Chapter 8

In exceedingly rare cases, a legacy family member can be born and not chosen at all. These members are not considered pipers and are instead considered to be incredibly unlucky. Many will never have to worry about this fate as piper genes are so extraordinarily strong, but for those that do, they suffer the very worst kind of pain.

The pain of not belonging.

-A History of Pipers; A.A. Wesen

Shame keeps me up on top of the cliff for hours, just sitting and staring at the bowls. The flames all remain extinguished, leaving them as nothing more than empty stone bowls. They look like nothing at all, and yet they hold my destiny. They decided it for me.

You did say you wanted to be normal, Giselle whispers in my mind.

"Yes, but how can I truly be normal now?" I ask, my eyes welling. "I'm still a Bonaventure. I'm a helpless human in a family of pipers."

We could run away, far from here,she offers. I would go with you anywhere, Fenwick.

The tears start to drip from my lashes. The anguish of being nothing special, just as my father predicted, stings far worse than I thought. I'd hoped for something, anything, but comedy. And I'd gotten it, but at what cost?

When the sun starts to descend toward the horizon, I drag myself to my feet and begin the grueling climb back down. No one is there to watch my slow movements. No one is waiting for me at the bottom. The townspeople have long since tired of their jeering and attempts to throw things at me. None of them had the strength to reach me so high up. My family were the first ones to go so they're nowhere to be seen.

Giselle nestles inside my pocket, a welcome warmth against my heart that comforts me despite the pain I now carry. It's the only reason I'm able to keep going, to keep pushing myself forward.

To reach my family home, I have to pass through town, and the moment I'm spotted walking forlornly is the moment I regret having to pass through at all. I should have gone around and taken the long way, but I've dallied long enough. I'll have to face my Father at some point, and it's better to do so now than later.

"What are you doing here, freak?" a drunkard shouts at me as he stumbles on his feet. He holds a large glass bottle in his hand that he attempts to throw at me as I pass. He misses and the glass shatters at my feet, spraying his liquor all over my feet. "Now look what you've done!" he shouts. "You spilled all my whiskey!"

I hurry past, trying to keep my head down. The seam on my right hip is starting to come unraveled with my movements, my threading inadequate compared to my mother's. I hate it. I hate that I look as miserable as I feel. I hate that I look every inch the shamed Bonaventure.

The townspeople have one of two reactions as I pass. Either they shout at me, call me names, and try to hurt me now that they no longer fear what I'll become, or they grab their children and disappear inside like I'm a leper. There's no in between. I'm an outcast, a piper with no magic, a Bonaventure without a pipe. I might as well be a scoundrel on the street, no better than the beggars who ask for money in the mornings along the road.

"Bad luck," one older woman sneers at me. "Don't want none of your bad luck, child." She slams her door hard enough to rattle her walls.

My home appears before me. It's dark now, lanterns lit in the windows that cast a warm yellow glow outside them. It looks so inviting, our great house, but it's never been that for me. It's always been my looming nightmare.

I only make it fifty feet from the house before the front door opens and Finley and Finnian stand in the light.

"He doesn't want you here," Finley says softly, her eyes full of pity. "You can't come in."

"But this is my home," I rasp, my eyes welling again. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"Not here," Finnian says roughly, his chin held high. "I'm sorry, Fenwick."

I straighten. "You're my brother. You've always been my brother. I've done nothing but treat you well despite your treatment of me. Please?—"

"I can't help you," Finnian says. "You know we can't help you."

Because of Father. It's always Father.

"Tell him I want to talk to him," I say, my voice hard.

Finley shifts her weight from foot to foot. "He doesn't want to see you."

"I'm not leaving until he speaks to me," I threaten. "Either he speaks to me, or I'll spread the word of his losing battle. Tell him that."

Finley's eyes widen and she glances at Finnian. When he nods, she disappears inside. Finnian studies me carefully.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Fenwick," he whispers.

"I don't," I answer honestly. "But. . . I have to do something."

He nods in understanding and backs away when another shadow appears behind him. When Father appears in the doorway, I find Mother behind him, her eyes filled with anguish as she looks at me. She keeps back, knowing she can't help, knowing she can't intercede.

"What do you want, rodent?" Father asks, looking down his nose at me. "Haven't you brought enough shame to this family?"

"This is my home?—"

"Not anymore it isn't," he sneers, taking a menacing step toward me. "And if you threaten this family's reputation again, not having a place to sleep is the least of your worries."

"It's not my fault the bowls didn't stay lit," I sneer. "It was probably your refusal to let me train. If I'd been better prepared?—"

He moves so fast, I barely have a chance to react before he's in front of me. His fist slams into my side and I feel something crack as I collapse, gasping for air, my body screaming in pain.

Fenwick!

"Don't," I rasp through my gasping pain. "Don't come out."

"If you come back here, I'll do much worse to you," Father warns. "Leave us, and never come back."

"I'm your son," I croak, looking up at him through my curly hair. "I'm your son."

"You're no son of mine," he says cruelly as he looks down at me, always looking down. "I'd have rather you been a comedy piper than this. You're nothing, just like I always thought. I knew when your mother birthed you that you were destined for nothing but the same weakness she carries in her heart." He kicks at me, pushing me onto my back. "I saw it," he spits.

My mother flinches behind him, her eyes large and haunted, desperation in her eyes. I see her waver, see her want to come defend me, but she's too afraid to. She doesn't step in, doesn't call out. I only see her emotion in her eyes.

"Mother," I croak, reaching out my hand toward her. "Mother, we don't have to be this. We don't have to be weak."

She tenses and when Father turns to look at her, she looks away, her eyes cast to the floor for fear of repercussions. My heart sinks as my father starts to laugh. Finley and Finnian look on from the window, their faces wiped into emotionless masks.

"She belongs to me, rat," Father laughs. "Not you. Never you."

He turns to walk away, to head back inside, dismissing me as if that's all it takes. Fury fills me, overtaking the shame on my shoulders. I didn't choose this. I didn't choose any of this. All I've ever done is try to be good enough for him.

I drag myself to my feet with anguished grunts, giving my father pause. He turns to watch as I drag myself back up to my feet, my ribs screaming at me to stop moving, but I dare not. Weakness isn't something I can afford right now.

I face him, my eyes clashing with his. One silver, one Gold. Half Father, half Mother. I may not be a war piper. I may not be a piper at all. But my story is not finished. I refuse. Something went wrong. The bowls were wrong. I can feel it. Something is wrong.

"I've done nothing but try to make you proud," I spit as I face him. "I've done nothing but try and bring honor to our name."

Father sniffs. "And instead you bring shame. Only shame."

"No," I snarl. "No, I do not. Having a pipe isn't the only strength there is, or else you would have already won your bloody war." Father's eyes darken in anger, but I don't stop. "You're nothing without your pipe. You're nothing but a name passed down from your father, and his father, and his father's father. I will not be nothing. I'll show you."

He laughs, as if this is the funniest thing he's seen in a long time. "Show me what? How to be weak?" He spits at my feet. "Be gone. You're not wanted here, rat."

"I am not nothing," I spit. "I'm more than you'll ever be."

Father tenses, but his anger dissipates and morphs into amusement. "Clearly, you're not," he says, his eyes hooded.

And then he goes back inside and slams the door. Finley and Finnian disappear in the window, leaving only the warm, inviting light that I'll never be a part of again. A Bonaventure without his family. A piper without his pipe.

Holding my ribs, I look out into the distance at the cliff rising over the trees. Something went wrong. I did something wrong, or something wasn't prepared right. I know it in my soul. I am a piper. I have to be.

And I'm going to show them all.