Son of Song Killer

Two

"How old are you, boy?"

"Nine."

"Nine-year-olds are far too young to fight." Grandfather is much nicer than Father is. He even lets me hold his hand when I please. I don't understand how Father could have come from this man. "When did you learn to fight?" I'm very lucky to be having these conversations with Grandfather, mainly because Father says that asking these sorts of questions is prying and invasive. "I'm not sure I remember. Maybe sixteen. Everything's a blur now." Grandfather doesn't look old at all, so why could his memory be depleting already? It wasn't long before we got back to the palace. "Go to your room, I need to speak to your father."

"Okay." I'm still not sure what Grandfather said to Father, but ever since that 'talk' he was extremely quiet that day. "Valkur, boy," Grandfather called. "Yes?"

    "Let's go." the palace was the only place I'd ever been in, so when Grandfather started talking about leaving, I got extremely nervous. "Where are we going?"

    "We can't stay here anymore, it's not exactly safe." Grandfather said to me. But that only got me more confused. Why wasn't it safe? What happened? But Father taught me not to pry when adults seemed serious. And Grandfather seemed very serious. "Is it far from here?" if I couldn't ask why things weren't safe, I might as well ask where we were going.

    I hate carriage rides. I get nauseous from them all the time. But Grandfather being there stopped me from puking. Taking a carriage from off a mountain was a terrible idea, but Father nor Grandfather seemed fazed. I'm not sure what country we were going to, but it wasn't with any Voltarians. This is the very first time I've experienced weather that wasn't snowy. Now, we have a new castle that's smaller but still pretty lavish, and still very lonely. It's now been a couple of days since I've been on Mount Velgrin, and everything's boring and lifeless. Grandfather says we'll find friends for me later, but I don't like waiting that much.

    During breakfast the next morning, I assumed there was a group of servants like at home, but here there's one man. He looks Voltarian but there's something off about him. Silence disturbs me, especially at the dinner table. I assumed that it would be different with Grandfather around, but I was wrong. I guess that's the only thing they have in common. To break the silence, I turned to the weird man. "Hello," Father snapped at me. "Valkur! No." Grandfather didn't say anything this time, so I assumed Father was in the right, and I shut up.

    But the minute Grandfather and Father left for some odd reason, I found that man again. When I got closer to him, he had something carved in his forearm, but I couldn't tell what it was. "Hello," I said again. This time, he looked up at me. "Boys should listen to their fathers." he has the funniest voice. But I like it. It makes him interesting. "Father won't mind." I lied. He will mind. But he doesn't have to know. "I'm Valkur. What's your name?"

    "Hernando." I sat down next to him. "Can I tell you something, Hernando?" he nodded. "I have been so distracted by Grandfather being here, I forgot I have to go to school soon." it's nice to have two people who always listen to me now. "You're scared?" I nodded and he scoffed. "A soldier's never scared." he smiled. It's funny to think that he sees me as a soldier. "I am. I can't even spell my own name." Hernando sighed. "I can help you," he said, grabbing a paper a writing my name down for me first. "This is your name, yes?" I looked up at him. "I can't read." he sighed again. "This is your name. But where I'm from, there's an accent above the 'u'." drawing the 'ú's in my name is my favourite. I got the hang of that perfectly. Thanks to him, I can spell my name perfectly. And hundreds of other words that I had never heard before.

    I nearly ran to my room and started writing more words. Valkúr is my favourite one. Just as I was writing, Grandfather and Father came back. "Valkur?" Grandfather called out. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Writing," I showed him the papers and Grandfather had a huge smile on his face. "Who taught you to do this? You did?" I was a bit nervous about telling Grandfather about Hernando, but it's Grandfather, not Father. "Hernando," Grandfather furrowed his eyebrows. "Who?"

"The man from breakfast." Grandfather looked like I had just told him the most shocking news of his life. He left with the door open, so I could hear him talking to Father. "That Magnorite just taught your son how to read in write in three hours," Hernando told me that his people were called Magnorites by other people and that amongst them, they didn't have a name. "So?" Father asked. "So we're sending that boy to K'arthen for school." K'arthen must be the place that Hernando was talking about. "Absolutely not!" it's a bit shocking that Father became irate at that. "It's better than sending him to a school with humans they'll eat him alive!"

"He's my son, not yours," Father retorted. "The nigger's lucky I haven't killed him, it's illegal for him to know these things let alone teach others," Hernando told me that people like him and people like us get called niggers because others are jealous. So I suppose Father's jealous of Hernando for some odd reason.

That night, I just had to ask Hernando why Father was so jealous of him. "Are we niggers, Hernando?" well, more or less. "No."

    "Then where did it come from? The word I mean." Hernando shrugged. "Valkur!" before I could even get to Father being jealous, he called my name. "Come here." when I approached Father, he grabbed me by the shoulder really tight. "Go to your room." he whispered. I nodded. Unfortunately, the night wasn't over. I woke up to a whole lot of commotion and Grandfather yelling at Father. When I walked downstairs, I almost puked. Grandfather and Father were screaming at each other over Hernando's dead body. Father had killed him. Father killed him and it's all my fault. "Hernando!" Grandfather tried his best to get me to go back to my room, but all I could do was cry and cry and cry. I don't think I've ever cried that much before. Now I hate Father. I hate him because he killed my first friend. And probably my only one too.