“Go Ash! Go!” Hm is that Marlon? I thought he was still in seminary. I swear that boy becoming a priest is like making a cow lay an egg. He loves attention, (he does not get) untrusting of others, (not exactly a Christian quality) and tries to do everything himself. My son is a lone warrior playing the role of the hospitable priest well clergyman since his training is not yet finished. At least the quality of devout is strong in him, full of belief and unwavering to those who oppose which little do.

So it is that vicious game they call squall they are playing, eh? If I can remember correctly one starts with the ball on one side of the courtyard and tries to reach the other side without being thrown to the ground by the other players. Once they are tackled they throw the ball up and the next person gives it their try. Not a game for a princess.

She took possession of the ball, lucky for her five of the other players are of eleven or twelve years of age. Her only challenges are two at sixteen and one at eighteen. Why aren’t these boys working on the fields or their fathers’ stores? Then again an outsider would find the question ‘why is a princess playing a ruthless game with commoner boys?’ But all here know she is… eccentric. But thank god gave her long legs for that girl can run!

I walk over to my son and lean forward on to the stone banister. He seems to be concentrating on Ashley; I have always thought he had a certain fondness for her as when he was of eleven of her birth he loved to take care of her. A priest cannot marry and even though marriage between a fifteen year old and twenty-seven, I believe she sees it as a plutonic relationship.

“Quite the beauty she is.” I put on a voice as to see his response.

He smiles brightly and responds “None finer, see? She has legs of silk and hair light as rain. She isn’t fully developed but her growth is extensive for a girl of such age. Quite the beauty indeed.”  I cover my mouth from laughing I had never predicted such a… strong response.

“So are you...” ha… I can’t control the laughter. “S-so are you a priest or a poet?” I burst out laughing. Oh to hear my son sound so ridiculous brings tears to my eyes! He mutters something but I don’t catch it and soon my giggles vanish into the air. His face clearly gives of ‘I… Hate… You…’ I laugh to myself and turn toward him who seems to be steaming in white robes. “I’m sorry but I didn’t catch that last line could you repeat it.” Is his eye twitching?

“You are a bastard!” Hm. For someone who has been taught in the way of language and speech he sure has a poor choice in words.

“No, my father and mother were married.” I respond in a contradicting tone. With a dead pan face add on a slap of insult.

“Damn you…”

“Blasphemy, don’t get carried away son.” He slumps over the banister. My job here is complete. During our squabble the game ends with our little princess blazing her way past the boys and reaching the other wall. “Ashley won.” He quickly recovers, and rips is head up to see the results as a smile grows on his face followed by cheering. What a silly boy I have… Is he mine?

The evening swept in quickly, I was forced to candle light to finish up a new transaction because the ownership of the land I made this morning was nullified by the swift actions of a sword and desperate peasant. As I said most things are balanced on the tip of a sword.

I hear a light step coming down the corridor, who could it be at this hour? I have a guess that Ashley wishes to hear stories of fantasy and magic but on the off chance it isn’t her it would be puzzling to me. But as I was hypothesizing it is her in a nightgown thin and white almost exposing her bosom.  

“It is late Ashley and a woman should not be wandering on her own.” A stare her down but she just smiles enters and takes the spare chair next to the desk. She knows I would never force her to leave but maybe one day to scare her I should. She looks at me and I know those eyes that remain open as if they will listen in turn for her ears. “So what kind of story do you wish to hear milady?”

“One about magic and heroes!” how vague… but it is usually the same response every night she comes here. I guess an old story she has already heard won’t hurt.

“A half a century ago in these very lands there resided a magical tool called The Canis Vocatio, a powerful pipe that let out a sound that could not be heard by human ears.” I hush my voice and speak with a rough sound to try and add in suspense as she leans in hands clasped to the corner of my desk. I think she cares not that she has heard it before. “This device summoned the wolves of hell to fight for whom ever called. Such an item was desired by many and many sought to take it by the means of other magical creatures and artifacts. A battle roared here in this castle dozens of times between man and beast and beast and man but no victor was ever claimed. For fifteen years these battles commenced under any conditions, yet neither side gave in.” her eyes glisten with anticipation or so I guess. She is such a boyish girl!

“Then-“

“Then one day a young magister named Artemis Fowl came and sealed all the
magic!” I knew she had heard this story… but I should of saw her cutting me off a little sooner. At least she stops questioning why he and I have the same first name. And how can she have so much energy at this hour? And how do I get it?

“Don’t get ahead of me. Remember he wasn’t any magister but one who was the last of Arcaeic blood. The only one who could cast the old spells of the arcane and rune spells. The Arcanes were…”

“a proud race of magic born humans who only one out of five male children could be able to spread their seed while the women were barren.” She has real taking to these stories and anything revolving around old and mystical, maybe that’s why she likes me.

“Well, yes and even then it was hard for a man to lay his seed, luckily their lives could only be taken by another life form and not disease.” That would be such a relief to us all if we could find method to prolonging our life. “But as the last of his race he wished to take the ability of magic through scrolls, incantations, artifacts, and spirits away from those of regular blood who in his eyes abused such power.” She leans back in the chair so it is safe to say her inputs to the story are done.

I clear my throat and continue, “Well he entered the field in the midst of a battle and spoke, ‘No more!’. With such a commanding voice the forces were pushed back to their lines and in fear the front line of both armies coward and bowed to the young magister, Artemis Fowl.” As I say his name her face lightens up and a gasp of breath rings in my archive room. I would worry for his safety if he was real. She would be a hard girl to lose.

“With the wave of a hand to each side the minions and summoned beasts were dispelled into sand and became absorbed in his fingertips. He looked at the two armies and addressed them, ‘You who have abused the gift of the earth shall be baron of it!’ a gust kicked up dirt and he was gone. The forces tried to summon their armies and cast their incantation yet they looked like imbeciles. Like little boys playing pretend.” She starts to giggle, and as laughing always goes if one starts the other shall follow it its contagious charm. She always thought the idea of role playing on the side of silly yet here she is listening to the stories these roles come from. Ignorance is irony and irony is bliss, therefore as they say ignorance is bliss.

“Realizing that all they fought for was gone they left and peace settled here and has yet to leave.” Heh, I almost said that with a sound of disappointment, where in a way I would rather something happen than nothing but nothing is comforting.

“I love that story. All six times you have told me it.” Oh she got me! She smiles at me like she was holding all the cards and knew my every move. But have I really taken the easy way out that many times? In my old age senile has finally set. Or did it years before? I cannot remember.

“Well I’m glad you have… all… six times.” I smile at her like a guilty man, who I am, and she just mocks me in return. Is it foolish to mock the mocking? She clasps her hands together looks into her lap and lifts her eyes up at mine. A very sexual and a common seducing pose, if only I was limber.

“I have a question.” She begins to twiddle her thumbs. This can’t be good. “I love your stories but you never talk about the other people or even tell me what Artemis Fowl looked like.” Am I really that awful at story telling?

“Well Artemis was… young and in shape. And the men here well were your father’s father and his men, and does the enemy matter to the plot?” she seems slightly confused, amused, and disappointed, which is an amazing feat to project all three emotions just from one face.

“Um… ok. Well I have my own version of Artemis and I can imagine my grandfather and his men but who were they fighting?” wow as normal she persists.

“It is a story my dear. Not a history lesson. For what reason must we continue?” maybe I can talk her out of it and have one less mess to clean up. Rather not make a short visit to a long one.

“Indulge me.” I show her a look of ‘I would rather not.’ “Please?” I look over at her and to see her cute quivering lower lip. I am too nice to her for my own good; I guess I will be telling her.

“Um, it was a man named Titus Vermouth, a man consumed by his desire and power in the dark arts, yet a great ruler. He was a feared man but he did what he needed to for his people. But his desire drove him to collect all he could find so he challenged your grandfather, Lord John Williams II and they fought for fifteen years.” That should work or so I hope her look on her face seems to be one of satisfaction. “And that is all of fairy tales tonight so head to your chamber and so will I.” she nods and walks over to the heavy wooden door and then proceeds to open it and stand between it and the wall.

She then sticks her nose in the air, tightens her lip and shows no emotions from her eyes as she says, “Come along Art, it is late.” Mocking an old man like me is like trying to keep a man from his wife at night, it doesn’t work. And yet it gives me reason to bring up once again if it is foolish to mock the mocking. But as it has been a rather lengthy day I should turn in.

Ashley separates once she reaches her turn as I enter my room. Even with candle light the room is dark and hard to see. I find the bed and their drape down as to signify me of my wife is asleep. I strip down to my bare skin and with some trouble tuck myself into bed. Maybe Ashley will forget tonight, hell with my old age maybe I will. But tomorrow holds something new and I’d rather be awake to greet it.

“Goodnight my dearest.” I roll over facing away from her and close my eyes.

“Happy birthday, Happy Anniversary.”