“Spirit, wake up.” The Drac-can said.
“No, I wanna sleep. Go away,” he muttered. He pulled the covers up over his head. Wait, covers, in an alley!? Groggily he opened his eyes, blinking stupidly at the light coming through the window. Drac was silhouetted in front of it with a big grin on his face.
“Morning little bro. Planning to sleep the day away?”
Spirit fell out of bed in shock. He landed with a dull thump on the rough wood floor, but popped right back up.
“What! What time is it? Why didn’t you wake me? I…”
Drac held up his hands, shaking with suppressed laughter. “Relax, relax, it’s only five hours after sunrise. Party’s not ‘til noon remember?”
Spirit groaned and dropped back onto his bed. The bedspread bounced up and back down on top of him. “I’m going to kill you Drac,” he mumbled through a mouthful of blankets.
Drac chuckled. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
Spirit raised himself up on one elbow and looked at him reproachfully. Then, without warning, he leaped forward and tackled Drac. They fell to the floor, scuffling and mock-growling at each other. Aunt Laura leaned her head through the door and glared them both disapprovingly. Spirit had Drac in a loose choke hold when his aunt cleared her throat loudly. He peered up at her and tried to look innocent. That didn’t work too well, since Drac was struggling to free himself from Spirit’s grasp.
“Stop that you two. Spirit, let your brother go. Drac, get dressed. You can’t go to your own coming-of-age party looking that. Spirit, you put on something nice as well,” she said curtly, then vanished round the corner.
Spirit got up off of Drac and looked down at himself. The clothes he was wearing, the ones he had slept in, were wrinkled and had bits and pieces of fruit on them. Still, he wore a grimace as he begrudgingly changed into his ‘nice’ clothes. He pulled ineffectually at the tight collar on his starched white shirt. “I hate this thing.” He groaned. “Feels like I can’t breathe.”
“You think yours is bad? Take a look.” Spirit turned to look and nearly burst out laughing. Drac was wearing a shirt with large billowing sleeves that became very tight fitting once they got within a few inches of his wrists. The pants were of the same style and looked very strange indeed. He blew a hefty sigh as he looked down at himself again.
“I can’t go to my own manhood celebration like this,” he said with an air of desperation.
Spirit stood there staring around blankly for a moment, then shrugged and said, “The only option I see is begging Aunt Laura to let us wear something else. It’s worked before, maybe it’ll work again.”
“Well, that was all ways at other people’s celebrations, never a family member.”
“True.” He shrugged. “Still, I’m going to give it go. Who knows, maybe she’ll change her mind.” He walked to the door and thumped down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jumping the final four steps, he slammed into the wooden floor and bent his knees to absorb the impact. His aunt, who had been standing in front of the mirror, started at the crash and spun around. “Spirit, don’t scare me like that!”
He grimaced. “Sorry. I just wanted to ask you a question.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Do me and Drac have to wear these?”
“Yes. I don’t want you two looking like vagabonds.”
“But as long as we wear clean clothes, we’ll look fine. Please?” He gave her his best pitiful, pleading look. She glanced down then quickly back up. But she had looked. Spirit kept pouring it on, until she sighed in defeat.
“Alright, you can change. Just make sure your clothes are spotless.”
Spirit beamed. “Thank you!” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and rushed back up the stairs. He skidded into their room and exclaimed, “You can change. Just has to be clean.”
Pulling open his drawer, he tried to find a shirt that wasn’t dirty. Unearthing one, he grabbed a fresh pair of pants and pulled them both on. Then he stepped into his boots and rolled up his sleeves. Drac was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and slacks. With his blonde hair slung over to one side, he actually looked rather dashing. Spirit couldn’t help but rib him a bit. “You look stylish. Dressing up for someone are we?” He gave him a big wink. Drac blushed a deep crimson.
“Why would you care?” Bending down, he busied himself with the laces on his shoes and ignored Spirit. Spirit snickered slightly and moved over to his closet. Reaching into a corner, he withdrew a leather belt and knife. The warm, familiar leather felt good in his hands. Looping it around his waist, he tied a quick knot at the front and pulled it tight. Glancing up, he caught Drac peeking at the tiny dagger. As soon as Spirit’s gaze lifted, he rose to his feet and strode towards the door. When Spirit made no motion to follow, he paused and, looking over his shoulder, asked “You coming?”
“Yeah, I’ll be down in just a minute. Go on,” he replied, making shooing motions with his hands. Drac grinned and began to make his way down the stairs. Once he was out of sight, Spirit knelt down in front of the pile of clothes he had worn yesterday and dug through them for his pants. Locating them, he reached into its pocket and withdrew Drac’s knife. He grinned at it for a moment, then relocated it to his new pants pocket.
Standing, he ran to the door, grabbing the doorframe and using it to spin himself around into the hall. He made his way back down the stairs making sure he hit every one of them. Loping through the den and into the kitchen he scooted past his aunt, snatched a hunk of bread and some cheese off the counter and sat down to eat. Aunt Laura was taking all this out to where they were going to have the party. There were a few trestle tables out there on which to set the food, and seats for their guests. The sun was hanging high in the sky, painting everything in golden hues.
Alarm shot through him as his brain registered what the position of the sun meant. People would start arriving in little more then an hour! Stuffing the rest of his makeshift meal into his mouth, he pushed his chair back and stood. He walked over to his aunt and tried to ask how he could help, but all that came out was “Hawp ceg gi emp?” She stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to try again. With a mighty swallow, he had another go. “How can I help?” She rolled her eyes.
“Well, you can start by taking this rag,” she handed him a small wet rag, “and wiping down the tables and chairs”
“Ok.” He turned and hustled out to the yard. It had been set up so that all the tables were facing a patch of clear green grass where the obligatory ceremony would be concluded. Then kneeling in front of the first table, he began scrubbing madly. The day was hot, and there was not a breeze to be spoken of, so he soon began to sweat. It beaded on his face and dripped down through his hair. Finishing the first table, he walked to the second one and spotted Drac near the fence, setting a long plank on top of several blocks of wood upon which the food would be going.
Turning back to his charge, Spirit lowered his rag and continued to scour its surface. Halfway through, he heard Drac start speaking to someone. He twisted his body around and saw that Drac was talking to Reorin! Jenen stood beside her, barely visible through the fence slats. Drac was giving Reorin a hug over the gate, and he could hear them chatting.
“I’m so glad that you could come.” Drac was saying.
“So am I. If it had not been for your brother, I would not have been able to come at all.”
“Really. Why?”
“I had a lot of canning to do for the kitchens, and it had to be finished before noon today. I probably would still be canning at this very moment if he had not helped me.” She smiled and waved at Spirit. Drac turned and gave him a thumbs up and a grin. He returned the wave and grin, then turned back to table before he started laughing. Those two were a hoot. Still grinning, he kept wiping the table. After a few more minutes he heard the gate open and then close. Reorin and Drac walked past, Reorin asking if she could help and Drac indignantly telling her off for doing so.
“It’s a party and you’re a guest. You’re supposed to relax, not work.” He would have said more, but Aunt Laura came out to see what all the voices were about. When she saw Reorin and Jenen, her face lit up.
“Hello Reorin, hello Jenen, we’re so glad you’re here. Please, sit down; the other guests should be arriving soon.” She ushered them into two seats at the front table. Thankfully, Spirit had already cleaned that one off, so it wasn’t dirty. As Spirit continued to scrub the second-to-last table, Reorin and Drac sat at the other table and talked. They talked pretty much about anything, but mostly all they did was sit there and look at each other. Spirit, who would occasionally sneak glances, had to exercise all the self-control he had to not burst out laughing. You two are really lucky Aunt Laura isn’t looking out the window, he thought to himself. Shaking his head, a smile escaped and slid across his face.
And more people kept arriving. Drac had to get up every time someone so he could greet them, and since people arrived every minute or so, eventually he returned to his post by the gate. Of course Reorin followed, so they stood there together, showing new guests to their seats. It was an oddly picturesque moment, the two of them standing there, side by side, and it got Spirit thinking. Although they weren’t exactly subtle about it, their romance was, if nothing else, as sincere as it could ever get, and Spirit began to feel a little guilty for teasing Drac. Reorin was a fine cook, a passable seamstress, and above all a wonderful person. Drac was a hard worker, with a good and honest heart. She and Drac would make a perfect pair, and to rib Drac about it, especially today, was just wrong. Stopping for a moment, he bowed his head, then attacked the wooden piece of furniture with a vengeance.
* * *
Soon the yard was dotted with party-goers, and Aunt Laura was rushing back and forth like a worker ant, getting everyone food and drinks. A lot of Drac’s friends had come to the party, and Drac was playing blastball with them. Drac was on exceptionally good form today and practically danced his way across the impromptu playing field. A few others stood by; Reorin among them, cheering on which ever team took their fancy.
Scrubbing away the final spot of black, he sighed in relief. Standing, he started toward the house, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu as he strode through the small crowd. He hopped up onto the porch and pulled the door open. The house was deserted, and the voices outside decreased to almost nothing. He sauntered over to the old washbox, plopped the rag in among its brethren, and eagerly rushed out the door and back out to the party.
He waved to Ian, a short, stocky lad with deep-set eyebrows and a square jaw. He was standing in a huddle with some other guys and didn’t return the wave. Shrugging, he continued on and saw Drac sitting with his small group of friends and guzzling water out of some wineskins. Drac saw Spirit and waved him over.
“Hey bro, we need another player to even up the teams. Conor and the rest of the guys are creaming us.”
Spirit grinned and cracked his knuckles. “Bring it on.” Drac turned and bumped fists with his friend Mark. Then they turned and ran back onto their side of the field. Blastball was a pretty simple game to learn, and a lot of fun to play.
Two teams played on a rectangular field, with a kind of goal at both ends. Each goal was a box maybe three feet by three. The object of the game was to kick the ball, which was about head sized, into the box. The trick was that you had to carry the ball in both hands until you were ready to shoot. Plus, if an opposing backer tagged you, you had to go stand off to the side until a point was made or the ball went out of play.
Spirit took a quick look at their team to asses their abilities. Mark and Drac were tall, skinny, and good at running. Jordan, Steven and Matthew were a little slow but as sturdy as oaks. Across the field, Conor’s team walked onto the turf. Ian was there, along with a couple other boys named Nathan, Robert, Andrew and Evan. They had the ball. Conor yelled across the field, “You guys ready?”
“Sure.” Drac turned to Spirit. “You, me and Mark are in front. Take center.” Spirit nodded. They took up their positions and the game began.
Conor had the ball and tried to scoot past Spirit, but Spirit reached forward and punched the ball out of his grip. It bounced across the pitch and was scooped up by Mark, who shot off down the line. Spirit and Drac sprinted towards the goal to receive a pass. Andrew and Evan ran at them and attempted to tag them. Drac went off to the left to dodge around them, but Andrew doggedly chased him into a corner. Evan leapt at Spirit, hands outstretched but Spirit twisted his body at the last minute and left Evan in the dust as he dashed for the goal.
By now Ian was the only one left to guard the goal. Conor, Nathan and Robert noticed, too late, the dire situation behind them and ran back down the field to intercept Spirit. Ian crouched, ready to move as Spirit bore down on him. Slowing slightly, Spirit dropped the ball to his left. Lehm leaned to that side, and Spirit pivoted his foot and blasted the ball into the other corner.
“Yes!” he yelled, thrusting his fist into the air. Drac and the rest of the team gathered around, slapping him on the back. After a moment they disentangled themselves and got back onto their side of the field. Conor, Nathan and Robert came at them with a vengeance and managed to dance their way through both lines to score.
The game continued, goal after goal, until it was tied 9-9. Blastball was traditionally played to ten points, so both teams rallied themselves for a final assault. Before kickoff, Drac got the team in a huddle.
“Ok guys, here’s what we’re gonna do. Jordan, Steven, Matthew, you guys play it a little to the front, keep them away from the goal.” He paused to wipe his sweaty brow, then continued.
“Mark, look for a pass and try to get the ball in front of the goal. Me and Spirit will be waiting to pick it up.” When Mark and Spirit nodded, he put his hand in the middle. “Then let’s get out there!” They all put their hands on top of his, then broke for their positions.
Once again Conor had the ball and attempted to run past Spirit. Spirit lunged for the ball but Robert ran between them, blocking Spirit’s attempt.
Together they charged the defense, but Jordan and Steven were ready. Just as the two lines were about to collide, Robert broke off, ran around Jordan
Rolling out of his dive, he sprang to his feet and tagged Robert in the chest. Cocking back his arm Matthew threw a short pass to Jordan who immediately flung it upfield to Spirit. Drac and Mark saw the play and shot up the field to help as Spirit caught the ball running.
He sprinted down the line, turned at the corner and lobbed it towards the goal. Time seemed to slow as Ian and Drac both ran towards the ball spiraling through the air. Ian reached for it but was a second too slow as Drac jumped into the air, kicking the ball over his head and into the goal.
He had barely had time to land on the ground before the rest of his team jumped on top of him. Conor and the other guys joined in too, and soon they were all yelling and laughing and rolling around in the grass. The few people on the sidelines cheered as well, and then dispersed to join the party.
“Nice job Drac!” Spirit said.
“Yeah, that was awesome!” yelled Ian. “I’ve never seen a kick like that!”
Drac grinned, enjoying the attention. Then he turned at the clear sound of a bell ringing over the buzz of voices. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get these cleaned up, dinners about to start!”
Immediately all the boys sprinted to grab the goals and stuff them unceremoniously in the shed. They arrived just in time to grab seats at a table with some other teens before Aunt Laura stood and called for quite.
“Friends, tonight we gather here, under the stars and the watchful gaze of the gods…”
Drac rolled his eyes. “Here she goes.” But Spirit ignored him. He loved listening to the ritual words of the celebration. They were recited several times through the night, once at dinner, and once at the end ceremony. As he listened, a strange feeling arose inside him, like a great beast awakening from a deep sleep. It was as if he had just discovered a new part of himself, or maybe something older then that, something older than the stars themselves. Then he blinked, and it was gone.
While he had been daydreaming, his aunt had finished speaking and everyone had begun to make their way to the food. Spirit gave his head a quick shake, then rose and followed everyone else.
* * *
The day wore on, and soon the sun was gone, the only evidence of its existence fiery red pennants trailing across the sky. But even those disappeared, and the moon rose to take her place in the heavens. The air was filled with the rustling of the wheat stalks in a cool breeze and the distant calls of the wolves far away in the mountains.
Beneath the glow of the moon’s mercury light, the small group of friends gathered around the bonfire, talking in undertones with their neighbors. Drac and Reorin sat on a log together near the edge of the fire, chatting unconcernedly. Spirit and Conor sat cross-legged on patches of earth near the edge of the flames, laughing while they roasted bits of food in the flames and told each other outrageous stories. The flames crackled and leapt happily in the fire pit. Everybody was waiting for Eoin the Storyteller to appear.
“Hello everyone,” said a voice at Spirit’s elbow. He jerked in surprise, then relaxed when he recognized Eoin’s somber tones. He moved into the firelight, and the flickering flames threw his features into sharp relief. The old bard’s face was worn from many years of toil and travel, but his eyes shone from beneath his heavy brow, full of wisdom. As he silently walked to the front, all voices hushed and heads turned expectantly. Eoin shook back his mane of grey hair and began.
"Many generations ago, when the earth was young and full of life, the elves lived in harmony with our ancestors. Under the endless expanse of sky, they toiled and feasted, lived and died together. In that time, before time, we were kin to each other."
"Tall and fair were they, and skilled in arts both common and arcane. Their power of magic made them great architects, farmers, and warriors. Just and honorable were their monarchs, and under their influence the land flourished. The Isles of Parmiea, the lands in which they lived, were beautiful beyond compare, lands of rolling hills and young forests. Together, humans and elves forged the Alliance
"But it was not to last. For from the depths of the Forest of Daggerwood
"Philosophers and scientists scoffed and dismissed it as mere superstition. They believed that they had explained the world, and that naïveté ultimately lead to the elves, and our, downfall. Emperor Christopher III neglected to inform the eleven king Valorian of the rumors, and it was the elven nations where the forces of darkness struck."
“For the rumors were true. Malum, for that was this foul necromancer’s name, could indeed raise the dead, and through his dark arts built an army and marched on the Isles of Parmiea. Too late, King Valorian heard news of the impending attack, and frantically called to the other kingdoms for aid.”
“Emperor Christopher responded with thousands of his best troops, marching forth in a desperate attempt to crush Malum’s undead legions. But how can one destroy something that is already dead? No matter how many of the abominations the knights cut down, they just rose again to continue the battle. Overwhelmed, the knights fell, one by one.”
“But the alliance was not to be shattered so easily. Banding together for one last strike against Malum, King Valorian and Emperor Christopher journeyed to Daggerwood, to find the sorcerers tower and end his foul magic.”
“It was a long and dangerous road, for the forest was full of all manner of dangerous creatures, and unnamed monsters. But they persevered, and at last, the two great warriors reached the wizard’s lair. Gathering their courage, they valiantly assaulted the necromancer’s undead minions. Through untold horrors they passed, until they stood before the sorcerer himself. A great battle followed, the wizard with his staff, the sovereigns with bow and blade. But alas! For during the fight, Malum smote Valorian with a lightning bolt and killed him. But as the evil sorcerer gloated over his fallen enemy, Christopher drove his sword through the heart of the fiend, and Malum died.”
“Bearing the body of his fallen comrade, Christopher made his way back to Barellia in sorrow. When he arrived, he was surprised to see that all his generals waiting for him with grim news. The day after he and Valorian had embarked upon their ill-fated journey, Malum’s armies had completely destroyed all of the elven cities. They had been too late.”
“Christopher ordered that Valorian be entombed with the other Emperors, and soon passed from this life as well. The Empire slowly recovered from the war, but without the companionship of the elf nations, much of the Empire’s glory has been stripped away. But the river of time runs on, and what once was can never be again.”
Spirit opened his eyes as the story finished, his mind swimming with the ghosts of Eoin’s story. So the Elves really did exist? And that necromancer, Malum. Could he really raise the dead? Again he felt that horrible hole inside his heart, a void that just refused to be filled. The thought of being able to raise the dead… no. That was just a story, nothing more. But Spirit couldn’t help himself, and as the old man moved away out of the firelight, Spirit hustled over to his side.
“Sir?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“Please?” He treated Eoin to his best puppy-eyed look.
The old man sighed. “What do you want?”
“I just was wondering about that wizard, Malum. Could he really bring the dead back to life?”
Eoin gave Spirit a long, searching look. For almost a full minute he scrutinized the boy, as if endeavoring to see through him. Just as Spirit had decided Eoin wasn’t going to tell him anything, the bard shrugged and replied, “I wouldn’t know. You might want to talk to Reorin’s father. He knows more about the First Era than anyone but the scholars in the Royal Library.”
Spirit nodded. “Thank you.”
With a grunt, Eoin turned and hobbled away towards the bonfire. Spirit trudged after him, pondering the information he had been given.
Everyone else was talking animatedly about the story they had just heard. Conor saw Spirit coming back and hurried over. “So, that was a new story.”
“Mmhmm,” Spirit said distractedly.
“Hullo, Spirit.” Conor waved his hand in front of Spirit’s face. “Wake up.”
“Huh? What did you say?”
Conor grinned. “I say again, new story right?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Me neither. Come on, let’s get back to the fire before all the apple pies are gone.”
“Apple pies?!”
Pushing and shoving good-naturedly, both boys sprinted back to the fire to join in the celebration.
After another hour of singing, dancing, and wrestling around the fire, Aunt Laura stood at the head of the crowd with Drac and called for quite. Everyone’s heads turned and they all quieted in expectation.
“It is time for the ceremony. Master Eoin, if you please.”
The venerable old minstrel rose from the large log he had been seated upon and made his way to stand beside Drac. Once he arrived, Aunt Laura stepped back and sat at a trestle table near the fire. Eoin then turned his penetrating stare on Drac, who quailed under the weight of his gaze.
In a voice like gravel, Eoin began. “Drac Misellusson. By the laws of this land and the laws of your people, you have come of age, and in the front of these assembled witnesses, wish to complete your journey to manhood. Is this truth?”
Drac swallowed down a nervous stutter. “It is sir.”
“And do you swear upon the bones of your ancestors, to serve the one true king for all you days, to honor the gods with all that you have, and do all else that is expected of you as a citizen of His Majesties Empire?”
“Yes sir.”
“And do you swear, upon the very blood that flows through your veins, to live with nobility, to protect and serve your family, and to obey the laws of your people until your dying breath?”
“I do sir.”
Reaching into the pocket of his robe, Eoin withdrew a small amulet. It was a small thing, sturdy yet fine. Holding it out in his hand, Eoin continued.
“Then take this craejek, and wet it with the sap of your veins.”
Taking the amulet in his left hand, Drac made a small cut on his right arm and let the thin trickle of blood flow over its face. Once finished, he handed the craejek back to Eoin.
Amulet in hand, Eoin turned to address the others around the fire. “Do any of you, the assembled witnesses, have an objection to the oaths sworn here tonight? If so, speak.”
The crowd remained silent.
The bard nodded, as if satisfied. “Then I proclaim you a man, Drac Misellusson. May you live long upon this earth, and prosper.” Drac bowed his head, and Eoin placed the craejek around his neck, tightening the leather cords that held it there.
As Drac raised his head again to look at the assembly, they showed none of the fear and uneasiness that had been there before. They were clear and determined, full of strength and resolve. They were the eyes of a man.
Spirit’s heart swelled with pride as he stood along with the rest of the crowd and began to applaud. The fire began to burn anew, crackling up from its previously inert state. After waiting a few more moments, Drac and Eoin stepped down and the clapping slowly faded into a murmur of voices as everyone prepared to leave. Spirit, Reorin, Conor, and Mark however, pushed through the crowd to stand in a rough semi-circle around Drac. Spirit held Jenen in his arms, the curious little girl running her pudgy hands through his hair.
Spirit was the first to speak. “Well, I guess your days of ordering me around are over!”
Drac laughed. “No way. I’ll just follow you for the rest of your life.” Conor and Mark chuckled.
Reorin stepped forward and presented Drac with a small bundle of midnight-blue cloth. “Here. This will keep you warm if you aren’t able to make a fire.”
As he accepted the wad of cloth, it fell open to reveal a long cloak. All of the boys’ jaws dropped as they examined the work of art in front of them.
Drac smiled at Reorin. “It’s so soft. Thank you.” She smiled back at him. After a slight pause, Conor handed him a pair of boots.
“Here. I’ve seen your current pair, and I know you need these.”
Drac turned to face him with a grin. “Thanks Conor. You’re right, I did need new boots.” The leather was supple underneath his calloused hands.
Mark was next, holding out a pair of deer leather gloves he had fashioned himself from the remains of their last family meal. And seeing as he was the tanners’ apprentice, the workmanship was quite good.
Finally, it was Spirit’s turn. Aware of the others eyes upon him, he slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew Colin’s dagger. All three of the boys in the circle gasped at the same time, but Reorin just smiled a knowing smile. Drac reached out a hand and, almost reverently, took the knife from Spirits’ palm.
“Well done cousin,” was all Spirit could say past the sudden lump in his throat.
“Thanks. Did you make this?”
Spirit shook his head regretfully. “No, I’m not that good with a hammer.”
“I have gift for Drac too!” Jenen said suddenly. With a small chuckle, Spirit set her down on the ground, and Drac bent down until he was face to face with her. With a wide smile, she leaned forward and gave him as big a hug as her tiny frame would allow. Drac grinned and returned the embrace. After a moment, Jenen sat back with a pout. “What’s wrong?” asked Drac playfully.
Her bottom lip drooped in a comical frown. “I not big enough to give you a hug.”
And they all laughed at that.
Love it. For real. ^.^
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