The Freedom of Navid Leahy by Jenna Helland

 
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    Eleven-year-old Navid Leahy awoke to darkness, his dream of slaying giants still rambling through his mind. It was a sweltering summer morning even though the sun was just beginning to rise. Navid’s skin was sticky with sweat, and his hair was so damp, it felt like he’d been caught out in a summer storm. At some point during his fitful sleep, he’d kicked off his sheet and dropped his stuffed rabbit, which he wouldn’t admit to anyone that he still kept with him during the night.
    The eastern sky was rose-colored just above the ragged rooftops of South Sevenna. Through his open window, Navid could see the towering masts of the ship rising above the rooftops several blocks away in Mast Square, and his heart lurched. Today was the day he would confront Aron, his former friend and current enemy, near the square. In years past, the two spent many happy hours playing around the grounded ship and even more hours debating the mysterious circumstances that might have brought it so far inland from the harbor. But Aron had turned spiteful and mean, and Navid refused to be the target of his hate anymore.
    Navid slipped out of bed, pulled on his too-short trousers, and ignored the wash basin in the corner of the tiny room. He thudded down on his knees to search under his cot for his woolen socks. They made his feet itch in the heat, but without them, his leather boots rubbed his heels raw. Someday, he’d like a pair of the canvas Litball shoes like the Seminary Lads wore. But such things were only sold in North Sevenna to the wealthy sons of the ruling class, and anyway, Navid knew he should be grateful to have his boots. Most cottager children spent the summer barefoot, but Navid didn’t want to cut his foot and have it get infected from the filthy streets, like his friend Will, who was stuck inside for weeks and almost lost his leg.
    â€œI bet Kilkeer didn’t wear shoes,” Navid whispered to the dark house as he crept down the hall pretending he was the ranger from the giant-slaying saga, the most important story to the cottager people— Navid’s people. Their teacher, Mr. Baine, had been telling them the story at the end of their lessons. Kilkeer was the greatest cottager that ever lived: wise as a spider, fierce as a wolverine, and cunning as a wolf. Unexpectedly, all the other students already knew Kilkeer’s heroic exploits by heart, and while Navid knew the gist of the story, he’d never heard the details before.
    As he stealthily approached the kitchen, Navid unleashed an imaginary bow and silently crept into the Great Northern Forest, just as Kilkeer did at the beginning of the saga. His people were being tormented by the Giant of Red Lake and only the bravest—
    â€œAh!” Navid yelped, surprised to see his father, Brian Leahy, sitting at the table, sipping a mug of coffee and reading a newspaper.
    â€œGood morning, Navid,” his father said, nonplussed by his son’s dramatic entrance. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    Navid surveyed the tidy kitchen, which was his favorite room in the house. There was a large wooden table where they could host friends at mealtimes and two rocking chairs in front of the open fireplace, which was always cold during the summer months. A small fire was already burning in the cookstove and a pot of porridge bubbled on top. The back door was cracked open to let in a nonexistent breeze.
    â€œAm I late?” Navid asked with dismay.
    It was Navid’s morning chore to fill the wood box for the cooking fire. Usually, the 6 a.m. chimes from the Seminary bell tower across the Lyone River woke him up. But sometimes, especially if he’d run a lot of errands during the day, he slept through the bells.
    â€œI did it for you today,” Brian said. “I’ve got to meet Michael, and I needed coffee.”
    â€œThank you, Papa,” Navid said, feeling slightly guilty. His father ran a pub,