The way back for Peter was longer and more weary than usual. Though he didn’t have Pedro on his back anymore, the image of his supposed self still lingered in his mind. In front of Bea, however, he still had to show his usual cheerful, if not slightly cheeky self as the two exchanged some small talks about their day – the last thing he wanted to do was to cause worry to his dear friend. Unfortunately, the act did come with a drawback: as the two made their way back to their familiar town, the giant sundial placed in the middle of its square had already had its shadow approaching the top end. In other words, they’d already wasted half of their day.

As per usual for their routine, murmurs arose among the townsfolk with each of their steps. After all, it wasn’t the first, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time that the two had emerged onto the road via the beach or the forest rather than the cathedral that they were supposed to be at all day. And just as usual, neither of them particularly cared too much, though their reasons might be quite different from their normal day.

“Oh, right, does this mean that your Mum is handling the shop for today?” Peter asked, his eyes shifted around to try and shake off the uneasiness in his heart.

“Actually, we closed shop for today,” answered Bea.

“Really?”

“All of us leave by tomorrow, after all. There are lots of things to pack.”

The answer reminded the boy of their circumstances as he retracted his rather awkward smile for a second.

“How long will you be out for?”

“I’m not sure myself. Maybe a week, maybe a month, or even more.”

Peter only frowned further at the claim. Being the problem child he was, Peter never really had many friends in the village. Bea and Pedro were the rare few that he could hang around with, but with both of them leaving on such short notice, the boy couldn’t help but let his feelings show on his face despite his best attempt to keep them away.

This didn’t escape Bea’s keen eyes, however, as the girl soon continued with a cheeky grin and a playful jab towards Peter’s arm:

“Now, don’t you miss us too much!”

“Haha, I’ll try.” Before the attempt at lighting up the mood, Peter could only reply with a hesitant laugh of his own, though his effort only resulted in more teasing coming from the mischievous girl:

“So? Which one of us are you gonna miss most?”

“You…r Mum, obviously,” the boy’s face soon showed a tint of red as he struggled to come up with a coherent excuse. “Who would cook for me when you’re all out?”

“And here I thought I’d finally tripped you,” answered Bea with a grin. However, her effort netted her much more than just a tease, as Peter’s initial worry was finally lifted.

“Maybe next time,” the boy chuckled, this time coming truly from his heart.

As their back-and-forth came to a close, the two reached the edge of the town where a small, humble residence resided. The small wooden sign hanging by its old door had already turned the “closed” side to the front, while the usual basket by the side had turned empty, leaving behind only a large towel on top and a faint smell of yeast and flour wafting in the air.

Next to the bakery, however, was a dejected figure walking around in circles. As soon as Peter and Bea’s figures were registered in his sight, the boy’s face lit up in a mix of joy, worry and anger:

“... Milady!” Shouted Pedro. “I’ve been looking for you all day! I couldn’t find you anywhere, so I thought you might have returned home already… You!”

“Took you long enough,” Peter’s mouth curled up into a smirk, seeing Pedro’s tunnel vision on his lady yet again.

“I… You know what, forget it.” The flames of rage in the dark-skinned boy flared up for just a second before inexplicably fizzling out as Pedro let out a sigh of defeat. “At least you two are safe and well.”

“Bit of a redundant concern innit? What on earth could go wrong on these isles in the middle of nowhere?”

“Tomorrow is a big day after all, and the last thing I want to see is any of you being hurt. I assume Milady has told you about it?”

“Still sharp at the most unnecessary things I see,” Peter shrugged. “But yeah, I got the gist of it.”

“Well, there you go,” with an unlikely smile, Pedro concluded. “I’ll let the incident today slide, so how about joining us for lunch and dinner?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass lunch for today. I have other places to attend to.”

Peter waved his hands to signal goodbye, but in a strange turn of development, Pedro had already taken a step forward and blocked the boy from leaving for just a moment.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

“Wait, I insist!” exclaimed Pedro. “Just a nice little meal, it won’t take long!”

There was a weird aggressiveness to his actions, which immediately brought up a flag in Peter’s mind. For Pedro to exhibit this kind of behavior, as far as Peter was aware, could only mean one thing.

“What did you do?” the boy asked, his eyes squinting in doubt.

“I…” Pedro stuttered for a moment, his eyes repeatedly shifting sideways to find an excuse that would help him get out of this situation. In the end, however, he could think of nothing other than to accept his defeat. The dark-skinned boy let out a sigh, before performing a perfect bow as he put his hands together to pray for forgiveness:

“I forgot your gift, and there’s not enough time for me to prepare something else anymore! I’m really, really sorry!”

There was a strange sense of joy welling in Peter as he witnessed the scene. Always being on the receiving end of such cases, there was little doubt that the boy was enjoying the situation, and the only thing stopping him from bursting out with laughter was the minimum politeness and respect for Pedro as a childhood friend.

Peter could only hold off for so much, however.

He might not be directly criticizing the lack of a gift, but he was more than willing to rub salt into the fresh wound, by taking off the cross Bea gave him earlier and raising it forward:

“No worries. I got this, after all.”

It was supposed to be only that – a confirmation that doubled as a lighthearted joke. Yet, Pedro’s expression showed anything but. Cold sweat poured on his forehead like a flood while his face paled a pure lifeless white, his hand unconsciously raising forward, twitching uncontrollably like he'd been struck by lightning.

After a good minute of him not even saying any words, let alone other movements, Peter took a step forward and waved his hand close to Pedro’s face, clearly doubting the latter’s sanity.

“Hello? Pedro? Anybody there?”

The sudden joke broke Pedro out of his trance, but he wasn’t amused one bit. As Peter braced himself for a lashing, the dark-skinned boy instead grabbed Bea by the arm and quickly broke off the conversation:

“Milady, come here with me for a moment.”

The two soon disappeared from Peter’s sight and hid themselves behind the bakery that was their house. Being their childhood friend, Peter was no stranger to both Pedro and his feelings towards Bea, but that was all the more reason to suspect his behavior. Pedro was never the type to harbor petty jealousy, nor was he the type to be physical when it came to his mistress, so his behavior was certainly not normal.

Peter, mind filled with doubt, made his way closer to the back of their house – not close enough to make himself be seen, but enough to listen in on whatever they were talking about. However, even with the close distance, he could only make out a few of their words.

“... This isn’t supposed to happen!” Pedro’s voice silently rose.

“Trust me…” Bea’s voice responded in kind.

“... He’s not supposed to…”

“He’ll be fine…”

Without another clue, Peter returned to his spot. However, he knew enough that the reason for his friends’ argument was with little doubt the cross on his neck. The questions and anxiety that once plagued his mind returned once again, prompting the boy to clutch the piece of jewelry in his hand. He closed his eyes, hoping to encounter that vision from before once more to maybe solve his problems, but all that awaited him was no more than plain, tasteless darkness.

When he opened his eyes, Pedro and Bea had already returned.

“So… what happened?” Peter sounded, nervousness still present in his words. However, Bea only brushed it off:

“Oh, nothing too big.”

“Should I return this?” The boy placed his hand forward, the cross still sitting in his palm. “I feel like it’s causing problems to you two.”

“Oh, don’t worry! You can keep it just fine.”

“... Pedro?” Peter turned to the other deliberately quiet figure, trying to stare as much into his eyes as possible.

“Oh, uh… yeah! Don’t you… worry about nothing! Haha…”

There was no doubt that Pedro was lying, and Peter knew that much. One look at the former’s rapidly shifting pupils was all that there was to know. However, Peter also knew that getting information out would prove to be difficult if his friend was this desperate to keep it to himself.

In the end, the boy had no choice but to let out a sigh and retract his hand, putting back the cross on his neck in defeat.

“Okay, I’ll keep it for now. See you two tonight.”

“See you tonight, Petey!”

With a happy wave of goodbye, Bea opened the door and soon disappeared into her house along with an awkward Pedro. Peter, now alone once more, continued his trip.

Further away from the town, almost touching the other side of the surrounding forest, was a small hill. The hill itself was nothing special, save for a single broken-down house on top. Its wooden walls were already on the verge of crumbling into sawdust, while its straw roof was riddled with holes thanks to the nearby birds stealing them for their nests.

The boy took his steps forth to the hilltop, approaching the sorry excuse of a structure. The door showed no resistance — it never had for eight long years, with no kind of maintenance whatsoever.

There was a saying that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. This house, however, was proof that judging by appearances could, too, be valid.

The interior was just as bad as the outside, if not even worse, an irony considering it was supposed to be protected from the years of harsh weather on these isles. A broken dining table, or at least, what used to be it lay in the center of the single room. Now, all that was left was a bunch of splinters that no one bothered to clean up. Next to it was a creaky wardrobe, whose only piece of clothing inside was a frayed tunic of who-knows-what color and a dress of a similar state, both being eaten away by moths and worms.

Peter tried to grab the tunic, only for it to fall apart as soon as his hand so much as grazed through it. The same goes with the dress as it crumbled before his eyes with only a slip of his fingers.

So much for seeing if I can find anything useful here… Dreaded thoughts filled his mind, and the boy let out a sigh.

With nothing left to do, he headed to the corner of the room, where a single haystack lay. Throwing his body on the pile of straws, he took out the amber cross once more, gazing at its gleam through the dotted rays of sunlight from above.

Peter closed his eyes once more, trying his luck for a third time to see the strange vision. But in the end, all he could witness was not some vision of grandeur, but another sort of scenery.

The confused screams of a child.

The dreaded silence of its parents.

The stone-cold expressions of the so-called force of justice, as they ignored the pleas of an innocent boy to punish their so-called heretics.

The fluttering of white, mixed in with the clanging of silver and steel.

Ah, I thought I had erased it from my memories…