Tweet of the Day: Becoming the High King
Caldicot, Sir Fynwyn, Principality of Wales, 14 December, 07:41 hrs GMT
Tom announced his presence by the sound of heavy booted stomps up the stairs. He slammed the door open. The sound thundered through the house.
“Gwen!” he yelled.
“Tom,” I said.
“Where are you going?” I slid the last tome on my backpack. He had asked me the same questions for over a week, and I gave him the same answer, none. “We need you?”
“We, whose we?”
“Our people, our country needs you.”
“Our country, the very same we lived in for so long yet kept ourselves apart from? No, it’s your little Prince that needs me.”
“To speak of one is to speak of the other. We did not start this war. We are simply defending our land from those who would defile it.”
I fought the urge to slap some sense into my little brother. Of course, now that he had a few inches on me I would have to jump up to reach him.
I wonder what Mum would say if she saw that.
“I am not going to be a party to this insanity, Tom. God, you where always full of yourself, but now you sound so posh it’s downright adorable.”
“So there is nothing say to change your mind?”
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, “Say, no. Do? That’s up to you.” But he had no instrument or weapon to stop me.
“From this day forth you are neither sister nor kin,” he said. And staring at him I knew that he meant every word, every inflection, every twitch of his mouth. “I can’t protect you anymore.”
“But I can try to protect you Tomas Mac Lir. Somebody has too,” I said.
I walked past him, down the stairs and into the wet cold December air. I got on my motorbike and road out of town past knots of people cleaning the rubble from the last artillery strike or lining up for food and water from the back of a supply lorry. Outside of town I pulled to the side of the road. To the south a vast white wall of snow hovered over the river. But my answers lay in the opposite direction.
And if I found the right crossing….Avalon.