Cover - Prologue - Chapter one

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aristide of Firewright

 Chapter One

 

Written by: Arash Mashhadi

Illustrations by: Parmida Vahdatnia

Edited by: Selva Safineh

Story by: Arash & Parmida

 

PROLOGUE

  “How about I read ‘The Great Pillage of Juvenous’ again?” asked the father.

  “You already read it. And mom has read it to me twice,” said the daughter, hiding her ginger head under her blanket. “I'm telling you, there aren't any new books left to read.”

  The girl couldn’t have been more than twelve. The father’s messy hair was mostly grey. Just a hint of red was visible in his hair, showing the family connection.

  He sighed and flicked the robe he wore over his clothes away and stood up to observe his daughter’s bookshelf.

  “Read this one… finished this one last week… ‘The Flying…’ no already read it to you.”

  “I told you. There aren’t any books left,” said the girl in a muffled tone from underneath her blanket.

  “Huh,” He murmured. “There really isn’t anything new left. I’ll get some new books tomorrow.”

  “What about tonight?” she said, lowering the blanket to reveal her big eyes again. “I need a story to sleep.”

  “You know what… what if I told you a story myself?”

  “You know other stories?”

  “I guess so.”

  “What if I don’t like it?”

  “Then tell me to stop. Deal?”

   “Deal,” said the little girl as she made herself comfortable on the bed to listen.

CHAPTER ONE

Missing Loved Ones

 

 

Thwack…

Thwack…

Thwack…

 

  

  The constant thwack was keeping Aristide from focusing on his book.

  He was a boy of ten, with curly red hair and eyes as big as ashtrays. The old shirt that he wore seemed two sizes too big for him. And his belt had extra holes added to it, so it could be made tighter than it was originally intended to keep his loose pants up over his small waist.

  The trees in the forest were tall and reached their hands together, creating a dome-like shape, letting in only small glittering sunlight in.

  Aristide peeked over his book to take a look at his pa.

  His pa, Archie, was swinging his axe at a tree. Sweat was running down his untrimmed beard and his wavy brown hair flew back and forth in the air with each strike.

  “How about giving your pa a hand?” said Archie. “Instead of reading a book you have read before.”

  “I’m not good at your job,” said Aristide. “And besides, I want to do other things.”

  “What do you want to do?” asked Archie, as he delivered the final blow to the tree.

  The tree squeaked, and finally toppled over and fell with the loudest thump. Birds all over the forest got spooked and flew away. Aristide thought he heard a distant scream. It was no particular animal that he knew of, though. He shook his head and tried to come up with an answer.

  “I want to explore. Go into the heart of the forest. See what else is there besides Firewright.”

  “The forest isn’t safe from these parts on. There are predators out there,” said Archie, as he laid on the ground next to Aristide. “And besides, you are good at anything if you do it with care and passion.”

  “My stick figures aren’t as good as yours,” said Aristide while he turned away from Archie. “They’re crooked.”

  “Show me the one you have on you.”

  “I don’t have any on me.”

  “Come on. I know you got it.”

  Archie tried to reach inside Aristide’s pockets but he changed his mind and tried to tickle Aristide to submission. Aristide kept on laughing and tried to get out of Archie’s big palms, so he reached in his pocket and took a stick out while nearly in tears from laughter.

  “Here it is. Stop please.”

  Archie wrapped his gigantic fingers around the wooden figure. It was so tiny in his hand it looked like an elephant was holding a cup of tea.

  The figure was that of a woman. She had curly hair and a flower in her hair. She was smiling, although as Aristide said, all the angles were wrong. The edges were rough and not smoothened. Yet you could feel her smile upon you, beneath the imperfections of the craft.

  Tears started forming in Archie’s eyes.

  “No matter how many times I try to carve her… I can’t. But look at yours. It’s beautiful,” said Archie.

  “You think so?” asked Aristide.

  “Of course. And you will improve. With patience, you’ll make it even better.”

  They both paused for a few moments and observed the loving gaze of the woman. Aristide took a deep breath.

  “Do you miss her?” asked Aristide.

  “Every day,” said Archie. “Yet in every leaf, in every whirl of the wind and every ray of the sun, I feel her presence.”

  Aristide nodded while pressing his tiny fingers around the statue of his mom and into his palm.

  Archie held his head close to Aristide’s for a while until an echo from the loudspeakers broadcasting the radio in the town broke their safe space, “To the wonderful citizens of Firewright, good news,” said the announcer with an uplifting tone.

  “The Purhassi soldiers have left our borders!”

  Archie and Aristide both sat up quickly, looking at each other.

  “Philo is… coming home?” asked Aristide.

  “I think he is!” cried out Archie.

  The announcer continued, “We have confirmation that the Purhassis have retreated. Our fighter boys will arrive today at Firewright! Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

  The announcement stopped and they played their national anthem. Philo would return today. Now that was good news for the little boy in his older brother’s clothes.

  “Dad, you should make some dinner for him,” said Aristide. “I’ll go to the square to greet him.”

  “You’re right. Let’s surprise him.”

 

***

  Firewright was a village where life never stopped. No matter how many wars or famine the country went through, this was that one town where people always pulled through.

  With every building built as close as possible to the next one, that was also how the people were built in Firewright.

  The old steel factory up the hill was the one thing you could see from every part of the town. The air around it was always hot and heavy due to the heat of furnaces in there processing the steel. It was so hot that the long smokestacks always glowed red throughout the day.

  Today, however, the town seemed empty. Everyone else had already heard the radio message and was gathering at the town square.

  Aristide was on his bicycle, peddling down the crooked streets of Firewright as fast as he could while trying to keep his balance.

  Each manhole cover made a thump when the wheels of the bike made an impact on it. Aristide knew the third one had its door half-open, so he smoothly rode around it effortlessly.

  He arrived at the town square, and… there were people everywhere. Kids were hanging from the statue in the middle of a square, the statue of an ironsmith in honor of the town of Firewright.

  On such short notice, people were raising banners and putting flowers around the square as welcome signs for the soldiers.

  Aristide, though, was having trouble getting a good view of the gate and kept peeking from between the other people’s legs.

  The gate of the town was built modestly, but also pridefully with ironwork around it. The Firewrighters were proud of their ironwork.

  A messenger rode on horseback into the town, panting.

  “They’re here!” the messenger said.

  The people of Firewright yelled as hard as they could. Aristide didn’t yell. He had to see him to be sure, to have comfort.

  The crowd started cheering again. The soldiers must be walking into the square then, Aristide thought. He climbed the statue as well to get a better look.

  People were crying and hugging soldiers who had been away for months, lovers were kissing and children were running to their fathers. But not everyone shared their joy.

  There were a few young girls who collapsed on the ground as they heard the news. People were gathering around to comfort them. Family members, friends, and even strangers.

  A woman caught Aristide's eyes. She was old with a hunched back, and she wasn’t crying, shouting, or collapsing on the ground. But the way she was clutching her right hand over her left arm, made Aristide feel a sense of pain. He knew what that felt like. He used to squeeze his fingernails into the palm of his hand unintentionally for a long while after he lost his mother.

  Although the war was a victory, there’d still be people dying. That is something Aristide had to learn very early in his life. He kept his gaze circling around … and around… and around… until…

  “Excuse me, little fellow, I’m looking for my kid brother,” said a man behind Aristide.

  Aristide turned around and faced the man who said it… A very tall, broad-shouldered man with the thickest mustache, and an eyepatch over his right eye. His right arm was tied to his shoulder. He looked tired, wounded, and older. But he was Philo, and he had his warm smile chiseled into his face.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know him, by any chance?” asked Philo.

  Aristide leaped and hugged his older brother tightly with his short arms. Philo let out a low ouch and hugged Aristide back even tighter.

  “I couldn’t see you at first,” said Aristide as he jumped down, laughing. He got a better look at his brother and noticed his injuries, and his laughter faded a bit.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “War. My arm will get better with time, don’t worry.”

  “What about your eye?”

  “Well, no. It’s not in my head anymore,” said Philo. “You’re not scared of it, are you?”

  “No,” said Aristide. “You look like a pirate.”

  “I have to get a parrot,” Philo said with a cackle. “Look at how much you’ve grown! I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“It’s been a few months. I haven’t grown that much.”

  Philo sighed. He rubbed Aristide’s ginger head. “Feels very good to be back home with you.”

  “Feels good to have you back at home,” said Aristide, smiling at his older brother.