Warrior Cats: The Four Clans

"And dont forget to feed the animals!" Christopher heard is stepfather call after him. Chris walked outside and headed towards the stables to prepare his stepfathers carriage. He looked up towards the sky, the sun was just rising, and the birds were beginning to sing their Good Morning lullabies to the world. Listening to the birds sing was his mothers favorite thing to do. He hoped she could hear them now. His father had died when he was eleven. And without him, there was no way to keep up the payments on their land. So his mother married, to a rich landlord. He was now seventeen, and his mother was lying in her death bed. It had been weeks since shed awoken. She fell off her horse, and hit her head, the doctor said she was in a coma, and lucky to be alive at all. And without her, his stepfather decided to make him do everything, not even his two stepbrothers lifted a finger to help with the chores around the house.

He never complained though, he was raised to help all he could, and he was raised with more love in his parents hearts that ought to be allowed. And their love had flowed into him. What he wanted to do, more than anything, was write. He had such a passion for writing. The way that it wasnt him who was writing. But something, or someone, entirely different. His writings expressed his dreams, and his desires. They let him speak, without actually using his mouth. He couldnt explain the joy that writing gave him.

He finished getting the horses ready, and his stepfather came out of the house with his two sons, dressed in their finest clothes. The clothes might have looked just fine on them, if they didnt have the horrible smug expressions on their faces. "Christopher, have you fed those animals yet?"

Chris shook his head, "No stepfather, I just finished getting your coach ready an-"

"Always, these ridiculous excuses! James, dont you think that we could have fed the animals, and gotten the carriage ready in half the time that he did?"

"I believe so John." The boys snickered.

Chris rolled his eyes. Though they were both seventeen, they acted like young boys tattling on their friend so that they looked like the good guys.

"Thats only because there are two of you." Chris explained.

Before one of the twins could open their mouths to speak, their father cut in. "Never mind all of that. Just get those animals fed. I left a list of chores for you in the kitchen. They better be done by the time I get back. Im taking my boys to enroll in a school for the fall. If only you were as talented as them you could be coming with us."

"How would you know my talents? You dont even know what I can do."

His stepfather glared at him. "I do as a matter of fact. You look exactly like your father, you even stand, and behave, and talk the way he did. So, I presume that you will turn out to be exactly like him. A failure."

Chris felt his face flush with heat, and a wave of anger coursed through him.

"Come along boys, its time we got a move on." Both the boys crossed on either side of Chris, bumping both of their shoulders into him as they passed. Chris walked inside. They didnt know anything about his father. His father was a warrior. He served in the Kings army when they fought against France. He was the one who talked both of the fighting parties to be at peace with one another. He was also the one that jumped in front of the arrow that was meant for the King. And they say he was a failure? They must have been talking about themselves.

He walked inside, ignoring the list of things to do and he walked up the stairs. The estate was huge. Over a hundred acres of land, and the house was almost like a castle. Smaller, but rather exquisite. He made his way to the very top floor, and walked into the first room. He smiled at the sleeping figure on the bed. He crossed, and opened the blinds, letting the sunlight in. "That better mom?" He asked her, looking over at her sleeping figure. "I thought you would like it better." He replied, as if she had answered his question. He walked over and sat in the chair beside her bed. He lifted up her hand, and held it in his. "I hope you slept well last night, I was up writing all night again. Now, before you scold me. its because I wrote you a poem. Would you like to hear it?" He put her hand back on the bed, and reached into his pocket pulling out a folded piece of paper.

'Lying there,

So soft and frail,

The sparkle in your eyes gone

Your cheeks, so perfectly pale.

Knowing that youre at peace,

Inside this world of grief.

I envy you for a moment

As I wish,

But only for a moment,

That you would not awaken

So you will not find,

How badly this world and I have been shaken.

Everyday I wish and hope,

That youll awaken.

Because I can hardly cope,

Without your smile,

Or your mothers love.

That has been absent for such a long while.

So I write you these words,

In hopes that you will hear,

How much I miss you,

And want you near.

Lying there,

So soft and frail,

The sparkle in your eyes gone

Your cheeks, so perfectly pale.'

Christopher felt a tear fall down his cheek. "Now, I know it isnt the best one that I've written you. But I didnt have my dictionary last night. Nigel took it. But Ill get it back, and hopefully revise it." He looked at his mom. "Oh, you dont have to say that mom; you know how much I hate flattery." He felt another hot tear fall off his cheek and onto the paper. He folded it back up and put it in his pocket. "Alright if you say so, I have to go finish the chores Nigel set out for me," He stood. "Yeah, hes got me working pretty hard lately, but dont worry, Ill manage." He kissed her forehead. "I miss you." He whispered into her hair.

He walked out taking one last look at her, and quietly shut the door behind him. He walked down into the kitchen seeing that the other servants had started to stir. He jumped up on one of the counter tops sitting on it, calling out to one of them, "So Henry! What did you cook for the boss this morning?" A plump bald man made his way into the second half of the kitchen where Christopher was sitting.

"Well Chris, weve got ham, eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy, and some sausage. Which would you like?"

Chris thought, "I'll take some ham, the rest, give to the other servants."

Henry put some ham on a plate handing it to Christopher. "You know, if Sir Nigel ever found out that you werent giving the leftovers to the pigs, hed have your head."

Chris just laughed. "He cant expect us to live on oatmeal day in and day out. It isnt fair to you guys. Besides, he wont find out. Hes way too busy trying to get his pathetic sons too cooperate with being lawyers, or some other kind of rich job."

Henry nodded. "Still, take some of this, He handed him parts of the breakfast to Christopher, to the pigs, just to be safe." Chris smiled.

"Of course, Henry." Chris respected the old chef. He had stood up for the young boy time and time again. And he had always believed in him as a writer. Henry was like a father to him.

He jumped off the counter and grabbed the bucket with the scraps of breakfast in them. He walked outside and fed the pigs. He then went about his usual outdoor chores. Restocking hay, feeding and grooming the horses. Milking the cows and goats, bringing in eggs from the chicken pen, and taking care of any sick animal. He walked inside, doing there the indoor chores that his stepfather had him do. Sweeping out the kitchen, dusting, polishing, among other things. Nigel had Chris do quite a bit of the womens chores. Chris suspected it was to keep him busy. It didnt make much sense, but he did it without complaining. He knew if he complained, it would cause Nigel to throw Chris out into the streets. Which wouldnt have been all bad, but he wanted to stay with his Mother. He couldnt leave her. When he finished he went down into the basement, where his room resided. He looked at the normal four walls, these walls knew everything about Christopher.  They knew the nights hed lay in bed, crying himself to sleep. They knew of the joys he rejoiced over, they knew the desires of his heart, the dreams he had each night. His hopes in his mother regaining her strength, his hopes of finding love. Above all his hopes of finding love, for love was the one thing he desired most of all. To hold a girl, the girl of his dreams. The one, where her eyes arent just blue or green or gray. But with more of a complicated pattern to them. A girl, whos eyes shone with the burning desire of adventure, and the simplicity of settling down. The girl who is satisfied with the world but will always want more of it. And the girl, who loves him for him. He knew she was out there somewhere. He just had to find her.

"Christopher! Christopher where are you!?"

Christophers head jerked up, he must have dozed off without realizing it. He ran up stairs and met his stepfather in the family room. "Yes sir?"

"Did you finish all of your chores?"

Christopher nodded. "Yes sir, I did."

Nigel nodded, "Very good." He looked Christopher over. "Do you have any goals in life boy?" Nigel asked. Chris nodded.

"Yes sir. I plan on being a writer."

"How many times do I have to tell you that you cant do that? It wont get you any money. Besides, Im sure you cant write worth a damn to begin with."

Chris ignored the anger welling up inside him. "You've never read my writings. All you've done is thrown my work away when you catch me doing it."

"Because its not something you should be wasting your time on! Its pathetic. You should aim for something big. Like my boys are doing."

"Like your boys are doing? Or what youre planning your boys to do?"

Nigels head snapped towards Christopher.

"My boys want to be lawyers. Men of the law get plenty of money. And they want that."

"And did you ask them Nigel?"

"I dont need too." Nigel said through clenched teeth. "At least I know theyll be successful. Unlike you. Youre a pathetic excuse for a son."

"Good thing youre not my father then." Chris said angrily.

"What would your mother think? Of the only son she has, heading straight for failure."

"Leave my mother out of this Nigel. What would she think of her husband making her son work harder than any other servant you have here? And always telling him what a failure he is?"

Nigel shrugged his shoulders. "Law says I'm your legal guardian. Therefore, I take care of you. Im your father. You do as I say. Your mother has no say in the matter. Shes practically dead anyway."

"But she isnt dead yet, now is she!?"  Chris didnt strain to keep his voice down this time. Nigel had no right to say what he did. "She will wake up. And when she does youll be sorry."

"Oh, Christopher. Was that a threat?"

"Take it as you wish." Chris snarled at his stepfather.

"You'll regret that."

"No Nigel, Im tired of you always ordering me around. And everyone else, the world does not revolve around you and your sorry excuses of sons. There are other people here! People! Just like you. They may not have as much money, or a title before their name, but they have feelings, and a heart. Which is something you obviously dont have." Chris was infuriated. He never let Nigel or the twins get to him. But he couldnt stay silent. And this was only a small portion of how he felt towards Nigels family. He wanted to scream them all out, but he didnt dare.

"Get out of my sight boy."

Chris turned on his heels and walked out of the room with his head high. He shut his door behind him. And walked down the stairs, falling onto his bed. He stared up at his  ceiling, hating himself for fighting with Nigel. That was something he never did. Because he knew the power that Nigel had over him. He got up, and made his way over to his desk to write. It was always something that calmed him. But for once, he couldnt seem to concentrate on his writing. He couldnt seem to concentrate on anything really. The words that Nigel had screamed at him were still echoing in his mind. What if Nigel was right? What if he never amounted to anything? What if he was stuck as a poor farm boy, living in a basement of one of the richest manors in twenty miles? His mothers voice began to fill his head, 'Don't you dare speak of such things. You and I both know that you will make it. You will be the author that youve wanted to be for so long...'

He smiled to himself. Even if she was half dead and sleeping four flights of stairs above his head, she still knew when he needed her the most.

He had spent hours writing. He had no way of knowing what time it was, or if anyone in the house was asleep. He walked up the stairs and found a folded piece of paper slid halfway underneath the door. He picked it up and read,

'Enjoy the next two days downstairs. No food, no chores, no socializing. Its time for you to think about your priorities. They are here. Not in your fantasy world.'

-Nigel

He pulled on the handle. Locked. No surprise there. He sighed, and walked back down into his room sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. He didnt care about the food, or talking to anyone, or even solitude, what he couldnt stand is the fact that he wouldnt be able to talk to his mother for two mornings. The ache that was in his heart now, was equivalent to when his father died. What if something was to change in her condition? Surely, someone would let him know, right? They wouldnt keep him in the dark with something that important. He began to pace in his room. His head wasnt thinking clearly. His words in his mind were jumbled, like spaghetti. He couldnt make sense of anything. His mind was running so fast that he couldnt catch it even if he got a head start. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something. He glanced back, and noticed it was a latch. What the... he mumbled.

He made his way over to it. It was covered by most of his bed, so it was no wonder hed never noticed it before. In his room hes either at his desk or his bed, no where in between. He began to drag his bed away from the latch, and to the other side of the room. Crawling over his bed, and got a better look at the latch. 'A basement inside a basement.' He mumbled as he lifted the latch. All he could see was darkness, but he could make out a few stairs on top.

He quickly searched for some kind of light, he grabbed the candle that was on his desk, and began his descend into the darkness.