Ah, the feasting! I doubt that anyone in our world can throw a party exactly like a Narnian can. (Not that a party can be literally thrown. That's only an expression meaning to"hold a party." I wouldn't know how it came about.) The only disturbance came when two mice argued over what to call us because we weren't exactly Kings and Queens, but we were still royal regents. Reese settled the matter when he said we should be called lords and ladies. He later formed a Narnian Council of three wise Centaurs, some owls including our tiger owl friend, Stormwing, a giant named Cannellian, at few older fauns, a bear, a boar, and a raven. Rowanmane agreed to rout out the hag's followers and recommended the Centaur Galefoot as the Connellys' fencing teacher. I was assigned to an excellent dwarf archer who introduced me to the art of the bow and arrow. Though I enjoyed the archery lessons, I still liked to watch the Connelly brothers' sparring lessons when I could . . .
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Eliza fiddled with her sapphire pendant as she stood next to her sister under an archway leading down some steps and into the main courtyard. While Eliza wore a dress of light reds and purples, Lydia wore a silk pink dress. A silver tiara with a diamond in the middle wrapped around her forehead and around her cascading wavy brown locks. In the center of the grassy courtyard, Brennan and Reese stood before Galefoot, a brown-haired Centaur with a goatee. The boys wore simple brown tunics and trousers underneath their armor as they listened to Galefoot's lesson. The Connellys had insisted that their attendants (some fauns, a couple satyrs, and even a young Minotaur whose father had turned good) join their practice. The whole group stood erect in a half-moon around Galefoot as the teacher explained some new techniques.
Lydia shuffled her feet. "Are we going back inside soon? I can barely hear anything he's saying."
"Feel free to leave," Eliza offered kindly.
Neither of them were taking their eyes off the group. Then, Lydia looked at her sister's focused expression. "You'd like to learn it, wouldn't you?"
Eliza gave a half-shrug. "I suppose. It looks cool anyway." Here she smiled. "But I find archery so much more fascinating. You ever thought about learning to fight?"
Lydia winced. "I'm not a violent person. Anyway, I don't like the idea of messing up and making a fool of myself." Then, she added quietly, "Or sweating."
Oblivious to the last comment, Eliza continued, "You might be good at it. You'll never know unless you try."
Lydia snorted. "I don't like to try until I know."
Out in the courtyard, Galefoot had Brennan and Reese walk through the sword-fighting steps as the Centaur called out the positions or gave suggestions. After this, Galefoot told the boys to pick up their shields and spar with one another. Their moves were awkward at first but grew smoother as the fight went on. Although Brennan was obviously enjoying himself, Reese furrowed his brow with the effort of fighting his brother. Back home, he had been the one to win their wrestling matches. Now, Brennan was the one who was continuously winning. Brennan moved fluidly with his strokes - a jab here, a parry there, over the blade or under it, and finishing each match with a tap to Reese's torso. The attendants whispered among themselves, and servants came to the castle windows and archways to watch the brothers' sparring.
Distracted by his own frustration, Reese's guard slipped, allowing Brennan to unintentionally land a hit on Reese's forearm. Reese yelped and dropped his sword from his numb hand. Brennan paused in shock while Reese flexed his hand.
"Stop!" Galefoot proclaimed in a deep and powerful voice. "My lords must take a respite."
"But -," Brennan began.
" 'Twould not be fair to fight thy brother with a handicap." Reese clenched his fist when he heard this but said nothing. Galefoot continued. "And all swordsmen must learn to admit when they need to replenish their strength with resting if only for a small time." The Centaur nodded towards the attendants who rushed to get cups of water for their lords. Reese took his drink and marched over to a bench in front of a rack of swords and a few practice dummies. He set his sword across the bench and sat down next to his weapon, glaring at the ground.
With his cup in hand, Brennan followed Reese and stood nearby while gulping his drink. He chuckled breathlessly. "They don't make it look that hard in the movies."
"Don't mention movies," Reese hissed without looking up. "They don't know what those are."
"What's up with you?" Brennan asked and gave Reese's ankle a light kick.
Lydia watched them on her right, feeling almost as if she were eavesdropping on a private talk. She turned to go. "I'm heading to the library," she told Eliza. "You coming?"
Eliza shook her head but turned with Lydia. "Nah. I need to practice my archery. My fingers have been itching to shoot for a while now." They went down separate halls.
Reese finally took a sip of his water. "Nothing's 'up' with me," he grumbled. "My hand stings, that's all." He opened and clenched his fist.
Brennan shook his head. "Yeah. Sure." He sat down on the bench on the other side of the sword away from Reese. For a moment, the boys watched Galefoot run the attendants through the same routines the brothers had just done. Then Brennan spoke. "Man, that felt good. My hand jabbing left an' right." He punched the air to demonstrate. "I just felt so connected with my sword. When I was able to do the moves myself, my arm just moved so smoothly. I understood it." He grimaced and sipped his drink. "Much easier to understand than math or science."
Reese finally looked up at Brennan, and his eyes softened with compassion. Brennan turned to Reese. "Ready to go?"
"Sure." The Connellys set down their cups and marched over to Galefoot's group with their weapons in hand.
Everyone paired up, and a small fighting competition began. The contestants were eliminated until only the Connellys were left, equally sweaty and red in the face. In the final showdown, Reese lasted longer than in his previous matches, but he saw he was still losing the upper hand. Quick as thought, Reese used his sword to push Brennan's arms up, looped his arm over Brennan's shoulder, and tucked his leg behind Brennan's. Then, he threw his brother to the ground. In a moment the match was won with Reese's sword pointed at Brennan's chest.
While the attendants cheered, Brennan leapt to his feet. "You can't do that!" he shouted as he pushed his nose into Reese's face.
"All's fair in love and war," Reese replied calmly as they caught their breath.
"No, it's not!" Brennan shoved Reese away. "You can't use martial arts in fencing!"
Reese was about to retort when Galefoot stepped between them. "My lords must learn to control their tempers." The Centaur looked down at Brennan. "Although 'tis true thy brother used unusual tactics, one cannot expect his opponent to always fight fair. Learn to defend thyself."
Brennan gaped in shock before growling and storming off. "Lord Brennan," Galefoot called after him as a father would to a misbehaving son. The boy gave no response. As he passed the bench on which he'd rested, he yanked off his breastplate and threw it at the practice dummies. The breastplate collided with the dummies and toppled them. "My lord!" Galefoot called, flicking his tail in anger. Again, Brennan made no sign that he'd heard. Instead he continued up the stairs and under the arch, tossing aside his helmet, too.
Galefoot stamped a hoof and scowled. He turned back to Reese who was quietly picking up Brennan's abandoned sword. "With your lordship's permission, if I may speak plainly?"
Reese tilted his head back to look up at the Centaur. "Let me guess - something along the lines of how my brother is a menace and needs to grow up? I know he does." Reese sighed and contemplated the blade in his hands. "I just don't know how to handle him."
"All your years together, and never once have you been able to appease him?"
"I do my best," Reese stated simply. He headed over to the resting bench with Brennan's sword.
Galefoot stamped his hoofs in the moment of silence. "If it pleases your lordship, the lesson may be adjourned for today."
"No," Reese called over his shoulder as he laid the sword on the bench. "If Brennan doesn't want to continue fencing, that's his choice, but it's not fair to deprive them," here he gestured to the ever-watchful attendants, "of a lesson." He walked back to the group and held up his own sword. "Let us continue."
Meanwhile, Brennan stomped through the castle halls, heading for nowhere in particular. After a few minutes he calmed down and shook his head. "No," he muttered hoarsely to himself, "I am not going to let him get to me." He suddenly felt very thirsty after his workout. He decided to go to the kitchen for something to drink. Or maybe something to eat. Or maybe both. Both sounded good.
He started walking but then realized that he didn't know which direction the kitchen was. Around the corner, he found a mouse servant polishing a suit of armor. "Hey," Brennan called in a voice a little harsher than he intended.
The gray mouse jumped but remembered to bow to the regent. "My lord."
Brennan paused, still not used to the obeisance. "Uh, I was just wondering how to get to the kitchen."
The mouse smiled, relieved that he wasn't in any trouble. "Surely, it's a goodish walk from here, but the directions are simple." He pointed down the hall. "Turn right, walk for several paces until you see the painting of the ship, turn another right followed by two lefts. Would his lordship have me repeat the directions?"
"No," Brennan said hastily, "I think I got it. Thanks," and he hurried away.
He turned right at the corner, trying to remember the pattern of turns. He mentioned "several" steps, he thought. How much is several? I remember the ship painting. That's easy enough. But what about after that? I go left, right? No, left. Ugh, I'm confusing myself.
At last, he spotted the painting. His relief was replaced by worry as he tried to remember which way was left. He looked back and forth down either hallway. Left and right, he scolded himself. That's all you had to remember. Left and right. Finally, he chose the left hall.
Brennan soon became lost. He discovered plenty of rooms, but none were the kitchen. And although he passed plenty of servants, he was too embarrassed to ask for directions again. Each time he had to backtrack or try a side hall, he became more and more frustrated. A glass of water! You can't even find a glass of water! After what felt like the eightieth side hall, Brennan gave up and threw himself through two dark red doors, just to be rid of the never-ending passages.
He found himself in the library. The massive room was filled with shelves of books all towering above him like dominating sentinels. "Oh, for the love!" Brennan shouted. "Of all the rooms in the castle, I had to choose this one!" He glared at the nearest table with five books on top. As if it were to blame, Brennan kicked the long bench running the length of the table. Unfortunately, Brennan hadn't counted on the bench being made of such firm wood. The furniture barely moved under his blow, and Brennan gasped in pain, holding on to the table for support as he stood on one leg. Deciding to pick on something lighter, he snatched up a book and turned to throw it on the floor. With his arms still raised above his head, Brennan paused. For the first time since entering the room, he had looked behind him.
The whole wall behind him (with the exception of the two red doors) was made of shelves with the ones towards the ceiling being less filled. And at the eighth shelf stood Lydia on the ladder with a book in her hand, staring at Brennan's tantrum.
Embarrassed at being caught, Brennan lowered his book. "What're you doing here?" he growled tossing the book back onto the table.
Lydia gestured with her book before beginning her descent. "Reading. Or at least trying to find a good book to read." She touched down on the floor silently and glided over to the table. "I already tried those books." She motioned to the pile on the table. "Lots of Old English."
Brennan grunted and crossed his arms. "Isn't there supposed to be a librarian or something?"
"He's getting a snack from the kitchens."
Letting out a groan, Brennan plopped himself down on the hard bench.
Lydia blinked in surprised and settled herself on the bench across from him. "He'll be back soon," she assured him.
As if he hadn't heard her, Brennan whirled around to face her. "Can you believe him?!" he shouted. "He just didn't like that I was better than him!"
Lydia raised a delicate eyebrow. "The . . . librarian?"
"No! Reese!" Brennan shoved the table (though it didn't move), stood up, and paced. "I was getting so good at fencing, and he couldn't stand it! After so long of being so special with his mixed martial arts!" Here, Brennan chopped the air as if poorly attacking an opponent. "And I didn't get it no matter how many times he showed me. But I understand fencing. Everything fell into place in my head, and I was good at it. I was good! Suddenly, I was better than he was, and he didn't like it so he cheated and pulled some martial arts move on me and threw me to the ground!" Brennan punched the air as if demonstrating the impact of the blow. "And can you believe it? That centaur-dude took his side!" He growled and kicked at nothing.
All this time, Lydia had been sitting in shock as Brennan released his anger in a torrent of words. Now, in the first real break in his tirade, Lydia took her chance to offer a piece of consolation. "That's . . . horrible," she said uncertainly.
"Yeah, it is!" Brennan's pacing slowed. "And I was getting so good," he pouted.
Lydia remembered something he'd said. "You . . . saw the moves before he did them?"
"Yeah." He stopped pacing. "It just clicked in my head. I noticed movements from the demonstrations - like a lean or a bent knee - and I could just tell what he was doing."
Lydia gazed off to the side and rubbed her lip thoughtfully. "Hmm." Unnerved, Brennan gave her a once-over with his eyes. She looked back at him with the glint of an idea in her eyes. "Maybe reading will calm you down. Helps me." In his direction, she slid the green book with the golden designs she'd just taken off the shelf.
As she had expected, Brennan looked at the book nervously. Then, he covered up his anxiety with an uninterested look. He waved his hand and started walking away. "Nah. Reading's not my thing."
"Understandable," Lydia said quietly.
Brennan paused and whirled around, glaring at her. "You saying I'm stupid?!" he accused.
"No," Lydia said, her strained voice revealing her attempt to be patient. "I'm saying I think you have dyslexia."
All traces of anger melted from his face. "Ho . . . How did you know?"
After adjusting her silver tiara, Lydia answered, "I used to take riding lessons with a girl who had dyslexia. She told me she could watch other riders and predict what would happen with each jump. Said it was almost as if she could read the muscles on the horse and the rider, and everything . . . clicked in her head." She held Brennan's gaze meaningfully. He sat down on the edge of the bench as she opened the green book. Her eyes skimmed over the page, but didn't read it.
"But," Brennan began, "dyslexics don't really read, y'know?"
Lydia quickly set aside the green book. "Well, not really 'read,' per se, but you do that disorienting thing."
"The what?"
"Like when you read, and your mind tries to make sense of the letters and symbols it's seeing? My friend, Carley, says disorienting makes her dizzy and sometimes even feel sick."
"Yeah," Brennan replied with a smile. "That's exactly how it is!"
Lydia furrowed her brow. "Wait. Back in the throne room when we met the hag, was your mind disorienting then? And that's why you were struggling?"
Brennan shifted in his seat, his pride wounded at the idea of struggling. "Well, I wouldn't really call it 'struggling,' but yeah."
"No way." Lydia's eyes widened. "You could detect the hag's glamour? That's so cool!"
"Dyslexia's not 'cool'!" Brennan barked and turned his back to her. "It makes you look stupid, and all the kids pick on you because you can't read!"
Neither of them spoke, and the silence filled the cavernous library. It was during this awkward moment that the elderly dwarf librarian returned carrying a tray of cheese, crackers, and drinks. Brennan stood and hurried past him to the doors.
"Brennan," Lydia called out.
"What?" he snapped.
"Carley learned to read better."
The lord regent glared suspiciously. "How?"
Lydia looked to the librarian who had set the tray on the table and walked to the back of the room. She felt nervous for the weird request she was going to make, but knew it had to be done. "Excuse me," she called. He obligingly stopped to face her. "Could you . . . possibly bring us some . . . clay?" The librarian raised an eyebrow, and Lydia's face warmed as she wondered what he could be thinking of her.
In response, he nodded his head, grunted, "Yes, m'lady," and left the library. Lydia sighed in relief at the lack of criticism.
Brennan approached Lydia's table. "Why clay?" He snatched three crackers and started snacking almost before he had finished speaking.
"Carley used clay to form letters and words to help her brain recognize them later. We can do the same for you." She paused. "Did you never take those kinds of classes?"
Brennan grabbed more crackers and straddled the bench. "Eh." He shrugged. "Didn't have time, I guess. Dad needed my help." He munched on his crackers and pointed his thumb at himself. "Farm boy, remember?"
"A farm boy with a hidden gift." Lydia smiled. "With this exercise, you should be able to gain control of your dyslexia."
"Hey," Brennan protested, "I'm only doing this for the chance to play with mud." He smiled cheekily.
Lydia rolled her eyes, and said sarcastically, "Well, I'm glad to see you're so eager about this."