Young Writers Society

“Aren’t you a little old to be tossing apples about?” Kalan asked, turning around and wiping the back of his neck off.

Castor muttered under her breath and glared at him. “What are you doing here Kalan?”

Kalan walked over to the bar and poured himself a mug of cider, saying: “Just getting a drink, Cast-her oil.” He sneered. “Or should I say Cast-her apple?” He smiled cruelly at her, tossing two coins in her hand.

She snatched them and thrust them into her jacket pocket. Her face turned red and she stepped up to him. “You shut up you little weasel.”

He looked up the two full inches between the two of them and took a swig of cider. “A little immature to be insultin' people in’t?”

She scoffed. “You come in here and mock my name, and then you turn around and say that!” She cocked her arm back. "I ought to-“

“Castor!” Miles hollered from inside the kitchen.

She hesitated, half-ready to pound Kalan into the ground. “What is it?”

Miles stepped into the room, wiping away a curl of brown hair from his forehead. “Castor, really?”

She mimicked him “‘Castor really?’ Be quiet Miles.”

Kalan stepped back, placing his mug on the bar. “I think I’ll be going now. I don’t care much to interfere with family quarrels.”

Castor spun on him. “You groveling coward!” She slammed her cleaning rag on the nearest table and stepped forward. “Get out now or I’ll belt you!” Her voice was raised and her hair was slightly messed up, but despite it all she was as beautiful as could be.

“You know,” Kalan said, “if you weren't such an angry person, you could find a man real fast.

Before he had to time to react, Castor sent her fists flying. Kalan went stutumbling to the ground from the smashing blow. Miles stepped forward and grabbed Castor’s arm. “Come on Castor, stop it! This isn’t right.”

Castor was tensed and ready to pounce on Kalan, but what Miles said hit her. “Maybe it isn’t” she said in a quieter tone. Why am I doing this. He's just a kid . . . a calmer and probably smarter kid. Slowly she relaxed and Miles tentatively let go of her.

Kalan slowly stood up, shaking his head. “Well, well, well, you pack a punch I’ll admit. But you should never get me angry if you ain’t going to finish me.” He stepped forward and before Castor or Miles could react he swung his right fist right into Castor’s jaw.

Totally not expecting it, Castor flew back into Miles. He toppled back into the bar, knocking a cask of cider off of it. It plummeted and crashed to the ground, and Miles grimaced as he heard the snapping of wood and the splash of liquid. Then the kitchen workers shouting.

Kalan towered over Castor whose head was swimming like a school of fish, this way and that. “Don’t you ever do never 'gain . . . or you will seriously regret it in more ways than you think imaginable. “

With that he stomped out of the restaurant. Castor tried to stand once and crashed back down. Her jaw hammered and throbbed like nothing she had ever felt, but her heart raged like a wildfire.

Miles pushed himself up and started to run for the door, no doubt intent on pummeling Kalan.

“No, Miles, you would get demolished by him. He’s too big for you.”

Miles’s looked like a child, with the freckles and disheveled reddish-brown hair, and yet he had a determined face. He stopped near the door and turned around, hesitating. Finally he returned to Castor.

She let Miles pull her up and leaned back against the bar while he got some cold water and a cloth. He also had to explain to the workers. Or would he let her do that?

No, he’s too kind to blame me. She half walked half careened onto the nearest chair and sunk her head between her knees. Oh, Kalan asking for it!

“Here.”

Castor looked up and saw that Miles had a wooden bowl full of water and a grey cloth. He soaked the cloth and applied it gently to her jaw. She felt around with her tongue to make sure all her teeth were still intact. Satisfied that they were all still solidly in her gums, she took the cloth and soaked it again, then pressed it against her cheek, relishing in the temporary pain decrease.

Miles stood there looking concerned for her.

“Don’t worry I’ll be fine,” Castor said.

I . . . I can’t believe he did that!” Miles said, running a hand through his hair. “You’re a lady and he treats you like you were . . .”

Castor attempted a grin that came out more like a grimace. “Like a boy?”

“Yeah . . . but it isn’t right to treat boys like that either. That’s not what we’ve been taught. You really shouldn’t have struck him to begin with. Castor, why do you always get into trouble with Kalan? Ever since he moved here with his father you two have been fighting.It used to just be little things things since that pie accident, but now it’s escalating. Something big is going to happen.”

Castor groaned. “Please Miles, you sound just like Jeric does.”

“Is that bad? I mean what he taught us is right, isn’t it?”

Castor said nothing. She was slightly confused. Is it right? Is Miles right perhaps, that no one should be treated like that? But Kalan is an inconsiderate jerk. I mean he started it! She sighed which only made her jaw throb more.

Miles stood up. “I’ll go clean up that mess in the kitchen.”

Castor watched him leave the room, knowing that she should go help him. Come on get up! What’s your problem! Castor could here as the workers in the kitchen muttered angrily to Miles as he told the tale.

Castor looked out the open across the dust street. The blacksmith was built there. The owner, Kalan’s father, was pounding away at a horseshoe, sparks flying from the red-hot metal. And past the shanty where the forge, anvil, workbench, and grindstone were, inside the stable, Castor spotted Kalan.

She gingerly rubbed her jaw, anger bubbling in her once again. Forget what Jeric and Miles have said. Kalan is going to pay.