[1042] – Y05.042 – The Death of Jurot

[1042] – Y05.042 – The Death of Jurot

The Iyrmen nearby tensed up, surging with killing intent, but the moment passed. The Iyrman stepped aside, allowing Jurot to step through. The Iyrman marched forward, noting the appearance of the Great Elders, with Elder Shaman sitting among them in place of Elder Peace, while the most obvious Great Elder remained missing.

“Who was killed?” Elder Shaman, adorned in her heavy, deep green cloak, asked. She was the visage of time, wrinkles falling across her face, carved through decades of thought.

“My nephews,” Jurot said, unable to speak their names.

“They are not Iyrmen,” Elder Shaman stated, her voice clear, not just speaking to Jurot, but also the Great Elders around her.

“They are my nephews,” Jurot stated through his gritted teeth, feeling the rage boiling within him, trying to beat out the hopelessness which had gripped his heart.

“We have our rules, young Iyrman of the Rot family,” Elder Shaman stated, her voice falling upon the Iyrman’s ears like a rushing waterfall, pressing down upon him with the great weight of responsibility. “Under the laws of the Iyr, they have no such rights.”

Each word battered Jurot deeper than any blade he had faced, even the blade of King Merryweather.

“I have my rights,” Jurot said. “I have rights afforded to me.”

“Even if you were to die, we would not bring you from Baktu’s embrace, for you are no child.”

“I know my rights,” Jurot stated firmly. “I am a Master soon.”

“Soon, but not yet,” Elder Forest said, the woman’s voice full of regret.

Jurot could feel it. He was on the cusp of Masterhood, just a little more, and he would be able to reach such a height. Once he was a Master, he could use his rights to help, he was certain of it. He continued to shake, his fists clenched, to the point his nails dug into his rough palms.

“You should return,” Elder Shaman said.

Jurot remained standing there, trying to think of a way to help in that moment. Even if he could bring them back a second earlier, he would do so. As an aide placed a hand on his shoulder, he refused to move. The aide raged, causing Jurot to flash red hot with rage too, but the young Iyrman was unable to resist, as the aide dragged him away.

Jurot let out a sigh, relaxing, dropping his rage. As they dragged him away, he reached up to pat the aide’s shoulder, who let the young Iyrman go. Jurot inhaled deeply, standing taller. “I am an Iyrman. You cannot deny me my rights. I will pay the price, a life for a life.”

Chief Iromin raised his brows in shock. “Which life?”

“Larot,” Jurot replied, without hesitation.

“You would leave Jirot without her twin brother?”

Jurot narrowed his eyes towards the Chief. “Where is he?”

“...”

“He was not with the dead. He was not with Jirot. Where is he?”

The sky over the Iyr was darkened with grief. Within the side of the mountain, a path led to small caves, which had been carved thousands of years ago. A woman walked along the length of the path, while another sat in front of the cave, pouring salt into the water, before pushing the pot forward.

“I still owe him a favour,” Otkan said. “You may ask on his behalf.”

Jarot remained silent, reaching down to pick up the pot, sipping the salted water. He refused to ask, for he could not ask more of her, who had given her arm to make sure he would see his greatchildren grow. However, how could he come to face them now, after allowing them to die? Was he so shameless, he, who had urged them to leave the business to train?

A set of graceful steps approached the cave, where the Iyrmen sat, only separated by the invisible wall of shame.

“Did I not tell you, Chief?” Jarot asked, clenching his teeth, and though he smiled like a hyena, there was little light within his smile. “He is my grandson!”

The stars twinkled in the sky, darkness not yet looming over the Iyr, but growing deep within.

Adam jolted upon hearing the striking of the staff, the overwhelming pressure of the Iyrman almost causing him to choke, bringing him out of his grave thoughts.

“Babo!” Jarot clutched around his neck, feeling the heat of his greatfather’s rage warming him up, as Jirot hugged his bicep, also warming herself up.

Larot let out a soft sigh, before Jirot then grabbed him into a huge too, brushing through his hair.

“How can you do this to me?” Jirot asked, holding him close, planting firm kisses on his cheek. “You! I tell you not to come! You come and push me?”

Larot remained silent.

Adam closed his eyes, trying to keep his tears from flowing out. He and Vonda held one another, the half elf rubbing his cheek against hers. It was only then could he feel the relief set within his heart. When he heard the Chief calling for him, he dared to let the woman go, holding her hands for a long moment, staring deep into her eyes, which remained uncertain, for how did her children return to her?

“We must speak,” Iromin said.

Adam nodded, following the Chief, followed by his Aunt, whose steps were urgent, but remained a short way away.

“Chief,” Adam whispered.

“The Iyr has brought them back.”

“Okay,” Adam said. “Whatever you say, I’ll do it.”

Iromin turned to throw a look to Sonarot, before pausing. “Your children must be raised as Iyrmen.”

“Is that it?”

“They will grow under the Iyr’s care. They will learn our secrets, which they must keep, even from you.”

“Chief, you...” Adam swallowed. “You need to ask Vonda for their permission too. She’s their mother, and I can’t promise it alone.”

“Okay,” Iromin promised.

“Is it the only price to be paid?” Sonarot asked, her eyes focused upon the Chief.

“Yes.”

Sonarot let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing as she closed her eyes, steadying her emotions.

“Chief Iromin?” Adam called.

“Yes?”

“I’m fine with them being raised in the Iyr, as Iyrmen, but...”

“You need not worry,” Iromin said. “We have prepared those who we will send to kill you.”

Adam slowly nodded his head, wiping his eyes, the itch within them growing. ‘Man, I love the Iyr. Damn it.’

“There is another important matter to discuss,” Iromin said.

“What is it?”

Iromin remained silent. He did not wish to speak the words, but the blood had been spilled. His neck grew taut, and the Chief flashed crimson, thirsty for blood. “Someone has killed a child of the Iyr.”



The Iyr told you that you cannot do one thing.

Also shout out to the two new patrons. I forgot to mention that for all of December I will also post up an additional chapter for each new patron! So expect double chapters today and tomorrow!