Faithful Pebble
Part: Forty-One
"Only on one condition," the boy said.
His hero let a finger curl its bulky digit beneath the narrow cleft of his chin. His jaw tightened.
"Swear! if I do this, swear that I'll be able to see you save her? You will tell me when she is ready to climb out!"
His hero smirked. "Oh, I'll do more than that," he said unfolding his arms. "I'll give you this." The warrior, just on the verge of a teetering drunkenness, clumsily stood up. He turned moving with an exaggerated flutter to extract the golden chain that dangled secretly beneath the silver glow of his armor.
Seeing it, the boy's eyes widened, saucered, waxed until the full moon could be clearly seen reflected in the dark grey puddles of his pupils. He knew what that was, the symbol of a Guardian. Only they had them and only they were allowed into the forest, keeping It from the village, or at least, the village away from It. The boy gaped. "You-you would allow it?"
His hero nodded. "And this," he said kneeling to meet the little kitten eye to eye, like a man would his comrade. "This will help keep you safe as you endeavor to help me. Curiosity is a plague to little boys as is mischief and trouble. That forest is just beyond the well and I don't want you to get hurt by mistake. What would your mother say?"
"She'd cry," the boy answered taking the necklace and putting it on.
His hero saw this and smiled. "Now," he confirmed. "You promise to?"
"Tell you if anyone goes near the well."
"Yes and I swear—
"On the Baron's Grave!"
"The Baron's?" His hero lifted an eyebrow. He rubbed his chin and smirked. This phrase wasn't uncommon. "Fine then, I swear on the guilt ridden grave of that miserable ole Baron…
"And the Grave of the Fallen!"
Gradually, the smirk began to wilt. "and the tear soaked Grave of the Fallen…
"And," the tiniest boy, the smallest boy, the naïve and yet stubborn chinned boy of that monstrous pickpocket gang jeered. "And the Grave of the Defeated as well as the Grave of the Unknown."
In silence, his hero nodded, swearing noncommittally while the light from the moon reflected oddly upon the liquid surface of his eyes. It seemed to make them hard and cruel, seemed to fill them with a smear of jealousy or anger. The boy's hero stood up once more and crossed his arms looking down at the boy fiddling before him. "I promise," he said after a moment. "I swear on the four graves and the legion of ghosts that haunt this miserable town to inform you when the fair Miss Pebble is ready to climb out of her hole."
With that, the man turned, moving as if to leave. His humor had finally vanished, the emotion replaced by a raging sense of satisfaction and annoyance. Yet, in spite the stubbornness of his jaw and the fists blossoming from the bulk of his hands, the boy stopped him with a tug of his sleeve.
The boy bit his lip, "But wait!" he asked. "Aren't you going to answer my question?"
His hero snatched back possession of his sleeve and slicked a beer-craved hand through his hair. "What question," he growled. He started to walk towards the village tavern.
The boy followed closely. "Why don't you do it? Why don't you go down there to save her? Why make her climb out?"
The hero didn't bat an eye before shoeing the boy away. He frowned into the darkness watching him waddle towards the big house found at the end of the street, the white checkered mansion with more windows than doors and tiles than roof and ceiling. Not until he saw the little scamp disappear behind the biggest and most prominent door of the building did His hero answer, his words drowned out by the curling snarl of the evening wind. "Because she's a coward. That's why."
Thanks for reading !
Saucered, verb [sauce-r-ed]: a made up word detailing the act of opening your eyes as big as a saucer. Just in case you were curious. - Calla