Content warning. This chapter deals with child abuse. There is also some ableist language toward neurodivergence. If depictions of child abuse and/or ableism is too much, you can skip the part that opens "Let's just get this over with" and proceed to "After Alador had changed clothes" after the 4th "XXX" chapter break.
XXX
Alador ducked into the bathroom in Hexside's cafeteria just after his ill-fated attempt to ask Odalia out. He looked at himself in the mirror: hair already messy, uniform with spots of abomination goo residue here and there. Clutching at the pedestal sink with sweaty palms, he pressed his forehead to the cool mirror glass. "What am I doing? There's no way a glamorous witch like Odalia would ever go for a guy like me."
XXX
Dinner that night was somber. Alador had changed from his soiled uniform into the coveralls he liked to wear when working with his abomination hybrid machines. Isidor was still in his Hexside uniform: crisp, clean, with dark blue sleeves and leggings to identify him as being in the Healing Track.
Egon sat at the head of table in his usual position. He turned down his usual glass of wine. Always a bad sign. "I had to call in several favors, but I believe we've weathered the storm." Storm of course meaning the PR nightmare that ensued after that disastrous party.
"That doesn't fix my precious zinnias," Alador and Isidor's mother, Marcella Blight, said from her position across from her sons. She was tall, slim, with long black hair that reached the floor when it was loose. Marcella kept it braided and decorated her thick braid with crystals and white silk flowers. She wore a floor-length glimmery silver dress with an embroidered design of stark, wintry trees. The silver heightened her pale, almost grayish skin tone. Alador personally thought she almost looked bloodless. Over her dress was a long cape with a stand-up collar trimmed with genuine fur. Marcella's nails were long, painted with black nail polish and encrusted with still more black, blue, and clear crystals. She used magic to levitate almost everything, even things most witches would pick up. "I grew them from seeds that washed in from the Human Realm."
"You can grow them back," Alador said, trying to be reassuring.
"It's the principle of the matter," Marcella said. "I've grown those flowers since before you boys were born. And it breaks my heart that those clumsy oafs in the Emperor's Coven just stomped all over them." She glanced at Alador's plate. Despite eating barely anything at lunch, Alador's appetite still hadn't returned. His chunk of Caledonia boar remained untouched. "Alador, you've hardly touched your food. Is anything wrong?"
"No, mama," Alador answered. "My nerves are just acting up tonight."
Marcella levitated one of her knives and held it over Alador's plate. "Let me cut your meat for you." She started slicing his meat. "You need your protein, dear. Open wide." She levitated Alador's dinner fork, speared a chunk of meat and moved it toward Alador's mouth.
Egon's countenance darkened further. "You know I hate it when you baby him like that!"
Marcella smirked back at him. "Apparently, my boy could knock back a tumbler of hard apple blood like a man. Where did you learn to drink like that, Alador?"
"From you?" Alador responded.
"Don't disrespect your mother," Egon said snappishly. "I've had it up to here with your sass."
"Is it really sass if he's not doing it consciously?" Isidor asked. "If there's a right way to answer and the wrong way to answer, I can always count on Alador to answer the wrong way."
"Silence, Isidor. I was already upset with you," Egon said. "And you know why."
"No, I don't," Isidor answered. "What have I done?"
"The score to your entrance exam…" Egon began. "I might have forgiven that Edalyn Clawthorne scored higher than you, but I've learned by what margin she beat you."
"Let me guess, more than a few points?" Isidor's tone took on a sarcastic edge.
"Her score was the highest in Hexside history!" Egon practically roared. "You not only denied me the honor of being the parent of the youngest child ever admitted to Hexside, you were humiliated by a palisman carver's delinquent daughter! If this ever got out, they'll all snicker behind my back! Both of you, meet in the basement after dinner."
Alador bit back a swear. He hated the Blight Manor's sizable basement. Before the Emperor rose to power, the Blights had been administrators of the Boiling Isles' loose association of city-states. When the Emperor consolidated power, the Blights turned to corporate conquest. Blight Manor was built over the remains of a pre-Conformatorium prison, and some of the old…equipment was still there. Once in a rage, Egon chained up both Alador and Isidor in the basement overnight.
Yes, the basement meant something bad was going to happen.
XXX
"Let's just get this over with," Isidor said, descending the steps in front of Alador after dinner. Standard procedure. Egon insisted that Isidor go down steps in front of Alador in case he pitched forward, and behind him going up in the event of him falling back. Alador had always chalked it up to his father never missing a chance to mock him for being clumsy.
Egon stood just below the steps. A table with two chairs was set up behind him. "Sit down."
Neither son argued, sitting down at the table.
"I'm very concerned about our family's future," Egon began. "So I've decided to intensify your training. Starting today, you will report here after dinner every other day."
Alador tried to suppress a groan.
"Alador," Egon began. "I have a question for you. What do you see when you look at Isidor?"
"My brother?" Alador asked. "The closest thing to a friend I have?" He glanced at Isidor, who gave him a blank look, indicating he was just as clueless about Egon's meaning as he was.
"I felt allowing Isidor to attend school with you would help you gain the confidence you need to assume the mantle of Highmost Patriarch. That day will come sooner than you think," Egon continued.
"Father, I don't want to be the Highmost Patriarch!" Alador cried. "I never have! Why can't I just pass the stupid title to Isidor? He'd be great at it! Remembering dates and birthdays and talking to people, going to those pointless parties! Just let him be the Highmost Patriarch and I'll work for Blight Industries as an engineer when I graduate from college…"
"Your brother does indeed know how to perform the basic social functions required to pass for a normal witch," Egon admitted. "He has many friends and is a skilled negotiator and diplomat. But he's not suited to be the Highmost Patriarch."
"And I am?!" Alador asked incredulously.
Egon continued. "You see, the Highmost Patriarch position does invite resentment. Isidor is entirely too kind to deal effectively with it. He has this desperate, pathetic need to be liked. You don't care what others think of you, and it shows. You're not mean, but you're dismissive. And other witches will find that just as bad as if you were openly hostile." He held out his right hand, on which perched a large, glittering signet ring with the Blight family crest. "Someday you will finally earn the right to wear this. I only hope I will still be alive to see it."
"I don't want it," Alador said, remembering how slaps across his face in his childhood had left imprints from the ring. Yeah, Egon was rarely subtle. Those imprints were his way of saying, You'll never escape the Blight name.
"As the Highmost Patriarch," Egon began. "You'll have to do things you might not want to do, for the sake of the family or the sake of the island. Now, while the Highmost Patriarch is the most important title in our family, your brother is also heir to a title too. What is it?"
"Right Sentry," Alador said flatly.
"Correct," Egon said. "The Highmost Patriarch title is almost always passed from father to oldest son, with Right Sentry being passed to second child. Usually a second son. Now why do you suppose the title is called that?"
"To make the second son feel better about himself," Alador answered.
"And why do you think the second son would need to 'feel better about himself', as you say?" Egon asked.
"Because no one cares about him," Alador said. "He's not the heir. Just the spare."
"I think you're not looking at it the right way," Egon said. "I don't feel that way at all. A Right Sentry supports and protects the Highmost Patriarch. 'Right' carries the connotation of 'right hand person.' Just as I expect you to take your training to be the Highmost Patriarch seriously, I expect Isidor to be fully prepared for a life of service to you, just as my brother supports me."
Right, Alador thought. And when was the last time you spoke to your brother? But of course the words caught in his throat. That's me. Somehow I think the right things but can never say them… He glanced toward Isidor, who sat poker-faced.
"I think it's time you heard this story," Egon said evenly. "When I was still a child, my father became ill. The infection was successfully eradicated, but not before my father had gone into multi system organ failure. He needed transplants. My uncle joyously gave his consent to donate the needed organs. And thus my father survived. He allowed me to watch the operation, so that I would understand the sacrifices that need to be made for the family." He paused, as if expecting a reaction. Neither son spoke. "What do you think?" Egon asked impatiently.
"I don't believe it," Alador replied. "Well, I believe that it happened. But there's no way my great uncle 'joyously' died for my grandfather." He tried out to shut out the thought of his great-uncle, whom he had seen in the portraits in the main hall, being dragged into the operation circle kicking and screaming. "It's barbaric. I would never do that to Isidor."
"Maybe it would help if you stopped thinking of a Right Sentry as a person," Egon said. "Try to reconceptualize Isidor as an emergency supply of donatable organs I've procured for you."
"We might not even match," Alador said.
"You do," Egon said. "When the healers refined organ donation, the Blights modified their conception spells to allow genetic recombination but to retain the same markers on organs."
"So we do match," Alador said. "I still would refuse. I've never thought of him like that. And I never will."
"Then I shall pray to the Titan you never have a medical emergency," Egon said. "Do you know why I agreed to that idiotic party? It's because I found Isidor's argument compelling. That you are lacking in social skills and that you might benefit from meeting your classmates in an environment in which you feel comfortable. Your classmates are the future of the Boiling Isles. Some of them will even go on to head the Covens. And while our family is strong alone, we have become ever stronger with our ties to the highest strata of Boiling Isles society. But what do you do with this opportunity? You squander it and embarrass our family. Rather than commanding respect and awe, your classmates must be laughing at you. For your first lesson, I am going to teach you how to carry yourself. Isidor, stand up."
Isidor rose, fluidly rather than stiffly. Egon's tone left no room for argument. Seems like he, like Alador, just wanted to get this over with so they could all go to bed and then in the morning, Egon would have other problems to be mad about.
"Remove your shirts," Egon said.
This time, Isidor hesitated. But he took off his uniform cowl, tunic, and blue undershirt, folding them neatly and leaving them on the table.
For the first time, Alador noticed the chains hanging from the ceiling. A feeling of dread started to pool into his stomach.
The chains each ended in a shackle, with Egon wordlessly clamping one around each of Isidor's wrists. Isidor's back was to Alador now.
Egon drew a magic circle and summoned a glop of abomination goo. The goo contorted and stretched into the shape of a very ominous looking whip: multi-lashed, with sharp looking spines sticking out at strategic points along the edges and what looked like weights on the ends. "This is what I normally summon. But since this is only a practice session, I'll modify it." The goo reshaped itself into a similar whip, missing the spikes and weights but still having multiple thongs. "Take it. I want to see your stance."
Alador stood there. "I…can't."
"Can't, as in unable to, or won't as in you refuse?" Egon demanded.
"What's the difference?" Alador asked. "You're asking me to whip my brother!"
"As practice, yes," Egon said. "He's here to support your training. Now take it."
Sensing Egon's irritation, Alador reached for the end of the whip, but his grip failed and the improvised whip landed on the floor and reverted to shapeless goo.
Alador's eyes widened in alarm. I've done it now.
To his surprise, Egon only looked bemusedly at the goo. "Very well, son. Perhaps I did set the goals for today's session too high. Just relax and watch this tutorial, and you'll have a better understanding of your duty." He drew another magic circle and reshaped the goo back into the only-slightly less ominous whip. "If it makes you feel better, this won't tear the skin as much as my usual fare." He moved to Isidor's side. "Isidor, I believe you're trying to hide something from me."
"What are you talking about?" Isidor's voice indicated confusion.
"Sometimes showing off your weapon will get the desired results," Egon said. He moved the whip to Isidor's line of sight. Isidor futilely twisted in the shackles.
"At any rate," Egon continued. "It will establish who is in control. The trick to many of your day to day interactions is to establish that you are in control at all times." Despite the dim light in the dungeon, Egon was giving a little smirk. "Isidor, don't insult my intelligence."
"If you told me what you mean," Isidor protested. "But I don't."
"Is there anything you'd like to…confess?" Egon asked.
"No!" Isidor answered. "I've done absolutely nothing wrong."
And then there was the crack of the whip that split the air like a thunderclap. The momentum of Isidor's body jerking in the chains. Isidor managed to hold back any cry, and Alador had no idea how.
"You're trying to spite me, in front of your brother," Egon said. "Take this seriously."
"I really have no idea what you mean!" Isidor cried.
"Liar!" Egon answered, giving another lash. The crack as it met flesh and Isidor's cry of shock and pain echoed through the basement. "See, Alador, you can't hesitate or back down. You have to remain firm. Especially when it involves your children."
"Father, this is nuts!" Alador protested. "Stop it already…"
"It may not be your children," Egon continued. "You might have to extract a confession from a thieving servant."
"'Extract a confession?" Alador repeated.
"You can't let them get away with stealing from us," Egon said matter of factly. "That'll encourage the others to steal."
"I wouldn't do this to anyone," Alador said. "You can't just treat servants like that."
"I couldn't agree more," Egon said. "I am supervising the switch to an all-abomination staff. However, the technology is still being developed for fully autonomous abomination servants, so for the time being…"
Alador palmed his face. "That still doesn't make me feel better."
"Now," Egon continued. "You may need to restate or rephrase your question. Isidor, are you hiding something from me?"
"No," Isidor said, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. "Please, Father, just tell me what you mean by this…"
"Now, give them an out," Egon said. "Isidor, you know a father and son should not keep things from one another. If there's something you need to say to me, say it now and I'll be lenient."
Isidor said nothing. His head was bowed.
"See how Isidor is avoiding eye contact with me," Egon said. "That's a sign of a guilty conscience." He raised the whip and struck Isidor's back again with an earsplitting crack. This time, Isidor couldn't hold back a scream.
Alador looked at the floor.
"And if the child or servant doesn't answer you at first," Egon said. "Do not doubt their guilt. They'll crack. They always do." He raised the whip again.
"Titan help me!" Isidor cried.
"I suppose if the Titan spoke on your behalf, I would stop," Egon said. "But he is silent, so I believe he is on my side."
"Alador has a weighted blanket!" Isidor cried, before Egon could swing the whip again.
"Isidor, you piece of shit!" Alador said. "Why would you tell him that?!"
"He bought it at the market…" Isidor said. "Please, no more. Can't take it…"
That was a lie. Pierson bought Alador the weighted blanket: "It may help with your anxiety, Young Master." He had also bought Isidor a plush toy, one that he knew Isidor kept hidden deep in his closet. So you want to protect Pierson but not your brother, huh…?
"Alador," Egon said coldly. "You know I do not approve of indulging your weakness. You are not neurodivergent, so do not allow yourself to think you are."
"How do you know that I'm not…?" Alador asked. "You're not a doctor."
"Your numerous doctors have reassured me that you are within normal limits…" Egon said.
Yeah, only because you paid them to tell you what you want to hear, Alador thought bitterly.
"Tomorrow, you can give me the blanket and I'll throw it away for you," Egon said.
Isidor gave a small sigh in relief, then his breath quickly hitched as Egon moved toward him again. Then came another lash and a shriek.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Isidor," Egon said. "You knew that your brother was hiding a crutch, and you didn't tell me! You let him rely on it, knowing he has to be strong to be an effective Highmost Patriarch! What kind of Right Sentry are you?!"
If Isidor tried to say anything, it was drowned out in wordless sobbing.
"Stop it!" Alador cried.
Nothing, except the sound of another lash and another scream of pain. And Alador's temper flared. "I said, stop, you son of a hydra!" Alador screamed.
Egon whirled on him, face like stone. "I apologize, but I did not hear you, Alador. Would you politely restate what you just said?!"
All of the bravado Alador felt a second ago seemed to evaporate under the weight of Egon's glare. He tried to stammer out a response. "I said…um, that is…"
Egon smiled at him. "I thought so." He turned back to Isidor and whipped him again. Isidor's scream once again reverberated through the basement.
Alador's throat felt like closing. "Why are you doing this?!" He gasped out. "I was the one who just insulted you, I was the one using the weighted blanket. Why are you hurting Isidor for things I did?!"
Egon turned back to face Alador. "My son, there's one thing I want you to get through your thick skull. As Highmost Patriarch, you will be making decisions that impact our family and society itself. If you make the wrong decision, those around you will suffer the consequences. More so than you. And the people you love will suffer the most. Do you understand that now?"
"Yes," Alador said. "Just stop hurting him…"
"So I can hear you, Alador," Egon said. "Do you understand?!"
"Yes!" Alador cried out, louder.
Egon advanced on him. Alador took a large step back.
A look of disgust crossed Egon's face. "Very well. We'll resume our training in two days. I expect you to work on your self-control until then." He switched to his familiar glare. "You are dismissed, Alador. Go clean up."
In spite of himself, Alador looked down. He dimly realized there was a puddle on the floor. He bowed his head and moved toward the staircase. When he stood on the bottom step, he glanced back at his father, who still hadn't put away that damnable whip. There was another crack, another scream. And Alador bolted, taking the steps two at a time.
XXX
After Alador had showered and changed into clean clothes, he went back to his bedroom. He glanced at his bedspread. A black velvet blanket covered and concealed his weighted blanket. The black velvet was embroidered with the Blight family crest in golden thread. It felt like a fitting summary of the outer appearance versus inner reality Egon insisted on. Alador peeled back the black velvet blanket to reveal the cute paisley pattern that decorated the weighted blanket. He imagined giving Egon the weighted blanket, could just hear Egon mocking him for having "such a girly blanket."
His shower had been somewhat soothing, but dread hit him all over again. He felt himself begin to hyperventilate. He backed away from his bed and left his bedroom.
Alador steadied himself as he entered the next wing, toward his parents' bedroom. The odds of running into Egon were low, as Alador knew he'd probably be in his study working late if he wasn't still…Alador worked to swallow the lump in his throat as the image of Isidor jerking in his chains from the impact of the whip filled his mind.
Alador knocked on his parents' bedroom door. "Mama?"
"Come in," Marcella's voice said.
Alador opened the door. Marcella was reclined on a couch, wearing a black peignoir.
"Yes?" Marcella asked. "Is something wrong?"
"Father's done something…really bad…" Alador began. "It's…" How was he even going to put that so called 'training'? Father just whipped Isidor and tried to get me to do it?! It sounded ridiculous when he thought about it. "I'm scared."
Marcella sat up, her chest bouncing almost out of her nightgown.
Alador's golden eyes almost widened to anime proportions. "Um, Mama? Maybe you could put on…like, a robe?" He lowered his gaze to the floor.
Marcella scoffed. "Alador, they're just boobs. Your future wife is going to have them too. Hers will probably be nicer than mine…"
Alador's face reddened.
Marcella rolled her eyes. "So what has your father done now?" She paused, waiting for a reply. "You can tell me, dear."
"He wants to take away my weighted blanket!" Alador blurted out. "It's so soothing, and Isidor told him about it, and he said that he'd throw it away because it's a crutch." That was technically the truth. Not the whole one, but all that Alador could get out.
"And do you want to keep it?" Marcella asked.
"Yes," Alador admitted.
"Then simply keep it," Marcella said.
"You make it sound easy," Alador protested.
"No, you make things harder for yourself, Alador. You can't be like a plant stem, bending at every external pressure. You need to know what you want and say what you want. I'll make it easier for you. Just keep your blanket, and if your father asks, tell him that I said it was fine. I'll be happy to discuss the matter with him."
"Oh, thank you, Mama!"
"Now go to bed, Alador," Marcella said. "You need to be refreshed for school tomorrow."
Alador nodded. Maybe tomorrow I can tell her about what happened in the basement. She's on my side… "Good night, Mama." He backed out the door and closed it behind him. He felt some relief that seemed to travel through his body.
Upon reaching the stair landing that led to his and Isidor's bedrooms, Alador saw Pierson helping Isidor up the stairs. Isidor was dressed once again in his full school uniform.
"Won't the fabric rub your back?" Alador asked.
"I've healed myself," Isidor said sullenly. "Not like you actually care."
"I do care," Alador argued. "I just don't understand why you have to take the only comfort I have living in this stifling mansion. And don't think I didn't notice you leaving Pierson's name out of it!"
"I don't have to justify myself to you, Alador," Isidor said, staggering to his bedroom.
"Young Master…" Pierson began.
"I'm fine, Pierson," Isidor said. "I just need to be alone." He opened his door and shut it, leaving no room for argument.
Alador stood there stiffly. "Why does he have to be so…mean?"
"His whole life, he's been in the most awkward position," Pierson said. "I wouldn't take it personally."
"What does he expect me to do, though?" Alador asked. "There was no way I could have saved him!"
"I cannot tell you what to decide, Young Master," Pierson said. "But in my experience, sometimes the worst thing you can do is nothing."
"Pierson, why couldn't you have been my dad instead of that ogre?" Alador asked.
"I do not know," Pierson answered.
