Difference between revisions of "Logs:Of Their Traditions"

Isolated on its westward-jutting peninsula, from the landward side High
  Reaches Hold appears burrowed deep into the mountain, with only a few     
  shuttered windows overlooking the rows of cotholds that line the river    
  road. Its double courtyards appear designed more for transportation or    
  defense than for welcoming visitors. From the seaward side, the slant of  
  the windows overlooking the fine deep bay attempts to ward off the sea    
  winds, the higher stories evading the less pleasant odors prevalent at low
  tide.                                                                     
                                                                            
  However cold and bleak the Hold's setting may be, inside, its colors of   
  dark blue and tan act as neutrals for the warmer, brighter hues of its    
  llama-wool tapestries and rugs. Below the Hold, oval caverns house lengths
  of seasoned wood for its shipbuilders, and to its outskirts are several   
  minor Crafthalls including a glass-smith's shop.                          
                                                                            
  Though the Hold's main access is by sea, the river road leads to its Weyr 
  and the rest of Pern, while minor roads lead to a few outlying Holds and  
  the distant lighthouse.

It's been just over a seven since Issedi's death, and a few days since the farewell to Issedi on the beach, attended by the Islanders. Devaki's been naturally scarce, and the mood at the Hold is likely not helped by both the visible presence of guards, as well as Glacier's presence. Rilka's been sighted rarely, and only at sundown by the beach, otherwise confined to her rooms. It is by no coincidence that not long after Riorde arrives at the Hold, the Other shows his face, lingering just where Riorde can see him.

Riorde takes her turn with the wing like any other rider, her own exile origins notwithstanding. Duty remains duty, and besides the openly carried arm at her side, her expression's enough to put anyone off from making an attempt on her life. There are no words for the Other. Simply a curt nod that confirms she sees him and will follow in silence, several paces behind.

He leads her, this way and that, through the Hold she knows but is not hers, not in the way it belongs to the exiles who live here, now. Not, then, to the Lord's suites, guarded by both Hold and Weyr alike, but instead to a plain office, Raum giving her a familiar, leering grin as he -- just barely -- steps away far enough for her to go past him. The room is well lit, and it has a window -- one in front of which Devaki stands, hands clasped behind his back.

Riorde returns the grin with her own withering stare, unblinking and direct. A shoulder is designed to make sharp contact as she squeezes past. Once within, she quietly pushes the door closed behind her: Raum is not privy to this, though he likely knows more of what goes on in the Hold than any other single person. No words, just yet. She takes in the other islander quietly, and her expression begins to ease. The woman stands still and does not advance.

The snort from behind her is probably expected, but the Other retreats before she closes the door in his face, all the same. Silence, for a few measured beats, and then: "You can see the sea from here. That's why I like this room." Devaki half turns; there's a strain in his expression, an exhaustion, before he reaches out a hand to invite her over, to take it, holding his breath for a moment as his gaze flickers over her.

Riorde moves at the invitation, crossing the room to come to the Lord Holder's side and slide her fingers through his. She contemplates the view as well, brows drawing together in that study before she looks to the man beside her. Compassion is there: a rare thing for a woman who's grown up as stony as the island that served as her childhood home. Her expression speaks for her.

There's a sigh of... relief, weight, something, as their fingers touch, and twine, Devaki's attention turning back to the window. The sea, today, is angry, rough -- waves hitting the beach and throwing spray roughly into the air. He leans a shoulder into hers, aware that she's looking at him, but keeping his gaze on the view. "I didn't..." he stumbles to a halt, his voice rough. "...know it would be her. That she would--" he stops, again, jaw tightening, eyes closing. "Rilka warned me, the Sea was angry. I've grown soft, Ri. All of us have. That was the price."

"You couldn't have known." Whatever jealousies Riorde has carried in the past for the woman who was Devaki's Lady make no appearance now. "Things are always clearer in hindsight." Her hand is strong and calloused; there's strength in her grip, as if she can transfer some of hers to High Reaches' Lord. "What will you do?"

Devaki exhales slowly; there's wisdom in her words that it takes him a moment to process. "There has to be a trial -- that's the way things are done, here," there's a hint of derision in the heated word, before he grimaces. "After that -- I need to take Vinien to the Island. Sealene, too -- Rilka says it's time." A beat, while he finally looks at her again, blue eyes flickering, taking in her expression: "Will you come?"

She should probably check with her superiors, and yet-- "Yes." She's quiet a time, thinking her own thoughts. Some of it comes out in the form of a question: "Why do you give Rilka so much credence?"

Devaki hesitates, visibly, not so much in telling her, as in trying to get the words straight, before he says, "She... knows things. Sees things, in a way others don't. I used to think she was just... not right, but," he exhales, fingers tightening around hers, the thought gone before he finishes, lifting her hand, in his hand. Fingers that were once calloused from Turns of hard living have softened, and are a contrast to hers as they brush over them. "Do you remember that morning we went fishing? The day we -- they -- found us? It's strange to think that we were so happy then. It feels like something that happened to someone else."

"Mmm." The sound betrays more skepticism than assent. Riorde lacks Devaki's faith in their childhood acquaintance. Friend is too strong a word. "That was a strange day, to say the least." A hint of humor enters otherwise bland words. "You don't feel like you're that person anymore?" she asks, echoing his own words back to him.

"I sleep in a bed of feathers, I can't remember the last time I did something for myself -- picked my clothes, or caught my own food, or had to carry anything heavier than Vinny," Devaki's expression changes at the mention of his son, conflicted, guilty. "I can barely remember what it was like to... to want all these things."

"Yeah," Riorde says quietly. Her life is far different, of course, but there's still plenty she can recognize in Devaki's words. "What will you do with the children when you take them to the island?"

"I want them to -- need them to," the Islander corrects himself, "Understand what it's like, to not have everything. Understand why our traditions are important, and shouldn't be forgotten." Devaki's fingers finish their exploration of her calloused tips, gaze lifting. "I don't want any child of mine to grow up soft... weak."

"They won't," Riorde says with a measure of conviction. A quick handsqueeze accompanies her words. "Not with you as a father. It's a good idea. Even if it's coming from Rilka." She gives Devaki her first smile, finding a place for a quick burst of dry humor in an otherwise sober time. "I know I don't have to remind you, but still. Be careful with your son."

That smile, her words, elicits a inadvertent laugh from the other islander, Devaki expression relaxed, light for a few moments. At least until her next works sink in, and he exhales, sobering. "Yes, and," he hesitates. "You, should be careful, too. And keep an eye out for... mine, ours, at the Weyr. I... do you want to send him to the Island?" His gaze is steady, concerned.

The child. It's almost a surprise to hear him mentioned, even though his existence and parentage isn't a secret to them. Riorde's eyebrows arch, forming an expression of unintended elegance for a woman who considers herself hard. "I would like that," she decides after studying Devaki for a long moment. "It would be good for him. To know the Island. To know the other children. An experience they'll have to share. Like we did. It'll create a bond, and that can only be good."

The fact that there's a soft exhale of breath suggests that Devaki was putting more weight on her answer than perhaps even he himself realized. "Good," he breathes, with a sudden smile. "It would be nice for him to know his siblings, too. And for me to--" he slows and stops, trying to put it into words, "--be in his life, as much as I can." There's a quiet apology in that, not the first time it's been done verbally or otherwise.

Apologies that aren't necessary. Another small squeeze absolves him of it. "It's the perfect age. Tair will grow up learning, and that'll be among his first memories." Riorde sounds satisfied, pleased. It fades with her questions, though -- and there are so many still, and the answer to one just spurs another. "How much do we still keep to ourselves, while they're there? You know that the longer your children don't know, the more they'll just feel betrayed, later."

Devaki's smiling, faintly, at the thought of the boy growing up on the Island. "That's how it should be for all of our children. All the Islander's children. I'll mention it to Cason, next time we sit down to--" but he breaks off, because his normal routine isn't exactly normal, now, and it makes him breathe out, slowly. "When he's old enough to understand -- and understand how important it is that it be kept secret for now -- we can tell him. Until then, Uncle Devaki can be the one to tell him about Sea Monsters."

Riorde accepts that with a nod and a bit of a smile. The Sea Monsters will do that. "Thank you, Dev." A softer tone, now, and she leans over to offer him a kiss -- but to his cheek, as friends do.

As she kisses him on the cheek, Devaki's free hand comes up to brush her hair and settle at her neck, as he exhales slowly. There's something both sad, and tired in his expression as he forces the faintest of smiles. "I'm glad you're here, Ri. You always are, when I need you." He hesitates, a moment. "Are you happy, there?" at the Weyr, he must mean.

This answer is simple, in contrast to all the others. "Yes." Riorde retains her smile, though it's still small in deference to Devaki's grief. "Yes, I am. It isn't always easy, but it's a good life."

It might not be the answer he was hoping to hear, to judge by the slight flicker in his expression, only noteworthy since she knows him well enough to read him, and yet the answer doesn't make him sad, for all that: "I'm glad." He's not looking at her anymore, but at the window. "You should... get back before they notice you're missing."

Riorde doesn't immediately answer. She lingers at Devaki's side, the grip of her hand still tight. She finally removes her fingers from his, but only to slip her arm around his waist and lean in as companionable support. The brownrider stays like that a minute before she withdraws entirely, leaving low words with him: "Be strong."

And he returns the one-sided hug, his arm settling around her, the tenseness in his posture fading by measures, until it's just her, and him, and their view of the sea. Devaki doesn't answer her final words, but he hears them, judging by the way blue eyes flicker after her. Out in the hall, Raum's leaning against the wall opposite, straightens when he sees Riorde and, with one of his familiar grins, slouches back against the wall again, waiting for his Lord to emerge.