a tûn. North tûn. Norton.
Vilda and Drake had moved to the North tûn.
If the stories were true, then they would likely be my ancestors.
And if the stories were true, then my ancestors could change into dragons.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
I got to my feet, took a few deep breaths and told myself to not be silly. Humans didn’t change into dragons. It wasn’t possible.
Carson refused to accept payment for the meal and walked me to my car. I laughed and chatted with him, and I don’t think he noticed anything out of the ordinary. I waved as I drove off and started making my way back to the highway. I let my mind wander freely, thinking about what I’d read in the books and how it would translate into the world I lived in.
The Waterfolk had lived in Pantano, and to get there from the Heather Houses, which would be called Prosper now, they rode down to the beach and then they followed the waterline. Today, that would mean you were in… Well, shit. That would put you in Marshes, the village Paolo came from. Marshes was a secluded village, or more like a gated community really. Norton was open for visitors, although it would be impossible to find somewhere to stay the night. Marshes was impossible to even get into unless you were invited by someone who lived there.
I decided to call Mary as soon as I got to Norton and ask her if she had any news about the paper I asked her to test. If the paper was new, then the story was just incredibly cleverly written, and that I found a dead man who resembled what Vildman would have looked like was just a fluke. If the paper was a thousand years old, then… I didn’t know what I’d do then.
