Chad laughed. “He would know, wouldn’t he?” He sobered. “Seriously, man, we’re gonna miss you.”
“You know how I know you’re gay, Chad?” Mike said, smirking. “You just said that with a straight face. If you two decide to make out, I’m leaving.”
“Shit.” Brandon said, laughing. “I’m getting all misty eyed.” They all laughed.
“This is crap, guys.” Mike said, looking at the two of them. “We’re sitting here playing with our noodles and this is our last night together. We should be out doing something. Running around? Partying? We could go out and try to pick up some girls?”
Chad chuckled. “And what girls do you want to go pick up? Because, the last time I checked, my little black book was a little on the empty side.”
Mike shrugged. “The best kind, warm and willing, beats pretty any day of the week. At least, that’s what my grandpa says.”
“So wrong, brother. So wrong.” Brandon said, shaking his head and laughing. He looked at his two friends, his best friends, and felt a pang of fear. For the first time since his uncle arrived, he began to realize that he wasn’t going to be with his friends anymore. He might not even see them again, not for a long time. Brandon said, meeting the gazes of the best friends he had. “It’s gonna suck, guys. It really is going to suck.”
His friends looked at him, nodding their heads. Chad smiled, his eyes tightening. “That’s why they made phones.”
“And the Internet.” Mike chimed in. “We can always chat and use the web-cam.”
“What, for something other than videotaping yourself masturbating?” Chad said, laughing. Mike gave him the finger, but he was laughing too.
Brandon shook his head, laughing too. He said. “We can Facebook, I guess. I still haven’t found a cell phone that will work for me.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that anyway, bro?” Chad said. He took out his cell and slid it across the table to Brandon. “I get full bars here, how about you?”
Brandon picked up his friend’s cell phone and thumbed it on in time to watch the signal drop from 5 bars down to nothing. No signal. It was the same every time he picked up a cell phone. For some reason, they lost signal around him. It was the same for his dad. Something in the electrical chemistry of their bodies, he used to say, a Merryweather thing.
He slid the phone back to his friend. “Like I said, we can talk on Facebook. And I’m sure my uncle’s got a land line at his house.”
Mike laughed. “Shit, we’ll write letters if we have to.”
Chad nodded and smiled at the waitress as she brought the check. She was a girl they went to school with. She smiled at Chad then gave Brandon the sad eyes.
“I’m so sorry about your parents, Bran.” She sounded sincere, though Brandon couldn’t remember ever talking to her before.
“Thanks.” He said, trying hard to remember her name without looking at the tag on her shirt. She gave him a smile and left with their money and the check. Chad and Mike watched her walk away then turned and blinked wide eyes at Brandon.
“You see what you’re moving away from, my friend?” Mike said, shaking his head. He looked at Chad and whistled softly.
Chad laughed and rolled his eyes.
It went on like that until they left the burger joint. They drove over to Mike’s house, ribbing each other the whole way. They hung out, making fun of one another, and tried not to choke up or cry like little babies. They sat in Mike’s living room, playing Halo and Call Of Duty, talking shit to each other and to the people they played online against.
Mike’s mom checked on them a little after midnight. She poked her head into the living room, to ask if they were going to sleep any time soon, but stopped. She watched the three boys as they talked and felt a pang of worry for Brandon. He was such a good kid, a moral kid. More mature than her son and his friends. Easing the door closed, she left them to their antics, going back to her bedroom and her sleeping husband.
Outside, the rain began to come down in drizzling spurts. Not wanting to quit, but not getting any worse. Lightning flashed in the distance, the hollow rumble of thunder following in its wake.
Gerrick stood in the living room of his dead brother’s house, watching the rain beat against the big picture window. He drank hot tea with a little honey and milk as he watched the rain fall, standing unmoving and silent.
He could feel the boy, somewhere to the South and West. Not far. When he thought of the boy, he didn’t quite trust his feelings on the matter. Brandon was definitely his father’s son. Gerrick thought of the things that he found in Stephen’s office, the journal. The notes on the prophecy. He thought about destroying them, but that would be robbing Brandon of a part of his father that he had never known about. And Gerrick knew that Brandon would need that knowledge soon.
How long before that happened? He sipped his tea and stiffened as lightning struck, not two hundred feet from the front porch. The air scorched and sizzled. He smelled ozone, even in the living room.
How long did he have? He could feel time slipping away, like sands in the hourglass, but knew that he had to be patient. Brandon had to be prepared for what he would someday face. He wouldn’t let the boy be taken unawares.
He wouldn’t let him end up like his father.
The boy had his grandfather in him, as well, and that would stand him well in the days to come. It had to. Gerrick was only one man, the last of his kind and a nation to himself. Babysitting a king was time consuming work. Teaching a king to be a warrior took even more time. They would have to start soon, though.
Chapter 3
The demon, Sha’ha’Zel, stood in the rain, the water running off of his hat and raincoat, and watched the Merryweather house. He stood in the shadows underneath the limbs of a great oak growing in the front yard of the house across the street. A tire swing was tied to one of the tree’s heavier branches. He watched the house and thought of the boy, Brandon. The child was not inside. He was at a companion’s house, saying his goodbyes to his former life. Unaware of the dangerous turn his world had taken.
Sha’ha’Zel was known by many other names, most unpronounceable by human tongues. Most often called The Living Curse or Walking Curse, he stood apart from other demons of this world for many reasons, but the first and foremost was that once upon a time, he had been a man. But that was an age ago, in a time long forgotten, before the War, before the coming of the Shadow and the demise of the old gods.
The Curse stood in the downpour, letting the wind and rain whip at his clothing as his ancient enemy tried her best to scorch his exposed flesh. Every so often, a gust of wind would kick some of the rain up under the low brow of his hat, where it scorched his face. He ignored it. It was a pain he was used to after more than twenty years of wandering this wet and miserable world. But if the rain came any harder, he would be forced to find shelter.
“Hateful bitch.” He whispered to the rain. His voice was soft and unaccented. It wasn’t its usual low rumble. He was in the human form that he used when he wandered the world, not his true shape. The fleshy shroud was as comfortable as a well-worn pair of boots. He had other, less used, disguises, but this one was his favorite.
He could feel the warrior, waiting inside the house. The part of it that used to be human was amazed to find the last Knight of the Towers walking this world of automobiles and airplanes, even more so, to find him protecting the boy. The Tower Knight wasn’t far from a half-trained wolf, dangerous and unpredictable. Sha’ha’Zel decided that a soft step would be more prudent than an all-out strike. He would wait.
Wait for the boy to become a man.
And while he waited, he would take the time to educate the boy and his guardian. He would teach them the meaning of fear. Thunder rumbled in the distance, sounding like the hoof beats of a thousand horses, and Sha’ha’Zel’s smile wilted. Smiles didn’t fit on his face right, anyway. Not anymore.
She was still a factor, at least in this world. She would have to be dealt with.
&n
bsp; The time would come.
His time would come.
Chapter 4
The King County Airport was crowded. Brandon followed closely behind his uncle, his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder, and tried not to trip over his own feet. Their other luggage was being delivered by the moving service. He felt awkward, moving through the terminal like an invalid. Like somebody awakened from a ten-year coma.
Brandon was born in Washington. Except for family vacations, he hadn’t spent more than a week anywhere else. It was his home. And now he was leaving. Would he ever come back? He didn’t know. His parent’s house belonged to him now. Gerrick told him on the drive to the airport. It would still be here for him to claim when he felt he was ready.
When he was grown up and finished his training in the ways of adulthood. Brandon still found it funny that he was on his way to Oklahoma to learn how to be a man from a guy that looked like a professional wrestler. It should have been his father teaching him how to take care of himself. Not his uncle.
Though he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from, Brandon could almost feel eyes following him and his uncle through the crowded terminal. If his uncle felt it, he didn’t show it. Gerrick didn’t seem to miss much, so Brandon chalked up the feeling to nervousness. Gerrick walked along, his sunglasses glinting in the light. He seemed to be aware of everything around him.
Brandon expected them to be hassled as they boarded, mostly because of his uncle’s dark complexion and brooding presence. They went through the baggage checks and metal detectors with ease though, carrying their shoes in one hand and the little boxes with their possessions in the other. Nobody attempted to stop them or give them a full body search.
At the boarding gate, Brandon looked at Gerrick and said. “When do you think I’ll get to come back and see my friends?” The big man’s mouth twitched in that almost smile and he replied in a hushed voice. “Already homesick?”
“No.” Brandon said, keeping his voice level. His anger had returned while they were driving to the airport and he wasn’t sure if he could control it. Or if he wanted to. “I was just wondering if I would ever get to see my friends or family again. Or if this is the last time I’ll ever visit the place where I was born?”
Gerrick was quiet for a long time. Brandon didn’t think he was going to answer, but the big man took off his sunglasses and met Brandon’s gaze. His black eyes looked sad. “That’s a very good question. And not an easy one to answer.”
“What makes it so hard?” Brandon said, trying to keep his voice even. “It seems like a pretty simple question to me? Will I ever come back to Washington?”
“Of course you will.” Gerrick said, his voice soft. “But it’ll never be home again. Do you really see yourself coming back here, living in your parent’s house? Picking up your life where you left off?”
Brandon didn’t say anything. Gerrick put his sunglasses back on and nodded. He said. “When you’re ready. You’ll come back.”
Brandon nodded, content to let the subject drop. Otherwise, he was going to start screaming. And a crowded airport was no place to start screaming. Not if you didn’t want to end up in a small room with a rectal probe poking you in the kidneys while Homeland Security tried to locate the explosives that just had to be hiding inside your holiest of holes.
Brandon boarded the plane, following closely behind his uncle, and when it took off, he didn’t even look out of the window for a last look. He didn’t need to. Seattle wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter 5
Matheson was in Southeastern Oklahoma. In Leflore County, Mike’s brother would have been proud to hear. It was a good-sized town of about 35,000 people, built around a long clear lake. Just “The Lake” to the locals, but in the big road atlas that Brandon brought from home it was labeled Briar Lake. The town circled the lake, with sprawling parks and lots of docks and public access spots for swimming. It felt like a resort town. A seasonal place for city people to flock to during the summer months and the cold winter holidays.
“There are ten parks, all situated around the lake.” Gerrick said from the front seat of the Taxi. They landed at the airport in Fort Smith, Arkansas as the sun was going down. Matheson was a border town and Fort Smith had the closest airport that could handle bigger planes. It was getting dark when they left the airport and climbed into a waiting taxi. The cab driver, a fat bald man, didn’t say much during the drive. Not after telling Gerrick that he couldn’t ride in the front seat, only to be completely ignored. He just drove, hoping for a big tip and knowing there probably wouldn’t be one. But also knowing that the ride was going to cost the big man.
It was full dark when they cruised into Matheson. Sitting alone in the backseat, Brandon nodded his head, barely listening to his uncle‘s running commentary, and peered at the dark streets of his new home. They circled around the lake, following the main drag north, until turning off onto a road marked Queen Ave. Brandon saw some of the regular places that you saw in towns. A McDonalds. A Sonic. All the stuff that made a place like Matheson remotely bearable to a city kid. There was a Wal-Mart at the edge of town, not too far from the Grade school and the High School, which they passed on Queen. They kept going South, until reaching Bachman Road. They turned, passing a sign that proudly proclaimed Dead End.
“We going the right way?” The driver asked, breaking his long silence.
“Not far, now.” Gerrick replied. “The house at the end of the road.” The driver grunted. Whether in understanding or disgruntlement, Brandon didn’t know. About a half-mile down the lane, they turned right and went over a rock bridge and through a gated wall. The gate was open, as if somebody awaited them. The wall was about three feet tall and made of the same rock as the bridge. It looked like a border. Not anything designed to keep people out.
“It goes all the way around the property.” Gerrick said, reading Brandon’s face and thoughts. “Almost 200 acres. Nearly all of it heavily wooded. The creek we just crossed cuts a winding line across the property. Highgardern sits at the Southern boundary, as far from the town as you can get and still be in the city limits.”
The road twisted through the property, well paved and well maintained, for a little over a mile. Maybe more, but Brandon wasn’t sure. It would be a long trek if he wanted to walk to school, which was his original plan. He supposed he would still walk, as long as it didn’t get too cold or too hot.
They rounded a last long curve, after being on the road what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, and there was Highgarden, his new home. It was a long tough looking structure, built from the same stones that composed the bridge and the wall stretching behind the house. The house sat in a small clearing, though the woods seemed to be trying to regain a foothold on the land. The trees stretched their long limbs over the house and circular driveway. There was no garage, but you didn’t really need one. In the center of the circle drive grew a sprawling Oak tree, its heavy limbs creating a natural cover, under which a forest green Lincoln Navigator was already parked.
His uncle’s, Brandon supposed.
“You’ll want to explore the property, I’m sure.” Gerrick said, climbing from the taxi even before it came to a complete stop. “If you do, don’t wander far and always be home before dark, if you can help it. If you’re too late coming in, I’ll come looking.” Brandon climbed out, stretching his back and legs. “I wouldn’t want that.” He said, smiling at his uncle. “Don’t worry, boss. I haven’t gotten lost yet. And I’m a big boy.”
“Even big boys can die of exposure.” Gerrick said, giving the lid of the taxi’s trunk a smart rap. Grumbling under his breath, the driver popped the trunk open from where he sat behind the wheel. Gerrick pulled out the two bags, tossing Brandon his, and shut the trunk. Gerrick paid the driver, giving him a generous tip, despite the man’s attitude, and waited for the taillights to recede into the trees before turning back to Brandon. “Welcome to your new home, Bran. Welcome to Highgarden.”
“There are six sle
eping chambers.” Gerrick said, leading the way into the main entry hall. The place felt more like a castle than a house. Everything seemed to be made of rock. Marble floors glittered blackly where heavy rugs didn’t cover them. A circular stair led up to the second level and Brandon expected there was probably a roof access, leading to the battlements.
“Isn’t it a little much?” Brandon said, smiling. He followed Gerrick, glancing at the walls, all of which were decorated with murals depicting ancient battles. There was also heavy weaponry displayed on racks bolted to the stone. Not all of the walls were stone. Most of the interior walls were heavy wood. Age darkened pine, or oak.
Gerrick looked at Brandon and smiled. “Your ancestors were prudent men. They believed that the family needed a safe haven, for when times got rough. A place where they could go to ground, if their enemies came in force.”
“Some family.” Brandon said softly. “You and me are the last of them, right? That doesn’t say much for this safe haven, does it?”
Gerrick looked at the boy and laughed. “Good point. But it is a good place to hole up if you’re going to make a last stand, don’t you think?” Brandon shrugged, glancing at a long spear that hung on the wall. It was tipped with a full two feet of steel. The blade was carved with strange looping swirls. Other weapons were stored in glass cases around the rooms. They were placed decoratively, but Brandon couldn’t help but feel like he was in an armory, waiting for the battle to begin.
There were 6 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a main entry hall, a dining hall, a large library, a massive kitchen, and a handful of other rooms used for storage and display inerooms. Highgarden was enormous. The halls alone could be used as full sized rooms. There were probably hidden passages, Brandon figured. No castle would be complete without secret stairways and peepholes behind paintings. And a dungeon, buried somewhere underneath all that stone and heavy wood.
Rain Of Stone (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 1) Page 3