Chapter 20 #2
The angry man charged at Granddad, brandishing a short sword from his belt while the other chased the girl like a hound on the hunt. Percy dug his fingers into the brick so hard that pain shot into his palms. He squeezed his eyes shut as the screech of metal on metal hit his ears.
“I knew it,” the man growled. Percy peeked an eye open.
Granddad groaned with effort. “You got me. Too bad…Too bad you won’t live to tell a soul!” He twisted his dagger in an attempt to disarm the man. Percy wanted to cheer as the man struggled against Granddad, but kept his mouth shut.
“Percy!”
Percy whirled around, finding Papa looming above him.
“There you are. Come on, we don’t have ti—” Papa’s words trailed off as he looked into the alley.
Percy turned just in time to see the angry man’s sword slide in and out of his Granddad’s chest with a blood-curdling, fleshy sound.
Granddad groaned and fell to his knees, then slumped onto the ground.
Ice ran through Percy’s veins. This was a nightmare. A nightmare. This wasn’t real—why would those men want to hurt Granddad? Why not him?
Papa yanked Percy by the shirt collar. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“Th-there was a girl, sh-she was crying—”
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“Charles, stop!” Mum pulled Papa back and scooped Percy up.
He buried his face in her sunny hair. In her hair, none of this was real.
Strands clung to his face as tears bubbled from his eyes.
He shifted up and down in her arms as she walked briskly.
The tinny sound of the town faded. The click of boots on stone shifted to soft earth.
Shouts turned to rustling leaves. Percy peeked out from the safety of Mum’s curtain of hair.
He could feel exactly where his tears had trailed as the wind dried them on his face. Granddad was nowhere in sight.
“Wh-where’s Granddad?” Percy asked softly.
Papa clenched his hands into fists.
“Charles,” Mum said, warning in her tone.
“He needs to know. I’m done treating him like a child.”
Papa yanked Percy from Mum’s arms and pulled him into the woods.
“Charles! Charles, come back! He didn’t know!” Mum called after them. Papa was unyielding, dragging him further and further into the thick brush.
The warmth of Mum’s embrace vanished under Papa’s steely glare. Once Mum’s calls ceased, he shoved Percy down at the base of a willow tree. The bark dug into his back, and the gnarled roots bruised his bottom.
“Ow!” Tears flooded Percy’s eyes as he rubbed his back.
“Did it feel good?” his father hissed, throwing him into the dirt.
“W-what did?” He sniffed, rubbing his elbow.
“Your Divine-damned tears. Your pathetic sobs. Granddad is dead. Thanks to you. If anyone should cry, it’s me. But look. LOOK!” He wrenched Percy’s jaw to face him. “Am I crying?”
“I was—I was j-just trying to help…” Tears streamed down Percy’s cheeks.
Papa released his face. “If you want to help, you’ll do as you’re told. You’ll be human from this day on. And, you’ll make sure that,” he spat the word and pointed back to town, “never happens to anyone else.”
Percy nodded weakly. His chest shuddered as he tried to stifle his tears. He shuffled back to the path behind his father. Mum picked him up again, but this time, it wasn’t enough to dull his sobs.
The grandeur of the Beak Bluffs was dampened under the overcast sky and Papa’s tense shoulders ahead of him.
Papa would occasionally look up at the bluffs, then at a piece of paper he pulled out of his pocket.
Once they were at the foot of the bluffs, the burning smell of smoke grew stronger and stronger.
By the time he saw flickers of fire in the distance, it was nearly dark.
Light danced on the exposed rock face of the bluff.
Shadows moved around the flame, two short and two tall.
Were these the friends Granddad was talking about?
The shadows froze as a stick crunched beneath Mum’s boot.
“How sharp of tongue and dull of teeth?” a voice called from beside the fire.
“As a lamb on the day of docking,” Papa called back.
“Charles?”
“Edwin?”
They approached the fire. The heat baked against Percy’s back. He wasn’t ready to let go of Mum just yet. Only when he feared his shirt would catch aflame did he finally squirm to get down.
Two adults sat on a log on the other side of the fire.
He thought the woman’s hair was blonde, but it was nearly impossible to tell in the low light.
The man had a thick head of tawny hair that seemed to absorb the light.
A boy Percy’s age was sprawled out beside a girl a few years younger, scratching tic-tac-toe into the dirt.
The girl’s long, wavy bronze hair nearly concealed her face.
The boy was a perfect match to the woman.
“Percy, these are some friends of—” Mum hesitated, eyeing Papa. “Friends of Granddad’s.” She finished the sentence with conviction. “Edwin, Abigail, and their children, Vivienne and Bennett.” She gestured to Percy. “This is our son, Percy.”
The adults nodded to him politely. The boy and girl poked their heads up from their game.
“Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any.” Papa dug a little roll of parchment from the picnic basket.
As he untied it, it burst into eight separate sheets.
He peered at each one and handed four to Edwin and Abigail.
He handed one to Mum, pocketed the other two, then stared long and hard at the last piece.
His eyes were glassy. But it couldn’t be tears. Papa didn’t cry.
So Percy wouldn’t either.
Papa crumpled the parchment and threw it into the fire. The edges blackened for a split second before engulfing the entire piece. Papa stared into the fire long after the paper was nothing but smoke.
“What was that?” Bennett asked.
“Nothing that matters anymore,” Papa grumbled. Edwin glared at him.
“That’s a good question, son. Vivi, come here. Come sit on my lap.” Edwin patted his leg. Vivi toddled over, and he lifted her up the rest of the way. Bennett sat between his parents.
Mum chimed in, forcing her voice to be light, “Percy, you should listen too. This is very important.”
“These,” Edwin stretched out the parchment “are identity papers. They tell people who you are. You have to keep it safe. It’s very important.” It had a lot of tiny letters Percy couldn’t make out, but the top clearly read “Cassian Layne” in big cursive ink lettering.
“But your name’s not Cassian,” Bennett said, knitting his brows together.
“It is now. You see, our old names aren’t safe anymore. So we’re going to use these now. We’re still Mum and Da, but other adults will call us Cassian and Gilda.”
“Ooh! Ooh! What’s my name?” Bennett asked. Edwin—or Cassian—pulled another piece from his pocket.
Bennett peered at the paper. “Andrei. Huh. Ooh! It’s an A name! I have an A name! I’ll be first in the lines at school!”
Gilda chuckled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Good job looking on the bright side, Andrei.” She said his new name pointedly and smiled. Andrei puffed out his chest.
Mum held a hand out to Papa. Papa placed the folded piece in her palm.
“Percy, your name is Roderick Bryson. Isn’t that nice? It sounds very noble, like a knight. I’m Shauna, and Papa is William.”
“Roderick. Roderick. Roderick.” The name felt foreign on his tongue. He tried to imagine Granddad saying it to him, but all he could hear in his mind was “Perce! Perce my boy!” He shrunk down and accepted the paper from Mum.
“What about me?” Vivi asked quietly.
Cassian retrieved the next paper and read it aloud. “Millicent. Isn’t that pretty?”
Vivienne stared blankly at the back of the parchment for a long moment, then tore into the woods, her curly red hair flapping behind her.
“Vivi!” Cassian shouted. “Vivi, come back!”
Andrei chased after her, but Roderick was faster.
He busted through sticks and thickets, following the snapping noises up ahead.
Little scratches peppered his neck, arms, and cheeks, but he kept going.
His chest began to burn just as he reached a clearing.
Oak trees rustled together overhead, their branches shadowed against the moonlit clouds.
A little sniffle drew his eye to the left. Vivi—or Millicent, he supposed—was curled up in a hollow tree trunk, tawny hair curtaining her face.
“Are you hurt?” Roderick asked, drawing closer.
Millicent looked up and shook her head.
“I want to go home,” she sniffled. “I miss my—m-my friends…” She hicced a sob and drew in a sharp, dry breath.