Post by L.E. Ott on Jan 17, 2006 21:03:41 GMT -5
Farzi glanced over at where the shepherd Janin sat in the midst of the family flock. The old man with his long white hair sensed eyes on him, looked up, and waved. Farzi smiled and returned the greeting gesture before continuing up the path to his parent's hall.
He had been away from the family home for some time now. Ever since Victor was killed. The moons had turned over many times since then, since he had gone to his seaside sanctuary. Now, he was coming home.
There, ahead of him, was home. The hall which his father and the men had built during their first year in Adaven. Farzi smiled again, remembering how exciting it had been to help the grown-ups, mostly just running around, watching over his younger siblings and skipping stones across the nearby pond.
Outside of the door, he saw his father sitting on a bench, working on something. Farzi was shocked on his first site of Miklos. He looked so old, and bent, and weak. Farzi remembered him best as a tall, strong man. He remembered running up to his father when Miklos would walk into the hall, and being swung up into the air.
"Hello, father," the young man said quietly. He saw now what his father worked over. It was a little wooden sword, the blade cracked. Miklos was smoothing it. He looked up at his oldest son.
"Do you remember when I made these? For you, and for Victor?"
Farzi nodded. He had been twelve and Victor six when their father presented them with a matching pair of little wooden swords.
"My sons are warriors," Miklos had said, "but they are good and honorable, and they never strike without warning."
Now, Miklos laid the toy aside and patted the end of the bench next to him. Farzi sat and looked out towards the pond.
"I don't remember that breaking."
"It must have been age," Miklos said.
"Your mother was going through...some of Victor's things, and she found it like this."
There was silence again. Silence between a father and a son who, while they were close, had not been close enough in years. Now Miklos picked the sword up again, stood, and cast it away, a scream of rage echoing from him.
"I wish I'd never made the damn things!"
"Father," Farzi said, standing and throwing an arm across the older man's shoulders, "what happened to Victor is not your fault. It was his decision to go, his decision to fight."
"And I should have stopped him! He was my son..."
"He still is. He's not here now, but he can hear you. He doesn't want you to be guilty. And father, you still have two other children. Two children who are grown, but who still need you."
Both men were in tears now, unashamedly weeping over their mutual loss. The pain had separated them, and now it brought them together. At last, Miklos stinted and looked at Farzi.
"You are right. You are my son, Tirza is my daughter."
"And you have to go on for us, father. And for mother, and your grandchildren."
Miklos wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and smiled weakly. He nodded and turned towards the door.
"You are right. We have to go on. We have to go on past the pain."
He led his son into the hall now.
"We had better hurry. There is fish for dinner, and you know how your mother gets when we are late."
Farzi wiped his own tears and laughed. This time would pass. Things which seemed so hard and terrible would get better. Tomorrow would be a good day.
He had been away from the family home for some time now. Ever since Victor was killed. The moons had turned over many times since then, since he had gone to his seaside sanctuary. Now, he was coming home.
There, ahead of him, was home. The hall which his father and the men had built during their first year in Adaven. Farzi smiled again, remembering how exciting it had been to help the grown-ups, mostly just running around, watching over his younger siblings and skipping stones across the nearby pond.
Outside of the door, he saw his father sitting on a bench, working on something. Farzi was shocked on his first site of Miklos. He looked so old, and bent, and weak. Farzi remembered him best as a tall, strong man. He remembered running up to his father when Miklos would walk into the hall, and being swung up into the air.
"Hello, father," the young man said quietly. He saw now what his father worked over. It was a little wooden sword, the blade cracked. Miklos was smoothing it. He looked up at his oldest son.
"Do you remember when I made these? For you, and for Victor?"
Farzi nodded. He had been twelve and Victor six when their father presented them with a matching pair of little wooden swords.
"My sons are warriors," Miklos had said, "but they are good and honorable, and they never strike without warning."
Now, Miklos laid the toy aside and patted the end of the bench next to him. Farzi sat and looked out towards the pond.
"I don't remember that breaking."
"It must have been age," Miklos said.
"Your mother was going through...some of Victor's things, and she found it like this."
There was silence again. Silence between a father and a son who, while they were close, had not been close enough in years. Now Miklos picked the sword up again, stood, and cast it away, a scream of rage echoing from him.
"I wish I'd never made the damn things!"
"Father," Farzi said, standing and throwing an arm across the older man's shoulders, "what happened to Victor is not your fault. It was his decision to go, his decision to fight."
"And I should have stopped him! He was my son..."
"He still is. He's not here now, but he can hear you. He doesn't want you to be guilty. And father, you still have two other children. Two children who are grown, but who still need you."
Both men were in tears now, unashamedly weeping over their mutual loss. The pain had separated them, and now it brought them together. At last, Miklos stinted and looked at Farzi.
"You are right. You are my son, Tirza is my daughter."
"And you have to go on for us, father. And for mother, and your grandchildren."
Miklos wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and smiled weakly. He nodded and turned towards the door.
"You are right. We have to go on. We have to go on past the pain."
He led his son into the hall now.
"We had better hurry. There is fish for dinner, and you know how your mother gets when we are late."
Farzi wiped his own tears and laughed. This time would pass. Things which seemed so hard and terrible would get better. Tomorrow would be a good day.