Roots - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: The Favorites

The next morning came too early as Aldon stretched his sore muscles and stiff limbs. He brushed the grass and leaves from his hair and grimaced as the bruise on his head smarted on contact. He once again regretted opening the box and unleashing its wrath. He made sure the ash of his fire was no longer hot and kicked sand into it, leaving his small camp behind. He returned across the field to see the house exactly as he had left it. However he found the wagon in the front yard missing several large boards which lay broken a few feet away. He ignored it and opened the door.
Instantly barrages of things were thrown at him.
“Quickly, they’re almost here!” Muren cried out frantic as he threw blankets into the cupboard and dishes into the pantry. Aldon noticed the left-over chicken was in the closet and the broom crammed into the crawlspace.
“Umm, Muren--” He began but was instantly shushed. Muren cast him a dark look.
“I know you’ve never liked the girls, but they’re so sweet to you. Always have been. So I don’t want to hear a peep from them about you being unruly or rude. Understand?” Muren said, not really a question. Aldon nodded and disappeared into his room, horror-struck.
Not them, he protested, it just had to be them. His natural favorites from birth!
It was Muren’s only daughters, Lena and Alana, two despicably awful girls who held Muren around their little finger. They had just moved out two years ago, being three older than Aldon, and were fraternal twins. Aldon ironically, was the youngest of sixteen yet the most mature. Both the girls had been married and recently divorced, naturally taking all the fortune and land. Now it seemed they had come to gloat and scare Aldon from ever departing “dear old pa”.
Aldon swung his fist through the air as he imagined their smiling faces. Muren ignored his son’s groans from the other room and continued to clean haphazardly. Things were tossed about and shoved into places they didn’t belong, others hidden beneath furniture and several thrown into the fireplace including Aldon’s favorite wood chip. It was shaped like a crescent moon and had several spherical grooves in the yew and petrified as smooth as stone.
Aldon emerged just as it disappeared into the flames and the smoke wafted up the chimney.
“Something smells good. What’re you burning?”
“This and that, not really sure,” Muren replied without looking. He didn’t trust for one minute that Aldon would remain pleasant to his girls. He had already prepared several tasks to be done just for that instance like gathering an extra bucket of water from the well or chopping firewood even though it was the middle of summer and didn’t want to give it away by looking. Aldon was good at that. He could always tell by Muren’s eyes. But he knew Aldon wouldn’t dare refuse in company.
Aldon sat at the table and noticed a plate of fresh steamy rolls drowned in butter. He reached out and yelped in surprise when one of them got up and rolled away from his outstretched hand. He studied the roll closely.
“Had Garenford do that for me? Don’t need a mere boy eating your daughter’s food?” Aldon said sarcastically as he pushed away from the table and turned his back to the room. Muren frowned and continued bustling about with numerous items and trinkets juggled in his arms. Aldon turned around suddenly when he knew Muren wasn’t looking and threw his fork at the table, impaling the defensive roll. He scooped it up and ducked out the back door to the fields.
He stared at the roll and inspected it for any eyes or legs before eating it. He was relieved it tasted fine and made no sounds as he bit into it. He peered through the window at Muren who hadn’t noticed a thing and was stuffing socks into the silverware drawers. Aldon chuckled and finished his roll. He toiled about the fields trying to find a way to spend the time of waiting and wondering if he should run and hide somewhere in the forest. He often spent time there and knew the trails as well as the best of hunters. He had even forged a few himself and kept them secret for his escapes. Aldon knew the thorns and vines would be in full bloom now, and the Cattails would have chiggers and burrs, but remained confident in his tracking abilities. His eyesight was superior and he could easily slip in and out of the house on a whim. No matter how hard he tried the boy could never seem to be noisy, and knew no one would pay him any attention regardless. Not while they were over.
Glenn returned then scowling with the weight of the chopped lumber he carried on his back. Aldon jumped up to help and together they dropped the net of tinder beside the steps. Glenn whistled loudly and wiped the sweat from his brow, dropping beside Aldon to the grass.
“Glad that’s over. I thought I was done there in the end.” He remarked as he sucked his waterskin dry. Aldon laughed and looked over at him. Glenn was slightly taller than Muren but of no more than Aldon’s nose. He had very short brown hair and a thick beard like wool from his lips to his neck and ears. His face was large as was his body, but of a stockier muscled kind of way. His clothes were like autumn with oranges and yellows, his rough hood like a large leaf. His hands were coarse and callused and his arms wide, hanging nearly to his elbows as he was a quarter dwarf or so he said. Glenn was all in all a fine fellow with a booming laugh, but could be somewhat stern. He was nearly twenty four and had yet to find a wife, considered a hermit, and neglected to ever tell his family as to where he had settled. Aldon liked him and enjoyed what time he had with him until he became tiresome.
“Well, I’d best talk to yer father ‘fore they show up.” Glenn said as he stood, cracking his knuckles with a snicker. Aldon followed him through the door and held it open as he considered whether he should go in. But another passed through the door as he held it open and thanked him. Aldon turned surprised to see Denrir standing behind him in the doorway.
Denrir was tall, actually taller than Aldon but shorter than Garenford. He had wispy black hair and tan skin and stood as wide as a boulder. He was built like a rock and strong as a bull. His great arms were enormous and just as strong as Glenn. He wore dark colors like gray and navy but avoided black. He was a very cheery fellow but a bit of a bragger and gloated often, competing on everything.
“Back from town,” He announced. “Got a damn good deal I might add.” He said as he sat his pack down on the table, beaming. Muren scuffled over to him and pushed him out of the way to sort through them.
“Ah, six pounds of beef, four of pork, eight of chicken, two loafs of bread and a fresh batch of butter. Very nice, Denrir.” He appraised as he threw it all back into the sack and shoved it back toward Denrir. “Now, go put it in the cellar, the girls should be here any minute now!” Instantly Denrir grimaced and ran off to the cellar, Glenn and Aldon right behind him.
They entered the dark, cool cellar and shut the double pane doors. They could hear Muren scuffing about above them as the wood floor creaked. A particularly loud groan squealed.
“Wow that was a big one. Think Muren’s getting even fatter?”
“Nah that was me; I hate it when they come over. Taking over the whole house, barking out orders like dogs..” Denrir began rambling to himself, muttering under his breath. Aldon ignored his numerous curses and sighed.
“You guys are leaving aren’t you?”
The men stopped and stared at the floor sheepishly.
“Traitors!” Aldon scowled and kicked at the dirt. The others inched to the door step by step. “How can you leave me here with them? Can’t we camp out in the woods for a few days instead?”
“Sorry, Aldon, but I—“They tore through the door and slammed it behind them, stopping a much quicker Aldon. He opened the door, knowing it was hopeless now, and dragged his heels to the house. He plopped down on the back steps once again and stared up at the sky. It was past noon now and growing warm once again. Aldon suddenly remembered the red-mustached man and his packages for Muren.
He walked inside and caught Muren’s attention who was busily wiping down the windows with one of Aldon’s few shirts.
“Did you get your packages from the trader?”
“Trader? No, I didn’t talk to any trader. Has he got my flowers?”
Aldon nodded. Hope of an escape growing in his mind, his eyes flashed with excitement.
“Are you going to get them?”
“Well, sometime soon—“
“I’ll do it!” Aldon cried out and was out the door before Muren had finished completing his sentence to himself.
* * *
Town was bustling at this time of day with villagers shopping and working, children running and playing, and guards watching tiredly. It was a safe little place to live and work with hardly any crime. The occasional thief would run rampant then be caught after a week or so without more than a day’s pay in his purse.
Aldon was rarely allowed to come to Town as he was an easy target to separate from a group here and often irritated people with his curiosity. His shaggy blond hair was rare in these parts and his tall, lean figure was abnormal to the broad farmers and workers around him.
But just being here was enough for him today. He had escaped Lena and Alana’s wrath and his father’s blind eye cast toward him. He had no questions as his had already been answered.
He walked cheerily down the cobblestone path, looking side to side at the shoppes and their decorative signs and items on display. He watched with particular interest as several orbs sat in the window of an alchemy shop glowed with different colors and others formed into the moon and the sun. A blacksmith smelted a glowing orange sword across the street from it, his brow beading as he hammered in the intense heat of his forge. He remained sullen as Aldon walked past him and stared at his various weapons glinting in the sunlight. Swords, axes, spears, daggers, dirks, maces and claymores watched him as he longed to touch one, to feel the cool, hard steel; to feel the weight in his hands. He reached out for one.
“Hey!” A gruff voice called from behind him. “No touching!” Aldon stiffened and backed away, hands in his pockets apologetically. He avoided the man’s stern gaze and left with his head low, eyes on the path. He cursed his ignorance and regretted coming into the shop at once. He knew the blacksmith would not forget his face. Not his face. He was too different, too fair, too pale and for lack of a better word; graceful. He had always hated the way he moved and walked. He tried to imitate the gruff heavy steps of Glenn or the brutish stomps of Denrir but it never worked. He always moved silently like a ghost, even his run smooth enough to keep a glass of water full to the brim.
He watched the ebb of the flow of traffic walk down the roads, moving side to side unevenly and slowing or speeding up to pass one another to get to their destination in time. He watched the flowing mass by each individual, studied their every step and movement, surprised at how easy it was. He found himself anticipating their next direction and who was going to go where and when they were about to stop or turn. He memorized it all and found the “symptoms” for every one of them. He became so enthralled in people watching he actually tripped and caught himself quickly, not even falling. Aldon regained his balance and bumped into someone.
“Sorry.”
The man turned around and frowned. He was barely older than Aldon, maybe eighteen, and stood as large as Glenn with Aldon’s height. His face was dark, suntanned with facial hair just sprouting in patches on his scruffy chin. But it was his eyes that caught Aldon’s attention. They were angry, bright with the spark of it. The other boy grabbed Aldon roughly by the collar and pulled him forward, jarring his neck.
“Not yet you ain't.” He threw Aldon away, pushing him with both hands. Aldon backed away and caught himself against the side of the nearest shop. The flow of traffic flowed around them, passing them by. No one would interfere and would wait for the guards to break it up. Aldon righted himself and stared incredulously at his attacker.
“I said I was sorry!” He exclaimed as the boy pressed closer. Aldon saw the boy’s muscles coil beneath his shirt to strike. He leaned his head back and watched the fist go by a few inches from his face slowly. He felt a buzzing in his head, like something was trying to talk to him. He ignored it and shrugged it off. The next punch caught him by surprise, much faster this time, and slammed into his stomach. Aldon lurched and doubled over in pain as his ribs recoiled from the impact.
How did I miss that one? The other was so slow. He pondered quickly, thoughts racing through his mind. He tried to clear them through the pain but wasn’t adept at this. The boy lifted him up and hit him again in the stomach. Aldon stumbled backward and fell across the cobblestone. The passerbyers stopped now and watched the fight. Aldon clicked his jaw and rubbed his face where he had hit the stone.
He felt like his eye had been slammed into his socket and his mouth was full of sharp rocks. He knew his lip was bleeding and only hoped his eyes weren’t watering from the sting of his nose.
The wind blew then, his golden hair swaying in the breeze. He reached to adjust his hat before moving and froze. He turned to the side and watched his hat a few feet away on the street inch away in the zephyr. Horror struck he reached for his head and covered it with his hands, jumping to his feet and running through the people, slipping in between the cracks and spaces of the crowd without bumping into a single person. He knew he was seen and couldn’t help but cower as he ran through Town as fast as he could.
The other boy picked up Aldon’s hat and stuck it on his head, laughing as he did.
* * *
Aldon walked home sullenly, not looking where he was going but getting there all the same. He threw open the door and came into view of six eyes. In the living room sat Lena and Alana beside Muren, all wearing the same flat expression. He knew they saw his exposed ears and wounds but none stirred as he passed them and went to his room.