Chapter 26
CHAPTER 26
“ L ewis! Where are you, boy?”
His father’s voice rang out across the yard, echoing against the walls of the house and the smithy, and Lewis knew he ought to answer. But he was curled up in the stable with a book and a jug of his grandmother’s good cider, and that was better than whatever chores his father had in mind. He’d get an earful over it later, might even get a hiding, but it would be worth it just for this interlude of contentment.
Soon he would be old enough to take the form of his other nature, and then he’d fly away. He would go all the way to London and see the sights, and then, well, maybe he’d go even farther. He wasn’t sure whether his wings could take him all the way to France, but he could perch aboard a ship’s mast and hitch a ride. Who knew how much of the world he might see.
He would return home eventually, of course. By then he’d have exotic tales to share, and his listeners would be so enthralled that nobody would make him collect firewood or watch his younger siblings or haul water. His father would stop insisting that he train to be a smith.
“Get your lazy arse over here or I’ll drag you out myself.”
That wasn’t his father calling this time, but rather his brother, Bran, who liked to think he could order Lewis about just because he was three years older and almost a man. He was also loads bigger—Lewis had grown tall recently but was all long, skinny limbs—and Bran hit harder than their father.
With an aggrieved sigh, Lewis hid the book and jug under some straw and emerged into the yard. Bran immediately caught him by the arm and began dragging him toward the house. “Father has been calling you,” Bran said.
“Didn’t hear him.”
Bran boxed Lewis’s ear. “You’re already a shirk and a thief. Don’t be a liar too.”
“I’m no thief!”
“I can smell Gran’s cider on your breath.”
It was hard to argue with that. But he hadn’t taken much cider—there were only a few swallows left in the jug—and there were other jugs. And soon it would be autumn, which meant ripe apples and a new batch of Gran’s elixir. The book hadn’t been stolen at all. He’d borrowed it from Edward, the strange man who lived in a cottage outside the village. Edward claimed to be a cousin of some kind, and he certainly looked like a Frugis, but he had an odd accent and was mysterious about his past. He’d appeared years ago, when Lewis was an infant, claiming to be from London. Mostly he kept to himself. But Lewis had discovered that Edward had books, and he allowed Lewis to read them, which was lovely.
Bran hauled Lewis into the kitchen, where the entire family was gathered. His grandmother sat in her rocker by the fire, flanked by his father and grandfather, and his mother was at the table. His sister sat there too, quiet as always, while their younger brother, James, who was only four, played on the floor with the birds that Bran had carved for him. There were also guests: a well-dressed couple his parents’ age. They were cousins as well and lived in London, but sometimes they visited.
Except for Lewis’s younger brother, everyone looked solemn.
“We’ll have a discussion later,” his mother told him. He almost groaned. He preferred a birching from his father to his mother’s lecture about him being a disappointment.
“Sit,” said his grandfather, pointing to the hearthrug. Granddad was ancient and no longer bore the muscles from his smithy days. But he could still fly swiftly, and he was consummately skilled at looking stern when necessary. Apparently now was one of those times.
Lewis sat.
Mother had a teacup in front of her, but she wasn’t drinking from it. She steepled her fingers and took a deep breath. “We must reach a decision as a family.”
His father nodded as if he knew what this was about, but nobody said anything. Lewis’s stomach was trying to tie itself into knots. He had the sense that something was very wrong.
“This started some years ago,” she said quietly. “Shortly after you were born, Lewis. One evening, Ambrose and I had a shared vision.” She glanced at her husband. “That had never happened before and it hasn’t since, but this was a true seeing. A glimpse of the future. In this vision, our son destroyed us all.”
Bran gasped and Lewis leapt to his feet. “None of us would do that!”
“Not intentionally, perhaps.” She looked on the verge of tears. Lewis had never seen his mother cry, and seeing her now made him want to cry as well.
It was Bran who spoke next. “Which of us was it? ”
“We don’t know.”
Lewis didn’t feel relieved at that. He hoped he wouldn’t do anything awful, of course, but he didn’t want Bran or James to do so either. Not Bran, who patiently helped Lewis with his reading and sums, and who promised that one day they’d have grand acrobatic flights together. And not James, who tagged along with Lewis whenever he could, all big dark eyes and with a singing voice better than any songbird’s.
One of the visitors—the woman named Lydia—made a small sound, and Mother continued. “This was such an important matter that we took it to the entire village. Many of them—” She stopped, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Many of them said we must kill both of you.”
Bran’s face went red and Lewis nearly vomited. James started to cry, but it was entirely silent, with big tears working down his cheeks.
“It was a terrible thing, you see,” said their father. “An impossible dilemma. How could we allow one of our children to destroy all of us? And yet, how could we possibly harm our children?”
Bran lifted his chin. “But you didn’t do it. We’re still here.”
Mother nodded. “Yes, and then we were blessed with James as well. You see, shortly after we had the vision, Edward first appeared. He said he knew about the prophecy and that we should ignore it. That it meant nothing. He was very convincing, but of course it didn’t take much to persuade us. He told the villagers that we should all wait and watch, and we shouldn’t take action unless something went amiss.”
“Obviously something has gone amiss,” Bran said, barely above a whisper.
“The vision has returned. Not just to us but to several others in the village. We’re… we’re afraid for your safety, boys. ”
This wasn’t happening, Lewis thought. He’d drunk too much cider and fallen asleep, and now he was having a terrible dream. If he shook his head hard enough he would wake up. Or at least transition into a better dream, such as the one he sometimes had about a fair, and about a young man with yellow hair who smiled at him.
But this nightmare didn’t end.
Mother looked as if she was having trouble continuing, but Lydia Frugis patted her arm and spoke next. “Bran, Lewis, James. Your parents and grandparents think it would be best if you came with us to London. We can keep an eye on you better than your immediate family, and with luck the village will forget about you. Something else will capture their interest eventually. We are a flighty bunch.”
“I don’t want to go to London,” James said in a tiny voice. Mother patted his back.
Lewis very much did want to go, but not now and not like this. He didn’t want to leave his family and live with near-strangers.
“What is the decision to be made?” Bran asked. He was holding his face very still.
“Whether you go with our cousins to London, or flee the country altogether—to America, perhaps, or Australia—or wait here until the villagers decide to take action. Which will be soon, I’m afraid.”
Lewis saw flames. At first he thought the fire had somehow leapt past the hearth to engulf the walls, and then he thought that the fire was coming from outside. But before he could cry out, he realized that nobody else was reacting to the flames, and he felt no corresponding heat. Where orange and yellow tongues lapped at the wooden furniture and the paper calendar on the wall, they left no scorch marks. But he thought he could hear the echoes of screams.
And somewhere, someone was calling an unfamiliar name: Simeon. He didn’t know anyone called that, and yet there was something….
“We must all agree on this,” said Granddad. “We are a family. And we love you boys.”
“But the fire,” Lewis whispered. Everyone looked at him, puzzled, and he spoke louder. “Can’t you see the fire?”
Bran bunched his hands into fists. “This is not the time for games.”
“I’m not playing. I can see