Hello again, guys! Welcome to a new chapter of A Primordial's Child, and thank you for reading this far!
Really quick, I'd like to give a few shoutouts.
Thanks to rock legend 166, claireorr, WeHaveIssues, Profile Terminated, Syndirr, Glassheart691115, MagicTalefrisk, and Brittany Foos for favoriting and following!
Special Thanks to We Have Issues, Profile Terminated and Glassheart691115 for giving the first few reviews!
Im glad you've all enjoyed my story so far! And now, for the third chapter; Train Rides and Pink Cowboys.
I almost forgot I had a dream entirely when the first thing I saw was Woody from Toy Story standing over me.
More like a knock-off Woody from one of those bootleg films. He had a moth-eaten Stetson, a muddy leather vest, a hideous lasso patterned button up, and a paper cut out of a sheriffs badge.
His navy wrangler jeans were covered by chaps, and his red white and blue cowboy boots had comically large spurs that jangled incessantly.
I realized I was in someone's room after I shook myself a bit.
It was practically barren, with only one shattered window. The walls were cracked, and after I shifted and almost impaled myself on something sharp, I discovered the bed didn't even have a mattress, only a rumpled pillow and a moldy baby blanket.
"You alright, partner?," the odd western weirdo asked, concern and relief mixing in his chocolate brown eyes. I nodded, but had to stifle a groan when I tried to sit up. A pained "ooooooh" still escaped me.
The cowboy immediately eased me back down, telling me I should take it easy.
'After the birthday I've had, that's the worst thing you could say,' I wanted to snap, but decided to simply do as he said.
"Reckon the last thing you'd wanna do is open one of them stitches, now isn't it?," he chided. "My name is Salvador, by the way. Jackson Salvador."
Was it just me, or did this cowboy seem phony, name and style alike?
"Mitchell," I mutter, turning my head to the window. It snapped back a second later when I heard;
"Yea, shoot, I already done know that much, Mitchell Roark." I stared wide eyed, instantly on guard and more than a little creeped out.
"How'd you know my name?," I demand, very afraid of another evil grackle wanting to devour me.
He looks alarmed for a moment, as though he'd realized he wasn't supposed to say something.
"Ya just told me, didn't ya?" He laughed nervously, taking Stetson in hand and...
Did he just EAT his hat?
"Who are you! Are you another stupid... Harpy?!" The decidedly posing cowboy takes a hurried step back, waving his newly damaged hat back and forth.
"Now, now, no need to panic! Not gonna try nuthin', honest! Let me just explain!" I didn't trust 'Jackson Salvador', but I desperately needed an explanation. I nod, and he takes a deep breath, his spurs still whirring from the excitement.
"I guess I should start with introductions. Jackson Salvador is not my real name." No duh. "My real name is Klove Greenhorn. I'm not a cowboy...I'm a satyr." A what?
I let out a yelp, scrambling to the wall as he suddenly started to remove his tacky boots, followed by the chaps and wranglers. In their place, instead of smooth tanned skin, was...
Fur. He had furry legs. With hooves. What?
"Y-your legs are like a donkeys!" I yell, and he lets out an indignant 'hey'!
"They are GOAT legs!" He corrects, annoyed. His leg twitched like it was ready to leave a cloven shaped indent around my eye. "Satyrs are half goat, not donkey! Or horse! Or sheep! It's not that hard man!"
His previously cringeworthy western 'accent' had shifted to a New Yorker's accent, like in those movies Ms. Foster took us to, as his rant progressed. Was anything about this 'satyr' authentic? Aside from the decidedly goat-like legs?
Were those even real? I didn't know. My caretaker was a Harpy, cowboys were from New York and had goat legs. What else?
"Also, and this is the explanation for the legs, have you ever heard of the Greek gods and goddesses?" He looked ready to catch me in case I faint, but I was ready to kick him and run. Still, I shook my head. "Well," he began disappointedly, shaking his head, "there are Greek gods and goddesses. And they exist. They're real."
My dream pops into mind.
"Like Phusis?" I didn't know how he expected me to respond, but apparently that was not it. His eyebrows shot to his curly hair, his bushy eyebrows cinched together and his eyes bugging in total surprise.
"H-how do you know that name!" He stutters and rambles unintelligibly to himself. I couldn't catch anything other than "clueless", "primordial" and "Stetson in my teeth".
"I had a dream," I tell him. "Right after Mrs. Celaeno attacked me." Whatever blood he had in his face, drained him from tan to corpse pale.
"Celaeno? W-as she a-a ha-harpy by ch-chance?" I figured I'd have to catch him, as he looked ready to faint any moment himself.
"Yeah, that evil pigeon lady tried to eat me."
On my birthday. I was pretty sure I'd be bitter about that for a long time.
"How did you even survive!" He half-shouted, half-whimpered.
"Well, Mrs. Celae-"
"Don't say her name!" He interrupted, looking even more terrified than before, and very paranoid. His eyes shifted from the single hinge door to the shattered window.
"O-okay," I continue, "She was chasing me, but I managed to get to a patch of big cactus." He nodded impatiently, waving his hand for me to keep going.
"Well, she trapped me, but right before she could get me, the cactus came to life and dog-piled her. She died, and I guess she turned to dust. That's all that was left. Then I passed out."
"You defeated," he began, yet his tone seemed way to calm now, considering his previous expression, "the most dangerous of all Harpies," his voice was rising, "with a bunch of cactus! How does that even happen!"
Yep, he was hysterical now.
"I didn't do it!" How could I have taken control over cactus? That didn't make sense! He stopped his raving to turn back to me, then cleared his throat to regain his composure.
"That brings me to the other part. As I was saying, Greek gods and goddesses are real. That means all monsters and heroes from the old stories are real as well. Like...the evil pigeon lady. We call monsters kindly ones," he explained, though it didn't make sense to me. They didn't really seem all that 'kind'.
"Those heroes were, as it happens, the direct children of the gods. Or, should I say, children of a singular god who took a mortal as a bride."
"What does that have to do with me?" Seriously, I wished that when you got older things made more sense. It seemed the opposite was true more and more.
"Everything, Mitchell Roark. For you see, the reason I know your name, why I found you, why I'm explaining all this to you, heck, even why those cactus suddenly came to life and saved you," he paused to take a breath, or build suspense. Either way, it worked.
"You are a demigod. The child of a god and a mortal."
...
What?
"What?" I asked aloud, as it didn't fully register what this strange goat man said.
"A demigod," he repeated. "You have a godly parent." Like that cleared anything up!
"So wait!," I yelled, and his attention was undivided as I thought how to phrase my next question. "So...I have a regular human parent, and...a godly parent? Who?"
To this, Klove shrugged causally, and in early face faulted in disbelief.
"You don't know!?" I yelled. How could he know I was a 'demigod', but not who my godly parent was!
"Those things aren't clear. Only the fact that you are a demigod. That's only because of your scent, though."
Huh?
"Whatcha mean scent? I took a bath this morning." I must not have understood right, because he laughed aloud.
"Not like that, Mitch."
"Don't call me that," I say, though he ignores me.
"It's another kind of scent, one that only monsters and beings like me can smell. It's the godly blood in your veins that identifies you." So that's why Mrs. Celaeno was after me?
"Sooo...if you can smell me, and Mrs. Cel- I mean, the kindly one could smell me, what's to stop another monster from finding me?"
He looked like he was about to respond, but he froze mid-pucker. His eyes dawned in realization, and suddenly he shifted, extremely nervous.
"Is something wrong?" I ask. He was making me uneasy too.
"We have to go," he blurts out, scooping me in a flurry of limbs, kicks, 'what are you doing!' and 'baaaaaahhhs', then rushes for the door.
As we race down the hall, I hear the sound of a wall crumbling down, and the entire house shook. A voice boomed out behind us.
"Satyr and Demigod! We shall eat well tonight!" A series of equally thunderous jeers chorused, and a cold dread settled in my stomach.
"What's happening!," I yell at Klove, but he ignores me. I look up over his shoulder, wincing as little, and see a monstrous head peek from the hall as we dashed through the front door.
It was grotesquely sculpted, with a protruding chin, and broad jaw, an equally thick neck and a bulging forehead. On top of his head sat a troll-doll patch of greasy, flaxen filthy orange hair. It's skin was almost cherry red.
"I see the food! It's running outside!" It called to its friends.
As we ran flat out across the small town to what looked to be a 1930's western train station, a trio of similarly ugly giants lumbered from around the house, giving chase. These ones wore cowboy knockoff suits worse than Klove's.
"Come back, food! We shall eat you if you do!" One offered.
"Thanks, but no thanks! I'd rather keep running!," I yell back. What kind of deal was that?
The train station was getting closer, but so were the gargantuan footfalls of the monsters behind us.
"Hurry up Klove!" He doesn't seem to acknowledge me, but the urgency in his eyes increased tenfold.
"Shut up, Mitchell, I'm going as fast as I can!" He's panting heavily by this point, and the station was still a good distance away. "You are one heavy 9 year old!"
"I'm ten!" I correct, but he doesn't care. He's too focused on reaching the station, and looking around and seeing the ever closing giants, I can't really blame him.
We were coming up on the train station, and as Klove hopped onto the platform, I just about screamed. A giant had taken a swipe at my head, having caught up. His cowboy suit was an obnoxious pink, as was his hair, but his teeth looked almost black with decay.
That explained the rank breath.
"KLOVE!" I shout, and he curses in the same language as Celaeno had. This time, I could understand a little of what he said, and my ears turned red.
You were NOT allowed to say things like that in front of a child, I was pretty confident.
"The train!" He yells, running to the edge of the platform.
The train blared past as the pink cowboy giant lunged, and Klove took one quick breath before leaping off the platform.
Time seemed to slow for a split second, the wind whistling deafeningly in my ears. I held Klove for dear life, and watched with eyes wide as saucer the the fingers of doom closed merely centimeters from my nose.
Then it was over, and we collided with a collective 'oof' as the force of impact threw us apart. We had jumped into an open car.
I groaned, and somewhere to my left so did Klove, though with a bleat at the end. He cursed a bit more, and I briefly considered forcing soap into his mouth.
Too much energy, I decided.
With great effort, I rolled to my side, and my entire body protested by popping literally every bone in my torso and neck.
"Ooooowwww," I moan. Sitting up slowly, I look around the car to find it empty, save for a single mound of sacks in the far corner. Klove is in the corner left of me, head at an awkward angle against the wall.
His furry hindquarters hung in the air.
"Klove?" I call. No answer, except another unconscious groan.
"Well, that's just great," I grumble under my breath. "What am I supposed to do now?"
"I would try New York, Mitchell," the sacks in the corner suddenly speak up, startling me to my feet.
Why does everyone know my friggin name!
"Because I know you," the mound of sacks replies.
"Great. A talking sack," I say, my tone dripping as much sarcasm as I can muster. "Why not?"
"More or less. Though, you should still listen, even if i am just a pile of moldy bags."
"That sounds perfectly reasonable." Cause why the heck not at this point? Seriously?
"You doubt me, but that is not important. You must go to New York, demigod. Long Island, more specifically. That's the only place you'll be safe."
"Safe? From the monsters? Really?" That sounded far too good to be true. Snores erupted from Klove's corner, but I tuned them out. Was this sack for real?
"What's in Long Island?" I ask. The sack mound is silent for a moment, and I get the funniest feeling the mound is thinking about its answer.
"Ask the Satyr," it finally says, "when he wakes up. He will explain everything else along the way. This train will take you upstate to New York, but you will have to find the your own way to Long Island and avoid more monsters along the way, to reach safety. Good luck," it says. With that, the sack mound goes silent permanently.
I approached it cautiously. I couldn't read the brand name on them, instead noticing the sacks have a logo of a dapper peanut man, but instead of an umbrella he is holding a sword of some kind, and his top hat is a spartan helmet. His monocle is normal though.
Klove begins to stir in the corner, shuffling around, and I walk to the corner across from him, sitting down and crossing my legs. My hands lay limp in my lap.
"M-Mitchell?" He calls, before his eyes settle blearily on me. "You okay?" I ignore him for a minute or two, his eyes never leaving me.
Finally, I look over at him, and his body language radiates concern. "Is something wrong?" He asks.
"What's in Long Island?"
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was pretty fun to write! Thank you for continuing to follow along! As updates go, I will try and post a new chapter every Saturday!
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