While listening to his story, Erik's mom dressed the tender, but healed, wounds on his back. Jean interjected with some commentary every now and then, mostly about how the cart came up so quickly and how Erik fought through the pain to get back home. Her anger had dissipated, thankfully, once she had heard why Erik was forced to use his sword.
"It all worked out," Erik's mother said. "I'm glad."
"You're not mad?" Erik asked.
"No," Erik's mother said. "What you did was very, very dangerous, but I would rather you come home alive than take the full brunt of that hit. Did either of you recognize the man?"
Erik and Jean shook their heads.
"The guards did take him into custody," Jean replied.
"Alright," Erik's mother said, "Thank you again for helping Erik."
"Yes, thank you again," Erik said. "I'd probably be passed out on the street if you weren't there."
Jean half-smiled. "Of course. Always going to be there for you. Anyways, I have to go check on my sister. Left her by herself a little longer than expected."
Erik's mother raised her eyebrow.
"She was napping," Jean added quickly. "Should be up by now. Bye, Erik. Goodbye, Missus Hyde."
After Jean left, Erik's mother sighed and rubbed her temple. Unsure of what to do, Erik just kept sitting at the dinner table. He couldn't tell if she was still mad or tired or worn out or some combination of all three. With The Ripper running around, she must have been getting more snide remarks since she was from the Decapolis. It was obvious with her darker hair and skin. It didn't help that she was well-known for being a former guard from Lyca.
Still, no one suspected her or talked badly of her. They'd lived in Meryl for over a decade now, and Erik's father was a well-respected merchant. The chief of the guard was a family friend and uncle.
"Erik, you're a good boy," his mother said, "better than anyone could ever ask for. But I'm worried about you. This isn't the first time you've returned home hurt. It's dangerous now."
Erik looked down at the table. He'd passed out before too while he was out in the town. He'd gotten into a fight with a surly, drunk man at the tavern trying to woo some poor girl, who was obviously a child. The drunk man tracked Erik down in an alleyway on the way home, and Erik was knocked out. Jean had to carry him back that time too.
"I know, Mother. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. We'll talk more when your father gets home," Erik's mother said with a sigh. "Are you able to do your chores?"
"Yes," Erik replied.
As the sunlight streaming from the windows transformed into a faint glow from the night lamps on the street, Erik and his mother cleaned up the house, prepared dinner, took care of Chris, and waited for his father to come home. Erik cleaned up the dishes, and his mother helped Chris get ready for bed. Then they continued waiting at the dinner table for Erik's father to come home.
"Is Father okay?" Erik asked.
"I'm sure he's all right," Erik's mother replied. "He mentioned that there's a new band of merchants from the Decapolis arriving soon. Perhaps he's busy with that."
Erik noticed his mother quietly tapping her foot on the floor.
"Or perhaps he's out with your uncle again," she continued. "But I'm sure he's alright."
A soft trail of footsteps caused Erik to glance at the stairwell. Chris, the sick little boy, gawked at the two of them by the table. When Erik locked eyes with the boy, he swore he saw Chris's bright blue eyes get bigger and shinier like he was about to cry. The little boy sniffed a little bit.
"What's wrong little kid?" Erik asked.
"I want a bedtime story," Chris replied. "Where's Daddy? He's supposed to tell me one."
Erik turned to his mother. "I can read him one."
"Thank you, Erik," his mother replied.
Leaving his mother at the table so that she could wait for his father, Erik climbed the stairs and grabbed hold of Chris's hand. The sick, little kid, probably too tired to struggle, yawned and waddled along with his big brother to his room. Erik heaved the little boy onto the bed then tucked him under his covers.
"All right, what story do you want?" Erik asked.
"I want Daddy's story," Chris murmured.
"Which one of Daddy's stories?"
"The fun one."
"Okay, what's the fun one about?"
"Fun stuff."
At this point, Erik fought back the to groan. Chris was just a little kid. He was just a little kid. Chris was a sick, little kid who really wanted his his father to tell him a story.
"What if I tell you one of my stories, just for tonight? Special, just for you."
Chris yawned. "Well okay."
"Okay, well once upon a time, there was this hero named Chris who fought all the bad people in the magical kingdoms--"
"That's me!"
"No, that's an entirely different Chris." Erik playfully pinched Chris's nose. "Now just listen and try to sleep. Anyway, this Chris had a special dragon friend. Together, they traveled around defeating all the bad guys to make the kingdom a better, funner place to live . . ."
As soon as Erik was sure that Chris was asleep, he blew out the lamp and walked back down to his mother. She was still at the table, but she had laid her head down. Actually, she was asleep. Erik's father hadn't returned yet either. Since he couldn't find a blanket, Erik used a cloak near the door to cover his mother's shoulders.
A dull throb from somewhere, no everywhere, in Erik's body reminded him of his injuries. As quietly as he could, Erik heated some water over the fire. With his hot drink, he tried to relax at the table while he waited for his father to come home. This wasn't the first time Erik's father was late, but he usually managed to return home within an hour or two after dark. Even last night, when Erik's father stayed late to help with the guild, he was back just in time for Chris's bedtime. Erik glanced at the shrinking candle in the lamp. He'd have to replace that soon.
Erik's hot water turned lukewarm then cold then gone. He wiped his empty cup and set it back in the cupboard.
The candle, which had been burning the whole night, went out. In the dark room, Erik tried to remember his father's schedule for the day. Since he hadn't asked Erik to join him at the caravans, his father must have been at the guild again today. If the merchants from the Decapolis were arriving this week, his father was probably working on arrangements to accommodate them. He was probably still at the guild then, and if he wasn't, then the tavern close by.
Erik rolled his shoulders back. His wounds didn't hurt as much as before. He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a little note for his mother, in case she woke up.
Gone to the guild to look for Father. Will ask one of the night guards to go with me.
After grabbing his Imperis sword, a lantern, and a cloak, Erik quietly slipped out the door. Even with the night lamps lit, he needed to bring the lantern. The night lamps didn't light the alleyways, and the moon overhead was barely a curve and didn't provide much light. Erik lifted the lantern a little higher and gripped his sword with the other hand.
It was so late that no one else was on the streets, besides the stray cat here and there. Or large rat. One or the other. Hopefully. The silence seemed to swallow up any sounds.
Like every night, a thin blanket of mist settled on the streets. Erik checked his surroundings again as the street he was walking on opened into a small plaza. It had no shops, just a small fountain in the center. Feeling a little winded from his injuries, Erik sat down by the fountain.
A strange, small, clinking sound of metal on metal rang out from one of the sidestreets.
Erik slowly rose to his feet, set the lantern on the fountain, and drew his sword. No footsteps approached him. With the sword's abilities, Erik enhanced his senses. He winced from the effort, but he managed to get a better bearing of his surroundings. It didn't seem like anyone was nearby. Erik waited for a while longer before sheathing his sword. He picked up the lantern and hurried off towards the guild.
It was just a scare. That was all.
When Erik reached the guild, he let out a relieved sigh to see one of the windows faintly lit. The door were still unlocked too. Erik set the lantern on the floor, then put all his weight into pushing open the heavy doors, which were at least twice his height. He grabbed his lantern and slipped inside before the door closed on him.
Making his way down the dark, stone hallways, Erik found the room that was still lit. The area was covered with books. Books on shelves, on floors, on tables. Papers were everywhere.
"Father?" Erik asked.
No response.
Erik stacked a few stray books on a nearby table to make room for his lantern. He crawled and stepped over the mess. His father must have been here earlier because his bags and papers were by the tables, and so was the half-eaten meal Erik's mother had made for him. Still, Erik saw no sign of the actual man.
"Father?" Erik called louder. He stepped forward. "Father, are you here?"
"Down here," said a muffled voice. "You're stepping on the hatch."
Erik jumped back as his father threw open the hatch on the floor. Erik's father gave a slight chuckle. He closed the hatch and began to clean up the room.
"I'm sorry I'm so late tonight," Erik's father said. "You must have been worried."
"Of course we," Erik replied. "It's been hours since dark fell. With the Ripper and everything, we thought you might've been . . ."
"I should have been home earlier," Erik's father said. "I apologize."
"Why were you so late anyway?"
"We've been sorting out the archives for the arrival of the Decapolis party tomorrow. Records they asked for," Erik's father said. "Well, shall we go?"
With his father with Erik, the walk back home didn't seem so dark anymore. The quiet was peaceful instead of foreboding. Erik's father took the lamp from Erik when he noticed Erik's arm shaking from holding the lantern up so long. Unfortunately, the action exposed Erik's arm long enough to see the faint lightning bolt.
"Erik, what's that mark on your arm?" Erik's father asked.
Erik glanced away. "I, uh, something happened today." The boy explained the entire situation to his father. "I don't think anyone saw me."
Erik's father muttered a few choice words under his breath. "Curse those thieves. Well, you won't have to worry about it happening again. I'll let Ethan know what happened."
"But I didn't recognize who did it. How could Uncle help?"
"It wasn't a random attack," Erik's father replied. "The guild's been having trouble with one of our buyers. A tavern owner. He didn't pay off his debts, so we had to go to the tavern to collect. Turns out he can't. Scar over his eye?"
Erik nodded.
"That's him." Erik's father sighed. "He's always been a special case, badmouthing the Decapolis. Especially with the Ripper. He seen you around the guild and knows your my son too. Guess the debt collection tipped the scale. I'm sorry you had to go through that, Erik."
"You're not upset about the sword?"
"No. But don't do it again. You're uncle's been telling me about the threats made against the other folks from the Decapolis. We don't want to make ourselves a bigger target than we need to be."
When Erik and his father reached the plaza, they took a break since Erik's wounds were acting up again. Erik mulled over his father's words. He didn't know whether he should feel relieved or more afraid that the attack wasn't random but targeted. The man hadn't been attacking him for being from the Decapolis but for being his father's son. But from what his father said, it could have been a bit of both.
"You there," someone shouted.
Erik and his father stood up to greet the guard approaching them. Erik's eyes widened at the blood on the guard's hands. Worse still, the guard came from the direction that the metal clinking sound had come from earlier.
"What's that on your belt?" the guard asked and pointed at Erik's waist.
Erik glanced at his father, who nodded.
"It's my sword, sir."
Without warning, the guard grabbed Erik by his arm and jerked his sword out into the light.
"What are you doing to my son?" Erik's father pulled the guard's arm off.
The guard narrowed his eyes and stepped back. "One of those lightning weapons. I'm sorry, sir," the guard said to Erik's father, "But I have to take your son into custody." He held up some shackles. "If he's innocent, he can prove it. But we won't let the Ripper get away again."