"My apologies," Boone said, sitting across from the two Turnbuckles. "I've been very busy as of late."
Leslie shook her head, "no need to apologize—"
"Hmph!" Rynan crossed his arm, chin high, staring at the mounted elks head on the wall. "Came all this way for you to be a jerk."
"Rynan!"
"It's alright," Boone waved, "I deserved that."
Last year had been the hardest years of his life. Losing Ma Jean, Grandpappy Jerocobish, and Grotknot was a hit to his heart yet he never had time to properly grieve them. Krigun took that pain away and made him focus on perfecting his skills. For what, he was uncertain. He just felt he couldn't let him down.
"We didn't come to be a bother," Leslie said, "we came due to Rynan's condition."
Boone raised an ear. "The scar has not healed?"
"Like you care none …" Rynan's chest rose then fell quickly, arms tightening. There was something odd about the way he was sitting. Boone noticed it immediately; sitting upright; unhunched like he usually had. "I could die tomorrow and you wouldn't blink my way."
"What do you mean, die?"
Leslie grabbed Boone's forearm and he felt her warmth. "Krigun said that he has been infected by a parasite."
Boone's eyes widened. He recalled the creatures with large pointed mandibles, black beady eyes, and segmented bodies. And how they protruded from their host's mouths like tongues, hissing and screeching while hacking oily acid. At times, those nightmares still haunted him.
"Psycrasites?"
"He called it a "Leecher"."
"Apparently the leecher and I are connected … and who knows, maybe we'll become best pals since my old one's become a jerk—"
"Rynan!"
"What?" He shrugged, speaking nastily. "Ever since he started his training and lost his grandparents—"
A chair screeched. Boone shot up, the energy within him pushed into his fists as they came down against the wooden tabletop.
"My apologies for not having the time to go out and have Wildgun and Mammoth the Kid adventures!" His nose wrinkled. "Unlike you, Rynan, I'm training to do something worthy of a decent life!"
"Now boys—"
Rynan struggled to his feet, his chair falling over with a wham!
"You know nothin' about what it is that I'm doing. Ask sis, I'm on my way to becoming a man … Not a jerk-face such as you."
"You looked in the mirror as of late? You wear a jerk-faced mask on the daily!"
Leslie waved her hands.
Rynan's face twisted. "I'd rather wear a jerk-faced mask then have a mouth full of chipped gangly's ... You look like a beaver who's been born ugly."
Boone's tongue massaged the jagged rows in his mouth, eyebrows furrowed. "At least I take care of what I have. Your teeth have gone sour and abandoned your gums!"
Rynan bit down on his bottom lip with the few teeth he had. He then said, "your Grandparents wouldn't be proud of the boy you're becoming!"
There was darkness in Boone's eyes. "At least I didn't kill them!"
Silence filled the room while the three of them sat very still.
Rynan's eyes trembled. Lip quivering. Tongue searching for the words that wouldn't come. He took the last of his confidence and stood up. He then glared at Boone, turned, and stormed for the door, arms beating against hanging pelts. He slammed the door behind him.
Boone paled when he found Leslie's sorrowed gaze.
"I'm sorry if I made a mess of things …"
Leslie gave a smile that made his heart seem to stop. "It's not your fault … Neither of your faults… Life just has a funny way of pulling people away from each other than bringing them back together. You two will be fine."
"I hope so …"
She stood then tilted her hat. "You take care of yourself, Boone … And always remember, Rigger's are tough as iron … "
***
Boone sat on his bed gazing upon an image of his Grandpappy puffing his pipe and Ma Jean in a rosy dress, no older than Leslie, mounted upon a pair of horses. Beside them, sat another man who he now knew was Krigun. Their faces stern. No joy to be had, even in those days it seemed.
"You know where we took that?"
The voice nearly had Boone jumping from his skin. He saw Krigun standing at the doorway. How long he'd been there was a mystery. He always seemed to move with the shadows.
"I reckon it was here on this cottage."
"And you'd be right …" He moved into the room like a hunched phantom, keeping the boards from squeaking beneath his feet. He stopped and looked down upon the photo. "I helped your grand father back in those days."
"With what?"
He lifted an old leather tome hidden beneath his deer hide shirt. "With this …"
Boone raised an eyebrow. "You helped him write the Alchemy within it?"
"No." He slid a hand across the leather and the golden curved lettering glistened from candlelight. "We were its protectors."
The words caught the boy's ears; he looked upon the tome that was thick as two bricks. "What is so special about it?"
"Have you ever heard of The Alchemy Index?"
Boone nodded, jaw unhinged. "Ma Jean told me stories of such a book: that it was a master index of all the known alchemy spells." He reached out a hand, fingertips urging to touch leather. "Is this the book—"
There was a clap.
Boone yanked his hand back, lip rounded. He massaged away the pain.
"Don't touch it! And no. This is not the full alchemy index — only a piece — one of ten."
The pain sent shocks up his arm and into his elbow.
"And, what, you were tasked to protect it?"
Krigun's eyes narrowed and chin raised. "We were tasked to protect it from being brought back together."
"Why?"
"Because this much power should never be placed into one's hand … But there is one out there who is trying to do just that."
Boone gazed upon the leather, tongue-tied.
"Nobody knows the dark Alchemists true name; They just call him The Griever." Krigun took a long breath then rubbed the book once more. "The Griever has been collecting tomes ... and we think we know where they'll strike next." He looked to Boone who was as pale as a ghost. "We believe he is going to Mudown …"
Mudown? Boone knew of the town. He planned on go there since after the tournament; to return Grotknot's tome to his Kin. "Why would The Griever go to Mudown?"
"A piece of the Alchmey Index has been found by the Borks, but it belonged to a warrior of the Huskmen." He shook his head. "The Borks and The Huskmen have had bad blood for years now, and if we don't resolve this issue a war between them could break out. This is what I've been training you for, Boone." He set the book in the boy's lap and it near crushed his leg. "You're to be it's protector as your Grandpappy had before you."
Boone touched the leather's smooth surface, smiling.
"There is one other thing you must know." Krigun's stern tone caught the boy's attention. "Your Grandparents were not killed by mistake — they were murdered — by the Griever, who knows the tomes been handed to you."