Interlude: Family Matters

Interlude: Family Matters

Danagek and Gurot played together, the boys taking turns to kick the ball, while Dagek and Murot each sat beside one another. The boys shifted the blocks to form all manner of patterns, sometimes toppling over their towers.

Sonarot poured her brother some tea, the pair sipping the warm tea lightly, basking in the quietness of a child’s play. They continued to sip in the quietness, Sonarot warming the tea again, pouring a second cup for each of them.

“The first, you must kill for me,” Sonarot said.

“Is it so easy to kill such great warriors?” Tonagek replied.

“Since it is you, I am sure it is easy.” Sonarot smiled slightly, sipping her tea lightly, though she was still unable to taste the light berry flavour within.

“You do not have to worry,” Tonagek assured, also unable to taste the light berry flavour within.

“How can I not worry when my younger brother is going fight such great warriors?”

“Since it is me, it will be easy,” Tonagek joked.

“...” Sonarot wanted to speak up, to tell him that he didn’t need to go. Yet, how could she deny her brother? He had done so much for the Gek family, and he had done so much for them too, for she had stolen such a wonderful trio of grandchildren from him.

“Danagek, Dagek, come,” Tonagek called, the pair of boys glancing towards their father, before quickly shuffling their way over. “Your aunt will take you to pick the colours for the duskval festival. Gurot, Murot, come, I will take you.”

Murot smiled, glancing towards his brother, noting a moment of hesitation upon his elder brother’s face, but it was quickly dealt with as Tonagek held out a hand, and Gurot reached out to hold his uncle’s hand.

The gentle rain fell across the Iyr, the families within the extended family estates each enjoying their time in the warm rain, but for some Iyrmen, the rain felt far colder.

Shasen sat opposite Shagek, the pair pouring each other drinks, sipping the weak wine. The pair had been named after their grandfather, and thought he pair had been close when they were young, their paths had led them on different journeys.

“Aldland seems to have grown since I left,” Shagek said, having left when he had first become a grandfather. It had been almost a generation ago since he had gone to make a name for himself in the far east.

“Is Javiti different now?” Shasen teased in return, causing his cousin to smile slightly.

“I did not spend much time in Javiti before it was taken over,” he admitted. “I had heard the rumours of the distant Goddess, but I was too busy in the Wastes to check upon her. I hear she is an Idol, and her greatest commanders are similar.”

“I understand why the Confederacy is having such trouble.”

Shagek continued to sip the wine, feeling the tingle against his tongue. Though the wine was only slightly alcoholic, it still held a sharp flavour, one that was too sweet for his liking.

“Are the children weighing down your heart too?” Shasen asked, causing Shagek to sigh, the old man closing his eyes as he leaned back.

“It has not been long since I returned, but my heart has become so heavy from their worry and grief.”

“What of our worry and grief?” Shasen joked, sipping his wine, also sighing.

“How can we worry and grieve at this age?” Shagek joked back, pouring his cousin a drink, allowing Shasen to do the same for him. The pair hadn’t spoken much, but after the death of their niece’s grandchildren, the pair had begun to speak again, as though they were young again.

“Did greatfather worry like this?” Shasen asked.

‘Little Dogek, how can you cry?’ Shogek asked, embracing his younger sibling close to his chest, brushing the back of his head.

‘Papa! My bread!’

‘I know, I know,’ Shogek cooed to his younger brother, the boy barely seven himself. ‘It is too late to cry for the bread, since the river has eaten it. Come, let us go ask mother for more bead.’

‘Huu!’ Dogek cried, while his brother wiped away his tears.

Tonight, his brother could not wipe away his tears, and he allowed them to fall, the tears disappearing into the fibres of his clothing.

The stars shone brightly in the night sky, the myriad of colours distracting the Elder. He let out a low sigh, closing his eyes, wanting a moment of rest.

“If you are so tired, you should sleep,” called the voice, as quiet as a mouse.

“How can I rest when there is so much work to do,” Zijin replied.

“Thus, the work of an Elder,” Rajin said, sitting down opposite his nephew. He placed down a small clay pot. “I have brought a drink to wake you.”

“Do you have another which can help me to sleep.”

Rajin flexed his muscles. “I can help you to sleep easily without a drink.”

Zijin raised his fingers, shaking his head lightly. “I can sleep fine enough.”

The pair fell silent for a long moment. It was a quiet night in the Iyr, like most nights in the Iyr. Since Zijin could dare to doze off during the night, it meant that things were proceeding smoothly at the fort in the south.

Rajin poured the sword wine, the kind of wine that could awaken someone by stabbing their throat so harshly. It was even greater than the sour wine he was well known for.

“The children miss their aunts,” Rajin said.

“Did the Mad Dog send you?” Zijin asked, noting the guilty look upon his uncle’s face, though he was glad that the Mad Dog was being so kind to him. “When I first became Elder, I used to look to my father to help deal with him. Father spoke to Mulrot, and the Mad Dog fell quiet for a short while. It was one of the first lessons I learnt as Elder Zijin.”

“If you learnt that lesson, why did you ask me to speak with him?” Rajin asked, leaning back in his seat, feeling the ache from all the scars he had gained from the crippled Iyrman before he was crippled.

“In order to understand those who caused trouble, I had to cause trouble,” Zijin joked.

“So, it was back then?” Rajin asked.

Zijin looked through his uncle and to the past. To the little girl who would cry to him about her father and mother bullying her, even though she was the one who caused such trouble. To the girl who stopped causing so much trouble after her aunt was killed. To the girl who would swing her blade so late into the night, counting to a hundred repeatedly, even though she knew how to count to a thousand.

“I will not regret it,” Zijin said.

“I know,” Rajin replied, picking up his cup, waiting for his nephew to raise his own, the Elder quickly moving his papers to one side, before the pair sipped the wine, coughing and hacking together, as though they had been stabbed in the throat.



I should have made this year 200 chapters so I could show so much more!