Chapter 45. Nightmares.

  He watched that old man for moment. Then again scanned the crowd. Where were they? Somehow he manage to spot that old man again. The dusty one. With the gross diaper. Flakey little old man. Was he—he was. He was walking right for Sid—kind of. The man slightly crawled now. Pushing off a single hand with each side step.

  Goofy old kook dusted his head. Releasing a daft amount of dead skin. Sid could only curl his lip. Disgusting. What’s that old guy doing now—is he, …he is. The old man was waving. Should he wave back—no don’t do that don’t even look at him. Beady eye quickly scanned the crowds again. Only managing to seek that crazy old man. Who was still dusting his head, and waving.

  Sid squint while folks passed. Where did he go. He was now trying to look for that kook. The man who half crawled—I don’t know perhaps when one gets to damn old you need your arms for extra support. But that old guy was hunched over. Side stepping with his feet and arms. What’s he doing now. Why was the old man pointing at him. Why was the kook so damn happy. Literally clapping. Pointing at Sid, then at himself. More specifically, at that nasty wool. Then clapping. Dusting his head. Pointing. Clapping. Pointing. Dusting. Pointing. Clapping. What a maniac.

  The geezer clapped obnoxiously. Dusting his head wafting that nasty trail. Clapping again, and pointing. He pointed right at Sid, then strait to his wool. Quickly crawling over to him. He stopped just a Sid’s foot. The one wearing that single boot. The kook clapped and pointed at the boot, then to his diaper.

  Sid watched that loopy man. He could only imagine the conversation happening in that dusty head. Seeing how he lip smacked and popped. The odd little man touched the toe of the boot with a single finger. Laughed maniacally and circled Sid. Stopping he looked up at a him.

  The ancient fellow had one big purple eye, and one small green one—weird. He also had no teeth. Apparently, he couldn’t speak either. Or, well Sid couldn’t understand him if he was speaking a lost language. The man clicked and clacked, clapped and popped his lips wildly though.

  This went on for several minutes, before stampeding hooves, rickety wagon wheels, and the splintering smash of carts and stands, echoed the yards—for a moment he thought it was Arieo and Fenrir causing a ruckus being up to no good.

  Folks of all sizes jumped and rolled from the path. All only escaping in time to see their tents tables and stands smashed. Sid watched the commotion of two very large nightmares.

  The nightmare is a tall dark horse. Beautiful things. Majestic standing creatures like a Clydesdale. Only a Nightmare has no hindquarters, but instead thick clouds of a heavy black smoke—or bad dreams, depending on who you ask. Each rolling cloud of evil held the soft flash of lightning. Beautiful magenta lightning. Pulsing somewhere within. Glassy black eyes, almost blending with that soft black hair. Deep maroon mane of flame. Much like the night sky, clashing with purples and greens. The creature was dark, mysterious, and beautiful all in the same.

  The two nightmares dashed by. Each had been hitched somewhere, somehow. As they were pulling a rickety wagon. Their driver stood with great balance. Reigns in one hand. Shouting and waving his other, trying to warn the folks to move.

  "Get out of the way! Emergency! Emergency! Move!"

  Sid watched the Nightmares and wagon rip by. Him and that kook both watch with marvel. Abram was hard asleep. Not waking when he dropped him nor when the Nightmares stampede through. Eye following the lingering smoke left behind. The wagon was catching fire. It was covered in snakes of electricity. Each bit into the wagon cover. Like the pesky fire imp in the hot season, patches of ember spread like wildfire. He could only observe from his spot, but he watched while the driver directed the mares right to the entrance of the castle. Driver pulling a cloth from under the bench—no it wasn’t a little hand rag either—the man started whipping the flames of his wagon. Doing his absolute best to extinguish them all. Sid also seen three other men jump from the back of the wagon. Pulling a body out behind them. The three carried the body up the stairs, only dropping it once, and through the doors.

  The driver circled his wagon making sure the flames were out. A few more times to inspect for troubling embers. Then once more to overlook his damage. The man then jumped up into the back, only for a moment. He climbed out and reached for two uhh—well Sid didn’t know what they were. They were blue—or silver—kind of like a deep moon color, it was some sort of gourde. The driver placed the things in front of the Nightmares. Patted the both with brushing pat-pats. Nuzzled both then ran inside.

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  He ignored the tapping at his boot. Only watching the creatures of mystery while they eat those odd gourdes. He had seen these animals before. Once. He liked them though. Occasionally dreaming of nightmares—typically it was that odd snake dream—he wanted a nightmare though. Maybe one with a wagon like that too. Glancing down he watched that old goof rifling through Abram’s coat.

  “Hey!” The mustache barked. “What is that? What did you just take?”

  Sid grabbed the old man before he could crawl away. Lifting him by that baking wool. It squished with a horrible wet sound. Squirmy old guy. Still quick for looking to be on his hundred-twentieth cycle of seasons. That actually wasn’t too old for folks. He’s heard fire-tale about folks much like elders who lived for very long time. Adventurers were some who lived long times—or well they could, have they not all been killing each other—I don’t know something about the stones they find. That’s a story for later.

  “What is that? Give it to me?” A fat flat open hand demanded. While the other shook the old man.

  A scrawny, skin-clinging arm reached. Flakey dust breaking away with such a reach. Placing the small leather bag in Sid’s hand. He dropped the kook, who now stepped away from the both. Sid held an eye of warning, while he slowly bent. Placing the bag back inside Abram’s coat. He didn’t like the way the old man just watched with bugging eyes. Squatting like that. Licking his lips. Wafting his flakes.

  Patting the pouch safe in Abrams pocket. Sid looked at the voyager. Remembering what he said about this Scarlett lady. Unsure as to why, but he slightly wanted to know more. More of the legend of the Bear-King.

  Bear-King. A word that was not a word at all. He had come to learn that a man named Tyriel was titled with such a name. a legend he just had to know more of.

  “I’m looking for Scarlett. Do you know where she is?”

  Colorful eyes pulsed and glowed at the request. Each growing and shrinking while the geezer wondered. Babbled something while counting only two fingers. Dusting his head. Standing up from a horrible squatting pose. He instructed Sid to follow. Pulling him with welcoming hand gestures.

  I will be saying this a lot so just get used to it. Sid had some of the grandest stars in Strength. Inspiring collections in Power. That full set it Potent-Muscle though. Those were without a doubt the most shimmering. Most twinkling. Most buffed set of stars of all time. Things parents told their children about before bed. The man was unknowingly incredible—if only he was as sharp as his blade.

  Speaking of blade, Sid was trying to puzzle his sword and axe on top of Abram—he was going to carry everything the best he can. That voyager was snoozing hard too. Never waking up. No matter how much Sid shuffled him around—or dropped him.

  The dusty man only swirled the flakes of his scalp. Wafting. Waiting. Watching.

  Thinking he may have a plan Sid squat. Throwing Abram over his shoulder. Clutching the handle of the wicked timber-terror in his neck. He pushed against the charred handle of his sword. Carefully he leaned the sword against himself, reaching for the axe.

  -Clang-

  Sid held a frustrated blink. That glorious mustache even waggled with a bothered dance. Chewing his lips with irritancy, this was never going to work. Not that he couldn’t carry everything, he just couldn’t get a good hold of everything. Anytime he positioned Abram or the axe or the sword—didn’t matter the rotation—he would always drop one of the three. Annoying—or well it would have been.

  There was however this calming. A palliative rush that washed over him. Such wonderful vibrations. Relaxing pulses that had asked kindly for Sid to turn around. Arieo was walking towards him. Fenrir too—no not out in the open the pup was underneath that wagon still. Right there in the shadows. If you knew how to look for him you could spot him easily. But it was Fenrir emitting that calmness. Oh, it was refreshing too. Such serenity—Sid would probably never understand the reasoning for the feeling, but he wasn’t opposed to it. As the gap closed the anger melted—that tranquility couldn’t stop the fact that that damn wheel was squeaky still. The satisfying clopity-clop-clops of those hooves made up for it though.

  Arieo knew his master had crashed. He feels it. He was about to himself. He was tired. So, so tired. He was exhausted. The sore patch on his belly hurt. He wanted his parsnips. Gods why hasn’t Sid traded for trousers, or a blanket at the least. Arieo flicked his ear. He was parking it right here. Honestly his master is damn lucky he walked the wagon around the pond. Sid can bring master over here. He just physically can’t walk anymore. He’s crashing. Good-night master. Good-night Fenrir. Drop dead jerk.

  “Haw.”

  It was the most pathetic sound Sid had heard. Mustache twisted at such a noise. Even some of the passerby looked at the donkey. Sid blinked. Not really sure what just happened to the donkey. Was, was it sleeping? He just shook his head walking over to Arieo and Fenrir. He lay Abram in the bed of the wagon. Pushing his legs and feet to a more comfortable position. He then crouched. Cautiously speaking to Fenrir.

  “Okay Fenrir, you just wait here. That man knows the Scarlett lady.” Sid pointed at the dusty old kook. “I’m going to see what she has to say for Abrams sake. Maybe he will leave us alone then.” That lip-rug chuckled while the pup licked his palm.

  As he turned to walk away, Fenrir followed. In the dark of a blink, the Howling-Shadow jumped into Sid’s shade.

  A purple and green eye pulsed at such a sight. Popping excitedly the kook led the way. Sid followed, unaware of his shadow.