“Oh man!” a little boy with a pudgy face and a guilty look shouted, “That is scary!”
The old man laughed in spite of himself then hid it behind a series of loud make-believe coughs that wouldn’t have fooled anybody over six. He was about to ask, Does anyone know where the voice came from or what it is? when he looked at Sarah who sat, eyes closed, with a single tear running down her cheek, trickling into a quiet smile. She woke from the trance, wiped her face with the back of her hand, cocked her head, and whispered, “Keep going, please.”
“The voice continued persistently to encourage Harry, ‘Harry you are not going mad. It’s ok. I am a friend, or at least, I would like to be. Talk to me.’
“Finally, Harry, realizing he couldn’t get away or shake his head hard enough to make the calm voice stop, answered, ‘Who are you?’
‘‘‘There you are. I thought you might have run away so far back into your mind I would never coax you out. As to your question Harry, do you remember what made you scream?’
‘‘‘Yeah, my hand is still bleeding and stings.’
‘‘‘Yeah about that. I am sorry to have to cut you, but there was no other way.’
‘‘‘Ah, excuse me? What do you mean, no other way? No other way to do what?’
‘‘‘Well, the sword that cut you… it has a soul, so to speak. Apparently, it kind of came alive through the centuries. When a human’s blood touches it without violence, and that human has a good and kind heart, and is on a quest – just like you are – that sword talks to it. Harry, I am that sword!’
‘‘‘No way,’ Harry sighed heavily. ‘No way. I am talking to my own crazy head, and it’s telling me it’s a sword... No way...’
‘‘‘Yes, Harry, it is true. I speak, and I can help you find the princess, and kill the evil dragon, and get you home.’
‘‘‘No way.’
‘‘‘Harry it’s true.’
‘‘‘I’m dreaming.’
‘‘‘Nope, I’m here.’
“Harry silently stared into space for a few moments. He felt helpless to do anything, so he just sat there wishing it would all go away, that he would wake up in his father’s house, in his own bed, facing a day of chores.
‘‘‘Wait a minute!’ Harry shouted to the darkness. ‘Now I know you’re not the sword. Because you told me you can help me rescue the princess. Well, only I know what I am doing, and I didn’t tell you! So how would you know?’
‘‘‘Good grief, Harry! I am in your head, and by the way, you have a lot of empty space up here. You really should use it more often... but to answer your question… agaaaain... I can see your memories and hear your thoughts. It is kind of like being in a library, reading all the old books and looking at the newest ones. Your newly written thoughts are telling me you are here to kill the dragon and rescue the princess, and of course, get home. You believe me now?’
‘‘‘I’m starting to. Maybe a little, but if you are a soul, do you have a name? How did you get to be where you were, and...’
‘‘‘One at a time, son, one at a time. My name has changed through the years. It’s kind of grown. At first, I was only dimly aware I was even alive. I do not know how many years passed before I started to understand some things. It is like I took on the nature, the personality, of the people who forged me, and fought with me, and carried me. Every time they fought with me and won victories against terrible things, I took on a part of the very, very intense emotions they carried. Those feelings just stuck to me, gathered in me, and then one day, started living. The last time I was used, I was broken. It was a fierce battle against a terrible, terrible dragon. And by the way, Harry, not all dragons, just like not all people, are bad. There are some very good dragons, some wonderful dragons, and they loved the knights who fought with them and rode them into battle. But back to your question... my name is ræðumaður. Ray-oum-aour. In your language it simply means: speaker. I am the sword that speaks. So, I am called Speaker.’
“Harry laughed, ‘This is really good. Either I am totally mad, driven insane by the darkness, my fear, and the dragon, or I have really and truly picked up an invisible friend that lives in my head named Ray.’
‘‘Hey! That is MY name!” the little pudgy boy, who felt guilty about eating his mother’s fudge, shouted. “The sword is named after me!”
“Apparently so,” replied the old man. “Now, do you want me to keep going, or are we done for the day?”
“No, no! Keep going!” the mesmerized pack of domesticated small people yelled as one.
“Ok, ok, but we don’t have much longer.”
“Harry was laughing and said, ‘My invisible friend's name is Ray,’” the old man continued. “The stress and fear had driven Harry to the brink of madness, and now he looked over the dark edge and just laughed. It was all he knew to do. He laughed and laughed, and then, finally exhausted, he leaned back against the cave wall and slept.
“And that is about all the time we have today, guys, but remember, we will take right up here tomorrow, so go out have a good day. Be safe and stay out of your mom’s chocolate fudge. Ok?”
“Ah, it always ends in the wrong place.”
“Can’t you tell us how it comes out? Does he rescue the princess?”
“I don’t want to go home,” a whiney, little nasal-sounding girl on the second row pouted.
“Hey does anyone know where Thomas is?” another little boy said, getting out of his chair, and starting to yawn.
“I’m not going home till you tell me: Does Harry save the princess?” the pouter resumed.
“Well, in that case, let me get you a warm blanket. You don’t mind sleeping in the dark library all by yourself, do you?” the old man asked calmly, pretending to look for a blanket.
“No!!! I mean yes, I do! I’ll go home. I’ll go home,” the pouter yelled, jumping up and racing out the door.
“Ok then, see you tomorrow,” the old man waved, laughing.
Chapter Seven
After all the complainers left, and all the chairs were folded and put away, the old man looked around for the fire marshal, who had shown up to claim Sarah and to take the old man to lunch.
“You ready to eat?” Sarah’s grandfather asked.
“Always,” the old man answered.
“Well, since this is a one-horse town, and it is lunchtime, the only diner is going to be full. We can go there and wait in line, or you can come to our house and eat a fine-cooked meal. Truthfully, you really don’t have any choice. Sarah’s grandma insisted. She’s spent all morning baking some Swedish rye bread, minus most of the rye, sweetened with molasses and honey. It is amazing. And I am under orders to march you home. So, saddle up, Partner, and follow me to the house. You will not regret it. I promise.”
The old man grinned. A home-cooked meal was a rarity for him, and he wasn’t about to say no. He actually couldn’t say no. Sarah’s grandfather had already moved toward the door, and the hungry little sleep-deprived urchin had grabbed the old man’s hand and was pulling him forward. As they stepped outside and the old man moved towards his pickup, Sarah looked at her grandpa and shouted, “Papa! I want to ride with Mr. Hank!”
The fire marshal looked a little surprised, but quickly shook it off and answered, “Well, Sarah, don’t you think you should ask if Mr. Hank is okay with you riding with him?”
The old man suddenly remembered his pickup passenger seat had not been seen in years and was piled with layers of old books, newspapers, and McDonald’s coffee cups. He was pretty sure his truck didn’t stink anymore because a rat had found all the left-over hamburger pieces and devoured them. There was no way he was going to let anybody, especially a child, ride with him. They would have to sit on top of the pile. He wasn’t even sure the seatbelts could be found, or wouldn’t fall apart from dry rot, and he was pretty sure they wouldn’t reach high enough to strap her down on top of his rotting pickup mulch pile.
“Sarah, I am sorry but...” he began balking.
&n
bsp; “It’s ok, Mr. Hank. Grandpa’s old truck stinks too, and if Grandma didn’t gripe at him all the time, it would be as bad as yours. Besides, look! The library dumpster is right beside your truck.”
Sarah’s grandfather started laughing and said, “I’ll help you, Hank.”
Hank rolled his eyes in surrender, and said, “Fine. If it stinks, throw it out, that includes anything from the bottom. If you see anything important, but dated five years ago, throw that out too.”
The old man slowly shook his head and looked at the beaming snaggled-toothed mystery innocently prodding him. He shrugged his shoulders and opened the side door. After a hard pull to get it to come loose, an embarrassing cascade of garbage fell onto the pavement. Sarah dived right in, and the old man started shooing her away.
Kenneth kept saying, “It’s ok. It’s ok. You should have seen mine.” Five humiliating minutes later, the passenger’s seat was cleaned out. Some trash went into the dumpster and the rest behind the seat. The story time princess was perched and buckled in, and the old man’s blood pressure was starting to go back down.
As they drove out of the library parking lot, the old man suddenly realized he didn’t know what to say, but considering who was with him, that was not a problem.
Sarah started slowly as though she too was having a hard time with the words, “I don’t know what is going on Mr. Hank. Last night I cried and cried, and it was scary. And the other day, when you asked about the discern-ornament, I knew…”
“What?!” the old man gasped. “I never told you what the disc was called! How did you know it was the discern-ornament?” He looked at the child and almost ran a stop sign, causing the truck to shriek to a halt. He quickly shoved it into reverse, and a car behind him honked a warning to stop him.
Sarah began to cry. She may have acted preternaturally mature for her age, but sometimes she was just six, and this was one of those moments. “I am scared! I don’t know what is happening,” she sobbed in great panic-stricken wails.
The old man pulled the truck aside and parked it. He reached over instinctively, then hesitated because he was unsure if it was appropriate to hug the distraught little girl. Sarah had no such misgivings. She unsnapped the seat belt and jumped into the old man’s lap wrapping both arms around his neck, sobbing, and gasping. “What… is…. happening…to me!?” she sniffed between sobs. The old man held her close and patted her back. “I’m not sure honey, I am not sure.” Then a voice in his head whispered, “Liar.”
After a moment Sarah straightened up, moved back into her seat, buckled it, and said, “We can go on now.”
The old man looked at her and laughed, “Yes, your imperial highness.”
She cocked her small head at him and huffed, then she continued on with her previous conversation as though nothing had happened.
This time the old man interrupted, “Sarah, let me say something first, just to make sure you and I are seeing the same things... ok?”
She nodded then wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked for a place to wipe her hand off, finally deciding on a mostly clean spot on his truck seat.
“You seem to suddenly know things about the story, like what is going to happen next, and what the back side of the discern-ornament looks like, and you are having dreams about the dragon.” Sarah nodded again, slowly urging the old man to continue. “It is almost like you are looking at memories, like you remember things about the story. Is that right?”
She sighed and said in a small, six-year-old voice, “I think so.”
The old man leaned back in his seat and was quiet a long time. He didn’t know what to ask her next, and it was too late anyway. They had arrived at the country house where Sarah lived with her grandparents.
Sarah burst out of the truck and ran to the front porch, almost kicking the black country cat that owned the front yard. “Get out of the way, Hagar!” She fussed as she shouted for her grandparents. “Mr. Hank almost got into a wreck. He tried to run a stop sign and a car honked at him!”
The old man’s face reddened, and he was about to argue, when it occurred to him, Sarah was providing an excuse to cover for the time their conversation took. Her uncanny ability to deflect unwanted questions and lead people down safer paths was disturbing.
The old man was still blushing when he instinctively reached out a hand to greet the greying fire marshal, who admitted, “Sarah doesn’t have any secrets. Whatever pops into her head comes out her mouth, never stopping in between. To be honest I am glad it’s you and not me!” he laughed.
“Thanks a lot friend,” the old man chuckled then added, “but if this lunch is as good as you say it is, then the six-year-old mauling is worth it.”
“Oh, it’s grand. Let me introduce you to my cook, housekeeper, and...” Sarah’s grandmother walked into the room right at that moment, and the fire marshal’s tone instantly changed into praise, “and the most beautiful creature in this part of the county, my wife, Grace.”
“Good to meet you Hank. I heard you speak the other day at the library. I wanted to hear more of your story but yours truly there,” she pointed at her husband, “kept sneaking out with Sarah to get to the library before I could catch them. He said he wanted to make sure she got there in time for the story, but I think it had more to do with hot coffee at the donut shop.”
Sarah walked up, heard her grandmother mention the donut shop and started, “Oh no, Grandma. It is apple fritt…” when her grandfather grabbed her up into his arms and interrupted with, “It’s time for you to get your hands washed, young lady.”
Grace, laughing, said, “I heard her! Apple fritters? The greasiest, mouth-soaking-bits-of-cardiac-stopping poison in the county!”
But the fire marshal, to escape further harm, had retreated down the hall with his secret spouting granddaughter.
The old man was left standing with Grace and tried vainly to keep the smirk from seeping through his lips. When the fire marshal’s wife looked at him, she said, “No worries. I’ll work all that fat off him. You ready for lunch?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, suddenly aware of where Sarah got her ways.
Once everyone was seated at the table, the fire marshal bowed his head then looked back up at his granddaughter and asked, “Sarah, would you like to pray?”
She responded immediately and began:
“God is great. God is good.
Let us thank Him for our food.
By His blessings we are fed.
Give us Lord, our daily bread. Amen.”
And then, before anyone could raise his head, she added, “And Lord please make my bad dreams go away, and also have mercy on Thomas and Mr. Hank as he gets ready to fight the dragon again. In Jesus name, Amen.”
Sarah’s grandmother, looked quickly at the old man and then back to her husband. The old man hesitated, shook his head, and let the moment pass, but for a few minutes he struggled to hear the conversation at the table because the phrase “fight the dragon again” astonished him.
The fire marshal, however, didn’t skip a beat, “Thank you, Sarah. You are a good pray-er.”
Sarah’s face, stuffed full of mashed potatoes, replied in open-mouthed-potato glory, “Voor vwlcom.”
The old man’s chuckle was followed by a giggle from Grandmother Grace. The fire marshal tried hard not to succumb to the little girl’s antics, but failed miserably, and had to back away from the table to keep from choking on a roll he had used to try to stifle his outburst.
“Ok,” he choked, trying fruitlessly to get his speech back. “Let me tell you our story.” His speech picked up speed as he hurried to cram his words into the time he knew was allotted. “Grace can fill in the gaps, and I am sure Sarah will contribute her insights. The truth of the matter is, I probably won’t get to talk at all before they grab the story and run with it, but at least I can introduce it.” Both the grandmother and the child stiffened, their eyebrows raised, and the firefighter knew his bravery was going to cost him if he didn’t
deflate the moment. “Because they are so much better storytellers than I could ever be at filling in details – unwanted and unneeded.” he whispered loudly, still treading where angels had long ago retreated.
“Yes, well,” Grace began. “at least we get the story right. The way you tell it, Sarah appeared on our door step like some fairy story waif!”
“What’s a waif, Grandma?” Sarah asked, cocking her head in a movement the old man had become well acquainted with.
The fire marshal answered, “It is a homeless, orphaned child, Sarah, a baby so precious that its parents feel totally unfit to raise it and give it up to the best home the baby could ever have.”
The old man listened to the gilded definition and realized the fire marshal had worked on that answer for a while.
“Oh,” Sarah replied, then got that faraway look in her eyes. The old man realized she was looking at memories. A puzzled look crossed her face, and then she spouted, “I think my parents were a king and a queen.”
The old man answered, “Well, I think you are right, little one. They would have to be, because you are a princess.”
Grace looked at the old man and nodded, “Well-spoken, Mr. Hank. I totally agree, and her grandfather and I are so incredibly grateful the good Lord has allowed us to be in her life, to love her and look after her. She is definitely our princess.”
Sarah radiated. Whatever was going on in her life, whatever it was that haunted her heart, the old man was certain she knew she was loved and adored.
“But...” her preening grandmother Grace declared, leaning over and stroking Sarah’s hair, “she is also very tired, and now very full, and needs to take a nap.”
Usually Sarah would argue and grumble and stall at the word “nap,” but this time she surrendered, nodding, “I sure do.” And then, in a quieter voice she added, “I hope I can sleep and not go back there.”
The old man stared hard, and thought, Go back where, Sarah?
Grandma Grace hustled Sarah off to her nap. The old man watched the two leave, but right before they left the room, Sarah ran back into the dining room and hugged the old man. Then she moved to her grandfather and hugged him. As she started to leave again, the old man said, “Wait a minute, Sarah.” He looked her in the eye and extended his hands, she walked back to him and grasped his outstretched hands. The old man continued in a raspy voice, “Sarah, when I was a little boy, I remember I had bad dreams too. One night I woke up screaming and raced to my parent’s room. They woke up and comforted me, and then my dad picked me up and carried me back to my bedroom. He lay down beside me, nestled me close, and then said, ‘Son, I want you to understand, before anything gets to you, it has to come through me, and it’s not getting through me.’ Your grandpa and grandma and I are all here. They love you, and I kinda think you’re okay for smart-aleck little ragga-muffin.”
The Princess Who Forgot She Was Beautiful (The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Book 1) Page 7
