Aiden Beaks's Arc

Chapter 9 of 10

Aiden ran back toward the gray house with the recipe pressed to his chest. He needed a white weeping willow leaf, and he needed to reach Ethan before the fever climbed higher. But a shape stepped from the trees ahead. His uncle. Ragged coat, ashy beard, back bent under his hunch. The man who had seized him once and demanded the drive. "There you are," his uncle said. His voice was calm, which was worse. "Walk with me. Back to the boy. Ethan's waiting." He knew Ethan's name. He knew the house. Aiden felt the drive heavy in his waistband. If his uncle caught him now, he lost everything his father had died to send. Aiden nodded. He kept his face flat. "Okay," he said. "I'll walk." He led the way, but he led it wrong, away from the gray house, deeper into the wet dark. His uncle limped close behind, one hand always reaching for Aiden's shoulder. Midway, Aiden turned and shoved him hard in the chest. The old man stumbled. Aiden ran. Branches whipped his bare arms. His feet slapped cold mud. Behind him his uncle roared and gave chase, faster than a hunchback should be. A pale tree rose from the dark. Its branches hung down like white hair, thin leaves cascading almost to the ground. A weeping willow, young and bright, exactly the tree the recipe named. Aiden grabbed a low limb and hauled himself up. If he climbed high, his uncle could not follow. He could hide, and he could strip the leaves he needed. His wet hand slipped. He grabbed for a higher branch and missed. Then he fell. He hit every limb on the way down. Bark tore his shins. A branch raked his arm. He landed flat on the roots and the air left him. Pale leaves drifted onto his chest. The last thing he saw was his uncle's boots. Aiden woke on the cabin floor. His legs stung. Long scrapes ran red down both shins. His arms burned. His feet were raw. He blinked, dazed, and the cabin swam into focus. He was back inside. His uncle sat in the doorway, arms crossed, watching. Ethan knelt over Aiden's feet, weeping. His uncle had gripped the back of Ethan's neck. "Smell them," his uncle said. "Rub them. Every scrape. You wanted to help him. So help him." Tears ran down Ethan's face as he pressed his small hands to Aiden's torn feet. His shoulders shook. Aiden's fingers found the drive still tucked at his waist. His uncle had not taken it. The old man only smiled. "I could have," he said, reading Aiden's face. "I want you to open it. Then hand it to me yourself." Aiden understood then. His uncle would not steal the drive. He would break Aiden until Aiden gave it up.