Difference between revisions of "Logs:Death in the Family, Part 1"

As he placed his garland of kelp, looped together with water lilies, in his father's hand, Anvori studied the man's features no stiller now than he had been in life. The only difference was the pallor of his complexion.

So alike, his mother had oft remarked, and now, he could see it, perhaps too late.

His father and he had never gotten along like he and his mother had, but the news of his death had jolted Anvori to the core, and though it had seemed the right thing to do at the time, he could still see Leova's eyes, those eyes, when he said he'd be going alone. His hand clenched, crumpling the fabric of his hands where he clutched. He could use her here right now, in a way he hadn't thought he might. The distraction of Via in his arms would also be welcome. There was an ache in his chest that had very little to do with his father.

There were no public tears. It wasn't the Sea's Peak way.

He took the steps up into the high cliff hold two by two, letting Riahla and Suireh guide his aging mother up. It had been his task, more than a decade ago, to help Veylin up. He hadn't liked realizing, while no one else did, that his mother needed him, and that her knees, weak from the grief she couldn't express, were wobbly, even as she feigned strength.

Behind him, he heard Riahla, her voice still charismatically animated, even when respectfully low for the circumstances. She had inflections and cadences much like her father. Had R'hin ever visited? Ever met Veylin? Either of his parents or any of his family other than him? It was a thought that evoked a rueful smile.

"How are you?" he had just left her sister, having spied his brother and his ex-wife not so far away. Not having the courage to face them still, particularly not without Leova at his side, Anvori had run.

Riahla, sitting in one of his mother's armchairs, looked up at her uncle, and with astute eyes asked an arch, "How are you?"

"You're not with Suireh," is what he said in return, causing the young woman to press her lips thin and dart a look where her darker other half stood, making small talk with Onuela.

"No..." It was a sad, reflective answer.

Anvori had followed her gaze and watched his niece speak with the woman who he had once thought he'd follow to the ends of the world. "I thought I was over that. You know." When Riahla failed to interrupt, or even move, he continued. "Thought I could face it and smile after all these years. No hard feelings."

He had given her the opening, and she took it, "Is that why Leova isn't here with you?"

Anvori's silence was enough, he hoped, to answer her question. It must have been. He heard her rise, and felt her rider-strong arms wrap about his waist in a one-armed hug. "Hang in there, kid," she said. And he felt a laugh escape and gave her a look. Kid, indeed.

When Suireh played, all those times he heard her sing, Anvori felt emotions in him stir. Perhaps that's what made her such a great performer? It wasn't just the notes or story she conveyed; for someone who seemed so incapable of emotion in day to day real life, it was as if she found the escape she needed to be whole in these roles she took on. At some other point, Anvori would have found it a fascinating study. Maybe in another lifetime.

He felt his mother come up by him and felt her hand, his heart dropping at how brittle, how old, her hand felt in his. He glanced at her, even though she kept her gaze fastened to the granddaugther who was fulfilling her childhood dreams. Her, Veylin's? Or her, Suireh's? Even with a longer look, he couldn't ever tell if his mother lived vicariously through her children and grandchildren.

She spoke her words, cutting keenly into the private emotional turmoil he was going through, and departed, her lack of a hug punctuation enough to her disappointment in him. He watched her as she put on that mantle, that faux strength as she interacted with his oldest brother and the smile of a widow blanketing her face in accepting sorrow.

He would never tell her he'd come across her trove of letters turns before. The letters she'd written to her harper lover, the ones he'd sent back, and then the abrupt end of them all about the time his oldest brother must've been born. He had wept for his father then, not understanding everything he read, but having had filled out the considerable holes for himself.

A discontent stirred in his soul as he watched his mother walk midst her large family, until he saw her come to Suireh and say a few, very low words, that blanched her already pale granddaughter's cheeks further.

Suireh had made the announcement, dutiful as she was, and everyone had left Veylin's apartments. Anvori, having no place to go, walked outside and stood beyond the mountain, and allowed that winter chill to bite at his skin and dig deep into his bones. It was there that Riahla came upon him and silently gestured to Zeth.

She was not staying either. The two mounted, and departed.

He returned to High Reaches three days later, clean-shaven and... well clean, with apology darkening his hazel eyes when he sought out his wife.