Continued from here.
A stranger had come, and been given a night to rest. Another night to befriend. And now, finally, a night to tell stories.
Jinyel had never celebrated with the Keha’al before. He had dined with them, hunted for them, healed their sick and wounded, but he had never sung with them. Never danced with them. He had shared their labors, but never their joy, and for the most part they respected his solitude. They were hospitable people, but not necessarily trustful people. He couldn’t blame them. He was a mage, after all, and left himself to the outskirts.
Until tonight.
Tonight was warm. One of the few warm nights left in early Vhalar. A bonfire blazed against the sunset, rabbits and grouse roasting on pikes around its edge. A drummer set a beat. An ocarinist trilled a melody. There were no dances tonight, though plenty of chatter filled the air. Tonight was a night for stories, and for listening.
Tonight, they had a new face.
Vex Halladrin moved through the crowd like he belonged there, holding court with whoever would speak to him. He was peaceful Avriel, which was a rare sight amongst the Keha’al. They had a hundred questions, and he had a hundred answers. A few of the braver ones even touched his feathers.
Despite all the fuss and attention, Vex knew exactly when Jinyel arrived. Like a hawk spotting a mouse, the Avriel’s golden eyes found the Loshova as soon as the firelight fell upon him. No one else saw, because Jinyel made no introduction.
Almost like Vex had been waiting for him.
Jinyel put a hand on Monya’s scruff. The wolf pressed to his side. She sensed his tension, although not the reason for it. That was to be expected; she was a far younger hunter than Jinyel. She didn’t have the experience to know that they were being hunted.
Jinyel stroked Monya’s head and checked the horn full of coals at his belt. Inside, curled up in a bed of dry grass, was a fire anak eager to burn. Littlespark also saw his tension, and through flickers and shadows, said in sign language:
You. Unwell. What need?
I need you to burn, Littlespark. With one hand, Jinyel signed back to the anak. Make that fire yours. Shield me with it, if you can. If it comes to that.
If need be, Littlespark replied, come into flame. I protect you. No one else.
Thank you.
Monya followed Jinyel toward the celebration. The noise pressed at him from all sides, the people too close even though none of them were in arm’s reach. He had never been inside a celebration like this. At least, not that he remembered. He remembered so little of this past year.
As Jinel drew nearer, Vex’s grin widened. As if he knew everything Jinyel didn’t.
“There he is!” Vex exclaimed. “The young hunter. Everyone told me you wouldn’t be caught dead in a crowd like this.”
The conversation dulled. For a moment, a dozen surprised eyes fell upon Jinyel. Monya whuffed uneasily. No one had expected Jinyel to come tonight. He looked around for the Keha, but couldn’t see her.
The Loktul, however, spoke up from beside the bonfire. “Loshova. You’ve come to join us.”
“Loshova. So you’re the one with that title.” Vex turned away from his audience to stalk toward Jinyel. “A man marked by Ashan. A rare gift... if it’s true.”
Another prod. He’d been prodding since he arrived, little hints and questions like he and Jinyel already knew each other. Jinyel wasn’t one to run from a fight. Vex wanted a confrontation? Jinyel would give him one ― on his own terms.
The young Loshova went to the bonfire. Conversation quieted. Some of the Keha’al were pleased to see him finally join them. Some were puzzled, and looked for injured friends in case he was here to save someone’s life. And some, like the Loktul, glanced between hunter and Avriel. Jinyel didn’t hide his tension. Let everyone see him as he was. He would not dance like this Avriel.
Jinyel reached for the horn at his belt. Littlespark flared between his fingers. It sensed the bonfire, and was ready to tame it. Slowly, so as not to pull his injuries, he poured the anak into the fire.
“I was just telling a story about Jinyel, my grandson.” Vex sidled closer, though he kept a wary eye on the wolf at Jinyel’s side. “He slaughtered a camp of bandits this last spring. By himself, if you’d believe it. Astoundingly clever boy. It’s remarkable how much the two of you have in common.”
Jinyel looked into Vex’s eyes and signed, Stay away from me.
Vex stepped closer. “Yes, he speaks with sign language, too. Alas, I don’t have that language.”
Your mistake, then, to not speak your own grandson’s language.
Vex didn’t know sign language. But many of the Keha’al hunters did. The Loktul did, and so did the Keha, wherever she was. Even so, none of them interfered as Vex stepped closer, closer, closer. The curiosity had burned away; anyone who knew the Loshova knew how much he hated strangers, and people inside his space. Everything Vex was pushing onto him.
“My grandson tamed a thairoch, too. Just like you. Entirely wild, until it met him.” Vex extended a handful of roasted grouse. “This wolf of yours, I know she and I got off on the wrong foot. Shall we try again, girl? Nothing to fear from your old man.”
‘Your old man.’ He stripped off the pretense with surgical precision, making sure their audience could hear his word choice. Monya flattened her ears, but she’d been taught to accept strangers. It was the first thing Jinyel had trained into her, so she and the tribe would pose no danger to each other. She sniffed Vex’s hand, gave it a sniff, and accepted the grouse.
Another step closer. Another smug grin. Jinyel reached the end of his patience, and pulled lips back to show long, mutated teeth. Teeth that weren’t human.
“What do you want?” Jinyel murmured for only Vex to hear.
Vex paused. His eyebrows, and those of the Keha’al, rose in surprise. Even in this tense space, none of them had expected the Loshova to speak.
Vex recovered quickly. “What do I want?” His voice was loud. He wanted everyone to hear. “I want my grandson to come home. His grandmother has been terribly worried about him.”
I have no home, Jinyel signed. And one arc ago, I didn’t have a grandfather or a grandmother.
Revealing Vex’s charade was a risk on Jinyel’s part. He didn’t know Vex, but Vex seemed dramatic, and seemed determined to make a scene in front of the entire tribe. Perhaps he thought they would turn on Jinyel for lying, and drive him into Vex’s company.
“I cannot speak sign language.” Vex extended an empty hand to the Loshova. “It’s time to come home, Jinyel.”
So Jinyel had been correct. There were a few gasps, and those who didn’t speak sign were likely taken off guard. But to those who did speak sign, Jinyel had gotten ahead of the game ― and established his own ignorance before Vex could disprove it.
“I will go nowhere with you,” Jinyel said aloud. Then, in sign: If you are my grandfather, why don’t you know how to speak to me? Had you even seen my face before you came here?
“You will,” Vex replied. “You are injured. Badly. Agnis will understand. We both thought you had run away from her, but whatever happened to you, poor thing… well, I’m sure you aren’t to blame.”
Jinyel had ‘run away from her.’ As if she had owned him.
“I will go nowhere with you,” the Loshova repeated. I killed the last person who possessed me. I have no father or mother. How could I have a grandmother?
“Jinyel.” Vex stepped closer, and reached to grab Jinyel’s signing hands. “There is no reason to―”
The bonfire surged behind them, curling around Jinyel to snap at the Avriel’s talons. Vex stumbled back. Several people darted away from the fire. Monya yipped in surprise and pinned herself back to Jinyel’s side.
The night fell silent.
Now it was Jinyel’s turn to smile. “Was that doubt in your voice when you called me Loshova?”
Vex’s smile disappeared. He looked at the fire, at the wolf beside Jinyel, and pressed his mouth into a thin line. He looked Jinyel up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.
“She didn’t tell me you were Loshova,” Vex eventually murmured. This time he spoke quietly, so only Jinyel could hear.
Then she is no more my grandmother than you are my grandfather. “State your business, stranger whom I do not know.”
“Do not know yet,” Vex replied. “But you will, Jinyel. Once we are back with your grandmother.”
“I will go nowhere with you.”
“Just take my hand, and your troubles will end.” The Avriel reached out, apparently for a handshake. He didn’t step into range of the fire, but he was more than close enough to leap forward if he wanted. “As your grandmother showed you life, so I will show you movement. You cannot unmake the part of her that is in you. Nor shall you unmake the part of me.”
Vex’s eyes flashed. Like stars in the night, blue sparks ignited around his pupils. Something tugged inside Jinyel ― something ethereal.
Something magical.
Jinyel's heart slowed. His anger drained out of him like hot water through sand. A cool blanket of tranquility fell over the night, and suddenly he saw the entire world in breathtaking detail. Littlespark behind him. Monya at his side. The Keha’al around him, warriors inching toward their weapons in preparation for whatever was about to happen. They didn’t know, because they weren’t mages. They didn’t know how one mage made another.
Rotten meat on the tongue. A freezing Cylus night. An old woman calling his name as she stroked his hair, as he vomited the last bile he still had in his stomach, as he regurgitated and swallowed her flesh over and over. Because if he didn’t, he would die.
The memory came back, clear as crystal. Jinyel remembered how his first spark had come to him.
He recognized the glint of another spark ready to strike.
“So that’s why you came,” Jinyel murmured. I see you, “Vex Halladrin.”
“She never took my last name.” Vex stepped closer. “But you can.”
“Stop.” Jinyel held up a hand. “You wanted me to speak. I will speak. Let me speak.”
Vex raised an eyebrow. He dropped his hand and took one step back, but continued to crowd Jinyel against the fire.
“Yes,” Vex said. “Of course I will. What do you wish to say, Jinyel Halladrin?”
Presumptuous. She was also presumptuous. “This is a night for stories. That is why this fire was built. I will tell you my story, Vex Halladrin.” Let us see if you listen any better than she did.
Continued here.
A stranger had come, and been given a night to rest. Another night to befriend. And now, finally, a night to tell stories.
Jinyel had never celebrated with the Keha’al before. He had dined with them, hunted for them, healed their sick and wounded, but he had never sung with them. Never danced with them. He had shared their labors, but never their joy, and for the most part they respected his solitude. They were hospitable people, but not necessarily trustful people. He couldn’t blame them. He was a mage, after all, and left himself to the outskirts.
Until tonight.
Tonight was warm. One of the few warm nights left in early Vhalar. A bonfire blazed against the sunset, rabbits and grouse roasting on pikes around its edge. A drummer set a beat. An ocarinist trilled a melody. There were no dances tonight, though plenty of chatter filled the air. Tonight was a night for stories, and for listening.
Tonight, they had a new face.
Vex Halladrin moved through the crowd like he belonged there, holding court with whoever would speak to him. He was peaceful Avriel, which was a rare sight amongst the Keha’al. They had a hundred questions, and he had a hundred answers. A few of the braver ones even touched his feathers.
Despite all the fuss and attention, Vex knew exactly when Jinyel arrived. Like a hawk spotting a mouse, the Avriel’s golden eyes found the Loshova as soon as the firelight fell upon him. No one else saw, because Jinyel made no introduction.
Almost like Vex had been waiting for him.
Jinyel put a hand on Monya’s scruff. The wolf pressed to his side. She sensed his tension, although not the reason for it. That was to be expected; she was a far younger hunter than Jinyel. She didn’t have the experience to know that they were being hunted.
Jinyel stroked Monya’s head and checked the horn full of coals at his belt. Inside, curled up in a bed of dry grass, was a fire anak eager to burn. Littlespark also saw his tension, and through flickers and shadows, said in sign language:
You. Unwell. What need?
I need you to burn, Littlespark. With one hand, Jinyel signed back to the anak. Make that fire yours. Shield me with it, if you can. If it comes to that.
If need be, Littlespark replied, come into flame. I protect you. No one else.
Thank you.
Monya followed Jinyel toward the celebration. The noise pressed at him from all sides, the people too close even though none of them were in arm’s reach. He had never been inside a celebration like this. At least, not that he remembered. He remembered so little of this past year.
As Jinel drew nearer, Vex’s grin widened. As if he knew everything Jinyel didn’t.
“There he is!” Vex exclaimed. “The young hunter. Everyone told me you wouldn’t be caught dead in a crowd like this.”
The conversation dulled. For a moment, a dozen surprised eyes fell upon Jinyel. Monya whuffed uneasily. No one had expected Jinyel to come tonight. He looked around for the Keha, but couldn’t see her.
The Loktul, however, spoke up from beside the bonfire. “Loshova. You’ve come to join us.”
“Loshova. So you’re the one with that title.” Vex turned away from his audience to stalk toward Jinyel. “A man marked by Ashan. A rare gift... if it’s true.”
Another prod. He’d been prodding since he arrived, little hints and questions like he and Jinyel already knew each other. Jinyel wasn’t one to run from a fight. Vex wanted a confrontation? Jinyel would give him one ― on his own terms.
The young Loshova went to the bonfire. Conversation quieted. Some of the Keha’al were pleased to see him finally join them. Some were puzzled, and looked for injured friends in case he was here to save someone’s life. And some, like the Loktul, glanced between hunter and Avriel. Jinyel didn’t hide his tension. Let everyone see him as he was. He would not dance like this Avriel.
Jinyel reached for the horn at his belt. Littlespark flared between his fingers. It sensed the bonfire, and was ready to tame it. Slowly, so as not to pull his injuries, he poured the anak into the fire.
“I was just telling a story about Jinyel, my grandson.” Vex sidled closer, though he kept a wary eye on the wolf at Jinyel’s side. “He slaughtered a camp of bandits this last spring. By himself, if you’d believe it. Astoundingly clever boy. It’s remarkable how much the two of you have in common.”
Jinyel looked into Vex’s eyes and signed, Stay away from me.
Vex stepped closer. “Yes, he speaks with sign language, too. Alas, I don’t have that language.”
Your mistake, then, to not speak your own grandson’s language.
Vex didn’t know sign language. But many of the Keha’al hunters did. The Loktul did, and so did the Keha, wherever she was. Even so, none of them interfered as Vex stepped closer, closer, closer. The curiosity had burned away; anyone who knew the Loshova knew how much he hated strangers, and people inside his space. Everything Vex was pushing onto him.
“My grandson tamed a thairoch, too. Just like you. Entirely wild, until it met him.” Vex extended a handful of roasted grouse. “This wolf of yours, I know she and I got off on the wrong foot. Shall we try again, girl? Nothing to fear from your old man.”
‘Your old man.’ He stripped off the pretense with surgical precision, making sure their audience could hear his word choice. Monya flattened her ears, but she’d been taught to accept strangers. It was the first thing Jinyel had trained into her, so she and the tribe would pose no danger to each other. She sniffed Vex’s hand, gave it a sniff, and accepted the grouse.
Another step closer. Another smug grin. Jinyel reached the end of his patience, and pulled lips back to show long, mutated teeth. Teeth that weren’t human.
“What do you want?” Jinyel murmured for only Vex to hear.
Vex paused. His eyebrows, and those of the Keha’al, rose in surprise. Even in this tense space, none of them had expected the Loshova to speak.
Vex recovered quickly. “What do I want?” His voice was loud. He wanted everyone to hear. “I want my grandson to come home. His grandmother has been terribly worried about him.”
I have no home, Jinyel signed. And one arc ago, I didn’t have a grandfather or a grandmother.
Revealing Vex’s charade was a risk on Jinyel’s part. He didn’t know Vex, but Vex seemed dramatic, and seemed determined to make a scene in front of the entire tribe. Perhaps he thought they would turn on Jinyel for lying, and drive him into Vex’s company.
“I cannot speak sign language.” Vex extended an empty hand to the Loshova. “It’s time to come home, Jinyel.”
So Jinyel had been correct. There were a few gasps, and those who didn’t speak sign were likely taken off guard. But to those who did speak sign, Jinyel had gotten ahead of the game ― and established his own ignorance before Vex could disprove it.
“I will go nowhere with you,” Jinyel said aloud. Then, in sign: If you are my grandfather, why don’t you know how to speak to me? Had you even seen my face before you came here?
“You will,” Vex replied. “You are injured. Badly. Agnis will understand. We both thought you had run away from her, but whatever happened to you, poor thing… well, I’m sure you aren’t to blame.”
Jinyel had ‘run away from her.’ As if she had owned him.
“I will go nowhere with you,” the Loshova repeated. I killed the last person who possessed me. I have no father or mother. How could I have a grandmother?
“Jinyel.” Vex stepped closer, and reached to grab Jinyel’s signing hands. “There is no reason to―”
The bonfire surged behind them, curling around Jinyel to snap at the Avriel’s talons. Vex stumbled back. Several people darted away from the fire. Monya yipped in surprise and pinned herself back to Jinyel’s side.
The night fell silent.
Now it was Jinyel’s turn to smile. “Was that doubt in your voice when you called me Loshova?”
Vex’s smile disappeared. He looked at the fire, at the wolf beside Jinyel, and pressed his mouth into a thin line. He looked Jinyel up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.
“She didn’t tell me you were Loshova,” Vex eventually murmured. This time he spoke quietly, so only Jinyel could hear.
Then she is no more my grandmother than you are my grandfather. “State your business, stranger whom I do not know.”
“Do not know yet,” Vex replied. “But you will, Jinyel. Once we are back with your grandmother.”
“I will go nowhere with you.”
“Just take my hand, and your troubles will end.” The Avriel reached out, apparently for a handshake. He didn’t step into range of the fire, but he was more than close enough to leap forward if he wanted. “As your grandmother showed you life, so I will show you movement. You cannot unmake the part of her that is in you. Nor shall you unmake the part of me.”
Vex’s eyes flashed. Like stars in the night, blue sparks ignited around his pupils. Something tugged inside Jinyel ― something ethereal.
Something magical.
Jinyel's heart slowed. His anger drained out of him like hot water through sand. A cool blanket of tranquility fell over the night, and suddenly he saw the entire world in breathtaking detail. Littlespark behind him. Monya at his side. The Keha’al around him, warriors inching toward their weapons in preparation for whatever was about to happen. They didn’t know, because they weren’t mages. They didn’t know how one mage made another.
Rotten meat on the tongue. A freezing Cylus night. An old woman calling his name as she stroked his hair, as he vomited the last bile he still had in his stomach, as he regurgitated and swallowed her flesh over and over. Because if he didn’t, he would die.
The memory came back, clear as crystal. Jinyel remembered how his first spark had come to him.
He recognized the glint of another spark ready to strike.
“So that’s why you came,” Jinyel murmured. I see you, “Vex Halladrin.”
“She never took my last name.” Vex stepped closer. “But you can.”
“Stop.” Jinyel held up a hand. “You wanted me to speak. I will speak. Let me speak.”
Vex raised an eyebrow. He dropped his hand and took one step back, but continued to crowd Jinyel against the fire.
“Yes,” Vex said. “Of course I will. What do you wish to say, Jinyel Halladrin?”
Presumptuous. She was also presumptuous. “This is a night for stories. That is why this fire was built. I will tell you my story, Vex Halladrin.” Let us see if you listen any better than she did.
Continued here.
