Aidan Day trudged on his lengthy journey
back from school, the dust rose like little sepia clouds under his feet and then swept
along in the weak summer draught. He had a slightly tattered leather satchel
slung over his left shoulder and a blade of brittle
straw-yellow grass between his teeth. His olive green blazer was rolled
up at the sleeves and his shirt was furrowed and un-tucked. His little brother
Colin Day sprinted towards him from behind and slowed to a gentle saunter
beside him. He panted heavily and showed Aidan a sky blue feather, as he opened
his fist.
He panted heavily and explained
after catching enough breath to speak.
“This is a feather of the extremely rare navy robin,” explained Colin
excitedly.
“Wow!” mocked Aidan sarcastically.
“Whatever,” retorted the nine year old,
“but this is worth at least ten pounds to the museum. They don’t have any of
these.”
“Yeah, while you get your ten quid every
bird feather you get every month or so. I’ll be doing weekly shows with Angelo.”
Laughed Aidan without turning around to see the feather.
“Shut up,” whined Colin, “ I don’t see
what’s so good about a stupid fox with a silly name like Angela or Angel…………….”
“Angelo!” corrected Aidan angrily, he
called down quickly and ruffled his murky blond hair.
Aidan glanced at his hefty brass watch
and replied. “I’m teaching him to do tricks and stuff. He knows out to do flips
and jump through hoops.”
“You treat it like a circus freak!”
argued Colin.
“Since when is Angelo an ‘it’ Colin?” snapped Aidan quickly.
Colin blushed red and hung back a
little. They were approaching the forest, the last league of their journey home
from school. They reached the fringe of the petite forest, the alders and oaks
towered above like giants forts. The two brothers had ventured a few metres
into the shallow forest when they heard the
watery prattle of a babbling stream. Aidan crouched near the stream and
took a sifter from his pocket, he had once found a wedge of gold in there.
Occasionally he checked for another, he sifted and searched for ten minutes and
soon Colin grew impatient.
“Hurry up,” he yelled finally, “you
check here every other day and you find nothing. Its just a big waste of ti-“
“ Says the idiot who chases birds all
day,” replied Aidan coolly.
He lifted up the sifter and dried it
with a deadened dock leaf, and placed it back in his satchel. He reached in his
satchel and pulled out a solid bronze notebook, ornate and hand made by his
uncle Breck. He recorded the state of the stream in literature then performed a
quick sketch. He then took a lush leaf and stuck it into the book with a square
of translucent tape.
“Why do you do that?” asked Colin
puzzled, his embarrassment had been conquered by intrigue.
“I’m making a diary of this stream,”
replied Aidan, “this stream is mine you see.” He pointed at the flag smugly
made out of linen and bore vertical stripes of black, green then white.
“How does that make it your stream?” asked
Colin promptly.
“Well you see I discovered it, so
marking it with my flag makes it mine,” he said cleverly, “this diary not only
proves my ownership but gives me a better understanding into the nature of Day
Creek.”
“Day Creek? Cool name!” said Colin
excitedly, “why don’t you pay this much attention in Maths?”
“Eh, Maths doesn’t get ya famous does
it. Does Maths get your name on a book cover, or title you as the composer of a
symphony or get your masterpiece in Tate Modern? No!” responded Aidan passionately.
“Ok, ok!” said Colin quickly, “just a
joke.”
They finally neared the cosy speck of
farmland they lived on. The sea of clovers were trampled daily but grew back as
if by magic. A flock of crows were hovering over the crops but Aidan shouted
loudly and scared them off. Day & Donegal Farm was a unique farm, that
specialised in training elite sheepdogs which were sold off all over Munster,
Ireland. Aidan’s dad Alan Day was training a new mutt in the field and shouted
a hello to them as they stepped up to the porch of the huge farm house.
Even though Day & Donegal was a tiny
speck in the country greens of Limerick, the farmhouse was massive and the
fields were spread wide. Aidan slumped down in the living room and continued a
story in his weathered leather journal.
“Ye know your middle name is Teague for
a reason,” said his mum form the doorway, Aidan looked round, “ Teague means
‘poet’ and we could see from an early age you damn well were one!”
“Thanks mum,” said Aidan and smiled.
“There some sausage and mash on the
table if ye want any,” she stated, “if it turns cold warm it up in are new
microwave!”
Aidan’s mum had been wanting to get
microwave for donkeys years, but Alan said the were dangerous radioactive death
traps. However, after many years of his stubbornness being eroded away by her
nagging he gave in. Adair Donegal trudged in from feeding the pigs and shearing
the sheep. Mr. A. Donegal was the original owner of the farm and Alan Day
worked for him training his sheepdogs. Though since the sheepdogs brought more
business than the rest of the farm combined, Donegal kindly shared the farm
half ‘n half with Alan Day. Adair was now fairly old, around the slowing age of
fifty five. Even though his hairs had greyed silver his face was still as young
as Alan’s and his body still hanging on to it’s muscular figure.
Looking closer Aidan could see he was
fuming with rage. His face was drenched in glistening sweat and his brow
crumpled lividly, into a ‘V’ shape. His breathing was loud and ragged and his
nostrils flared.
“What’s the matter?” asked Aidan’s
mother, Kerry. She hurried over and pressed a cup of herbal tea into his hands.
Adair engrossed the cup in his vice like
grip, until he crushed the porcelain teacup into tiny white shards.
“ Aye!” cried Kerry hotly, “ it’s your
cup anyway!” Kerry was usually a kindly person with a friendly disposition but
when she felt like it she was more fiery then a hearth doused in petrol.
“Sorry, Kerry. It’s just these teenage
bastards are always coming along and ruining my crop, and even spooking ma
cattle! Ole Lana got scared one to many times and now she’s nought but a
shivering wreck……”
Kerry looked at Adair’s despairing eyes
and tried in vane to comfort him. “It’s okay we’ll fix Lana, she’s a tough ole-”
“No we won’t fix her!” he put his hand
to his head, “I put her down this morning, she wasn’t eating……..”
Alan came in, tired and in a similar
mood except less passionate. “Damn teens…….” he whispered under his breath. He
shook his boots of and kicked them to a corner in the porch. He tramped
upstairs without saying another word.
“Honey, aint ye gonna have any dinner?”
asked Kerry softly.
“No!” shouted Alan back.
Meanwhile, Colin was oblivious to the
happenings on the inside. He was ridding around the field on his pony Cliff. He
was a strong chestnut steed with a pure white strip running up from his nose
and a bray that echoed in the fields and hills. Colin halted Cliff as he heard
anomalous voice through the trotting of Cliff’s hooves. He dismounted the
chestnut pony and took a fallen staff of birch, and wielded it like a wooden
sword. The noise was coming from the hedges.
“Hit us then,” mocked a dark voice as
two teenagers emerged from the dense hedge. Colin was frozen with fear.
“Is the little baby scared,” mocked the
second teen making a rude gesture with his hand.
Colin sauntered back and then ran to
Cliff. He jumped higher then he had ever jumped before and swung himself onto
Cliff’s back. He spurred Cliff on and charged at the teens, he swung his staff
and knocked over one teen. Though when Cliff turned the other teen had unveiled
a large Swiss knife and was brandishing it menacingly. Colin was startled immensely
by the sight and fell off his horse and hit the grass hard.
The teen advanced and Colin fought he
was done for. Suddenly, Aidan ran across the field with a loaded bow in his
hands. Aidan was a master of archery and confidently stepped to Colin’s side. He
raised the bow forebodingly.
“Drop your damn knife or I swear to God
I’ll shoot!” he warned loudly.
The teenager was arrogant and stood
there grinning stupidly. Aidan could see his confidence fading in his eyes, he
was like a merciless hunter. Aidan squinted and aimed quickly not letting a millisecond
go by before he………
SHOT!
The teen screamed, “holy Shiite!”
He loosed the arrow and it soared right
into pocket of the teen’s baggy jeans, and neatly cutting through the belt so
his trousers had to be held up by his hands. The teen was startled and dropped
knife and ran off as soon as he regained his wits, pulling up his trousers as
he scuttled off. Aidan watched him run, and lowered the longbow slowly. He
strode forward proudly and picked the knife up as a trophy.
“Wait, where’s Angelo? I haven’t seen
him all day!” cried Aidan worriedly.
He ran back to the farm house and tried
to make his way upstairs but was stopped by his dad.
“I saw you out there,” he said proudly,
“defending your brother, using wit and skill. Ye brother wasn’t so bad either
until he got scared and fell off his horse!”
“Thanks dad!” replied Aidan happily,
praise from his dad was rare and treasured, “but if you saw me out there why
didn’t you help!”
“Sons of Day are capable of amazing
things, like my ability to speak to dogs for example!”
“Ye can’t really speak to dogs!”
Alan tapped his nose trice and walked
away mysteriously. Aidan rushed upstairs to his room in the attic and as usual
in the corner was Angelo curled up in his cotton blankets, asleep. He clicked
his fingers on his left hand and the little red fox cub arose in a blink of an
eagles eye, fully awake and alert. Aidan tapped his foot and he flipped cutely
and landed on his feet perfectly in the same spot.
“Very good!” praised Aidan.
The fox wagged its tail like a puppy.
“You have to stop doing that, it’s to
dog like,” commented Aidan.
The little fox barked cheekily and
trotted next to his feet. Aidan took a rap of grease paper from his pocket and
took a wedge of bacon from it. He threw it in the air and Angelo jumped high
into the air and snapped it up greedily.
“ Okay boy, lets go outside,” he said
clapping his hand which meant follow him, “we both got practise to do.”
Soon they were outside in a fallow field
covered in shamrocks and scrubby grassland. Aidan had two lit Hawaiian style torches in his
hand. Aidan had many talents including juggling fire! He had learnt when a band
of foreign performers came to the village near Day & Donegal Farm. The
master of the fire-tricksters was performing a mind-blowing routine, but Aidan
being his arrogant self dared to smirk and snigger.
The fire-trickster invited him to try
and he scorched himself. Spurred on by arrogant pride he kept on trying and
eventually he perfected the skill, after two years of diligent training.
Aidan lit the torches with his dads gilt
lighter and flipped the left torch. It was summer and the heat of the flame,
and the glare of the sun brought sweat to his brow. He began to juggle the
flaming torches, and gradually they became faster and faster until it was a
blurred ring of fire. Aidan clicked his tongue, and Angelo stepped backwards
for a run up! Angelo ran forward and pounced cleanly through the ring of fire!
“Well done Angelo!” congratulated Aidan
as he took out a suede mini notebook and wrote a passage in it.
“This is to record your progress,” he
said to Angelo as if he could really understand.
Angelo licked his lips in reply. To him
that notebook looked like a tasty rap of meaty cowhide! It was beginning to get
dark and the lighter was out of ignition oil, so Aidan beckoned to Angelo that
it was time to head inside. They walked across the field as the sun disappeared
over the horizon and were safely guided back to the farmhouse by the last dregs
of sunlight.
Meanwhile, in the local village McGilly
Lynn a shady meeting was being held in the abandoned half-wreck of Shackle Way.
The crumbling hall was a giant shack made of beams of birch and pillars of oak.
Furnished with cheap plastic tables and chairs, with the floor strewn with
every manner disgusting and destructive items. The hall was filled with raucous
men and boys, drinking and fighting. At the head table sat a counsel of ominous
villains, plotting and conspiring deeds of utter vice and immorality. At the
head of the head table, dressed in black attire and wielding a gun was the
notorious Carrack Saint. His mouth was veiled by a bandanna like a terrorist
and he wore a onyx cape like a tyrant. His eyes were icy blue and stopped
hearts with a stare.
“…….But my liege, how are we to overcome
the village when we are so greatly outnumbered?” questioned Finn Leister, he
was Carrack’s favourite sniper. However, that did not protect him from his
anger!
“You dare doubt me, scourge of Munster,
Satan of Limerick! You dare doubt I who-” bellowed Carrack.
“No master, I’m just sayi-”
“Silence worm, you dare interrupt me!”
raged carrack loudly, his voice echoed through the hall like thunder and
everyone fell quiet.
“Now, this,” he said coolly, pulling a
gun from a wooden crate, “is a Blarney47- Enforcer, or as some people call it a
BE47.”
It was a hefty handgun with a classic
style silver handgun, with a revolver barrel and red wooden handle. “This is
one of the strongest handguns in Britain!” shouted Carrack, there was a round
of hearty applause. “With this we shall take over McGilly Lynn and make away
with every scrap of money!” at this there was a louder round of applause. A man
stood, his torso laden with rippling muscles and his short cut red hair glowed
like fire. His name was Conan, “Sire, I do not doubt you but how do we avoid
the authorities?” he growled. Carrack smiled under his bandanna and raised the
gun, Conan cowered in fear. Carrack shot and hit his beer glass, “that question
can be answered easily. We t shall assassinate the authorities first, it shall
happen gradually then suddenly!” His voice chilled the hall like spilling an
icy ale down your trousers. He held the Blarney47 up like a sword or a flag and
yelled a war cry, they all did the same, “LIIIAAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!”
Back at the Day & Donegal farmhouse
Aidan was just about to go to bed, after spending a few hours browsing KidPub.
KidPub was kids writing website were kids posted stories and commented on them,
Aidan was one of the most powerful members in the group. He shut his Mac
laptop, or palmtop as he called it as it was so small and petite. The attic was
a fairly good room, on the up side it was spacious with plenty of room for all
types of things. On the down side, it was hard to clean and very dusty and
cobweb ridden in the corners! Clover was back from McGilly Lynn village. She
was Aidan’s seventeen year old sister, who spent most of the day up in the
Guildhall of Oxford learning Music and writing.
“Just come of KidPub I see, you know I
was very well respected on KP,” laughed Clover shaking her short blond hair.
“Well lately people have been calling me
arrogant! Am I arrogant?” asked Aidan sadly.
“It’s all drama, when so many brilliant
minds swirl together. Plus who can blame you for being a little arrogant with
all those talents of yours?”
“So you think I am arrogant?” asked
Aidan, a little startled.
“Well frankly bro, yes!” she sighed,
“but it’s part of what makes you….. you!”
“Whatever!”Aidan flopped down into the
covers and beckoned for his sister to leave.
“I heard about that teen you beat. By
the sounds of it I bet he was shitting his pants as he stood and ran!” she
chuckled trying desperately to change the subject.
“Don’t swear!” hissed Aidan cautiously.
“Hush, little bro. As a fellow writer
you should know that ‘for some things there is only one word’: As the
expression goes,” she said calmly.
Aidan reopened his Mac palmtop and
opened a Word Document. It was long and was titled Lilt.
“What is it about?” asked Clover
curiously.
Aidan grinned proudly, “ it’s about a Greek harpist running away from
the soldiers of Midas. She uses her music to charm snakes and bend men to her
will and eventually makes it to mount Olympus were she writes a symphony with
Apollo and-“
“Wow there little bro, let you writing
do the story........ if it can!”
“Just read it then,” replied Aidan with
a droplet of arrogance in his voice.
She began to read out loud:
Lilt
As the silky
rays of sunlight dappled the hills of Athens a young girl sat under the shade
of an ancient olive tree. In her slender hands she held a beautiful gilt harp,
enchanted by Apollo and cursed by Hades-
“Wait, wait,” said Clover, “this is
genius, but do you expect any normal kid or even an adult to understand half
the damn crap you put in here!”
“Shut up!” wailed Aidan defensively.
“Bro, it’s just constructive
criticism….”
“Constructive criticism doesn’t include
the words ‘damn crap’” shouted Aidan back. He dived under the duvet and Clover
gave up and left the room.
Clover trudged down the stairs and into
the kitchen. Adair was there fixing himself a midnight snack. A sandwich with
bread fresh from the oven stuffed and filled with a few slices of garlic ham and
red Leicester cheese.
“Good evening Clover, a little late
isn’t it,” greeted Adair through a mouthful of ham, cheese and bread.
“Adair!” she said blushing slightly,
“I’m seventeen, I don’t have a curfew or bedtime.”
“You’ll always be that carefree little
girl to me……..” sighed Adair.
“Well, I’m growin’ up and soon I’ll be
out of here. Off to Cork, Dublin and London to fulfil my dreams.” She replied
as she set to making a piece of toast and buttered it with a knob of Clover
butter.
“Ye know we didn’t name you after are
beloved clover and shamrock, but that very butter,” chuckled Adair, “Ya ole
daddy used to work for ‘em until he decided he wanted to do what he was best
at!”
“And what was that then?” she humoured.
“You know perfectly well what that is!”
he muttered
“For the last time he can’t talk to
dogs!” she groaned, “I admit he has an…….eerie command over canines and so does
Aidan but it’s just a little talent they learnt OK!”
“Whatever ya say Clove whatever ye
say………”
Clover and Adair turned round, a navy
robin was tweeting outside. It caught Clovers eye for a nanosecond and then
took off upwards. The navy robin perched itself on Colin’s window ledge, which
was a cosy room on the second floor overlooking the back of the farm. Colin was
in bed under his covers with flashlight, he was reading The Encyclopaedia of
British Birds. He was trying to clear his mind of what happened that afternoon,
how that vandal had nearly maimed him or worse. If Aidan hadn’t been there he
could have been seriously hurt, but then drifting into his mind were the things
he did. Like jumping on Cliff and charging that urchin down with his staff like
a cavalry knight, but then he had fallen of his steed like a little kid as soon
as he saw the knife.
Colin shut the big brown volume with a
thud, and placed it on his bedside table. He slumped into bed and fell asleep.
As he fell asleep, back in the now dark village streets of McGilly Lynn the
revolution was starting. Three police officers walked the streets on patrol,
Kenny, Sean and Faber. Faber was the youngest, still with no beard on his chin
and Kenny a hot-headed middle aged man. Sean was Deputy Chief of Police and was
a fairly old bloke with ample experience.
“Aye chief, ay could of sworn I heard
footsteps,” muttered Faber.
“At this time of night?” interrupted
Kenny.
“Hmm I hear them to!” growled Sean.
Conan and Lee, two assassins from
Carrack’s gang crouched in the shadows ready to pounce. Both carried silence
Blarney47 Enforcers, supplied by Carrack. The two policemen walked around the
corner cautiously, the air was rippled by a bullet and Kenny fell dead. Sean’s
training kicked in and he ducked quickly as a bullet fired overhead. Lee
shifted position so he was in another bush, while Conan openly revealed himself
and charged at Faber. Faber swung his fist wildly and felt his hand connect
with Conan’s nose, but Conan was muscular and well trained and took the punch
with ease before returning a blow. Faber tumbled to the ground and braced
himself as Conan hastily aimed the gun at Faber’s head but hit his shoulder.
Faber yelled in pain and thought fast, he decided the best thing to do was to
play dead. Sean on the other hand was putting up quite a fight, he punched Lee
three times as Lee in vane shot bullets everywhere. One rogue bullet pierced
Sean’s side and he yelled out, Conan came and finished Sean of with a quick
hard left hook punch. Faber sobbed silently, he had to do something. He leapt
up and hit Lee in the head and took his gun. He aimed the gun at his head in
anger, then at his leg and shot. As Lee cried out in pain he shot again, just
to make sure he would never walk again!
“I hate you!” yelled Faber as he took
another shot at Lee. He took a shot at Conan, but he ran off.
Faber crouched next to Chief Sean, he
took a pulse. There was none.
The dawn rose upon Day & Donegal Farm,
the sun looked red like the blood that had been spilt the last night. It was a
lazy Saturday morning, yet Aidan’s day was completely packed. He a rugby
tournament today at school and then after that a funeral of the victim of a bizarre
assassination, apparently it was Sean O’Connell Deputy Chief of Police. While Aidan
showered and dressed for his rugby match, Colin was out in the fallow field a
shovel and magnet in hand. In the province of McGilly Lynn they used to have
their own currency from ancient times called a plove or a plint. It was now a
children tradition to find them and convert them to Euros for sweet-money.
