Michael

  While his family traversed the dark woods searching for wolves, Michael lay pleasantly on the grass, fighting the urge to sleep. But the beautiful night, with its clear pale moon, its cool summer breeze, and its crooning insects, beckoned him to the world of dreams. He let out a heavy yawn and slapped his cheeks to wake himself up. Then he heard a voice, soft and distant, mingling with the whistling of the wind that rang in his ears. It was calling his name.

  He thought he was hallucinating, but the voice called him again, and this time he recognized its owner. Michael sat up to see where the calls were coming from. Not far away, he saw a heavyset woman walking through the grass with an oil lamp in her hand, shouting his name. It was Agnes Hunter, one of his aunts. The poor woman was wandering on the wrong side of the field, far away from him. Michael got to his feet and called out to her. She heard him and went to him.

  As she approached, he began to flatten the grass around him, making a large circle. Next, he grabbed the blanket he had been using as a bed and spread it out. Now there was enough room for two people to sit comfortably.

  "I like your little nest," Agnes said when she finally arrived.

  "Come on, sit down, Auntie," Michael said, gesturing to the blanket.

  Agnes accepted the offer and sat down, placing the oil lamp beside her. Michael sat next to her.

  Agnes had green eyes and blonde hair, tied back in a long ponytail. She wore a simple yellow dress with a floral print, a white waist apron, and black shoes. She was sitting sideways on the blanket, with her coarse, scarred hands resting in her lap, traits of a life dedicated to the kitchen, her domain, which made her the most powerful person in the Hunter household. Even Eric, the family patriarch, bowed to her whims. But this power came with its downsides—she was fat, though only a little bit, according to her. Her corpulence gave her a unique and lovely charm that the family adored. She was a woman easy to get along with, as long as her weight was never mentioned. Such offense was not easily forgiven.

  "This place needs care," Agnes said, looking around. "Remind me to tell the workers to cut the grass around here."

  "And deprive me of my special place. Why?" Michael cried.

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “Don't play dumb, Michael. You have the whole forest to choose from. And you can use it to hide from Eric. You know you screwed up, right? He was mad 'cause you didn't want to accompany him to the forest.”

  “He has no need for me. He can deal with whatever is in there."

  “I know he does, but…”

  “But what?”

  Agnes looked at him, then turned away. She remained silent, watching the forest.

  Michael frowned at her behavior but said nothing. He wondered why she was looking for him. Agnes preferred to stay home when the family patrolled the woods, and it was rare for her to leave the house so late at night. He sniffed the air and smiled.“ I smell biscuits,” he said.

  Agnes produced a small bag from one of her pockets. "Would you like some?"

  Michael nodded and took one: it was a butter biscuit, and the smell told him it was freshly baked. Michael hummed delightedly when he tasted it. “Can I have another one?”

  “You can have them all,” she said with a girlish smile. “You’ve earned them.”

  “I did? What did I do?

  Agnes shrugged.

  “What’s wrong? Why have you come, Auntie? And with food?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to take a walk and bring you something to eat.”

  “You could’ve taken a walk around the house. There's enough space for that.”

  “Does it bother you that I’m here?” She asked with a sweet voice.

  “No. I am glad that you decided to keep me company and feed me. Thank you very much.”

  “Good… Then shut up and eat,” she barked.

  Michael sighed. Agnes would never tell him what she wanted; he had to ask her if he wanted to know. It was a strange habit of hers. He already knew how things would go. She would start giving him furtive glances as time went by. If he ignored her hints, she would proceed to stare at him with piercing eyes, which would become more threatening as time went on. And if he continued with his foolish stubbornness, she would grab him by the shoulders and shake him like an old rag until, finally, he gave in and asked her, or rather, begged her to please tell him what was wrong.

  Michael took a glance at her. Agnes was staring ahead, regarding the wide forest fringe that extended for miles. At times, she sent him a furtive glance, then looked away when he noticed. They remained like this for a while, in silence, playing their little game.

  It has begun... What a pain, he thought. And although he was curious and knew he would regret it later, he decided to ignore her for a while and see how desperate she could get. He ate another biscuit and relaxed his shoulders.

  ?They both sat less than a mile from the tree line, among the grass and petite white and yellow flowers. The cricket sang, and the fireflies danced about them, and a cool breeze brushed their backs and hair, bringing with it the smell of earth and wheat from the fields at their backs. It was a good night of Jadenos. The black sky was clear, and Alleggia, the moon, shone pale over the land.

  Michael finished eating his biscuits and then began to play with his rifle. It was a Deston, a standard muzzle-loader rifle used by the Asprainard army. It was one of his most prized possessions, a birthday gift he had received years ago from his grandfather, Eric. Not one was allowed to touch it without his supervision, much less brutes like his aunt, Natalia.

  "I thought you were going to bring your new toys," Agnes said.

  Michael shook his head. "They're too valuable. The Deston will do the job."

  Agnes looked at him and smiled. "Natalia's right. You're obsessed with those things."

  What could that ignorant know about precise machinery? Michael scoffed. He loved the Deston, but the new guns had stolen his heart from the moment he held them in his hand. They were too precious to be taken out at night. The cold air could hurt their frail bodies. He was always careful when handling them, afraid of provoking irreparable damage. The guns were unique; nothing in this world was like them, or so claimed the man who gave them to him—the most wonderful human who had ever lived, his Bonhomme, Mr. Ernest Williams. No other man was as generous and pure as he.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Michael had disassembled and reassembled his new guns to see what made them work. They were works of art, a testament to human ingenuity and technological progress. Ignorant brutes like Natalia would never understand their marvel. However, Michael was perfectly aware of how unnatural his behavior had been these last few months because of his new toys, making his family worry for his mental health, but that was the least of his concerns. What bothered him was how heartbroken his old weapons must feel for his abandonment.

  I know, partner, Michael thought, caressing the Deston. You must feel betrayed after so many years of loyalty. But that’s why I’ve brought you with me, friend. One last adventure before your retirement.

  “Are you goin’ to kiss that thing?” Agnes asked, looking strangely at him. “I might need to talk with Ernest and tell him to stop giving you gifts.”

  “What!? Don’t you dare!” he cried. “Don’t get between my bonhomme and I. He’s a good man. And I’m not going to kiss it. I’m just saying goodbye to my old mate,” Michael said with a serious face.

  Agnes laughed. “You really are mad about them.” She paused. Her eyes gazed at the forest. “He’s as crazy as you, ain’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “That bloke you and the girls brought half-dead last month.”

  “Singer?”

  “His name is Denis, not Singer,” she scolded him. “That’s the nickname you gave him.”

  Michael shrugged. “All the same. It’s the only thing that daft does at the clinic, well, one of two things: singing and flirting with the village’s women.”

  “You don't seem to like him a lot. I thought you two were mates.”

  “Well, I won’t lie that we got along just fine, but calling us mates.” He shook his head. “That’s asking too much. I would never trust my back to that man.

  “I hear you…” Agnes became quiet. The talk about Denis seemed to have upset her.

  “What a waste of time,” Michael said as he gently placed the rifle beside him and lay down on the blanket.

  “Why'd you say that?" Agnes asked, her eyes watching the forest.

  “Nothing, I’m just… Well, I’m talking about this. We shouldn't be doing this, scouting the forest at night. This is a job for a soldier, not ours. We are farmers.”

  “Landlords would be more accurate, but I hear you… Why didn’t you go with Eric?

  “Because I was against it. There’s nothing dangerous in the forest that needs our attention.”

  “And the wolves Eric mentioned?”

  “Same as usual. We live right by the forest. Hearing wolves at night is part of the ambient.” Michael picked up a blade of grass and put it in his mouth. “I think Grandpa’s becoming paranoid.”

  “Lad, you must understand Eric is worried. He thought something was wrong in the forest and wanted to check.”

  “Auntie, listen: while Grandpa was outside smoking and playing with the dogs, I was doing a quick reconnaissance around the forest. Not too far from here, I heard loud shrieks amid the wolves' howls, which I recognized as belonging to a braskar. I realized that the wolves were just hunting, so I went back. I reported to Grandpa what I heard, but instead of dropping his plans, the stubborn man still wanted to take a look because I didn’t see the braskar with my own eyes.”

  Agnes sighed. “You’re right, but you know Eric.”

  Michael nodded. “Of course, I know him. Besides, we shouldn’t be the ones scouting the forest.” He looked behind him. “This is their bloody job, not ours. Damn bastards!”

  “And who are you yelling at? You can't even see the outpost from here.”

  “We should at least see some light in the tower, but we don't, which tells me everyone's asleep. There is no one on guard.”

  “I don't think I've ever seen a soldier on that tower in my life, so stop complaining.”

  The tower and adjoining house, located far to the south of Whitehill, were an outpost manned by a squad of twelve soldiers from the kingdom's army, under the command of David Smith, a young lieutenant who had taken control of the place earlier in the year. The purpose of the outpost was to protect the village of Rodford and the surrounding towns from beasts and enemies that might come from Rodwood Forest, though Michael had never seen any soldiers patrolling the forest since the family moved to Whitehill.

  “Me neither, and I've been inside that place.” Michael snorted. “I guess it’s more important for them to get hammered at Mary’s than to do their damn job.”

  “There’s nothing we can do. Our house’s the closest to the forest. If we don’t keep the wolves or any beast in check, they’ll come for us first,” Agnes said with a flat voice.

  Michael looked at his aunt. She was still watching the forest, pretending not to be interested in him, but he knew she was getting mad. A mischievous thought came to his mind.

  “I have an idea, dear aunt,” Michael said, standing up and turning toward the tower. “How about I go there and set the surroundings on fire? That for sure will spring from their beds the few sods who didn’t go to Mary’s.” He laughed.

  “Sure, go ahead. I won’t stop you,” she said without even looking at him.

  “Aunt, I’m not joking. I will go. I swear. I will burn that damn outpost to the ground, along with that flag. I don’t care. We can’t let those maggots keep taking advantage of us. We must make a stand!”

  “Lad, you’re the only one who’s bothered. Besides, why’d you care?”

  “Why not? We’re practically working for free. For Free!” He cried to the sky. “I’m doing the bloody job of a Ranger. I should at least get a stipend.”

  “I thought you loved it.”

  “My dear aunt. I scout the forest to protect my family. If our home wasn’t so close to it, I wouldn't even dare to set foot there.”

  "I know you won’t. You would never do something that could blemish your pretty arse without getting something back, ain't you?”

  “Ain’t we all?” Michael smirked.

  “Leave the soldiers alone, brat. Find something else to keep you occupied. It can be anything." She glared at him.

  Michael noticed the hint but slapped it away and continued with his tirade. “But my dear aunt. I must stand for my family, for our honor. I cannot let this injustice continue. This abuse needs to be stopped once and for all. I might earn the antagonism of the Great Kingdom of Asprain by burning down their outpost and flag, but I care not. I have decided. I shall march there and make my voice heard,” he said with fake solemnity.

  Agnes sighed. “Fine, have it your way. But you must warn Natalie before you go there.”

  “And rile her, nah! I prefer Grandpa’s fists over hers—his are more reasonable.”

  “I’ve nothing more to say. Go if you want.”

  “I will,” Michael said, and began to slowly walk away as he watched over his shoulder, waiting to see what Agnes would do.

  “Michael, come back here,” Agnes called him.

  “Yes, my auntie.”

  Agnes turned and looked at him. She said nothing, for her lips were tightly closed, but her green eyes were wide open, and they were furious, and they could speak. They said:

  “Stop wasting my time, brat.”

  Michael could have kept teasing her, but he thought it best to give in. After all, one of the Hunter family maxims compelled him to obey her:

  ‘Always be nice to whoever makes your food.’

  “Fine, I give up," he said. “Tell me what the problem is?”

  “Problem?” Agnes tilted her head. "What problem? I don’t have a problem. Do you have a problem?"

  “Aunt, are you serious? Tell me what’s wrong, please,” he cried.

  “Nothing’s wrong, my child. I don’t understand. Maybe you can tell me what’s wrong with me.” She smiled wickedly.

  You... Fine, let's have it your way then. Michael cleared his throat, placed his right hand over his chest, and began his dramatic discourse:

  “Please, don't lie to me, my dear aunt. I know you well, more than you can imagine. I have noticed that something seems to disturb you. You may try to hide it, but I can feel it. Please, tell me. What is the nature of your concern for you to come all the way here, tearing yourself away from the warmth and safety of our home, and venturing into this cold and dreary night? I know that hearing those crying and foul beasts that hide within the dark woods ahead must have scared your frail and kind heart, and yet, you are here, standing—I mean, sitting steadfast against the dread of the unknown that lies beyond that tree line. But I cannot let you continue to torture yourself this way, my dear aunt. Therefore, please, I beg you. I implore you.” Michael went to his knees. “You must tell me what has upset you, what has dared to bother your peace and happiness, and believe me, as I swear upon the name bestowed upon me by my parents: I, Michael Hunter, having the gods as witnesses, declare that I shall do anything in my power to mend your worries, whatever they might be."

  Agnes gazed at him for a while; a wide smile began to spring on her face, making dimples in her cheeks. “It’s Esther,” she said. “I need you to help me keep her away from Denis.”