Third Oath -- Family and Honor

Chapter Twenty-Three: ‘Thy beloved kinship...’

The remainder of the journey was quiet. Garovel took the chance to rest, with the advisement that Hector should wake him should he get lost, but it was a straight shot the rest of the way, so Hector wasn’t too concerned.

Rather, he was more worried about Garovel’s obvious disdain for his parents. Even as he saw Brighton’s towers appearing over the horizon, it was still bothering him.

Hector couldn’t make the thoughts explicit, for fear of waking up Garovel, but the ideas still brewed quietly in his mind, never forming conscious words but still unsettling him nonetheless.

He didn’t want to think ill of his parents. They’d taken care of him his entire life. They’d kept a roof over his head, clothes on his back, food in his stomach. They’d given him toys and games and books, his own television, his own computer. Maybe that wasn’t much to some people, but he knew that to others, that was a lot.

And they had never been abusive, which was more than could be said of other people’s parents. He’d seen kids with parents like that. Those were the kids who had it rough, not him, and they endured their pain much better than he did. Surely, they’d love to have parents like his.

He rode the bike to a cemetery and parked it behind a mausoleum, under the shade of a line of trees. He checked inside the building, its stony walls encasing two chambers across, and was a bit surprised to still find the money that he had stolen from Rofal. He fully expected someone to have taken it after two whole weeks, but he supposed this place was an even better hiding spot than he thought. It was dark and peaceful inside, but Garovel had previously given him grief for choosing it, as if he had been trying to make some morbid joke, even though, really, it was a very convenient location.

From here, he made the short walk back to Cedar Street. Seeing his house again, under the amber pull of the evening sun, brought a sense of relief. If nothing else, he was at least glad to have finally made it.

He entered and found his father sitting alone in the den, watching television.

His father looked at him. The man did not get up. “Hey, son,” he said, utterly flat and casual. “Haven’t seen you around the past couple days.”

Hector waited a moment longer, wondering if there was more, but his father had finished talking. He was suddenly glad that Garovel wasn’t awake to hear. “...I found a job.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

Hector tried not to frown. The temptation to let the conversation die was strong, and perhaps it was even the wisest course of action, but that previous worry was still there like an itch. “...Where’s mom?” he tried.

“Sleeping. She had a long day at work.”

“D-did something happen?”

“Just the usual, I’m sure. Clients being prima donnas and so forth.”

Hector’s expression strained as he struggled for another topic. It felt almost physically painful, as if his body wanted to leave but his brain wouldn’t allow it. “D-do you wanna... um... do something together sometime? The three of us, I mean.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know... maybe we could... go see a movie?”

He spared Hector an odd glance. “Wouldn’t you rather go with your friends?”

“N-no...”

“Really? I know when I was your age, I didn’t want anything to do with my parents.”

Hector had no clue how to respond to that. His father’s wry smile did nothing to comfort him.

The man shrugged and looked back at the television. “I’ll see what your mother thinks about it.”

“Okay...” And with that, the conversation seemed well and truly beyond revival. He gave up and went to his room.

He lay on his bed for a bit before deciding to practice creating iron again. Soon, he felt Garovel stir.

‘Ah,’ the reaper said, detaching himself from Hector. ‘We’re already here.’

“Yeah. You look a little better.”

‘I feel a little better. And you’re already training, I see.’

“Yeah... so, uh... we’re back in Brighton, but... what the hell do we do now?”

‘Well. Roman’s note said we have a few months before Atreya goes to war. So. I think the only logical thing to do is to focus on increasing your ability with iron until our allies return to retake Sescoria.’

“We just leave Abolish and Geoffrey to run wild? They’re going to be slaughtering people...”

‘What’s the alternative? Rush in to stop them on our own? We’ll die, and then there really won’t be anyone to protect the civilians here.’

“I guess so...”

‘But in a way, you’re correct. We can’t just sit here and have you try to meditate your way to victory. That’s not going to work. Meditation is okay for steady growth, but it’s not fast enough. To stand a chance, we need to press you harder.’

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“And how do we do that?”

‘Simple,’ said Garovel. ‘We go looking for trouble.’

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Geoffrey’s return to the Rofal mansion had been a decidedly quiet one. Desmond had wanted him to stay in Sescoria, but Geoffrey thought he should be in Brighton in order to continue the family business. To his great disappointment, however, no one was here to meet him. For the past few days, he’d had the entire house to himself.

So he fixed that.

Dozens of living puppets wandered the corridors. He made a game of it, controlling them all from his office, seeing through their eyes, rifling through their minds, and putting on a veritable play by having them interact with each other in various ways--sometimes peaceably, most times not.

It amused him while he waited for the phone to ring, but then there came a delightful surprise when one of his puppets saw someone venture through the front entrance, someone not under his control.

The stranger was an elderly gent, shriveled and gray but wearing bright eyes and a big smile. And he had a reaper with him.

Geoffrey immediately forgot about his human toys and went to greet them.

“Hello and welcome!” Geoffrey said cheerily. “Might I ask what brings you here?”

The old man looked at him eagerly. “Boo!” he said, shaking both hands in front of him.

Geoffrey just blinked. And then realized that he couldn’t move his body. He struggled, but an invisible force held him fast.

The old man laughed. “Just kidding!” He released him, and Geoffrey stumbled back a step.

‘Sorry,’ the reaper said. ‘He’s just excited to meet you. You are Geoffrey Rofal, yes?’

“Yes. Who are you?”

‘I am Feromas, and this is Damian Rofal. He is your grandfather.’

Geoffrey blinked again. Then a few more times.

“Howdy, Grandson! How’s the business?! Not so great, by the looks of things! Aha! Did you kill all your subordinates?! That’s not a very smart thing to do, you little scamp!”

“You are truly my grandfather?”

“Of course!”

‘I hope you’ll forgive us for not attending Joseph’s funeral. The family doesn’t usually tell Damian things anymore. They think he doesn’t know what they’re saying.’

“They think I’m a lunatic! Aha!”

‘Which is only half-right.’

“Shut your hole, Feromas! I’m sharp as a tack, I am!”

The reaper eyed Geoffrey. ‘We figured you’d need some help running things. The family doesn’t have any other willing participants who aren’t also scared shitless of you, and Damian’s been restless lately, anyway.’

“I’m like a caterpillar!”

‘Oh, he’s gone again. Don’t mind anything he says for the next twenty minutes or so.’

“Would you like to see a magic trick, young man?! Bring me ten rabbits, ten hats, and one machete!”

Geoffrey smiled. “I like your style, Grandpa.”

Damian returned a quizzical expression. “I like your style, too, Grandma. Your eyebrows are pointier than I remember.”

‘Seriously. Don’t mind him. Please.’

Damian looked at Feromas. “So who do you want me to kill?”

‘No one, right now, Damian. Please just relax.’

“Okay, Boss. You’re the boss, Boss.” And he stood next to the reaper, rigid as a wooden plank.

“You want him to run the family business?” said Geoffrey. “Is he capable of such a thing?”

‘...Please don’t ask me such difficult questions. Do you want our help or not?’

Geoffrey scrunched his mouth together, thinking a moment, and then shrugged. “Sure, okay. Everyone else already ran away, though, so I’m not sure what you plan on doing.”

Feromas stared at him for a long moment, then just gave a massive sigh.

“It’s okay!” said Damian. “I know all sorts of great people!”

“Is he lucid again?”

‘Not sure...’

“Like the Tooth Fairy!”

‘Ah, there it is.’

“We’ll build a tooth-fortress! No one’ll be able to get in! Unless we want them to, of course. We’ll need a tooth-drawbridge. And maybe some tooth-horses.”

Geoffrey cocked an eyebrow. “How often does he get like this, exactly?”

‘Once or twice a day, perhaps. It varies.’

Abruptly, Geoffrey heard the phone ring. He rushed back to his office to pick it up. “Yes, hello? Desmond?”

<“Heya, Geoffrey. Got some info you might like. In a little town out west, we got a report of a man going around with two babies.”>

“Excellent!”

<“Town’s called Battonburg. Info’s a bit old, so he’s probably not there anymore, but you might be able to get a lead on him if you pay the place a visit.”>

“Thank you, Desmond! I will do just that.”

<“Have fun out there. And give me a call if you need anymore help, yeah?”>

“Of course. You are too kind.” He hung up and looked at Feromas and Damian. “Okay. I have to go. Um. Enjoy building your tooth-fortress or whatever.”

“Will do!”

‘Hey, hold on a minute,’ said Feromas. ‘Don’t you have questions for us?’

Geoffrey paused. “Mm, not particularly.”

‘But... aren’t you curious about what I am? Or why you’re so different from normal people?’

“I already know both of those things. You are a reaper, and I am an aberration.”

Feromas furrowed his brow. ‘How the hell do you know that, already?’

“I met some people from Abolish. And they--”

Damian snapped back. “Abolish is here in Atreya? Ah, were they behind the incident in Sescoria a couple weeks back?”

“Yeah. I was there with them. It was a lot of fun.” Geoffrey tilted his head. “Though, I suppose I am curious as to why I am only meeting you just now. If you knew I was an aberration all this time, then why did you not tell me when I was younger?”

Feromas nodded. ‘That’s because of this asshole. He created you without me knowing and then completely forgot about you. It wasn’t until your aunt visited him a couple days ago to inform him of Joseph’s death that your name came up.’

“And I suddenly remembered!” said Damian. “How is your mother, by the way? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Neither have I,” said Geoffrey. “But wait a minute. You created me? How?”

“Oh, did your friends in Abolish not tell you?” said Damian. “It’s a delightful process, see. First, you have to capture a reaper. And make sure they don’t have a servant’s soul attached to them, or it just complicates things. Then, you need a man and a woman, and they both need to possess the reapers’ genetic trait. And then, after the woman becomes pregnant, you perform a soul-transfusion, carving out the emerging soul of the child and replacing it with the reaper’s soul you captured earlier. If all goes well, the resulting soul will be reborn with a new mind and a new body, and you will be rewarded with a wonderful little aberration baby.”

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. “Reapers’ genetic trait?”

‘The trait that makes us live on after death,’ said Feromas.

“Yes, it’s a recessive gene and terribly rare these days,” said Damian. “Luckily, I’m a carrier myself, as are some of my children, including your mother. The real trick was getting her to have a child with someone who was also a carrier. She’s rather headstrong, you know, and was determined to marry for love. I had to orchestrate events extensively so that she fell in love with just the right man.”

‘That’s what you were doing? Why didn’t you ever tell me? I thought you were just being a dick when you sabotaged her relationships.’

“I wanted to surprise you!” said Damian, grinning.

Feromas sighed again. ‘Of course. For a second, you made me forget that you’re a fucking idiot.’

“Huh,” said Geoffrey. “So, if you had not performed this soul-transfusion on my mother, I would have been born as a normal human?”

“Seemingly, yes. But you wouldn’t just be a carrier of the reaper trait like your parents. It would actually manifest in you. So when you died, you would have become a reaper like Feromas here.”

“Oh!”

“Unfortunately, with two parents who are only carriers of the trait, the success rate is about twenty-five percent. If the child is merely a carrier as well, then the transfusion will simply kill the subject. You might have had a couple of older siblings, otherwise.”

‘No wonder she never comes to visit you.’

“Hmm,” said Geoffrey. “I am not sure what to think. Is being a reaper more fun than being an aberration?”

‘I doubt it. Boredom is a real problem for a lot of us.’

“Then I must thank you, Grandpa.”

“No problem.”

‘By the way, I’m Damian’s great grandfather. So you should thank me for your genetics, too.’

“I see! Thank you both, then!”