Arnwell Castle was growing larger ahead of me, and I saw now that it was bordered by tall walls and parapets, though the arched gate was open. It sat on a small hill overlooking the lake, which bordered the edge of the town and stretched out a long way in the distance. I was again struck by how incredibly clear the water looked…it was as still as glass and marked only by some old boats lazily fishing off the rocky coast. The entire village looked like one of those cheesy postcards your grandma sends you, minus the strange abundance of weaponry and the fact that this particular village was deep underground. Which were fairly important points, I guess.
Finally reaching Arnwell’s gate, which was almost seven feet high, I stopped and looked through the opening into a huge courtyard. It was completely packed with…boys. The white stone walls bordered three sides of the courtyard, while the castle itself took up the fourth, looking over everything like a watchful teacher, proud and silent.
The courtyard was built of the same white cobblestone as the castle, but it was scuffed and worn and stained in places with a dark liquid that might have been blood. It was also filled with the strangest array of things I have ever seen. There were crude wooden rings for sparring, logs to jump over, ropes to swing on, massive carts to push, and weapons everywhere. But that wasn’t even close to the weirdest part.
Scattered in between all those items were fake creatures stuffed with straw. They were stitched together with what looked like thick leather, and all of them were scarred with rips and tears and gashes. Straw was poking out of the wounds like gushing blood. I saw one that looked like a troll, another a goblin, and some larger ones that looked like dragons and ogres. Little stuffed creatures with wood-framed wings were scattered everywhere, and there was even a huge fake spider that did not make me happy at all. I eyed the creatures, standing there uneasily as the young men slammed axes into the creatures’ heads and fired black-feathered arrows into wings.
I noticed now that while many of the assembled warriors were wearing brown peasant clothes and long hooded cloaks, many others were wearing jeans or track pants and tight-fitting T-shirts, revealing muscular arms. All of the latter were boys, though I did start to notice a few girls amongst the hooded warriors. Now I was really confused.
Who were these people, and why were they attacking monster scarecrows? I tried to step against the wall to avoid being seen, but I was too late.
A tall boy with curly black hair and a strong jaw spotted me first, standing up straight and letting his massive battle-axe rest on his shoulder. He was wearing a Star Trek T-shirt, which would have been awesome if he wasn’t holding that axe.
He nudged the boy next to him, and one by one, the word seemed to filter through the crowd, and the fighting stopped. I would have assumed that would have been replaced by talking or gossip or something, but no. They all just kind of looked at me, eyebrows raised in confusion or doubt or who knows what. I wanted to run away, but that probably wouldn’t help my first impression. So I kind of just stood there, smiling like I had walked into someone else’s party and was now going to slowly let myself out again.
I never got the chance.
The crowd suddenly parted, and a tall man with a long cloak swept through it like a stalking predator, his hood draped over his strong shoulders. I immediately knew it was the man from the woods behind my house, because there was no mistaking those eyes. They were as bright and clear as the lake, and they made the hair on my arms stand up when they fell on me. He was really cute for an older guy but grim; a white scar ran from his forehead to his chin, passing right through one of those icy blue eyes. He was grizzled with stubble, and his dark hair fell right to his shoulders, framing proud cheekbones. Without even asking, I knew this must be Eldon. I stood there rooted to the spot as he stopped in front of me, his eyes passing once over me and then resting on mine.
“It’s as I feared,” he said quietly. “The spell is broken.”
Chapter Seven
I waited for him to say something else, but he just stood there for a very long moment, looking at me like I was a bug. The gathered warriors around him still weren’t speaking, though some exchanged meaningful looks, their expressions dark. I shifted uneasily, and then decided to break the silence.
“Do you mind explaining who you people are?” I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt. I tucked my hands in my pockets to hide the trembling, but my knees were shaking even worse than my hands. I really hoped they didn’t give out.
Eldon just stared at me, obviously trying to decide what to do. I suspected he had half a mind to shut the heavy iron gate and tell me to go home, but clearly something was stopping him. Finally, he spoke.
“These,” he said, gesturing around him, “are the Monster Crushers. Well, some of them are. The rest are their guardians, or as we call them, their Swords.”
I looked at him with what I’m sure was a blank expression. “The Monster what?”
“Monster Crushers,” he repeated quietly, “the warriors that protect this planet from the horrors beneath their feet. They are chosen from across the surface world by a spell as old as the homes they live in—a spell that until this day has chosen warriors capable of bearing the Iron Hammers and defending the
