Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1)

by Ron Smorynski

  When they got there, Wooly was working on other computers. Wooly looked up and saw Alfred's mom. He looked away. She looked away too. A cold shiver went down her spine.

  Alfred felt as if he was standing between two silent brooding adults. It was typical of adults to say hello or talk about something boring like how each was doing or something. But they stood silent. Wooly watched a blank computer monitor as it restarted and his mom gazed about. She was looking at the mess in the garage. Alfred sensed from the look on her face what she was thinking, that the place was filthy, cluttered, dangerous – and other words Alfred couldn't think of.

  She then looked at Wooly's back and saw in the computer screen his gaze, looking at her. Both glanced away. She twirled to see Alfred gaze with big eyes at her, motioning her to pay Wooly.

  “Thank you… sir… for fixing my son’s computer.”

  He nodded with his face still turned away.

  She pulled out the money to pay him. “May I get a receipt?”

  Alfred rolled his eyes.

  Wooly focused on an open computer box next to him. He muttered oddly, “Is there something wrong?”

  “Well, if I’m paying for this repair, I just want to make sure it works.”

  “Mom, it works.”

  “I just need a receipt or ticket. They do that at the cleaners, you know, just in case,” she said.

  Alfred could hear her dig her nails into her purse.

  “You don’t have to pay,” Wooly muttered.

  “Mom,” Alfred hissed.

  There seemed to be some strange standoff between mom and Wooly. He was generally standoffish. Alfred was sweating bricks. He knew Wooly fixed his computer and made it even better. Now his mom was making things difficult. What if something goes wrong again? Would Wooly be willing to help again?

  “Well, here.” His mom defiantly put the money down on the table and walked out. Alfred felt relieved but embarrassed. He waved bye to Wooly's back, noticing his shoulders suddenly sag. He followed his mom out.

  They walked upstairs without saying a word.

  After dinner and homework Alfred sat back down at his computer. He was so excited. He began a new game. His mom was in the kitchen cleaning up so she could begin her nightly work.

  “Mom!? Come take a look at my game! Come on, Wooly really fixed it. It works even better!”

  “I'm very busy, Alfred!”

  “Mom, seriously, I don't think you've ever, ever looked at Grim Wars or see what I love to do! Well, except that last time, but that was BEFORE this awesome computer fix!”

  “Alright, just a minute.”

  …

  …

  …

  …

  “MOM!”

  “Alright, alright... I'm coming,” she answered.

  “Come on... gosh, the battle is almost over!”

  She walked through the small one bedroom apartment, which consisted of Alfred’s bedroom and another room with an open kitchen, a table, and a couch designated as the living room. Since she didn't watch TV, Alfred had all of that in the bedroom, and she slept and worked her sewing jobs around the table and couch.

  She came to the door and leaned in. She had to step around behind Alfred to see the flashing screen and hear the sounds of fantasy fighting.

  “Now look how awesome it looks. You gotta really focus okay, don't just pretend look!” Alfred said.

  For the first time, she focused on what he was doing. He was creating armies to go into battle. He selected a group of knights and men-at-arms and attacked a large army of goblins.

  “Look, I'll zoom in so you can see the details of the units!” Alfred clicked his mouse furiously as sounds of galloping horses, yelling knights, and growling goblins came out of the small speakers.

  His mother looked at the game as his knights and men-at-arms were getting overwhelmed. Alfred was gritting his teeth and clicking his mouse furiously to build more units and save the one’s he had.

  “Grrahh... hold on mom, I'm getting surrounded by a ton of goblins! This mission is tough.”

  She screamed. It was a loud gasping outcry. She stepped back, tottered and fell on his bed, then rolled off onto the floor. Alfred was stunned by how loud her scream was and then by her sudden fall. He paused the game and looked at her. She looked pale white, lying on the floor. She had her arms raised in helpless defense.

  He went to pick her up. “Mom! Mom?”

  She looked around as if in fear of her life and grabbed him tight, saying weird things like, “Bedenwulf!!? They’ve come! ...We’re surrounded! ...Secret passage, hurry!”

  “Bedenwulf?” Alfred mumbled.

  She gasped and twisted in Alfred’s arms. “...Beden... wulllll...”

  “Mom!? Mom!” Alfred, not knowing what to do, was nearly in tears. His mother was sweating and in some kind of shock. Then all of a sudden she stared up at Alfred, blinking and beholding the room. She held him tight for a long while. Alfred was big, so it was easy for him to hold his dainty mother. He had never seen her like this. She seemed paralyzed with fear.

  She sat up and looked at his computer. The image was frozen. She read the words 'Game Paused' in clear bold type. And the sounds of battle were paused.

  “Are you okay, mom?” he asked, still trembling.

  She sighed. He sighed.

  “Are you afraid of my game? Huh?” He chuckled to shake it off. He lifted her up.

  She smiled. “A game? Yes, it’s just a game.” She stood up, straightening herself. She still seemed beside herself and stood in a way he had never seen before, as if she were summoning courage, trying to be brave. “I'm alright.” She put her hands out, to give herself some space.

  He shrugged it off and sat back down.

  “Just a little fright is all. It's just a game,” she said. She patted Alfred's head and slowly began to walk out.

  He glanced hesitantly at his mom.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes! Yes. I'm fine. Took me by surprise. It does look real. Too real. I have a lot of work to do. Ah, but I'm glad you are enjoying your game.”

  “Ohh-kay.” He continued the game.

  Startled at the sudden sound of clashing swords and grunting beasts, she left the room quickly. Alfred shook off an unsettling feeling. After all, he had a battle to win!

  Chapter Three: Good Night Mom

  One seemingly magical night when he was working on a paper for school, “Life in the Castle,” his mother entered his room with dinner. He was flipping through books, taking notes, and organizing how he wanted to write the paper.

  “Your favorite dinner, roast stew and baked bread!”

  “Ahh... can't we just have bread from the store sometime?” Alfred broke open the steamy buttery bread made from scratch and ate a delicious morsel. But he longed for the sliced bread like the other kids ate, perfectly wrapped in plastic, all with the same uniform spongy look.

  “I love baking bread for you!”

  “Just seems like so much work, and you look so tired.”

  As Alfred stuffed another fluffy piece of grainy goodness into his mouth, his mother gasped and covered her mouth. She couldn't help but smile.

  Even so, Alfred couldn't stop picking up morsels of the bread to eat. With each bite his countenance became brighter, his smile larger.

  “I am tired, Alfred. But it is a peaceful tired, the perfect kind of tired.”

  “Okay, mom, whatever you say.”

  She noticed the books on medieval history. “Medieval times were dark, violent and full of hardship. You should not concern yourself with them.”

  “What do you know about the Dark Ages? Hah ha, there were knights and chivalry!”

  “Knights are big-headed thick-skulled sword-swinging barbarians stuffed into steel cans and adorned with banners to make them appear more than they really are!” And with that she left.

  He rushed out. “Whaddaya mean they're big thick steel cans of barbarian banners??” Alfred stopped to think about what s
he, and-or he, just said.

  “I don’t want to talk about them!” She plopped down to do her night’s sewing.

  “Okay, what about castles? Do you know anything about castles!?”

  His mother began repairing a worn leather jacket. “Well for one, most women in a castle sew!”

  “Wow! Really?” Alfred sat beside her and listened to her story about life in a castle. She weaved a great tale of daily life for the women of a castle. She spoke as if she were telling him things from memory, as if they were her own stories. Alfred was amazed. He listened with gleeful eyes. For the first time he could remember, he saw life spring into her face as she spoke of bygone ages. Alfred was stunned. Where did this come from?

  He became more intrigued and began to study more, shall we say, adult books concerning castles and knights. These books had a lot fewer pictures and more writing. Many were dry to read. Still, Alfred was intrigued, especially when he read the stories of knights who would have been mere brigands if it weren’t for a supporting lord or king.

  Some kings could easily be compared to modern day mafia bosses. Many were ruthless in their rule over peasants and began wars merely to try out their newly formed army. Many kings conscripted peasants, meaning that peasants were forced to fight wars the kings wanted to fight. And it was the knights who carried out their orders and forced peasants onward in battle.

  But not all kings or knights were bad. As with people of all professions, there were good ones and bad ones. Many knights tried to uphold a degree of honor, justice, and fairness. Alfred learned that knighthood was mostly inherited, a fact that led to a selective snobbery amongst the nobility. They felt they were better than peasants, and this often led them to be cruel tyrants.

  After discovering this colorful depiction of knights, Alfred desired to ask his mom about her lowly opinion of knights. When she came back from work one night, he rushed out to interview her again, as if she were a star witness. “Hey, mom, I want to ask you something.”

  “Yes, Alfred?” she asked with her weary yet loving voice.

  “Remember when I was writing that paper about knights and chivalry?”

  “Yes, I remember. How can I forget? You are always writing about the very thing I wish you wouldn’t.” She unpacked a small bag of groceries.

  “Well you have a very bad view of knights, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, why is that? Where did you learn about them? What book?” Alfred was too focused on his questions to help her put groceries away. It wasn't as if she asked for his help. Nor would he even know where things like milk went.

  “It was no book.” She almost smiled, but then her face became grave. “I must have learned it in school.”

  “School?” He realized he did not know much about his mom, about where she went to school or really anything. She never talked about herself or her past. “Uhh..., what school did you go to? You know, what middle school?”

  “Oh, I did not go to a middle school. I went to a special school.” As she was talking, she began to chop meat and vegetables for a stew she was making. She made a lot of stews, roasts and baked hams.

  “Well, where did you go?”

  “Well, I had some private tutoring. And, well, I, I went to a monastery school. You know, where all the teachers are monks and nuns.”

  “Oooh! Nuns? Monks? No wonder you don't seem that... educated...?”

  “Educated!? I'm very... educated... just in different things!” She waved a washed potato at Alfred that sprinkled a little water on him. He smiled and wiped it off.

  “A monastery? Hey! That’s like medieval times!”

  “No! No it isn’t!” She quickly chopped the potatoes.

  Alfred stared at her violent chops.

  She suddenly stopped and looked at her finger. “Phew, almost.” She began cutting again, but this time slower. “Well, a little Alfred, but there are many schools like that now, I think. I went to one like that. And it is nothing like back then, nothing like that place.”

  “What place?”

  “Oh, no place. I mean that place, you know, the Dark Ages.”

  “Are you hiding something, mom?”

  “No, no. Of course not!”

  “I think you are. You never talk to me about your family, and you have never told me about how you grew up.” Alfred became wound up with how much he wanted to say.

  “Well, I will one day. It’s not important. Really, Alfred, it’s not important. I just went to an old school, and now I work as a seamstress. It is very simple, and there’s nothing important about it.” She quickly put all the cut vegetables into the pot.

  “But, mom... who is my father?” He did not know he was going to ask that, but he did. At school he had learned about how a child was born only after a man and woman came together. So he knew he must have had a father at some point -- unless he was a robot or alien being!? Hmmm...

  His mother stirred the chopped meat and vegetables in the boiling water. She seemed to stare blankly at the pot. He couldn't tell if her face was moist from the steam or if she was sweating. She did not reply for some time.

  Alfred looked down. He was sad. He finally had asked her the big question. Who was his father? He had expected some sort of explanation. For sometime he had wondered about it but never felt like the right time to ask. So many of his classmates’ parents were divorced or having marital problems. Some kids knew they were abandoned by their dad. He didn't know what happened to his.

  They all knew something about their father, whether he was around or not. Most loved their fathers, but a few hated them. Fathers seem to come in all sizes and shapes, good and bad – just like knights, he thought.

  “Why don’t you ever wear makeup?” He did not know where that question came from either, but in after-thought he knew why he asked. She never wore makeup and never went out and had no friends.

  Alfred looked at his mother. She seemed a bit crazed, staring intently into the pot and not saying anything. Her eyes seemed to be looking at something far away. Alfred did not want to look, but he was drawn to something in her eyes. Or was it that he had his computer game on his mind? He felt as if he was seeing knights charging with one great knight swinging his sword. There was a dark huge shape battling the knights.

  Alfred shivered. The room was warm from the steam of his mom’s delicious cooking, and yet he shivered. His mother, however, was still in her zombie-like state, merely stirring and not answering. Alfred, not wanting to push it, not now, went to his room.

  That night, after his bowl of stew and reading about knights and mystical creatures, he had a dream of a princess fleeing within dark caves. He had a dream of a knight fighting creatures to protect her. As the princess fell on the ground, he realized that though she looked slim and fair, she was burdened with an unborn child.

  As if he were with her on that cold dark cavernous floor, he could see a huge dark beast rear before them. A lone knight was battling the beast. The beast reared up like a dragon as the knight turned toward the princess, toward Alfred. The knight looked over Alfred at her. “Run, Ethralia! Run to the doorway! Now!”

  Alfred turned with her and felt close enough to hear her heartbeat, her cries and heavy breathing. Fire seemed to consume the cavern walls, fanning around him. He could hear the princess’s frantic cries of horror and panic. And then they heard the cry of the knight in torturous pain.

  Alfred awoke in a sweat, gasping for air. He felt hot and frightened. It was the most vivid nightmare he had ever had. He was so rattled that he had to go tell his mother. He couldn’t keep it in. He crept out quietly. He wanted to wake her, but he did not want to startle her.

  When he opened his bedroom door to look out, he saw his mother standing there with her hair down. She was wearing an embroidered gown and looking out the window into the deep blue night. Alfred slowly walked up to her, wanting to see what she was looking at. As he got closer, she seemed to be looking at the stars up in the sky. Yet she had an odd blank s
tare, as if she was not really looking at anything.

  Alfred began to hear the sounds of music, of stringed instruments playing and laughing, of dancing and joyous singing. He could hear metal cups clanging and people with food in their mouths muttering away. He looked around but could not tell where all the sound was coming from. They were in their small apartment, and he knew the sounds were not coming from their neighbors. With each song he also heard a soft voice humming a soft tune. It was not like any song he had ever heard. It sounded like a mystical wind. He then realized it was his mother singing softly.

  Alfred stepped closer, listening to his mother. Where did she learn to sing like that? In the monastery? It must have been. It sounded so beautiful and yet so sad. He could hear soft words come from her mouth. It sounded like English but spoken in a way that was odd and maybe old. He could barely make out the words. She sang so softly that the words seemed to melt or dissipate as they left her lips.

  Of western winds and whistling hymns

  of green fields and the sun that shines

  of love long cast to the rays of light

  do not forsake, I will always await.

  I sing to thee, my love you are free

  and I shall return one time again

  there is hope yet kindled

  in the fire of youth, to live in peace

  to live with truth

  I hold my head, to the stars at night

  to hear the song, of our last time.

  Do not forsake, I will always await.

  “Oh, Alfred!?”

  Alfred was startled as both jumped at each other's presence. It seemed as if even Alfred had gone into a dreamlike state – a trance, if you will.

  “Mom, what were you singing?”

  “Me? I don’t know?” She stepped away from the window and into the shadow, immediately grabbing her long shiny hair and wrapping it up.

  “What was that song you were singing? Did you learn it at the monastery?”

  “No. I mean yes -- yes, I learned to sing there. Many girls sing in churches, you know, even today.” She busily bundled her hair.

  “Well, can you sing it again?”

  “It’s late! You should be in bed.” She finished winding her hair into a tight bun.