So thanks in advance for any comments!
By the way, this isn't the real title; I have yet to figure it out for sure. Part One
I watched with baited breath as the warrior advanced through the dark chamber, sword in his hand and shield upon his arm. He moved slowly, armor glinting dully in the faint light from the sparse torches upon the walls. Suddenly a large, spider-like creature sprang out in front of him, and with a massive stroke the warrior felled it. No sooner had the first spider keeled over, dead, than more of them poured out from the adjoining room. The warrior hacked and slashed at the horde, slaying all of them with relative ease.
“Way to go, Nighthawk,” I murmured unconsciously to the warrior.
Nighthawk stepped towards the threshold, only to be confronted by a giant spider, much larger than the previous ones. He crouched into a defensive stance and raised his shield, sword gripped firmly in his hand. The spider tried to stab him with its venomous fangs, succeeding a couple of times. I winced as Nighthawk’s strength weakened, but he finally overcame the gargantuan arachnid and watched impassively as it crumpled to the ground, shrieking its death cry.
“Josh!”
A hand tapped me on the shoulder, and I glanced up with a start. “What, Mom?” I asked in a sharper tone than I meant to have.
“Honey, we’re here. Put your game away.”
I begrudgingly switched my PSP off, watching the small warrior disappear from the screen. Slipping the electronic device into my backpack that was laying at my feet, I straightened up and looked out the window.
We really were at our destination. A large expanse of grass spanned the distance between us from where we were getting out of the tourist’s bus and the castle.
“What do you think, Josh?” Mom asked excitedly. “You’ve always talked about coming to England to see the real castles. Here we are!”
It was true, I had wanted to see an authentic castle, but I hadn’t imagined it resembling a piled-up ruined mess of gray stones. It definitely wasn’t very popular; we were in a little known part of England, where all those moors and manors seem to thrive. My parents had called some travel agency or other, inquiring into any nearby castles that hadn’t been quite as modernized as some. They had directed us to a large red bus that had driven us out to our present location. There were a few wandering tourists here, and everyone could roam freely around the castle instead of having one of those guided tours where you can’t touch anything and you have to stay with the group.
“Well?” Mom asked, waiting eagerly for my reply.
“It’s sweet,” I said, and that seemed to satisfy her.
“Well,” she said, turning to Dad and Emily, my little sister. “What say you we go in now?”
Emily wrinkled her nose. “It’s gross,” she said, crossing her arms with as much maturity as a twelve year old can have, and giving a little head toss for good measure. “I thought it was going to be nicer than just a big pile of rocks.”
And even though it did resemble a pile of boulders haphazardly placed on top of each other without any other thought, I felt a defensiveness rushing through me. Or maybe it was just defiance. Now that I think about it, it was most likely the latter.
“Em, that’s a real castle,” I said. “People actually lived in it hundreds of years ago. It probably housed a knight or even a lord.”
“Would royalty have lived there? Like a princess?” Emily asked languidly.
“No,” I scoffed, appalled at the idea.
“Then it’s not much of a castle!” she retorted.
I merely shrugged and muttered, “Whatever.” Not to go off on a tangent, but I have to say that “Whatever” is such a great word, because it plainly shows that not only are you done with the conversation, but you’ve also lost interest and don’t care any more, and once you say it, there’s really nothing left for anyone else to say, so you get the final word in the whole matter.
“I think we’ve stood here enough,” Dad intervened cheerfully, tousling Em’s short brown hair. “Let’s take a peek inside.”
I hoisted my backpack up and followed my parents across the grass, the castle getting larger and more defined as we approached. I could see the walls and remains of the turreted towers, and even a couple of arrow slits where the archers would fire at the enemy while staying shielded from any retaliation. The gatehouse was facing us, and I could see the wooden drawbridge open and spanning the large ditch that used to be a moat, but was now just a steep grassy slope.
“Do you think it’s safe to cross that?” Mom asked Dad in a low voice.
“Of course,” he said casually. “They’ve got it reinforced and everything. I mean, the wood wouldn’t have stayed in such good condition after centuries of mold and bugs and such.”
As we crossed the drawbridge, I took a quick peek over the side, imagining dark, murky water below filled with some fierce, aquatic creatures residing in the depths.
“Ooh, that looks sharp,” Em said, pointing to a row of rusted iron spikes protruding from the top of the gatehouse.
“That’s the portcullis,” I said with an enthusiasm that surprised even me. “It’s like a giant iron grid that they lowered to prevent the enemies from entering.”
We continued through the gatehouse, and I pointed up at holes above our heads. “Murder holes,” I explained, morbidly enjoying the expressions the word elicited. “They would pour boiling oil or water or even hot sand down through these if the enemy made their way in. There’s another portcullis there,” I pointed to the other end of the gatehouse, “They’d lower both of them so that the enemy were trapped and couldn’t escape their imminent—”
“Joshua!” Mom said sharply. “I think that’s enough detail for now. Let’s keep going; the bus will be here in an hour to pick us up.”
I shrugged nonchalantly and followed my parents as we entered the inner ring of the castle’s walls. They started towards the walls, intending to walk the entire perimeter, but I went towards the next set of gates. Mom happened to notice, and she called, “Be careful in there, we’ll join you in a moment.”
I gave a quick nod and entered the bailey, the very heart of the castle walls. The ground was completely covered in overgrown grass and weeds, and cracked stones were strewn around. The walls were crumbling, and I espied the faint outline of a set of stairs leading up along the inside of the wall and onto what was left of the walkway. I made my way to the top of the walls, and headed towards a tall, peaked tower at the southern (or perhaps it was northern, although of course you can’t forget about east or west) corner of the castle.
When I reached the door that led inside, I paused, not because I knew that I would be grounded for the rest of the vacation’s duration if my mom happened to catch sight of me, but because I suddenly felt a gust of wind blow through the rotting planks that brushed the hair out of my eyes and sent a chill through me. I had a feeling that if I stepped through that door, something would happen, something monumental and life-changing. Of course that wasn’t exactly what went through my head at the time, but later as I thought back on the moment, I understood what that feeling was.
Anyways, I went through the door and found myself in a darkened room. There was one long window that let a beam of light in, and with it I could see that part of the tower had obviously crashed in. Dust motes floated in the sunbeam and I looked around, unimpressed. This was a waste of time; nothing of interest was here, so I decided to leave.
But a voice stilled me; it was faint, and I whirled around.
“Hello?” I couldn’t see anyone in here, but you never knew. However, the voice continued, and I was under the impression that it was coming from a ways off—like, outside the tower walls. It certainly didn’t have that whispery quality to it, so I surmised that the muted tone was obtained by it being muffled.
With a shrug, I turned to leave again. A gust of wind suddenly tore through the tower, making me take a step back in shock at the fury of it. My eyes instinctively closed, and I felt my hair being whipped against my cheeks, stinging them a bit. Alarmed at the extreme pressure, I crouched, huddling into a ball as the wind whistled all around me. I dipped my head down to take a breath without having a large gust rush into my lungs.
England sure goes in for some strong gales, I ruminated as the wind increased into a twister-like swirl. It was getting so loud that I couldn’t hear anything else—well no, scratch that. I could hear the voice, odd as it may seem. If anything, it sounded louder than before, and consequently a little clearer. The words were indistinguishable; they seemed to be spoken in some foreign language, like French or Czechoslovakian or Elvish.
And then, quite suddenly, the wind stopped. My first reaction was surprise at the instant ceasing of pressure around me. Wariness quickly followed up; who knew if another tornado was preparing to enter the tower. Somehow, the air felt different, almost warm, and certainly lighter. At length (which really meant about five seconds of hurried deliberation), I finally raised my head and blinked, accustoming myself to my surroundings.
My mind vaguely grasped the fact that there was now a row of long, skinny windows that let the afternoon sunlight in the room, which had, incidentally, grown exponentially. In fact, as I glanced up at the vaulted ceiling above me, it was as if I was in an entirely different room altogether. No trace of a ruined, dusty old tower remained; instead, everything was clean and smooth and fresh.
I blinked again, slowly, to make sure that I didn’t have some piece of mud in eyes; I didn’t.
