The Serpent King(16)

Times are simpler when no one hates you because of your name and it doesn’t occur to you to be ashamed of it.





Raynar Northbrook’s day’s labors were almost at an end. As Lord of Northhome, he didn’t need to soil his hands with work. He did it because he loved the sweet, spicy smell of cut wood and the rich, earthy smell of damp soil. A man’s work kept the back and arm strong for war. And he would need every ounce of strength in the coming days…

“Travis!” his father shouted over the din of the saw. Travis glanced up. His father tapped his watch and made a circular motion with his finger pointed in the air. “Quitting time! Wrap it up.”

Travis finished his task and switched off the saw. He’d only been working a few hours. He was on work release from school, so he got to leave early. He checked his phone. Two messages from Amelia. He felt a pulse of excitement.

How was your first day of school?

Oops forgot you’re at work now huh.

Travis hurried to text her back.

Yeah, at work. First day wasn’t bad. I was a little tired from how late we talked LOL. How was your day?

Hehe, tired too. Ugh every day of school sucks. I’d rather spend a month at the Siege of King’s Port than one day at my stupid school.

But remember at the Siege of King’s Port they had to eat rats and boiled leather until King Targhaer’s brother broke the siege. I love food, Travis replied.

Hehe, true, me too. Maybe too much, which is one of the things I get crap for at school.

Don’t listen to those people. I bet you look great. Travis blushed as he typed. He almost didn’t hit “send.” But he did.

He stood there for a couple of minutes waiting for a response. His heart sank deeper with every moment that none came. He knew he shouldn’t have hit “send.” He put his phone in his pocket and started to walk toward the office. His phone buzzed. He almost dropped it removing it from his pocket. Amelia had sent a picture of herself, taken at a sharp angle and heavily filtered. She had dyed bright-red hair, large gray eyes with dramatic eye makeup, and a soulful pout on her round face. She held a piece of paper that said “Hi, Travis.”

I was right, Travis typed, his pulse pounding. He went through his photos and found the best one that Lydia had taken of him with his staff. He texted it to Amelia with the message Here’s me. Sorry, didn’t have anything to write on.

What a great picture. Nice staff! If we ever hang out, you have to bring it.

LOL, my friends hate it when I bring my staff places. Ok! Gotta go, my dad’s waiting for me.

See you on the forums tonight?

Yep.

Bye bye!

Bye!

Travis pumped his fist, mopped the sweat from his forehead, and walked to the office, where his father and Lamar were sitting in the cool of the air conditioning, shooting the breeze, dipping snuff, and spitting in empty Diet Coke cans.

Lamar tossed Travis a cold Coke. “Got yourself a hot date tonight, boy?”

“No sir. Hanging out with my friends tonight and doing some homework,” Travis said, enjoying the feeling that he may have been lying a bit. Or at least only telling half the truth.

“You realize you said ‘Travis’ and ‘date’ in the same sentence, Lamar? Don’t you know him at all?” Travis’s father said.

As if you know me at all.

“All right, all right. Tall young man, hardworking. There should be a girl or two out there,” Lamar said.

“Maybe there is,” Travis said, popping open his can.

“If there is, he don’t care about it,” his father said, as if Travis weren’t sitting right there. “Too busy with them friends of his. Hey, guess who he runs around with?”

Lamar shook his head.

“Grandson of the Serpent King,” Travis’s father said.

Lamar looked from Travis to Travis’s father and back. “Well. How about that. Dillard Early’s grandson?”

“No,” Travis said. “You’re thinking of Dill’s dad, not his papaw. Dill’s dad is named Dillard Early too. He’s the snakehandler.”

Travis’s father eyed him in wonderment. “No, I ain’t talking about the Pervert Preacher. I mean Dill’s papaw. You telling me Dill ain’t told you about his papaw, the Serpent King?”

Travis shook his head, bewildered. “No. I didn’t even know Dill had the same name as his papaw. He don’t care to talk about his family.”

Travis’s father snorted. “You reckon?” He slapped Lamar on the shoulder. “Tell Travis the story of the Serpent King, old man. You remember it better than me. He ought to hear.”

Lamar grunted and reclined in his chair, folding his arms across his beer gut. “Lord above. I ain’t thought about the Serpent King in a long time. Long time.” He rubbed his white beard and adjusted his Carhartt ball cap. “Well, first off—there’s three Dillard Earlys. There’s Dillard Serpent King. There’s Dillard Preacherman, son of the Serpent King. And there’s the one who you’re friends with, son of the Preacherman. Now, he’d be Dillard III, but after his papaw died, his father became Dillard Sr. and he became Dillard Jr. Only reason I know how that works is that I’m the third Lamar Burns. But I became Lamar Jr. after my papaw died.”