The Tower of Nearness

Chapter 4: What Beast Appeared

I hope she isn't normally that dramatic... he thought to himself as he plucked the weeds, which he placed into the make-shift carrier bag he had fashioned from his shirt. 

He'd never been a huge fan of dramatics. He found that he just didn't have the energy or patience for it. His father was an excellent example.

In fact, Lucian had to smile as he pictured his father's reaction to his son currently shirtless and knee deep in mud and weeds. His splotchy face would go from wine red to purple with rage. He would probably go on some screaming diatribe, spittle flying, about how princes weren't supposed to get themselves dirty, how it was peasant work, how as royalty, they were above it and others, etc., etc.

It surprised Lucian to admit that he didn't mind pulling weeds. Actually, he rather enjoyed it. There was something calming in the repetition. He felt like he could actually think clearly about things. He could sort through the chaotic mess his inner thoughts were. 

Yes, he liked the garden. A rainbow selection of flowers dotted the vibrant green grass. He could pick out violets and dark red roses, bright yellow and gold marigolds popping up between gatherings of daisies and wild rosemary. Fields of flame lilies appeared to wash a red flood over the ground and periwinkle bluebells wrapped themselves up into beautiful patches, like friends embracing after separation from each other.

He could detect the scent of lily of the valley and jasmine close by. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. Sweet and heady scents filled him, feeding into his soul. Everything in the area seemed brighter, more colourful. He could have stayed out there all his life...

That thought had him blinking and shaking his head. This place had to be enchanted. The desire to stay rooted to the spot, as one of the flowers, was almost as undeniable as breathing. 

He stood and stretched out. The sun was starting its slow descent to meet the moon. He smiled at the little slip of thought. It was a silly thing his mother used to say when the day ended. The sun had gone to meet the moon for a tender embrace before parting again.

That was all the nostalgia he would allow himself. Any more would just lead him into melancholy and then he would be useless to all. He shot a glance at the vegetable patch. Who grew them? Seren crossed his mind, but he quickly stamped out the possibility. It couldn't be, she was trapped in the tower. Therefore it had to be the witch who cursed her, right? A strange hobby for an evil witch, but he wasn't an expert in what evil witches did when they weren't cursing people, so really, who was he to judge?

He headed over to the vegetable garden. If he wanted to finish before it grew too dark, he had better get started.

He got down to his knees and started pulling at weeds again. The vegetables, he couldn't help noticing were very healthy and looked after; much like the rest of the garden. The witch had a green thumb, apparently. He was having trouble imagining some crony old hag out in the lush garden, tending to the plants, taking care of flowers. However, he liked to believe that people were always more than they seemed.

He shivered as the evening bought a cool breeze across his shoulders. As the light started fading ever more quickly, his mind couldn't help but wonder how safe the place was. He wasn't afraid. After all, he's spent two days there already and suffered no evil other than a stiff back. However, the Tower still held so many mysteries and anything could happen.

A rustle from the woods just behind him stopped him dead. His heartbeat quickened. His shoulders tensed.

Slowly, he reached for his sword. His hand held the hilt in a soft grasp. He strained to hear the noise again, but nothing came. After a few moments of silence, he began to relax. It was probably a rabbit or some other creature minding its business, as he should be minding his. He only removed his hand for a moment, when he heard an evil sounding hiss.

Ioin.

He knew that it had to be the dragon. Ioin the Dragon of Gywim was there. Lucian had heard all sorts of tales of the fierce beast. Those stories rarely ended with everyone skipping off into the sunset; limping maybe, but definitely not skipping. He rose very cautiously to his feet. His grip tightened around his weapon and he turned to face the beast, raising his sword over his head. He sucked in a shaky breath ready to face certain death.

Quack!

His fierce opponent was.... a duck.

Lucian looked down at the fowl beast, his sword still raised above his head. The duck regarded him with wariness. Beady eyes bore into Lucian's soul.

Quack!

Lucian lowered his sword and let out a guffaw of laughter. A duck. He was glad there was no one there to see his near death match with a duck.

He gave the animal another look, this time studying it. He was a big one. His head was coloured with an emerald sheen of small feathers, a white strip collared his neck, and the rest of his body was gray as a storm cloud. A mallard, if Lucian wasn't mistaken. His feathers bristled and he hissed at Lucian.

The duck offered Lucian no time to react. The duck flew at him. He yelped as a razor-sharp talon just missed him and shouted as the vicious fowl attacked him. He covered his face with his hands and blindly kicked out at the creature. He stumbled back as he tried to escape. The damn duck was more bloodthirsty then any dragon he might have had to face.

Somehow, as he was backing away, he tangled his feet and tripped over them. He fell backward, his arms flailing, and landed with a loud thud onto the hard ground. Sharp pain radiated from his behind up his lower back. He groaned and rolled to his side. 

The duck approached him, slowly issuing a low hiss. He stepped towards Lucian's sprawled figure as though they were in some kind of duel. Lucien tried to get crawl away, but the duck only hissed louder.

Out of nowhere a short, sharp whistle rent the air. The duck froze. Another whistle sounded. He shot one last look of pure hatred at Lucian before waddling off.  

Lucian waited until the duck was long gone before rising to his feet. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until it whooshed out of him. He scolded himself. How could he call himself a prince and yet be terrified of a duck? 

Sighing deeply, he looked out at the sky surprised by how suddenly it had turned dark. Stars were beginning to shine out in the night sky. 

He had better hurry back to the Tower and to his small camping area. He gathered up the, now fill, basket of weeds and turned back to the tower.

As he walked, he wondered where the whistle that had saved him had come from? It couldn't have been from the witch, could it? If the witch had come back and seen him, then why not attack him? Maybe she wanted to punish Saren first!

His brisk walk turned into a run as he raced back to the tower, worry coursing through him as he prayed that Saren was safe. 

"Saren!" he called up at the Tower. When she didn't answer immediately, he began searching the tower's walls for any cracks or cropping out bricks that he could get a grip on and use to climb up. Even a sliver would do, but the walls were smoother than pebble from one of the beaches back home. 

"Saren!" He called again, fear tingeing his voice.

"Calm down!" He heard her voice call from above him. She sounded slightly out of breath. He looked up to find her... scowling at him. No, it had to be a trick of the light. After all, why would she scowl at him?

"Are you alright?" He asked, "The witch hasn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine." She assured him, "I, uh, haven't seen the witch as of yet."

Lucian let out a short breath of relief. The whistler still worried him, but at least she was safe. His caught sight of the basket hanging from his arm, reminding him of his task.

"Princess! I got the weeds you asked for!" he held up the handmade shirt basket for her to inspect.