Land of Shadows (The Legend of the Gate Keeper Book 1) (6 page)

“Of course I am. Someone will need to pick you up off the ground,” said Eric, returning the huge grin. “So you think I might lose, do you?” his friend replied with his hands held out wide and one eyebrow raised. He then began pacing back and forth, still holding the sarcastic pose with his eyes looking up, fixed on nothing as he said, “I suppose it’s possible, no matter how unlikely. I could fall and injure myself before the competition ever begins. Lightning could strike me in the head four consecutive times before lunch time. Demons might fly out of the sky and—”

“Alright, by the gods,” Eric said, laughing into the back of his hand. “I said I will watch, now go and get ready. I’ve got to clean up here and get ready myself. I’ll see you there,” he said, already looking around the booth, deciding what to take care of first. After putting all his tools away and sweeping the black ash from the floor, Eric took one last long look down the street. He pulled down the light cage that covered the side openings of the booth and locked it.

Eric lived only a short distance away, but it took longer than usual to walk there, given how the streets and walkways were beginning to fill up quickly. People were putting the last touches on their wagons. Final streamers and decorations were being hung wherever there was still a place to put them.

Children were running in the streets, laughing and waving pinwheels around, trying to make them spin faster before their parents came to scoop them up and bring them back to the walkway, which was where they were supposed to be all along.

When he got back home and walked inside, his father was sitting in front of the fireplace, slumped over in a chair with his head in his hands. He didn’t even seem to notice Eric walk in.

The living room was rather modest-looking, sporting wooden floors and furniture. There was a simple table made of pine, and four matching chairs. The wooden couch and large chair were decorated with brown cushions that were handmade by Henry years ago and still served well enough. The fireplace was quite large, with candles and little wooden figurines on the platform above the hearth.

Eric strolled up to his dad, who still didn’t seem to notice him. “Dad?” he said in barely a whisper, leaning down close to his father’s ear. “I’m going to get ready to go out. You shouldn’t just sit here. I think you will have fun. The celebration will be everywhere. Just step out for a while.”

Eric stood there for a minute, until the silence became unbearable. He sighed and turned to walk upstairs to his room.

“You know, I didn’t say happy nameday last week,” Henry said in a soft voice, not looking up, with his head still in his hands. “Twenty years old. I can’t believe it’s here already.”

It was true. Eric had turned twenty years last week. He and his dad never celebrated or even spoke of it. This was not that unusual, though. As he had gotten older, they had acknowledged his nameday less and less, but this was the first year his dad had not said anything at all.

Not knowing exactly what to say, Eric ambled up the stairs to his room and sat on his bed for a moment. Why was his dad acting stranger and stranger every day? Eric loved his father, but did not know how to tell what was really bothering him or how to get through to him.

He just sighed and looked around the room at his simple set of belongings. A wooden dresser stood against one wall. A small mirror attached to the top of the dresser, and one plain wooden chair sitting in the corner, were about all that could be seen. Eric sat in that chair frequently to read by the light of his old lantern. Not his usual studies that he would read downstairs at the table, but his private collection of adventure books that he had loved since he was a child. He loved stories of folk whose lives were exciting and had meaning, where the fate of the world rested in their hands.

Deciding it would be best to just clean up for Sanctas and try not to think about anything else, he stripped down and bent over his washbowl, splashing about. After disappearing into his closet for a few minutes, he returned wearing his favorite black pants with a white collared shirt and red vest. Black leather boots completed the outfit. He admired himself in the mirror one last time, flipping his curly hair out of his eyes before heading back downstairs.

Taking a last look towards his dad, who seemed to be frozen in time, still sitting in his chair with his head in his hands, Eric just shook his head as he walked past him.

Loud music and the sounds of celebration could be heard through the house long before he got to the door. Stepping onto the walkway was like entering another world entirely. Folk were dancing in the streets, waving brightly colored ribbons and banners.

Folk kept running up to Eric and shoving food items into his arms. Old Lady Smithies ran up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she shoved a large apple into his hand. Before he could say anything, she had already run off, but her presence was quickly replaced by the butcher, Mr. Humpry, who shoved a fresh sausage with bun into his free hand while hugging him with the other. Not a single word was exchanged other than a warm smile, and he was off as quickly as he came.

As much as Eric loved the warm exchanges, he needed to get to the other side of town, where the tournaments were taking place. He lightly pushed his way through the crowded streets, staying towards the center of the road, where it was the least congested.

The sides of the road were packed with folk set up in mini shops and wagons with the tarps pulled back. They were giving away food and tiny trinkets for the children. Horns were blowing and drums were being beaten—sometimes to an actual song. Others just tried to make as much joyous noise as they could. Jugglers created small patches of space here and there, the crowd giving them just enough room to perform their craft. The ones juggling lit torches were given a bit more.

Eric could see he would have to adjust his route when he saw what appeared to be a parade of some kind coming right at him. It was hard to tell exactly what the commotion was, given how dense the crowd had become and how limited his forward sight was now. As he slowly shoved his way to the side of the street, the source of the commotion became much more apparent. A long, lizard-type puppet was dancing along as it slowly made its way down the street. The giant yellow head seemed completely animated, with a mouth that kept opening and closing as eyes with black eyelashes gazed around, blinking repeatedly. Various sections of the long green body danced up and down in no particular pattern as people pointed and cheered. It was hard to tell how many folk were controlling the dance under the giant puppet, but it seemed it had to be twenty or so.

After letting the spectacle pass by, Eric continued to push through the dense crowd, constantly bumping into people but getting nothing but a smile in return for his trouble. It was about this time that it really hit him how many strangers were here. He knew almost everyone in town, but there were so many faces he didn’t recognize. Even considering the local farmers that had come for the festival, it still seemed a large number of people he couldn’t place.
They must have traveled from Denark and maybe even as far as Athsmin. Very dangerous to travel that far just for Sanctas
, he thought.

The local farmers lived in relative safety because of the militia Lord Pike sent out just to patrol the local area regularly. They were instructed to change their route every day just in case it was being monitored by someone or something. But anyone traveling from another town was really on their own. Eric could not see risking life and limb for a local festival.

Before he knew it, he could see the platform up ahead that had been set up days ago for the local events. Getting closer, he could now observe the activity taking place high up on the canvas stage.

Two knights, each wearing full plate mail, were clanging away at each other. The choreography was brilliant, as they had practiced for weeks leading up to this one event. The first had silver plate mail with a green tree painted on the breastplate. He carried a golden shield with a red half-moon in one hand, and a long sword in the other.

The second knight was clearly playing the part of evil. His armor consisted of jet-black plate mail with a red skull painted on the breastplate. He carried no shield, but spun a black morning star in each hand. The spiked balls of death whirled around him in circles until he changed the pattern to figure eights then back to circles again, attacking at all the right moments to have the weapons bounce hard but harmlessly off the other knight’s shield. Then he would go on the defensive and work the morning stars into looping circles to deflect the long sword’s attacks. The weapons were real, so the dance had to be perfect, which it was.

The crowd here was mostly children cheering and clapping every time the golden knight pressed the attack, while booing loudly with their thumbs down each time the dark knight did. Eric only watched for a minute, admiring the dance for what it was, but he had to keep moving on to the next area. He had made a promise to a friend, which he intended to keep.

It was hard to approach the roped-off circle. The crowd here was densely packed in, waving their arms and cheering. When Lord Pike stepped into the homemade ring, which was nothing more than a series of posts dug into the ground with two ropes that attached them all, wild clapping and whistling followed. He waited a moment to let the crowd settle. When it appeared they were not going to calm down any time soon, he gestured with his hands, palms facing down to try to quiet what was increasingly becoming a mob. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a booming voice to try to overpower the many that were still hooting and whistling, “we now present our annual quarterstaff competition.”

The now re-energized crowd boomed with applause and shouting.

Lord Pike tried his best to talk over them. “We have a special challenge lined up this year, unlike any show we have ever done.”

That did the trick. After the collective shocked sound of air being taken in by everyone at once, it seemed as if you could hear a pin drop.

“In this corner I present the challengers, Amos, Brant and Cory Brendon—the Brendon brothers.”

Confused clapping began slowly as three enormous young boys stepped under the ropes. All three were blond and muscular, with very similar faces. It was clear they were brothers, possibly triplets. Each held a staff of his own. To make matters even more confusing, they were each shirtless and wearing the exact same loose brown pants, making them look identical.

Lord Pike continued, “In this corner I present the defending champion, who has agreed to fight all three challengers at once. I present the champion...Jacob Couture.”

What?
Eric thought.
Is he crazy?
The collective gasp from the crowd echoed his thoughts.

Just then, Jacob climbed under the other side of the rope with his staff in hand. Arrogantly, he leaned on the rope with one elbow as he began whispering in the ear of a young girl just outside of the makeshift ring. Then, after giving her a soft kiss on the cheek, which made the poor girl turn ten shades of red, he slowly stepped to the center of the ring with his staff held loosely over one shoulder. He then looked each opponent directly in the eye one at a time, holding each gaze for several seconds, bringing a collective gasp from the crowd. Finally, he slowly drifted back to his corner, twirling his staff above his head with skill and grace.

Lord Pike shuffled back to the center of the ring wearing a sheepish grin. “The rules are the same as every year. Three knockdowns or a knockout wins the match. Wait for the bell, boys, and let me get out of the way.”

A little chuckle rippled through the crowd as the lord hurried out of the roped-off area. The bell rang with a single hollow clang.

Jacob charged to the center of the ring before coming to a dead stop. He then dropped down to one knee, keeping his staff pointed right at the brothers. He resembled a coiled snake waiting to strike.

The three opponents looked a bit confused. They had been warned of Jacob’s skill, but his aggression made no sense. He had taken the center of the ring before any of them had even moved, even though he was outnumbered. However, he looked defensive now in that low stance, waiting for one of them to make a move.

The brother in the middle did, but regretted it almost immediately. Charging forward with his staff held high, he brought it down hard at Jacob’s head. Jacob simply caught the blow using the middle of his staff, then immediately struck the head of his large but slow pursuer with the right, then with the left side of his staff.

The big man staggered back a step, just in time to take blows to his left knee, his right knee, then an upward slash to his lower jaw, all in a fraction of a second. The challenger was unconscious before he ever hit the ground. The other two, realizing how desperate the situation had just become, jumped over their fallen brother and rushed Jacob from both sides. He recognized the flanking tactic and quickly put his back to the ropes to keep his assailants at least mostly in front of him. He found out quickly that the girls behind him were no less aggressive as they groped and pinched away, but he needed to hold this position.

The two brothers were not without skill, attacking at high then low intervals to try to break through his guard, but Jacob blocked every blow with ease, whirling his staff back and forth, high and low, solidly parrying every blow. Suddenly, he lunged forward, using his staff to pole vault, splitting the two as he soared through the air.

Jacob kicked the one on the right squarely in the nose as he his flight reached its zenith. The roar of the crowd was deafening now as Jacob turned on the other opponent, unleashing a furious barrage of twirling attacks both high and low, each landing so squarely that the man just dropped to the ground, curling up into a defensive ball and covering his head and the back of his neck with his hands. None of the blows were delivered with devastating power, but the speed and accuracy were so ferocious that the attacker felt completely overwhelmed.