A Hero's Curse Read Online Free PDF
Author: P. S. Broaddus
home.”
Chapter 4
I know Mom and Dad don’t tell me much about days in the palace, or being First Champion, or old battles—especially Dad—but this is a war that they planned, and I’m going to be caught in it somewhere,” I vent to Tig as we walk across the dry rolling hills, between the road and the Mar. “And I deserve to know!”
“Sounds like your uncle and parents have been planning this little rendezvous for a while,” says Tig.
“Why didn’t they tell me?” I seethe. I don’t know whether to feel angry or sad or unimportant that they kept this a secret. I decide not to discriminate by choosing just one. I feel everything at once.
“Probably because you would have thrown a fit if they had told you they were planning on reuniting the heroes and engaging in war and open rebellion against Brogan without you,” says Tig in his most annoying casual voice.
“I would not have thrown a fit,” I sputter. Am I that immature? Is that how my parents see me?
Tig continues all in one breath, in a matter of fact, sing-song voice, “Then you would have insisted on going, which wouldn’t keep you safe, or give your parents, and especially your dad as former Champion, the time he needed to assess the situation and organize the heroes against Brogan.”
I think about that for a minute. Maybe it is immature of me. “I still think they should’ve told me.”
Tig chuckles. He announces when we pass the Jorgenson farm for the second time that day, keeping well out of sight in the low hills. The Jorgenson farm may be the last farm on the road before our own, but it is still a couple of miles to our house. The lower valley folks think the Jorgensons are asking for trouble, living so close to the Valley of Fire. They’re a nice family, but really poor. I think they moved here because it was cheap. Jensen is the exception to the nice part. He is their oldest son; I think he’s eleven. He thinks it’s fun to throw caterpillars at me because I can’t see. I hate the way hairy caterpillars feel when they crawl on my skin, but I dislike even more squishing a caterpillar accidentally because I didn’t see it. Jensen had better take good care of Sassafras, or I’ll have to beat him up again after this is all over.
It was between the Jorgenson farm and our farm that I found Tig almost eight years ago. I let my mind wander back to that day. I had already been blind for a couple of years. I was walking with Mom and Dad back from the valley market. “Essie, do you want to ride?” Mom had asked.
Of course. I always wanted to ride. Mom and Dad stopped to rearrange their packs. We hadn’t brought the cart because the axle broke that week. Dad was picking up steel bands to fix the axle. It wasn’t bad. I liked walking. I liked riding better, though. Dad was wearing a big leather pack, but he put me above it, on his shoulders. I liked the breeze on Dad’s shoulders and the easy way he walked. We had only been going for a few minutes when I heard it. A meow.
“Dad, stop!” I said. He didn’t hesitate. He probably thought I needed to find a bush. He set me down, and Mom took my hand, but I pulled away and trotted off to the left side of the road.
“What is it, honey?” asked Mom.
I heard Dad set his pack down in the road.
“Cat,” I said.
“A what?” asked Dad. His tone told me he was tired.
“Cat. Shhhhh.” I stood still for several seconds before I heard it again. A scuffle in the dirt. The tiniest meow. I dropped to all fours and quietly followed the sound. I heard Mom coming up behind me, but I waved her off. The scuffle stopped, and I had to sit for a few seconds.
“What do you hear, Essie?” said Mom over my shoulder.
“Do you see it?” I asked.
“See what, Essie?” She asked.
“Cat.”
“No honey, I don’t see a cat.”
I listened hard. There it was, a scuffling again. It was coming from underground. “It’s underneath,” I
Chapter 4
I know Mom and Dad don’t tell me much about days in the palace, or being First Champion, or old battles—especially Dad—but this is a war that they planned, and I’m going to be caught in it somewhere,” I vent to Tig as we walk across the dry rolling hills, between the road and the Mar. “And I deserve to know!”
“Sounds like your uncle and parents have been planning this little rendezvous for a while,” says Tig.
“Why didn’t they tell me?” I seethe. I don’t know whether to feel angry or sad or unimportant that they kept this a secret. I decide not to discriminate by choosing just one. I feel everything at once.
“Probably because you would have thrown a fit if they had told you they were planning on reuniting the heroes and engaging in war and open rebellion against Brogan without you,” says Tig in his most annoying casual voice.
“I would not have thrown a fit,” I sputter. Am I that immature? Is that how my parents see me?
Tig continues all in one breath, in a matter of fact, sing-song voice, “Then you would have insisted on going, which wouldn’t keep you safe, or give your parents, and especially your dad as former Champion, the time he needed to assess the situation and organize the heroes against Brogan.”
I think about that for a minute. Maybe it is immature of me. “I still think they should’ve told me.”
Tig chuckles. He announces when we pass the Jorgenson farm for the second time that day, keeping well out of sight in the low hills. The Jorgenson farm may be the last farm on the road before our own, but it is still a couple of miles to our house. The lower valley folks think the Jorgensons are asking for trouble, living so close to the Valley of Fire. They’re a nice family, but really poor. I think they moved here because it was cheap. Jensen is the exception to the nice part. He is their oldest son; I think he’s eleven. He thinks it’s fun to throw caterpillars at me because I can’t see. I hate the way hairy caterpillars feel when they crawl on my skin, but I dislike even more squishing a caterpillar accidentally because I didn’t see it. Jensen had better take good care of Sassafras, or I’ll have to beat him up again after this is all over.
It was between the Jorgenson farm and our farm that I found Tig almost eight years ago. I let my mind wander back to that day. I had already been blind for a couple of years. I was walking with Mom and Dad back from the valley market. “Essie, do you want to ride?” Mom had asked.
Of course. I always wanted to ride. Mom and Dad stopped to rearrange their packs. We hadn’t brought the cart because the axle broke that week. Dad was picking up steel bands to fix the axle. It wasn’t bad. I liked walking. I liked riding better, though. Dad was wearing a big leather pack, but he put me above it, on his shoulders. I liked the breeze on Dad’s shoulders and the easy way he walked. We had only been going for a few minutes when I heard it. A meow.
“Dad, stop!” I said. He didn’t hesitate. He probably thought I needed to find a bush. He set me down, and Mom took my hand, but I pulled away and trotted off to the left side of the road.
“What is it, honey?” asked Mom.
I heard Dad set his pack down in the road.
“Cat,” I said.
“A what?” asked Dad. His tone told me he was tired.
“Cat. Shhhhh.” I stood still for several seconds before I heard it again. A scuffle in the dirt. The tiniest meow. I dropped to all fours and quietly followed the sound. I heard Mom coming up behind me, but I waved her off. The scuffle stopped, and I had to sit for a few seconds.
“What do you hear, Essie?” said Mom over my shoulder.
“Do you see it?” I asked.
“See what, Essie?” She asked.
“Cat.”
“No honey, I don’t see a cat.”
I listened hard. There it was, a scuffling again. It was coming from underground. “It’s underneath,” I