A Fool's Tale

Chapter 3 - The Castle and the King

And so my dreary life passed. Days turned to weeks and months to years. I did get tougher over time as my uncle predicted, and I was soon chopping wood, tending the chickens, and taking care of the horse as well. It was a strange existence, for I knew nothing of the outside world, and my uncle had little interest in teaching me. I had become a boy of fourteen years, but in many ways only understood the world through the eyes of a six year old.

The alcohol ran dry last night, and I had the shack to myself. After finishing my chores, I set off into the woods. I'd already explored most of the surrounding area in widening circles and today wanted to discover something different by heading in one direction.

It was a comfortable spring day. The sunlight filtering through the leaves caused dappled shadows to dance on the forest floor. I hopped from one sunlit spot to another, trying to see if I could avoid the shadows. It was a game I often played and had once managed thirty-two successive leaps.

Hopping into an unfamiliar area of the forest, I noticed a strange shape in the distance. It towered higher than any tree, and appeared to be made of stone, though it was clearly not a cliff or rocky prominence, for it was far too narrow and had straight angles. It had to be man-made. I stared at the discovery, soaking it in. I desperately wanted to journey closer for a better look, but I'd been slow to arrive due to my playful walk, and if I lingered too long my uncle would surely discover my absence. I turned and hurried home, vowing to return.

That evening my uncle was in a fine mood, as he often was when his stock of alcohol was replenished. Although he normally preferred when I was silent, we'd lived together for so long that I could sense the moments when he'd answer my questions.

"Uncle Martin, today, in the distance I saw the tip of a stone building. Do you know what it could be?"

"What direction were ya lookin'?"

I pointed where I'd seen the structure.

He nodded. "Ya saw one of the towers of the castle where the king lives."

"What's a castle?"

"Are ya thick? I jes' told ya. A castle is a place that the king lives." A sly glint flashed in his eye. "How'd ya see the castle all the way from here anyways?"

"Um, I was climbing a nearby tree to look for some eggs when I saw it in the distance," I replied weakly.

He grunted, but I knew he hadn't been fooled.

That night, my uncle got very drunk and berated me for my foolish questions about the castle. He chased me about the small shack, this time with a wooden staff. I did my best to tumble around and dodge his blows, but the long staff was difficult to avoid, and it was only a matter of time before he caught me. The solid wood cracked against my temple and I was knocked onto my back. White stars danced in my head.

Uncle Martin's blurry face rose above me. His fetid, alcohol soaked breath poured into my nostrils. "Don't ya go worryin' about that castle. Ya jes' worry about doin' yer chores and tendin' my animals. I always said yer parents raised ya soft and I'm teachin' ya all the things ya should have learned. Ya should be thankful fer..."

He rambled on drunkenly before eventually stumbling to his cot. Soon after, heavy snores rumbled around the hut.

I crawled to the wolf pelt and dropped onto it with one hand against my pounding temple, and the other caressing my sore ribs where Uncle Martin dealt me severe blow. Fortunately, I was somewhat distracted from the painful bruises by the mystery of the castle and the king. I didn't understand what these strange things were, but my imagination had been stoked, and it would not be easily quenched.

Over the next few weeks the memory of the castle did not dissipate. Rather, it occupied my dreams during both night and day, although there was little I could do except wait for my next opportunity to see the magnificent sight once again.

Eventually, Uncle Martin needed to make another supply run. My uncle eyed me suspiciously as I went about my usual morning tasks, but I suspect his overwhelming need for alcohol overwhelmed any mistrust he had for me. He lumbered onto his rickety wagon and soon clattered away. I watched excitedly until the back of his cart disappeared from sight then sprinted toward the woods.

I moved rapidly through the forest, and yet, despite my speed, my footsteps were quiet. I had walked through the woods so many times that I naturally avoided the forest debris that could snap underfoot. I glimpsed the top of the castle through the leaves. Ah, there it is. I hurried forward for a closer look then stopped abruptly. In front of me was a clearing, and someone was there. Other than my uncle, it was the first person I'd seen in eight years, and the sight was even more shocking than the castle.

Creeping forward silently, I spied a girl – around my age – with long, chestnut hair and a bright yellow dress. She lay on her stomach a short ways from me. I peered at her from around one side of a gnarled tree. A square object had been placed on the grass in front of her and she periodically reached forward and flipped a thin piece of the square object. I squinted. The object appeared to have marvelous pictures inscribed into it.

I returned my focus to the girl. She pushed her hair aside, and for a brief moment, I saw a set of wide, dark eyes, and then her hair fell back over them. She started kicking her feet back and forth and smiling about something in the object on the grass. Such a beautiful smile. I'd almost forgotten such things existed in the world.

And of all the things for me to be most surprised about, I couldn't believe how clean she was. There wasn't a spot of dirt on her, or her clothes. The girl's dress gleamed as if it had been made of cloth cut from the sun. I glanced down at my own shabby clothes; dirty green pants and a grubby blue shirt that were two sizes too large. They were stained and covered with multi-colored patches to repair the rips and tears they'd accumulated. As for their extra large fit, my uncle often complained about having to buy me clothes as I'd grown. His solution was to give me a set of oversized pants and shirt, then hand me a needle and thread. 'Take care of 'em, they're all yer gettin'.' I flushed in embarrassment, although it wasn't truly my fault. I was a young teen living in the woods, doing chores all day. It was impossible to avoid damaging my clothes.

For hours, I silently watched the girl from my hiding spot as she happily occupied herself. I desperately wanted to talk to her, but was ashamed of my appearance, and afraid I'd frighten her if I approached. Eventually, I had to leave, and crept away, silent as a falling leaf.

When my uncle returned that night, I asked if he could get me some new clothes. He regarded me with a scowl and pounded back a shot of alcohol. "Yer clothes are fine. Use the sewin' kit if ya put a hole in 'em. Yer parents raised ya soft, givin' ya more than one set of clothes. Ya probably had toys and books too, I bet ya..."

I lay down on the wolf skin and tried to tune him out, though Uncle Martin had said one thing that caught my attention. A book. That was the square object the yellow dress girl had been looking at. A vague memory of lying in bed while someone read a book to me drifted into my head. My mother? My father? I snatched at the recollection, but it drifted away like tendrils of smoke, nothing more than a shadow of my past.