by Ben Walsh
Chapter Seven
The next hour or so passed by in a blur. Stan and Marvin were separated and escorted to their houses by several burly farmers and guards, and given a few minutes to pack their possessions. The walk there had passed in slow motion and at the same time felt like it had lasted just seconds.
Stan didn’t know how to feel or what he was going to do. He heard whispers and saw pointing as he walked through the streets, but his mind was too filled with questions to take any of it in. Where was he going to go? What would he do? Was his father angry?
The last of those questions was answered as he walked through his door for what he assumed to be the last time, and saw his father sat in his rocking chair. The instant he saw Stan, he shot up and embraced him for the first time in years. Stan felt tears rolling down his neck and tried to wipe his eyes, but found them dry and realised they were not in fact his tears. That made everything seem more real, and suddenly Stan too found himself crying, his body shaking. The moment felt like it lasted an eternity, but eventually his father pulled away and squatted down to look him in the eye.
“This isn’t your fault at all Stan, never blame yourself,” he braved, trying to force a smile. “You and Marvin, you look after each other. You’re good together. Now you go to my brother’s, your Uncle Eli in Tristep. He’ll look after you, he’ll get you a job in one of the castles and you’ll be alright.”
Stan stepped back and took a few moments to take in the information.
“But who’s going to look after you, Dad?” Stan’s eyes began to well up again at the realisation of the fact that his Dad had lost both of his sons within a few days of each other, and his wife just years before.
“I’ll be alright mate, who knows, maybe one day I’ll come and visit you and my big brother, it’s about time I laughed at that stupid voice of his!” That made them both laugh, but Stan knew deep down that he would never have the time or money to travel halfway across the kingdom to come and visit him.
In the background, a guard cleared his throat in an unnecessarily loud and obvious manner, clearly indicating their time together was coming to an end.
They both glared at him, causing the guard to blush and look away.
“Here, I’ve put your things together for you,” he continued, handing Stan a bag of clothes, “and I’ve packed you food and a few extras. Come here and I’ll show you,” urging his son towards a table.
On the table were several items Stan hadn’t ever known to have existed, and he was momentarily bemused, and turned to look at his father, questioningly. For on the table was a large bottle of whisky, a larger, circular shield with a weird looking lion on the front and most surprisingly of all, a small but deadly looking sword, which glistened as the sun shone on it.
“Erm, Dad…?”Stan questioned, unsure as to where to begin.
“The sword’s your Grandfather’s, my old man’s, he fought in the Battle of Gildyhorn with it and it didn’t do too badly for him there. It might be small, but that’s an advantage, it means it can squeeze into spaces that a larger sword couldn’t. It’s lighter too, means you won’t get as tired using it.” He ducked as he said this, as Stan spun the sword round in his hand before dropping it to the floor with a loud clunk.
“Yes, maybe practise with it too. The shield isn’t amazing quality but again it got your Grandfather through Gildyhorn so it should be good enough for you!”
“But Dad, why would I need these?” Stan asked, looking confused.
“Stan,” His father began in a suddenly very serious tone, “Oadford is an isolated, lonely village. We don’t bother anyone and they don’t bother us. Out there, there are creatures and enemies you couldn’t even begin to imagine. Now I’m sure you’ll be fine but just in case, I don’t want my only remaining son unarmed. You stay clear of the main path, that’s what the looters and goblins use. But at the same time don’t stray too far, or you’ll never find your way.”
Stan went cold all of a sudden, and his father’s stare made him feel uneasy.
“Yeah, but that’s not gonna happen right?”
“No Stan, you’re going to be just fine. Just remember what I said, stay clear of the main path and trust NO-BODY.”
“I got it Dad,” Stan replied, as he placed the sword back into its sheath and strapped it on, “But what’s the whisky for, don’t you think I’m a little young?”
“No Stan it’s for cuts, pour it over an open wound and it’ll stop infection from setting in,” his father replied, laughing, “You can use it to help you light a fire too. Although that might not be a great idea, it’ll make you stick out like a sore thumb. If there’s still some left when you arrive, give it to Eli, and don’t you dare touch a drop of it!”
Again the guard cleared his throat, this time much more definitively, and Stan knew his time was up. He gave his father one final embrace, before strapping on his bag and turning to leave.
As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice the drinks cabinet, completely bare. Stan turned back, startled.
“That’s the last bottle I’m ever buying, so you make sure you don’t lose it!” His father said, with a cheeky wink, slipping his hands into his pockets.
With that, the guards hooked their arms around Stan’s and escorted him down the stairs, towards the village gates. Stan knew better than to resist, but tried desperately to turn back, for one last glimpse of his home, but the guards were too strong, and forced him away.
The crowd had thinned considerably by now, but there was still a good number who had gathered to ensure the two boys left the village for good.
Stan saw Marvin, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his blubbers and resorting to wiping his eyes and nose with his sleeve. To the left, a large man whom Stan knew to be Marvin’s father held his wife, whose usually cheery face gazed absently into the distance, all the colour drained from it. The mayor was mid-conversation when he spotted Stan’s arrival, and quickly broke away to come over to him, urging over Marvin too.
“Boys,” he said, bending down and lowering his voice to speak at a level only they could hear, “I hate that things have come to this, but I have no alternative. You have ruined our livelihood; because of your actions many more lives may be ended. If anything I am sending you out for your own safety, as there will certainly be attempts on your lives if you stay here. This is the only choice.”
With this Marvin let a sob slip out, and the Mayor glared at him before leaning to Stan’s ear to whisper.
“Stan, don’t tell Marvin this but the roads are dangerous. I see you have a sword, practise with it, for you’re going to need it. I always knew you had something about you, you know, and I hate that I won’t get to see your potential blossom. I hope it is enough to see you through this passage safely.”
Stan nodded and cleared his throat, trying to take in the warning both his father and mayor had given him.
“Boys,” the Mayor exclaimed as he stood up, loudly now for all to hear, “this was once your home. But it is no longer. You are hereby banished for all of time, and trespassing onto the lands of Oadford will result in death. Leave us now, and never return!”
The crowd began to cheer and shout at them, and the guards shoved them through the gate which slowly began to close behind them. Stan turned back in time to see his father watching from a distance, but before he could wave a final goodbye the crowd had formed a barrier between them, to drive the boys out.
As they left, the Mayor chuckled to himself, thinking ‘unless you find a way to beat that darn dragon’, before turning back to begin addressing the crisis his village found itself in.