The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2) (16 page)

Miles shrugs. “My father has four motor buggies like that, only better. He got them last year.”

“I’ve only seen a few last summer,” Pard says. “I wish I could ride in one—looks fun.”

“Yeah, it’s all right, I guess.” Miles skips down the stairs and slaps the buggy’s back metal box compartment with his palm.

The buggy rocks back and forth and the driver’s side door opens. The portly man inside shifts his heavy weight and the springs of the buggy creak, then he wiggles out of the carriage.

Pard tilts his head to the side as he thinks he recognizes the back of the mayor’s head.

“Nice buggy,” Miles says, slapping the box again. “Almost as nice as my father’s—at least the worst of the lot he owns.”

“Don’t touch the paint—” Mayor Barrow says, turning around. He glares at Miles with disdain.

Pard skips down the stairs and hides his face.

Miles shrugs, smirks, and pats the buggy’s side door.

The mayor scowls, and then it suddenly transitions as something comes over him. “Lord Marlow.”

Miles winks at the mayor and contorts his hand into a gun and points it at the mayor. “Mayor.”

“Yes, yes, good day to you, Lord Marlow.” The mayor rounds the back of the buggy and ascends the stairs up to Fairstone.

Miles bows in a mocking way. “And good day to you, mayor.” Miles turns away from Fairstone and runs after Pard who is already passing through the Fairstone main gate leading out of the school grounds. “Hey, wait up.”

Pard doesn’t slow.

Miles jumps past Pard and slides on the icy road. Miles does a twirl in front of Pard like a figure skater and comes to a stop with arms open wide. “Ta-da.”

Pard shakes his head in disgust and passes Miles without looking at him. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Always messing with people and pushing the limits of what you can get away with?”

“
Umm
—because I can. And you’d be surprised what I can get away with.”

Pard snorts.

“
What
?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

Miles skips into the lead and they veer to the right off the main road as they reach the edge of the lake. They enter a winding trail through the thick pine forest moving farther away from Fairstone and Greysin.
 

Pard’s feet trudge through the deep snow rising to mid-calf. Each step a labor, but his body warms from the exertion. “Where did you say we’re going?”

“I didn’t say,” Miles says, blazing a good ten paces ahead of Pard, his longer legs cutting through the deep snow with ease.

The grade of the trail steepens and the pine trees thin.
 

Miles breaks off to the right and leaves the trail behind. Ahead, boulders and scrubby brush and small bands of rocky outcrop poke out of the snow. The bands of rock continue to rise and widen, forming small cliffs and overhangs with sword-like icicles drooping over the edges.

“It’s right up ahead,” Miles says. Miles points to a large overhang barren of snow underneath, big enough to fit three of the mayor’s buggies under the roof and be out of the elements. Miles steps over a wide snow berm and enters the dirt floor under the rock ceiling. He opens his arms, does a spin, and looks up while nodding. “Cool, eh?”

Pard lunges over the berm. “Yeah, nice. I’ve never been back this far in the forest. I usually just circle the lake.”

“I found out about this place two years ago. My older brother and some of the other guys used to come up here with their girlfriends. But anyway, this morning I remembered I saw something here that might interest you.”

“Really? So you going to tell me or keep me waiting?”

Miles hikes up a slope away from Pard and makes for a large crack wide enough to fit inside. “The cave is right here, I think it has Ruen symbols painted on the walls. I saw a symbol in that book of yours and I was trying to think of where I saw it. Then I remembered and came out here earlier to check it out. And there it was, right on the rock face just as I remembered.”

“Really?” Pard says, a tinge of excitement and surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, follow me.”
 

Miles wedges his way through the dark crack, and Pard follows him inside.

“It’s right up here.”

The cave opens into a medium-sized room with high ceilings. Periodic spots on the wall are scorched with deep black soot from many years of fires. The cave is muted, only small amounts of light seep in, but it’s enough to see the walls and each other.

Pard examines the red-and-black petroglyphs of figures holding spears painted on the rock; and underneath, Rue letters and En symbols. “Dang, this place is really cool, thanks for showing me this, Miles.”

“No problem. So can you read any of it?”

“I recognize some of the symbols. See, Ruen is funny, you have to know Rue, but you also have to know what the symbol for En is and all the different meanings it may represent. The same symbol can mean one word, or an entire legend, it’s all about the context and how much language and history you know.”

“Well, you’re the right man for the job, you know all sorts of things.”

Pard chuckles, tracing one of the symbols and rock with his finger. “Hardly. But anyway, I think this here says the men of the Nur Clan joined forces with,
umm
, I’m not sure, someone else, and they fought a tyrant king who invaded their lands, and they somehow defeated him. So, I think this cave is a sacred place where they depicted their victory.”

“Short on details, Professor Wenerly. I expected more from you after I dragged your butt all the way out here.”

“Sorry, it’s not like an elaborate translated text, and if I understood a few of these En symbols, which I don’t recognize and they probably relate to legends of ancestors, it would give me more information. I just don’t know what they mean. This drives me so crazy sometimes. Why couldn’t I have learned more before my mother died. If she was here, I bet she could read it easy.”

“No worries, I understand,” Miles says.

 
Pard forces a smile. “But it’s still brilliant, though. Thanks a lot for showing me, I mean it.”

Miles nods as he points at one of the figures holding a spear. “He even looks like you, sorta skinny, and with all kinds of messed up hair, I bet he’s your long lost great grandfather like a hundred generations back.”

Pard laughs. “Maybe, who knows, though he’d be at least a thousand years old.”

Miles pats Pard on the back. “Speaking of years old, I have something else for you.”

“Boy, the surprises just keep coming from you, Lord Marlow. So what now?”

Miles winks at Pard, and he slips behind a small boulder and returns with both of his hands held behind his back.

Pard raises one eyebrow as he suspiciously eyes Miles. “All right, so what is it? Should I guess?”

“This.” Miles presents a new dark-brown leather backpack. A backpack so fancy it must have cost twenty times more than Pard’s old backpack. “Happy birthday.”

Pard’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Of course, I can’t have you walking through the halls of Fairstone next to me carrying that ridiculous stack of books and unruly papers raining in your wake. I’m Lord Miles Marlow, I have a reputation to uphold, you know, for appearances, a certain standard I need to keep with those who I hang out with.”

Pard’s eyes narrow. “
Who do you
hang out with? Now that I think about it—”

Miles shakes his head and waves off Pard. “Never mind that. What matters is that right now I’m hanging out with
you
, and you need a backpack, so here you go, happy birthday, professor.” Miles tosses Pard the bag and it slams into Pard’s chest.

Pard inspects the fine-crafted leather. “This is really nice, like
really really
nice.”

“Of course it is, I wouldn’t know how to buy something that isn’t nice.”

Pard chuckles. “Right. What was I thinking, I forgot.”

“Glad you like it, come on, you’ve still got Hiney’s thingy to tutor me on tonight. Let’s head back to the castle.”

“You know, I think this is the best birthday present anyone’s ever given me.”

“Lucky for you you met me.” Miles ducks out of the cave.

Pard stops for a split second, staring at the open crevice. And for the first time, without question, he fully agrees with Miles.
Yeah, I think so, I am lucky to have met you, Lord Miles Marlow
.
 

A NEW LIGHT

Sunday crawls by at a snails pace as Pard waits for his date in the library with Selby, about the only good thing he’s got going for him in his life at the moment. Pard does his best to keep his mind focused on his studies, but the upcoming trial and the thought of his mother’s locket inside of Yitch’s office way on him. Then Pard dwells on Alexa and Eeva, their faces and movements and intimidating demeanor.
Could they really be interested in what’s best for me and take me to a better place and life? Or is it a ploy?
One where Yitch pays bounty hunters to dispose of me once and for all one way or the other
?
Alexa and Eeva sure appear the part, to a point, but Yitch must’ve paid up big time because they sure aren’t any old ordinary street thugs.
They give off an air of superiority, purpose, skill, and mission that seems a little more than meets the eye for just getting paid some petty coin to dispose of a boy from a rich school
. After no answer comes to Pard, he gives up and lies flat on his bed as he stares at the ceiling. Every few minutes he glances to the side to his wooden clock ticking, the seconds moving no faster for his mental efforts.

Seven finally arrives and a knock rattles Pard’s door.

“Miles.” Pard bounces off his bed and races to the door. He opens it. “Professor Videl.”

“Pard,” the professor says in a gentlemanly way with a slight head bow.

“Come in, professor.”

“Thank you.” Professor Videl limps into the room and shuts the door.

“What can I do for you, professor?”

The professor slowly lowers his body and sits in the desk chair. “The question is, my boy, what can I do for you?”

“I don’t follow your meaning, professor.”

“You realize your hearing is coming up in less than two days?”

Pard sighs and glances away. “Yes, sir, I know, Yitch told me yesterday.”

“Headmaster Yitch,” the professor corrects.

“Yeah, him,” Pard says in a gruff tone.

“I have to admit, sitting on the hearing council I’m privy to all the evidence prior to the trial, and it doesn’t look good in your favor.”

“I know, sir, Yitch told me.”

“Headmaster Yitch,” the professor reminds Pard again, this time raising his arthritic finger.

“Yeah, him.”

“I promised your parents if anything was to happen to them I would look after you.”

“I know, sir.”

“For years I’ve made sure you had your own private quarters, and food and books and supplies, and your spot secure here at Fairstone.”

Pard lowers his head in shame. “I know, sir, and I’m grateful.”

“I can’t believe you would do such a thing.”

Pard looks the professor in his eyes, unsure of what to say; Pard can see the disappointment etched on the professor’s face. Pard doesn’t say anything. He did it, to say anything other than the truth would be lying. Pard already lied once, but he can’t continue to lie to Professor Videl, Pard wouldn’t be able to look at his own reflection in the mirror, so he keeps his mouth shut, silent.

“I’m not sure where you’ll go if you can’t stay here at the school. I’m still working that out, but I have some savings—”

Pard’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “No, sir, you’ve already done enough for me. If the worst happens, I’ll figure something out on my own. I don’t want you to get into any trouble or any of the blame on my behalf.”

“You’re but fifteen, almost a man, but not quite yet.” The professor smiles. “Thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?”

Pard’s insides lighten.
He remembered
. Because he did think the professor forgot.

“It’s not much, but its unique and I hope you’ll like it.” The professor extends a small, elongated wooden box toward Pard. The fancy box has a red glossy sheen, and appears to be new and about as long as a pen. Holding the box shut, a silver latch and a wrapping of twine tied into a bow.

“For me?” Pard says. Pard’s mouth turns into a giant grin.

“Yes, for you, go on, take it, these old bones in my arm can’t stay outstretched forever.”

Pard leaps forward and takes the package. In awe, he eyes the elegant box as it lies peacefully in the palms of his hands.

“Open it, it won’t open itself. It’s what’s inside that’s important.”

 
In a flurry, Pard unties the twine, unlatches the silver hook, and opens the box. Pard pats a vermillion silk cloth, and then he feels the present inside the soft wrapping, a smooth metal object. He plucks it out of the box and removes the silk, and resting in the center of his palm, he stares.
What is it?
Pard holds it in front of his face, the appearance of a large silver pen, but it’s not a pen, or at least Pard doesn’t think it’s a pen.

“So do you like it?” the professor says, kind smile on his grandfatherly face.

Pard, still no idea what it is, twirls it over and over, then nods. “Yeah, it’s,
er
, great.”

“
Ha
, my dear boy, you really need to lighten up sometimes, of course I know you don’t know what it is. Most people don’t.”

Pard continues to inspect and turn the silver elongated object which is as long as his hand. “It’s heavy. What is it?”

“That there is a light stick. At least that’s what my old friend Marcus called it. He was an inventor in Ardinia. Marcus attended and walked these same halls as you do right now,
ha
, though that was almost sixty years ago.”

“I love it, you say light stick?”

“That’s one of the names he was thinking of calling it before he died last month. There are only three of those in existence in the entire world. Marcus was working on it for twenty years; and finally making a few that worked, he gave one to me for a birthday present a few months ago. But what would I have a need for a light stick at my age? By the time it’s dark and I can use it, I’m ready for sleep. So I’m passing it on to you, and may you get many years of use out of it in your late night studies.”