With the free space from giving everyone their tools, there was more than enough room to fit the entirety of the demon’s body into Archibald’s many bags and pockets. Archibald’s siblings retched as they forced themselves to throw the pieces to Archibald, who was willing to hold a chunk of flesh long enough to put it in a pocket.
“Can demons curse you after they die?” one of his siblings asked, “Like, if I touch the body, will I die?”
“Die?!” Archibald shrieked.
“You won’t die,” Peter muttered. After a moment, he added, “Probably.”
Peter, the only one stubborn enough to hide his disgust, helped Archibald tuck the pieces away.
A finger in his right pocket, a knee in his left, the head stuffed down into the bottom of a bag, shattered shards of bones collected in a jar, and one white eye carefully placed into a pouch along his chest, among other pieces in other locations. Peter, carrying the injured brother he protected over his back, gestured to the door, and Veronica knocked. A guard let them into the tower. At the entrance, they were met with their father, who grabbed them ecstatically and held them tight.
“You’re safe,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. One of your siblings who saw you through a window told me you were fighting a humanoid demon. I didn’t think they would appear near here for a few more years, but this just means that the king’s mages were off in their estimates.”
“So the demon king is coming sooner?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know right now, but it’s possible,” his father said, “Archie, I need to talk with you privately.”
“Father, what about me?” Peter asked, “I’m the oldest, anyways. I can tell you about how the mission went.”
“No,” his father said, waving him away, “Just Archie right now.”
Peter gave a harsh glance to Archibald as he left with his siblings following behind. Then, when it was just Archibald and his father, his father said, “It’s time for your next lesson.”
They stayed in the dungeon for this lesson.
“Today, I want to talk about doubt,” Archibald’s father said.
“I know about doubt. If I can overcome my doubts, my magic will be stronger.”
“No, there’s more to it than just that,” his father said. The dungeon was bare, no windows and only a single small lantern lighting the room. The walls were cold cobble and the only decoration was two chairs in the centre of the room. His father took a seat on one, gesturing for Archibald to sit beside him. When Archibald joined him, his father continued, “You need to eradicate doubt entirely. Overcoming it is not enough. You need to have not doubted yourself in the first place. You need to speak and act and fight on instinct. Don’t even give doubt a chance to sneak in. Don’t even think long enough to doubt your decisions. Don’t even think…”
“So I need to destroy it at the source? Like, is there something holding me back?”
“Yes. Your desires, they’re conflicting. On one hand, you want to fight and kill demons. On the other hand, you fear for your siblings’ and your own safeties, and you want to run away and adventure. I’ve seen it festering inside of you, so I want you to decide right now which side you want to give in to. You can only have one.”
Archibald leaned forward. He rocked his head back and forth. After a moment, his father’s warm hand patted his back, and Archibald remembered the years his father had dedicated to him and his siblings. This man had given up everything for them.
His father stood to his feet, saying, “I’ll give you time to—”
“I’ve decided,” Archibald said, “I want to fight demons. I want to help you defeat the demon king.”
His father smiled gently. “Then you cannot doubt for even a moment that the king’s death is certain and soon. I will help you. I will show you your path.”
“But will this improve my magic?”
“It will,” his father explained, “Listen to my instructions and act accordingly. Destroy the strawberry.”
His father reached into his pocket and pulled out a strawberry and a blueberry. He tossed each into the air, and Archibald clapped, blasting the strawberry against the walls.
“If you just listen to my instructions, you have no reason to doubt,” his father said, his smile widening, “And now, I have a few things that I want to talk about. First, I think we should have private lessons more often. You’re making great progress, but we don’t have a lot of time.”
“Yes, absolutely, that would be amazing!” Archibald exclaimed.
“Also,” his father added, “I want you to be my personal guard.”
For a moment, Archibald froze, but then he broke, leaping into the air. As the boy squealed, his father smiled warmly.
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Days later, standing like a guard in wait of command, Archibald lined up against the stone wall of the tower corridor that wound up the tower to his father’s study. It was time for another headcount. Today more than any other, Archibald was obedient.
He waited. He didn’t move or look out the window or do so much as nudge his brother to his left. And he was so high up this time that he could see the door to his father’s study around the corner when he leaned to the side.
Finally, his father came up around the bend, and counted Archibald’s siblings, “Eight hundred and twenty-three, eight hundred and twenty-four, eight hundred and twenty-five…” until finally he came to Archibald, counting, “eight hundred and twenty-six,” and walking off. When he counted Archibald’s last siblings, he said, “Breakfast time!” and the bell rung for them to move off to the cafeteria.
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But Archibald moved to his father’s office at his father’s command to prepare for a meeting at the king’s palace. “Father, what should I wear?” Archibald asked.
“Bring your most formal suit,” his father said.
“I don’t have any suits,” Archibald said, “But I have a tunic with a fancy-looking stain. Would that work?”
“Well, they can’t get mad at us,” his father said, “They need us.”
Archibald smiled. His father smiled back. “Doesn’t it feel nice to be important?” his father said, “No matter what anyone else says, you’re important. At least to me.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Moving to a changing room, Archibald donned a simple set of clothes, light and breathable and, to Archibald’s absolute delight, bag and pocket free. “And I’m supposed to be your guard?” Archibald asked.
From the other room, his father called out, “Yes, so I need you on your best behaviour. No exploring or running off.”
“Got it!”
The two found themselves at the bottom of the tower met with a large wagon. It was bejewelled and coated in gold. Archibald’s father strolled over and took a strenuous step up into the carriage compartment, but Archibald waited. “Do you want me to stay on the outside in case there’s an attack?”
“No, Archie, that’s fine,” his father said, “His majesty’s mages managed a cloaking spell, so we’ll be safe in this wagon.” Archibald stepped up into the wagon, taking his seat by his father’s side.
The ride was acceptable. The wagon bounced jaggedly along the uneven path, but Archibald much preferred this to going on foot, so there was little to complain about. Finally, when the path smoothed, Archibald peered out the window on the door and saw stone floors. Just like home.
Then, rough hands snatched at the wagon’s wheels. People clothed with rags and sheets, dirtied and strongly odorous. “Father, are they okay?” Archibald asked.
“They aren’t important, Archie,” his father murmured.
“Is…” Archibald murmured, but he held his tongue.
His father turned to him. “Yes, Archie? What is it?”
“Is Gerald here?” Archibald asked, “He was one of the siblings who left, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Archie, Gerald is in the capital,” Archibald’s father said, but with a glance to the dirtied peasant reaching out at the wagon, he added, “Not with these people, of course. He’s being personally cared for by the king, along with the rest of your siblings who left.”
“The king?”
“Well, I suppose not the king himself,” Archibald’s father said, “Most likely, servants are taking care of them.”
Finally, as the wagon rolled down the road, the hands were left behind. “Father, why did you need me?” Archibald asked, “It doesn’t seem dangerous here. Especially not if my siblings are here.”
His father smiled warmly. “I didn’t want to take any chances. And anyways, I know you love the outside.”
Archibald smiled back. He sat back in his seat and waited, minutes passing in calm silence. Finally, the wagon came to a stop, and the driver called back, “Sorcerer Tolvaj, we have arrived at our destination.”
Archibald leapt out from the wagon, slamming into the side of another wagon. As he fell to the floor, the wagon door opened, and a well-fed man stepped down to a ledge on the wagon’s side.
“A child!”
“My apologies, Lord Brumble,” Archibald’s father said, coming out behind the boy, “This is my son, Archibald. He is working as my personal guard.”
“So, you have more children in there?”
“No, no, it’s just him.”
Brumble eyed Archibald’s father with a look of reproach before calling, “Guards!”
A party of men came around the wagon, surrounding him. Brumble smiled proudly as the guards lifted him and placed him in a chair, each heaving the chair onto their shoulders and marching off.
“Who was that?” Archibald asked.
“Lord Brumble,” his father explained, and after checking to see if anyone was listening, muttered quietly to Archibald, “He doesn’t really hold any power; his title is more for show, but as the seventh cousin of the king, he didn’t need to work for his position, so I don’t think he minds.”
After a chuckle from Archibald, the two began walking down the cobbled path. Finally giving a moment to his surroundings, Archibald clenched his eyes and shrivelled back from a sterile smell, like the smell of plastic and needles with blood freshly washed off. Growing to ignore the smell, he raised his head. Around them was a collection of odd figures, almost like a travelling circus. There were men like Brumble being carried by others, while others crawled on their hands and feet, and others still were sitting in chairs moved by stilt legs. One particularly large woman was being rolled down the stone street. Archibald and his father felt like oddities themselves for walking.
When they neared the end of the road, the ground built into a hill. They stepped up to the top of the mound and saw ahead of them the castle. It was pristine and white, with hundreds of towers shooting out like teeth in desperate need of braces. Surrounding it was a duo of moats, rivers winding and overlapping and licking at each other like a pair of tongues, and at the front of the castle they untangled just far enough for two separate bridges, one after the other.
“Hey, Archie, do you see the moats?” Archibald’s father said.
Archibald nodded politely. His father headed down the hill towards where a number of roads converged on the first bridge.
“Keep an eye on them as we go down.”
Archibald followed behind as his father’s pace hastened. They crossed hastily over before his father stopped him, turning back to watch the commotion.
The nobility had found themselves at a bottle neck. The circus squashed into a blob of spongey pride, none willing to go anything less than first across. Finally, once their squirming had grown boring, there was a rumble from behind them, and that particularly large woman came rolling down. She crashed into the nobles, sending them flying off the edge. Archibald watched in amazement, and his father had to push his head down as the woman bounced over them.
Then, as she was headed over the second bridge, she was caught in the palm of a slim man.
“Who is this?” he muttered to an attendant at his side, and after some swift clarification, he turned to the congregation and announced, “The meeting commences in a demon’s meal, so I recommend hastening. All those who are not inside by the beginning of the meeting will be locked out.”
“Are there demons?” Archibald asked, spinning his head around.
“No, Archie, that’s just a saying,” his father said, “Don’t worry, but we should hurry on inside.”
Mages all gathered at the first moat. With a dance, they lifted their arms, and weak jets pushed the nobles back up onto the road.
Finally, Archibald and his father found themselves at the entrance to the castle, and stepping inside, they saw a maze of hallways, and that clinical smell returned to singe the ends of their nose hairs. Just as Archibald was running off down the first hallway he saw, an attendant caught him.
“Young boy, if you hope to get to the meeting, I can show the way,” the attendant said with a quaint smile, and turning to his father said, “And is this your father? What is your title, sir?”
“Sorcerer Tolvaj,” Archibald’s father said, smiling enough to fluster the attendant unused to smiles in a castle, “Please, show us the way.”
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