Arcene & the Blue Castle

by Al K. Line

  Now and then Whip wished he could leave, but he couldn't. He was an intelligent man but the thought of going outside the castle walls made him so ill he hadn't even contemplated such actions for almost half a century.

  Why now? Why was change coming to Castle Kenyon now?

  "It's an omen. Things will never be the same again." Whip frowned. The one thing he disliked more than the twins was the thought of change coming from the outside world that he didn't control. Whip hated change of the unplanned type, it never meant anything good, just more trouble for him.

  Whip slumped into a vacated chair, pleased at the warmth stolen from one of the twins — he still sometimes forgot which was which. Never mind, it gave welcome heat to his bones. He despised the way the damn castle was like an icebox, even in the summer months. He lacked sufficient energy reserves to raise his core temperature as he could otherwise easily do, knowing if he tried he'd be little more than a skeleton within a few days.

  After a few minutes Whip felt his lids grow heavy, lassitude dragging him down into sleep as was so often the case nowadays. He was feeling his age, all two hundred and eighty-seven years of it, in every fiber of his being. He may have been late to Awaken, at the ripe old age of sixty-three, but he felt like he'd aged for every year of his life even though he'd halted the process a mere year after he came to understand the truth of the world, the secrets held by The Noise.

  It was the food, always the food. Although the castle grounds were extensive, the livestock relatively plentiful, his lack of recognition, his hiding in the shadows and refusal to partake of the blasphemous meat, meant he subsisted rather than thrived. Every day became a struggle to remain alert, maintain his life on the periphery. Living his twilight existence meant eating little more than vegetables from the well-stocked gardens, the animal manure always meaning the crops were in abundance. But it wasn't enough.

  It was his mind's fault.

  For many years, serving Finn, the old master of the house, he didn't understand why he could never gain weight, concern growing that there was something wrong with his insides. As he grew into a man he studied the books in the extensive library, now long ago gone, and he'd taught himself the art of chess, delving deeper and deeper into the beautiful world, becoming what was once known as a Grandmaster if there had been anyone else to play against.

  From there he'd moved on to reading about high-level players of the past, and the reality of his slender figure was explained. His mind worked too fast, always planning, trying to stay many moves ahead of his opposition. Back then it had been the focus on chess itself that was responsible, but he couldn't give it up — it was an obsession. Fast-forward a few years and the machinations of castle life overtook the game, this was a game with real life pieces and he jumped into the fray eagerly.

  The effect was the same: such concentrated focus, thinking on a deep level and following countless paths to see where they would lead, playing thought games involving real people, it all burned up a ridiculous number of calories. Grandmasters would eat three times the normal amount of food when playing their complex games. Whip played such games constantly, had done since a little boy in one form or another.

  Whip sighed, it was the price he paid, and he wouldn't sacrifice his sharp intelligence. He missed the old ways though. When he was born the castle was a thriving community, full of laughter and communal spirit, like-minded people determined to make a better future for themselves and their children. Live in a better way than the world they were torn from. Everyone was optimistic when he was a little boy.

  It quickly faded, as did the people. The Lethargy took many, the community became fragmented. Others left, but many remained. Over the years everything warped: faith, family, even food. Yet he still serviced with devotion, knowing he could never leave. Then everything changed.

  Finn succumbed to The Lethargy not long after his wife, a woman he thought little of. She was a mousy creature that hardly spoke and hid away in her chambers most of her life, before they were moved out once the twins realized they could rule.

  So Whip faded into the background, and watched.

  He came to with a start, leaned forward and reached under the desk. He turned on a very specific computer, one hidden in plain sight, and smiled as it whirred quickly to life. There was no groaning under the pressure of years of data, this machine ran like the day it was purchased, now repaired as needed by him. He brought up the images of the girl, watched her activities of the day, and smiled to himself.

  "This will get interesting. Those idiots don't understand, they haven't got a clue what she is capable of."

  Whip nestled angular shoulder blades into the lumpy cushioning of the chair, mesmerized by the healthy, lithe figure of the girl. If he played the game correctly then the future looked rather promising — he might even be able to give his brain a rest and put on a few pounds, never feel hungry again.

  Truth be told he kind of liked the way he looked — there was no point being a master manipulator and looking all jolly. After all, you had to keep up appearances, even if there was nobody to see.

  "Eh? What?" Arcene jumped to her feet, moved into a defensive stance, kilt flapping in the strong breeze, and pulled out her sword faster than her eyes could adjust to the gloom. She then remembered that she was in a tree and with a, "Whoa," promptly fell flat on her back with a thud, lucky not to have stabbed herself in the head as she did so.

  Woof.

  Arcene opened her eyes, only to realize they were already open. It was just very, very dark.

  "What's happening?" came a scared voice from high above.

  Ah, oops. I forgot. Arcene searched with care for her sword, placing it back in its scabbard by touch alone, and stood. The darkness was absolute. "Everything's okay Beamer. I um, I forgot that you wanted to sleep up a tree, and I, er, sort of fell out."

  Arcene could hear giggles from the safety of the canopy.

  Stupid tree. Who sleeps on branches anyway? She didn't mean it, she'd done the same as a young girl. The ground could be a scary place, height offered protection, even if there was a chance of breaking your neck when you woke up in the night and forget where you were.

  "Okay, go back to sleep, nothing to worry about down here."

  "Are you coming back up?" asked Beamer, sounding worried, hard to pinpoint because of the utter lack of light.

  "Yep, be right there," she lied. "Just need to, um, you know, have a pee."

  "Oh, do girls do that too? My dad said that girls didn't fart so I thought maybe they didn't pee either." Beamer tittered, amused by the word.

  "Well, I do have to pee, but no, girls never fart."

  Arcene stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust even a little, and by the time she could make out the faint silhouette of Leel, already lying down and snoring loudly, the rumble was joined by the more muted sound of an exhausted Beamer, lost to dreams once more.

  Poor kid must be exhausted. He's been through an awful lot.

  Arcene fumbled her way to the fire Beamer made her put out for fear it would give them away in the night, and blew on it hard — light erupted with a crackle of sparks, the embers resurrected. She added small twigs to the fire, listening for Beamer waking at the noise. He was sound asleep, and should be fine until the morning as long as she did no more falling out of trees — she didn't plan on it, she would spend the rest of the night with her body firmly on the ground.

  It came as a surprise to find he'd got himself into who knew what kind of trouble so far from home, on the wrong side of the hills, alone and running scared.

  She would have to get his story out of him come the morning; it wasn't fair to her or Leel to be in charge of him without knowing exactly what it was they were running from, or taking him back to. He'd been reticent to say anything, would stare the other way if she asked him questions about what had happened or even what his home life was like, but little bits and pieces of information slipped out as the night brought intimacy, the dark doing what it always did
: stealing your secrets whether you wanted it to or not.

  His home was definitely in the city, she found out that much — it was where he'd always lived, all he'd ever known. Arcene found that incredible — the ones she'd been to, and there were many, were horrid places suitable for raids, scavenging hunts and a little fun, nothing more. They were depressing, unstable and dangerous — who wanted to live where a building could fall on you at any moment? Worse than that, they felt too alien, unnatural and downright creepy, even to her.

  It was the decay, the sense of being somewhere you didn't belong. These were places for ghosts, the haunts of people long gone, a society she had never known, didn't want to. Everything she'd read about the way they lived their lives told her all she needed to know: they were plain crazy and she was sure she would have never survived amid such chaos.

  Beamer didn't think of it that way, saying there were loads of cool places and always something to keep you busy. Not like the country where it was just grass, mud and trees and stuff. He sounded as insane as the people that had built the cities; what could be better than living amongst nature?

  What she learned was that he didn't as much as step foot outside of the city until a few months ago, and that was the last time he'd seen his home. He said he'd told his father he was bored of their diet, not going into detail about what that meant, and it had ended up with an almighty row and his father getting really angry, angrier than he'd ever seen him. So that night Beamer packed a little bag and sneaked out, following routes he knew by heart through the streets that were still passable, weaving his way out of the city and down into the countryside.

  He'd wandered all day, trying to keep track of his home as he headed south, but something had scared him. He'd seen an animal, and after hiding up a tree in a forest he'd dashed into to escape, he emerged days later with no idea where he was, thirsty and weak with hunger.

  Ill-equipped for the wilds, he'd eaten berries from bramble bushes, found water, and kept going, thinking he was heading home when it became clear he had no idea what direction to take.

  "Didn't your father teach you to navigate by the sun at least?" asked an astonished Arcene. Beamer had stared at her blankly in the twilight. "You aren't telling me you don't know east and west? Where the sun rises and sets?" He'd shaken his head. Arcene found that incredible, what had his father been thinking?

  "I'd never taken any notice of stuff like that, why would you? What difference does it make?"

  "Um, so you know which way is which, that's why. Jeez." Arcene held off from saying any more, she didn't want to make him feel worse than he already did about whatever had happened.

  So, he'd wandered, lost, heading the wrong way like an idiot. No, like a child that had grown up very differently to her, and probably no bad thing — she'd been wild, ill-mannered, more animal than human, so who was she to judge?

  He'd found the castle, marveling at the blue paint, and then as he'd walked closer to it he'd blacked out, his whole body on fire, the pain unbelievable. He awoke inside.

  Arcene couldn't imagine what the electric shock would have been like for a nine-year-old. Intense, she supposed.

  "I was wet," he'd murmured in the dark.

  "Wet? Oh. Well that's nothing to be ashamed about. I once... Anyway, we've all done that."

  "Really?" he'd said, brightening. "What happened?"

  "Let's just say I was about your age and a naked man came rushing at me waving his... Ugh, doesn't matter. I peed my pants and ran, really really fast."

  "Ugh, okay."

  After that Beamer seemed to relax, but wouldn't go into detail, merely saying he'd been held there until his recent escape.

  "How?"

  "I swam the water around the castle and ran into the woods."

  "Wow! You can swim?"

  "Yeah, sure. Everyone can, can't they? Father said it's very important; we went twice a week."

  "Went? Went where?"

  "To the swimming pool, of course."

  "You have a swimming pool?" The boy was full of surprises. Didn't know the basics of fending for himself but had a swimming pool? Bizarre.

  "One of the houses near to where we live has a large one, so we use it all the time. The house is nice too. Father said the owners would have been very rich people, although I don't quite understand that, but we always go and swim. I wish we could live there but Father won't let us. Says it's too dangerous living on the ground."

  "Isn't it cold?"

  "Oh yes. Sometimes we even have to break the ice to get in, but once you start swimming it isn't so bad. It's good for the soul, is what Father says. Mostly it's fun."

  That was just about everything Beamer had said regarding his life or what happened. As the night wore on Arcene knew they would have to stop — he was half-dead on his feet. Eventually, she convinced him sleeping was a good idea and although it meant they had to sleep in a tree, as he was sure they would get captured on the ground, at least it meant they could rest for the remainder of the night.

  Arcene huddled close to the fire, thinking about the castle, Beamer and his home, and wondered what it would be like to have spent your entire life living in an artificial environment, never leaving, surrounded by buildings, streets and vehicles that were just a reminder of a distant past you had no experience of and wasn't intended for you in the first place.

  What a weird way to live.

  Arcene was forgetting one thing: where she lived, inside the convoluted buildings that made up The Commorancy, was stranger than anything outside its walls. A lot stranger indeed.

  "Hey, stop that," warned Arcene, grabbing the stick from Beamer and frowning at him. "What do you think you are doing?"

  Beamer stood there, confused and scared by the sudden reaction from Arcene. "What? I did nothing wrong."

  Arcene leaned on the long stick and stared down at the scared child, emotions bouncing from sympathy to anger at not only him but also at his father for not teaching him respect. She was also a little annoyed at herself — she had done worse things at his age. With one glaring difference: there was no guardian to tell her what was right or wrong, she had to figure it out for herself for a long time.

  "Arcene?" Beamer shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, waiting with trepidation for Arcene to speak.

  Her reverie of herself as a young girl broken, Arcene swiped the stick fast across Beamer's behind. "There."

  "Ow! What did you do that for?" Shocked, Beamer put his hands to his backside. The tears fell.

  Arcene knew it had been a mild smack, it was the fact she'd done it at all, more than the pain. Still, she surprised herself. "Not nice, is it?"

  Beamer shook his head, eyes averted. "No."

  "How do you think the flowers feel, you whacking their heads off for no good reason?"

  "They're just flowers," said Beamer in confusion.

  "Just flowers. They aren't 'just' flowers, they are flowers. Nothing is a 'just,' everything is important, as significant as the next thing. Look what you've done." Arcene pointed back the way they'd come, their passage through the beautiful flowers a wobbly line of devastation. He'd been thwacking his stick back and forth, destroying everything in his path.

  Beamer looked at the trail of destruction nonplussed. "What difference does it make?"

  "All the difference in the world Beamer. Everything you do has meaning. Did you think about all the bees when you destroyed all those flowers? Did you think about the butterflies and all the insects living here, the fact that bees need the flowers to live, to make honey?"

  "Um, no," said Beamer, getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

  He doesn't know what's going on, he doesn't understand. "Did you even know that bees need flowers to make honey?"

  "No, never thought about it. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be bad."

  "I think it's time for a little story." Arcene thought back to years ago when she had been told a story of an ant and how important it was to pay mind to everything you did,
to consider the consequences, and how the tale made her open her eyes to how interconnected the world was.

  "A story? What, now?"

  They had been walking since early morning, making good time approaching the city, taking Beamer home, so Arcene felt it was an ideal time to take a break, maybe have a snack of some cold meat, and she could tell Beamer her story.

  Strange, being the one to tell a story, this would be her first to anyone but her son — normally it was her listening to stories told to her. There was no denying it: she was growing up whether she liked it or not. She wasn't a child any longer, no matter how hard she clung to her wild and carefree ways.

  I'm turning into an old woman.

  "Yes, now. Shall we sit down?"

  "Here?"

  "Yes," said an exasperated Arcene, "here."

  Arcene called Leel, who returned eagerly, the long stems of the flowers and various grasses showing her progress. She unpacked a few supplies for their mid-morning snack and then they sat down, lost amid the flowers and the insects going about their busy days.

  "First, I want to say that it's not nice to go about whacking stuff for the sake of it. You should think about what you do, not break things with no good reason. Did you have one?"

  "I said I was sorry. Please don't hit me again." Beamer looked scared. What was wrong with her?

  "And I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have done that. I would never hit you to hurt you. It was just to snap you out of being mean, to make you think about what you were doing. Sorry."

  "That's okay," said Beamer, seemingly perking up as he munched on the remains of the rabbit they'd eaten for breakfast.