Steffen walked past the gates and into the small, ugly village he remembered, smelling of wild dogs, chickens running loose in the streets, old ladies and children chasing them. He walked past rows and rows of cottages, a few made of stone but most made of straw. The streets here were in poor shape, littered with holes and animal waste.
Nothing had changed. After all these years, nothing had changed at all.
Steffen finally reached the end of the street, turned left, and his stomach clenched as he saw his father’s house. It looked the same as it always had, a small wood cottage with a sloped roof and a crooked door. The shed in the back was where Steffen had been made to sleep. The sight of it made him want to raze it.
Steffen walked up to the front door, which was open, stood at the entrance, and looked inside.
His breath was taken away as he saw his whole family there: his father and mother, all of his brothers and sisters, all of them crammed into that small cottage, as they had always been. All of them gathered around the table, as always, fighting over scraps, laughing with each other. They had never laughed with Steffen, though. Only at him.
They all looked older, but otherwise, just the same. He watched them all in wonder. Had he really hailed from these people?
Steffen’s mother was the first to spot him. She turned, and at the sight of him she gasped, dropped her plate, smashing it on the floor.
His father turned next, then all the others, all staring back, in shock to see him again. They each wore an unpleasant expression, as if an unwelcome guest had arrived.
“So,” his father said slowly, scowling, coming around the table toward him, wiping grease from his hands with a napkin in a threatening way, “you have returned after all.”
Steffen remembered his father used to tie that napkin of his into a knot, wet it, and whip him with it.
“What’s the matter?” his father added, a sinister smile on his face. “You couldn’t make it in the big city?”
“He thought he was too good for us. And now he has to come running back to his home like a dog!” one of his brothers yelled out.
“Like a dog!” echoed one of his sisters.
Steffen was seething, breathing hard – but he forced himself to hold his tongue, to not stoop to their level. After all, these people were provincial, riddled with prejudice, the result of a life spent locked in a small town; he, though, had seen the world, and had come to know better.
His siblings – indeed, everyone in the room – laughed at him in the small cottage.
The only one not laughing, staring at him, wide-eyed, was his mother. He wondered if maybe she was the only redeemable one. He wondered if perhaps she would be happy to see him.
But she just slowly shook her head.
“Oh, Steffen,” she said, “you should not have come back here. You are not a part of this family.”
Her words, delivered so calmly, without malice, hurt Steffen most of all.
“He never was,” his father said. “He’s a beast. What are you doing here, boy? Come back for more scraps?”
Steffen did not answer. He did not have the gift of speech, of witty, quick-thinking retorts, and certainly not in an emotional situation like this. He was so flustered, he could hardly form words. There were so many things he wished to say to them all. But no words came to him.
So instead he just stood there, seething, silent.
“Cat got your tongue?” his father mocked. “Then out of my way. You’re wasting my time. This is our big day, and you’re not going to ruin it for us.”
His father shoved Steffen out of the way as he rushed past him, stepping outside the doorway, looking both ways. The whole family waited and watched, until his father came back in, grunting, disappointed.
“Did they come yet?” his mother asked hopefully.
He shook his head.
“Don’t know where they could be,” his father said.
Then he turned to Steffen, angry, turning bright red.
“You get out of the door,” he barked. “We’re waiting for a very important man, and you’re blocking the way. You’re going to ruin it, aren’t you, as you always ruined everything? What timing you have, to show up at a moment like this. The Queen’s own commander will be arriving here any moment, to distribute food and supplies to our village. This is our moment to petition him. And look at you,” his father sneered, “standing there, blocking our door. One sight of you, and he will pass our house over. He’d think we’re a house of freaks.”
His brothers and sisters broke into laughter.
“A house of freaks!” one of them echoed.
Steffen stood there, turning bright red himself, staring back at his father, who faced him, scowling.
Steffen, too flustered to reply, slowly turned his back, shook his head, and walked out the door.
Steffen walked out into the street, and as he did, he signaled for his men.
Suddenly, dozens of gleaming royal carriages appeared, racing through the village.
“They’re coming!” screamed Steffen’s father.
Steffen’s entire family rushed out, running past Steffen, standing there, lining up, gaping at the wagons, at the royal guard.
The royal guard all turned and looked to Steffen.
“My lord,” one of them said, “shall we distribute here or shall we carry on?”
Steffen stood there, hands on his hips, and stared back at his family.
As one, his entire family turned and, shocked beyond words, stared at Steffen. They kept looking back and forth between Steffen and the royal guard, completely flabbergasted, as if unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
Steffen walked slowly, mounted his royal horse, and sat before all the others, sitting in his gold and silver saddle, looking down on his family.
“My lord?” his father echoed. “Is this some sort of sick joke? You? The royal commander?”
Steffen merely sat there, looking down his father, and shook his head.
“That is right, Father,” Steffen replied. “I am the royal commander.”
“It can’t be,” his father said. “It can’t be. How could a beast be chosen to the Queen’s guard?”
Suddenly, two royal guardsmen dismounted, drew their swords, and rushed for his father. They held the tips of their swords at his throat firmly, pressing hard enough that his father opened his eyes wide in fear.
“To insult the Queen’s man is to insult the Queen herself,” one of the men snarled at Steffen’s father.
His father gulped, terrified.
“My lord, shall we have this man imprisoned?” the other asked Steffen.
Steffen surveyed his family, saw the shock in all their faces, and debated.
“Steffen!” His mom came rushing forward, clasping his legs, pleading. “Please! Do not imprison your father! And please – give us provisions. We need them!”
“You owe us!” his father snapped. “For all that I gave you, your whole life. You owe us.”
“Please!” his mom pleaded. “We had no idea. We had no idea who you had become! Please don’t harm your father!”
She dropped to her knees and started to weep.
Steffen merely shook his head down at these lying, deceitful, honorless people, people who had been nothing but cruel to him his entire life. Now that they realized he was somebody, they wanted something from him.
Steffen decided they did not even deserve a response from him.
He realized something else, too: his whole life he had held his family up on a pedestal. As if they were the great ones, they were the perfect ones, the successful ones, the ones he wanted to become. But now he realized the opposite was true. It had all, his entire upbringing, been a grand delusion. These were just pathetic people. Despite his shape, he was above them all. For the first time, he realized that.
He looked down at his father, at sword-point, and a part of him wanted to hurt him. But another part of him realized one final thing: they did not deserve his vengeance, either. They would have to be somebody to deserve that. And they were nobody.
He turned to his men.
“I think this village will do just fine on their own,” he said.
He kicked his horse, and in a great cloud of dust they all rode out of town, Steffen determined to never return to this place again.
Chapter Eight
The attendants threw open the ancient oak doors, and Reece hurried out of the nasty weather, wet from the driving wind and rain of the Upper Isles, and into the dry refuge of Srog’s fort. He was immediately relieved to be dry as the doors slammed behind him, wiping water from his hair and face, and he looked up to see Srog hurrying over to give him a hug.
Reece embraced him back. He had always had a warm spot for this great warrior and leader, this man who had led Silesia so well, who had been loyal to Reece’s father, and even more loyal to his sister. Seeing Srog, with his stiff beard, broad shoulders, and friendly smile, brought back memories of his father, of the old guard.
Srog leaned back and clasped a beefy hand on Reece’s shoulder.
“You resemble your father too much as you grow older,” he said warmly.
Reece smiled.
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“It is indeed,” Srog replied. “There was no finer man. I would have walked through fire for him.”
Srog turned and led Reece through the hall, all of his men falling in behind them as they wound their way through the fort.
“You are a most welcome face to see here in this miserable place,” Srog said. “I am grateful to your sister for sending you.”
“It seems I have chosen a bad day to visit,” Reece said as they passed an open-air window, rain lashing a few feet away.
Srog smirked.
“Every day is a bad day here,” he answered. “Yet it can also change on a dime. They say the Upper Islands experience all four seasons in a single day – and I have come to see that it is true.”
Reece looked outside at a small, empty castle courtyard, populated with a handful of ancient stone buildings, gray, ancient, which looked like they blended into the rain. Few people were outside, and those that were lowered their heads against the wind and hurried from one place to the next. This island seemed to be a lonely and desolate place.
“Where are all the people?” Reece asked.
Srog sighed.
“The Upper Islanders stay indoors. They keep to themselves. They are spread out. This place is not like Silesia, or King’s Court. Here, they live all over the island. They do not congregate in cities. They are an odd, reclusive people. Stubborn and hardened – like the weather.”
Srog led Reece down a corridor and they turned a corner and entered the Great Hall.
In the room sat a dozen of Srog’s men, soldiers with their boots and armor on, glumly sitting around a table near a fire. Dogs slept around the fire, and the men ate hunks of meat and threw the scraps to the dogs. They looked up at Reece and grunted.
Srog led Reece to the fire. Reece rubbed his hands before the flames, grateful for its warmth.
“I know you haven’t much time before your ship departs,” Srog said. “But I at least wanted to send you off with some warmth and dry clothes.”
An attendant approached and handed Reece a set of dry clothes and mail, exactly his size. Reece looked at Srog with surprise and gratitude as he peeled off his wet clothes and replaced them with these.
Srog smiled. “We treat our own well here,” he said. “I figured you’d need it, given this place.”
“Thank you,” Reece said, already feeling much warmer. “I’ve never needed it more.” He had been dreading sailing back in wet clothes, and this was exactly what he’d needed.
Srog began talking politics, a long monologue, and Reece nodded politely, pretending to listen. But deep down, Reece was distracted. He was still overwhelmed with thoughts of Stara, and he could not shake her from his mind. He could not stop thinking of their encounter, and every time he thought of her, his heart fluttered with excitement.
He also could not stop thinking, with dread, of the task that lay ahead of him on the mainland, of telling Selese – and everyone else – that the wedding was off. He did not want to hurt her. But he did not see what choice he had.
“Reece?” Srog repeated.
Reece blinked and looked over at him.
“Did you hear me?” Srog asked.
“I’m sorry,” Reece said. “What was that?”
“I said, I take it your sister has received my dispatches?” Srog asked.
Reece nodded, trying to focus.
“Indeed,” Reece replied. “Which is why she sent me here. She asked me to check in with you, to hear firsthand what was happening.”
Srog sighed, staring into the flames.
“I’ve been here six moons now,” he said, “and I can tell you, the Upper Islanders are not like us. They are MacGils in name only. They lack the qualities of your father. They are not just stubborn – they are not to be trusted. They sabotage the Queen’s ships daily; in fact, they sabotage everything we do here. They don’t want us here. They don’t want any part of the mainland – unless they are invading it, of course. To live in harmony, I have concluded, is just not their way.”
Srog sighed.
“We waste our time here. Your sister should withdraw. Leave them to their own fate.”
Reece nodded, listening, rubbing his hands before the fire, when suddenly, the sun broke free from the clouds, and the dark, wet weather morphed to a clear, shining summer day. A distant horn sounded.
“Your ship!” Srog cried out. “We must go. You must set sail before the weather returns. I will see you off.”
Srog led Reece out a side door in the fort, and Reece was amazed as he squinted in the bright sunlight. It was as if the perfect summer day had returned again.
Reece and Srog walked quickly, side by side, followed by several of Srog’s men, rocks crunching beneath their boots as they navigated the hills and made their way down winding trails toward the distant shore below. They passed gray boulders and rock-lined hills and cliffs peppered with goats that clung to the hillsides and chewed at weeds. As they neared the shore, all around them bells tolled from the water, warning ships of lifting fog.
“I can see firsthand the conditions you are dealing with,” Reece finally said as they walked. “They are not easy. You have held things together here for far longer than others would have, I’m sure. You have done well here. I will be sure to tell the Queen.”
Srog nodded back in appreciation.
“I appreciate your saying that,” he said.
“What is the source of this people’s discontent?” Reece asked. “They are free, after all. We mean them no harm – in fact, we bring them supplies and protection.”
Srog shook his head.
“They will not rest until Tirus is free. They consider it a personal shame on them that their leader is imprisoned.”
“Yet they are lucky he only sits in prison, and has not been executed for his betrayals.”
Srog nodded.
“True. But these people do not understand that.”
“And if we freed him?” Reece asked. “Would that set them at peace?”
Srog shook his head.
“I doubt it. I believe that would only embolden them for some other discontent.”
“Then what is to be done?” Reece asked.
Srog sighed.
“Abandon this place,” he said. “And as quickly as possible. I don’t like what I see. I sense a revolt stirring.”
“Yet we vastly outnumber them in men and ships.”
Srog shook his head.
“That is all but an illusion,” he said. “They are well organized. We are on their ground. They have a million subtle ways of sabotage we cannot anticipate. We are sitting here in a den of snakes.”
“Not Matus, though,” Reece said.
“True,” Srog replied. “But he is the only one.”
There is one other, Reece thought. Stara. But he kept his thoughts close to himself. Hearing all of this made him want to rescue Stara, to take her out of this place as quickly as possible. He vowed that he would. But first he needed to sail back and settle his affairs. Then he could return for her.
As they stepped onto the sand, Reece looked up and saw the ship before him, his men waiting.