Steffen walked past the gates and into the small, ugly village he remembered, smelling of wild dogs, chickens running loose in the streets, old ladies and children chasing them. He walked past rows and rows of cottages, a few made of stone but most made of straw. The streets here were in poor shape, littered with holes and animal waste.
Nothing had changed. After all these years, nothing had changed at all.
Steffen finally reached the end of the street, turned left, and his stomach clenched as he saw his father’s house. It looked the same as it always had, a small wood cottage with a sloped roof and a crooked door. The shed in the back was where Steffen had been made to sleep. The sight of it made him want to raze it.
Steffen walked up to the front door, which was open, stood at the entrance, and looked inside.
His breath was taken away as he saw his whole family there: his father and mother, all of his brothers and sisters, all of them crammed into that small cottage, as they had always been. All of them gathered around the table, as always, fighting over scraps, laughing with each other. They had never laughed with Steffen, though. Only at him.
They all looked older, but otherwise, just the same. He watched them all in wonder. Had he really hailed from these people?
Steffen’s mother was the first to spot him. She turned, and at the sight of him she gasped, dropped her plate, smashing it on the floor.
His father turned next, then all the others, all staring back, in shock to see him again. They each wore an unpleasant expression, as if an unwelcome guest had arrived.
“So,” his father said slowly, scowling, coming around the table toward him, wiping grease from his hands with a napkin in a threatening way, “you have returned after all.”
Steffen remembered his father used to tie that napkin of his into a knot, wet it, and whip him with it.
“What’s the matter?” his father added, a sinister smile on his face. “You couldn’t make it in the big city?”
“He thought he was too good for us. And now he has to come running back to his home like a dog!” one of his brothers yelled out.
“Like a dog!” echoed one of his sisters.
Steffen was seething, breathing hard – but he forced himself to hold his tongue, to not stoop to their level. After all, these people were provincial, riddled with prejudice, the result of a life spent locked in a small town; he, though, had seen the world, and had come to know better.
His siblings – indeed, everyone in the room – laughed at him in the small cottage.
The only one not laughing, staring at him, wide-eyed, was his mother. He wondered if maybe she was the only redeemable one. He wondered if perhaps she would be happy to see him.
But she just slowly shook her head.
“Oh, Steffen,” she said, “you should not have come back here. You are not a part of this family.”
Her words, delivered so calmly, without malice, hurt Steffen most of all.
“He never was,” his father said. “He’s a beast. What are you doing here, boy? Come back for more scraps?”
Steffen did not answer. He did not have the gift of speech, of witty, quick-thinking retorts, and certainly not in an emotional situation like this. He was so flustered, he could hardly form words. There were so many things he wished to say to them all. But no words came to him.
So instead he just stood there, seething, silent.
“Cat got your tongue?” his father mocked. “Then out of my way. You’re wasting my time. This is our big day, and you’re not going to ruin it for us.”
His father shoved Steffen out of the way as he rushed past him, stepping outside the doorway, looking both ways. The whole family waited and watched, until his father came back in, grunting, disappointed.
“Did they come yet?” his mother asked hopefully.
He shook his head.
“Don’t know where they could be,” his father said.
Then he turned to Steffen, angry, turning bright red.
“You get out of the door,” he barked. “We’re waiting for a very important man, and you’re blocking the way. You’re going to ruin it, aren’t you, as you always ruined everything? What timing you have, to show up at a moment like this. The Queen’s own commander will be arriving here any moment, to distribute food and supplies to our village. This is our moment to petition him. And look at you,” his father sneered, “standing there, blocking our door. One sight of you, and he will pass our house over. He’d think we’re a house of freaks.”
His brothers and sisters broke into laughter.
“A house of freaks!” one of them echoed.
Steffen stood there, turning bright red himself, staring back at his father, who faced him, scowling.
Steffen, too flustered to reply, slowly turned his back, shook his head, and walked out the door.
Steffen walked out into the street, and as he did, he signaled for his men.
Suddenly, dozens of gleaming royal carriages appeared, racing through the village.
“They’re coming!” screamed Steffen’s father.
Steffen’s entire family rushed out, running past Steffen, standing there, lining up, gaping at the wagons, at the royal guard.
The royal guard all turned and looked to Steffen.
“My lord,” one of them said, “shall we distribute here or shall we carry on?”
Steffen stood there, hands on his hips, and stared back at his family.
As one, his entire family turned and, shocked beyond words, stared at Steffen. They kept looking back and forth between Steffen and the royal guard, completely flabbergasted, as if unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
Steffen walked slowly, mounted his royal horse, and sat before all the others, sitting in his gold and silver saddle, looking down on his family.
“My lord?” his father echoed. “Is this some sort of sick joke? You? The royal commander?”
Steffen merely sat there, looking down his father, and shook his head.
“That is right, Father,” Steffen replied. “I am the royal commander.”
“It can’t be,” his father said. “It can’t be. How could a beast be chosen to the Queen’s guard?”
Suddenly, two royal guardsmen dismounted, drew their swords, and rushed for his father. They held the tips of their swords at his throat firmly, pressing hard enough that his father opened his eyes wide in fear.
“To insult the Queen’s man is to insult the Queen herself,” one of the men snarled at Steffen’s father.
His father gulped, terrified.
“My lord, shall we have this man imprisoned?” the other asked Steffen.
Steffen surveyed his family, saw the shock in all their faces, and debated.
“Steffen!” His mom came rushing forward, clasping his legs, pleading. “Please! Do not imprison your father! And please – give us provisions. We need them!”
“You owe us!” his father snapped. “For all that I gave you, your whole life. You owe us.”
“Please!” his mom pleaded. “We had no idea. We had no idea who you had become! Please don’t harm your father!”
She dropped to her knees and started to weep.
Steffen merely shook his head down at these lying, deceitful, honorless people, people who had been nothing but cruel to him his entire life. Now that they realized he was somebody, they wanted something from him.
Steffen decided they did not even deserve a response from him.
He realized something else, too: his whole life he had held his family up on a pedestal. As if they were the great ones, they were the perfect ones, the successful ones, the ones he wanted to become. But now he realized the opposite was true. It had all, his entire upbringing, been a grand delusion. These were just pathetic people. Despite his shape, he was above them all. For the first time, he realized that.
He looked down at his father, at sword-point, and a part of him wanted to hurt him. But another part of him realized one final thing: they did not deserve his vengeance, either. They would have to be somebody to deserve that. And they were nobody.
He turned to his men.