Caleb McCallister and the Sword of Light

Chapter 3

I came home from Fort Warren to find my father in the living room, poring over his research journals. I never knew when he might be home or when I would see him again. Growing up it never occurred to me just how unusual that was. Now he was lounging on the sofa as if it was something he usually did after a long day at work. But the thing was, I hadn't seen him in over a month.

"Dad? Where have you been?" I asked. My mom looked up from her book, and they stared at one another with blank expressions. I expected someone to change the subject—like they usually did when I asked about his travels or his job.

Instead, Dad leaned forward and beamed. "I'm so glad you asked, Caleb."

I kicked off my shoe before they could notice I was only wearing one and sat down. I thought he was finally going to tell me where he disappeared to for weeks at a time. Tell me why he constantly walked out on me and mom.

Tell me what's so much more important than your family.

"Do you remember the city of Gorias?" he asked me.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Gorias?" Of course I knew. Gorias was one of the four ancient cities of the Dé Danann. He wasn't going to tell me where he'd been or what he'd been doing. He was about to launch into another one of my grandpa's stupid fairytales.

"Let's have tea while we chat." Mom stood abruptly. "Caleb, come give me a hand."

It didn't sound like I had a choice so I followed her into the kitchen. She filled the teapot and placed it on the stove. "You're growing up so fast."

"I'm only fourteen, Mom." I grabbed a tray and some teacups.

"Soon to be fifteen. Your birthday is only a couple of weeks away. Too old for your dad's stories?" she asked.

"I'm tired of hearing about them, Mom." As soon as I said it, I knew it wasn't true. I enjoyed telling Scott about them. I stuck my face in the fridge to grab the milk and avoid the way she was studying me.

"Those stories are thousands of years old. They're part of your heritage. You enjoyed them when you were little, didn't you?"

"Sure, I loved them. The wars. The magic. All those wild creatures. But I'm not a kid anymore."

"Those stories are a thread that runs through your family. They may not seem important to you, but someday, when you have a little boy of your own, you'll understand why they're so important to your dad and granddad."

The teapot whistled, underscoring her point. When I was a kid, the stories were for me. But now that I'm older, they were really for my dad. And someday they'll be for my kid. I needed to learn the stories now so that I could retell them later. Maybe that was all my dad wanted—but it wasn't enough for me. "At least when I have a kid of my own, I'll know how not to be a father."

"Caleb!"

"C'mon Mom. He can't even pretend he misses me while he's gone."

She came around the table and put her arms around me. "Caleb Airgetlám McCallister. Your father loves you much more than you know."

"He has a funny way of showing it. I get that Grandpa did the same thing to him and Seamus, but you'd think that would make him a little more sympathetic."

"You'd think that. But when your dad was your age, he was too busy taking care of Seamus to notice. I know this is hard for you, but you know how important his job is."

I folded my arms across my chest. "I don't even know what he actually does Mom." My parents had always danced around the subject. I'd snooped enough to know he did some kind of security work, and I was pretty sure it had something to do with computers, but only because I'd ruled out most of my other theories.