one of the gold coins for inspection. “Where’d he get them?”
“I don’t know,” Michael replied. “These jewels are beyond anything I’ve ever seen, not that I’m an expert.”
“Talk about saving up for a foul day,” Garen said, grinning.
Michael deposited the gems back in the pouch and cinched it closed. “I think he was doing that since Max put me in his care.”
Opening the leather pouch Michael whistled. “Look at these shurikens.”
“I don’t think we have time for a game of stars, Michael,” Garen said.
“Stars” was a simple game Michael’s father picked up in a far-off, exotic land. It used three small triangular pieces of metal called shurikens, thrown at a board with markings of varying value.
“These were not created for a game,” Michael replied, handing one to his friend.
Garen let out a whistle as he examined it. “Sharp edges, sharp points, weighted better than the ones we use for the game. These are weapons.”
Michael threw one into the wall. A precise throw with a precise weapon, making no sound in flight and only a faint thud on impact. “Exactly.”
“They’re a little lighter than what I’m used to and a little thinner,” Garen noted holding two, then three together to compare the thickness to the standard game pieces. With a flick of the wrist, he sent all three flying. They separated a little in flight and firmly bit into the wall.
Garen looked at Michael whose mouth hung open. Sometimes, when they began to tire of a game, but were not quite ready to put the shurikens away, they would throw more at a time. Two had flown decently together, but three always gave poor results. These three flew with the accuracy of one.
“I’m beginning to think your dad did not teach you how to throw shurikens for fun,” Garen said.
“Agreed.” Michael inspected the belt closely. Made from two layers of leather, it had slits between them to hide five shurikens, and the inner layer was notched to easily remove them.
“But why did your father hide all of this?”
“I don’t know,” Michael replied. He inserted five shurikens in the belt and put it on. It felt good, like a connection to his father. He stuffed the other shurikens, journals, and pouches in his pack. “Perhaps he was waiting till he thought I was ready to know the truth.”
Or until Max did.
“Come on, let’s go, I have questions for Max and, for once, I’m gonna get some answers.”
Garen picked up Michael’s bow and grimaced at the blackened teeth marks in the wood. “You’ll need a new bow.”
Michael frowned. It had been a fine bow. Garen grabbed the quiver of arrows on the floor, at least they were still good, and walked out the door.
Michael stopped on the porch, staring at the place where the nightstalkers had appeared in the night.
“What is it?” Garen asked.
“There were four of them,” Michael replied. “I’m sure of it. But only three attacked. What happened to the other one?”
“Maybe it was the one Max killed on the way into town.”
Michael fingered one of the shurikens in his belt absently. “Maybe.”
Something did not add up. A fourth nightstalker would have finished him off. Why would it hold back and wait? He swung into his saddle. No mysteries were going to be solved standing on his porch. His porch, his home. He took one last look at his cabin then set off eastward at a canter. He had one last set of goodbyes to say.
***
Shadows hung heavy under the trees, the sun slowly creeping upward from the horizon. The wolf noticed neither the rising sun nor the two boys at the cabin. He lay twitching in his sleep, reliving the nightmare again.
In his mind, he saw the last of the four perverted ones holding back for some reason. A rush of fear and adrenaline swept through his body. Like a wraith, he darted out, clipping the black beast’s hamstring before it knew he was there. Despite a damaged leg, the perverted one chased him into the forest. Halfway to the
“I don’t know,” Michael replied. “These jewels are beyond anything I’ve ever seen, not that I’m an expert.”
“Talk about saving up for a foul day,” Garen said, grinning.
Michael deposited the gems back in the pouch and cinched it closed. “I think he was doing that since Max put me in his care.”
Opening the leather pouch Michael whistled. “Look at these shurikens.”
“I don’t think we have time for a game of stars, Michael,” Garen said.
“Stars” was a simple game Michael’s father picked up in a far-off, exotic land. It used three small triangular pieces of metal called shurikens, thrown at a board with markings of varying value.
“These were not created for a game,” Michael replied, handing one to his friend.
Garen let out a whistle as he examined it. “Sharp edges, sharp points, weighted better than the ones we use for the game. These are weapons.”
Michael threw one into the wall. A precise throw with a precise weapon, making no sound in flight and only a faint thud on impact. “Exactly.”
“They’re a little lighter than what I’m used to and a little thinner,” Garen noted holding two, then three together to compare the thickness to the standard game pieces. With a flick of the wrist, he sent all three flying. They separated a little in flight and firmly bit into the wall.
Garen looked at Michael whose mouth hung open. Sometimes, when they began to tire of a game, but were not quite ready to put the shurikens away, they would throw more at a time. Two had flown decently together, but three always gave poor results. These three flew with the accuracy of one.
“I’m beginning to think your dad did not teach you how to throw shurikens for fun,” Garen said.
“Agreed.” Michael inspected the belt closely. Made from two layers of leather, it had slits between them to hide five shurikens, and the inner layer was notched to easily remove them.
“But why did your father hide all of this?”
“I don’t know,” Michael replied. He inserted five shurikens in the belt and put it on. It felt good, like a connection to his father. He stuffed the other shurikens, journals, and pouches in his pack. “Perhaps he was waiting till he thought I was ready to know the truth.”
Or until Max did.
“Come on, let’s go, I have questions for Max and, for once, I’m gonna get some answers.”
Garen picked up Michael’s bow and grimaced at the blackened teeth marks in the wood. “You’ll need a new bow.”
Michael frowned. It had been a fine bow. Garen grabbed the quiver of arrows on the floor, at least they were still good, and walked out the door.
Michael stopped on the porch, staring at the place where the nightstalkers had appeared in the night.
“What is it?” Garen asked.
“There were four of them,” Michael replied. “I’m sure of it. But only three attacked. What happened to the other one?”
“Maybe it was the one Max killed on the way into town.”
Michael fingered one of the shurikens in his belt absently. “Maybe.”
Something did not add up. A fourth nightstalker would have finished him off. Why would it hold back and wait? He swung into his saddle. No mysteries were going to be solved standing on his porch. His porch, his home. He took one last look at his cabin then set off eastward at a canter. He had one last set of goodbyes to say.
***
Shadows hung heavy under the trees, the sun slowly creeping upward from the horizon. The wolf noticed neither the rising sun nor the two boys at the cabin. He lay twitching in his sleep, reliving the nightmare again.
In his mind, he saw the last of the four perverted ones holding back for some reason. A rush of fear and adrenaline swept through his body. Like a wraith, he darted out, clipping the black beast’s hamstring before it knew he was there. Despite a damaged leg, the perverted one chased him into the forest. Halfway to the
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