Authors: Jenna Helland

The Freedom of Navid Leahy (4 page)

“Let me see your hands,” a solider demanded. “There's paint on your fingers. You're the vandal destroying Zunft property.”

There was no paint on his hands, but Navid didn't say a word.

“You know what we do with vandals?” another soldier asked, shaking Navid so hard that he bit his tongue as his hand bobbed around.

Some workmen had left a pot of glue and some brushes nearby. A tarp had been laid neatly over the worksite by whatever cottager would be returning tomorrow to finish the job. The soldiers dragged Navid over to the edge of the roof. He wished he could sprout wings like an albatross, fly down, and perch on the prow of the stately ship. Instead, the soldiers pressed his hands against the wooden barrier that protected people from falling off the edge. They slathered his fingers with the thick, toxic glue that burned his skin. The paste hardened quickly and Navid couldn't pull away. He struggled like a fox in a snare and when he screamed again, the soldier punched him and everything turned black.

When he woke up, his head was resting on the barrier so the mast ship appeared to be sailing toward him at a strange, sideways angle. He arms were twisted from when he fell unconscious, and his hands still mired in the rock-hard paste. The soldiers were gone.

“Navid?” It was Aron's voice.

He tried to get his eyes to focus on Aron, whose face was tight with fear. His former friend had a glass bottle in each hand.

“I've got vinegar,” Aron said. “I think we can get your hands free with that.”

“Thank you,” Navid said. The sun was almost gone now. He was now very late for dinner.

Aron poured the vinegar over Navid's hands. It loosened the paste up somewhat, but they couldn't break him free.

“Do you want me to get your father?” Aron asked.

Navid shook his head. “I'll just pull really hard.”

“Won't that hurt?” Aron asked.

Navid didn't care. Panic clattered around inside his ribcage. He had to get free. He jostled his trapped hands, which intensified his claustrophobia. With all the power he could muster, he yanked his hands away and howled with pain as the skin was torn away.

“Oh,” Aron said with horror. They could see glimpses of white around the bloody raw meat that been his been his palms. “Is that bone?”

“I'm going to be sick,” Navid mumbled.

“I'll get you home,” Aron said quietly.

“I hate the Zunft,” Navid said when stumbled back onto the street. It was dark and deserted, which was good, because Navid's hands were dripping blood. “And my father hates them too.”

Aron nodded. “I know.”

The world faded in and out as he walked; every step jerked his hands and made him whimper. Aron took his elbow and steered him in a straight line. When they reached the Leahy house, Aron helped Navid sit on the stone steps.

“That was impressive, what you did on the conveyor,” Aron said.

Navid lay his head down on his knees. Aron rapped on the door. They could hear footsteps coming down the hall. His mother or father would be there soon.

Aron moved down the street, not wanting to be there when the door opened. “I'll see you in school, okay?”

Navid tried to nod, but he was falling backward onto the stoop. No, it was into his father's arms. “I'm sorry I missed dinner,” he tried to say, but no one seemed to hear him.

The next few hours were a blur of pain, his mother's eyes brimming with tears, and his father's jaw locked tight. They gave him root tea, which made him drowsy and took the pain away. Nova James came with garden herbs that they laid on his ruined hands. All the while, he heard the rustling of the Great Northern Forest, deep and timeless, and felt the shadow of the giant over his house.

And then the whispering trees ceased and the shadow dissipated, and he found himself under a clean sheet with his stuffed rabbit tucked beside him. His father was sitting on a wooden chair beside his bed. When he saw that Navid's eyes were open, he smiled broadly, and Navid understood that he wasn't angry with his son. Brian Leahy leaned forward, hands on his knees.

“You asked how Kilkeer slew the giant,” he said. “After crossing the Nordefell Falls, he finally came to the region of Red Lake. He stormed up the mountainside so he could stand face-to-face with the tyrant who had caused so much grief. And Kilkeer swung his enchanted swordâ”

“And cut off his head with one chop?” Navid said hopefully. His voice echoed eerily inside his drowsy mind.

“When we tell the saga to children, that's what we say,” Brian said. “But you're growing up, Navid. But no, that's not how it ends. He tried, but the giant just brushed him away. Even the greatest cottager in the world was no more than a fly buzzing in the giant's ear. So, Kilkeer offered up his son and daughter as tribute in hopes that his people would be safe. He knew that the giant would devour his children, and he did it anyway. Before he bound them and took them to Red Lake, he covered their skin in a dusting of hemlock to make them poisonous. When the giant devoured them, he would die. But in the end, it wasn't the monster who killed them. It was Kilkeer himself.”

“All right, Papa,” Navid said, not sure why he was weeping. His elbow brushed his rabbit, and it tumbled onto the floor. “Leave it; I don't need it anymore.”

But his father picked the rabbit up and tucked it near his side. “You don't have to give up the things of childhood, Navid. Just be wary of those who don't tell you the whole story.”

“I won the dare, Papa,” Navid said sleepily. He could barely keep his eyes open. “If we have to fight, we should do it with our talents. Is there a battle coming? Will we have to go to war with the Zunft?”

“Yes, we will,” Brian said after Navid had drifted to sleep. “And the Michael Henrys of the world will sing the ballads and raise the banners, but it will be the sons and daughters who die in the streets.”

He brushed a lock of hair off his son's face. “But not you, Navid. I won't lose you, too.”

About the Author

Jenna Helland
is a game writer who lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family. You can sign up for email updates
here
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