In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Fifty-Seven: Contemplation

Sitting quietly in their home, the fire crackling beneath the cast iron pot, a young man stares into the flames. The soft amber glow dances about his blue-tinted skin, his cheek resting on a palm and fingers weaving through his long, flowing hair. He can hear the blade bumping the stone cutting board. The elven woman slowly and carefully dices several vegetables to add to the stew which will be their dinner.

          “Mother?” He finally speaks up.

          “Yes, son?”

          Okolana glances over her shoulder, gazing upon Harokian, a warm smile spread across her lips.

          “What do you suppose happens? ... To the people they’ve taken, I mean.”

          “Oh...” Her smile fades. “I... Couldn’t say.”

          “Slavery? Forced labor? ... Execution?” He thinks aloud.

          “I really couldn’t say.” Okolana returns her attention to her cooking.

          “And what of the women? Surely they serve a purpose to the soldiers.”

          With a heavy sigh, Okolana sets the knife atop the cutting board, gazes at the ceiling and lets out a heavy sigh.

          “Son, they’re gone, and it serves nothing to sit there and sulk.”

          “I’m sorry... I just... I’m worried. I cannot stop thinking about... Never mind.”

          “About Saya?”

          Perking up, he turns in his seat and looks toward his mother. With her back to the table, she faces him with her arms crossed before her chest. Her expression is strange, half pity and half ire.

          “Yes...” He murmurs.

          “By the Seraphs, son! I told you not to become involved. Saya is not our kind! Why would you allow yourself to become close to-”

          “To an ‘inferior’?” He cuts her off.

          “That’s not what I meant, nor what I was about to say...”

          “But you were thinking it, weren’t you?”

          “We are Vizhek. We live nearly three times as long as most of her kind. Would that have been the fate you desired? To be a widower by the time you’re seventy?! You'd have more than one-hundred and twenty years to mourn her.”

          “I know that.” He murmurs.

          “And any children you two would have had would never have been excepted by most Vizhek, let alone society as a whole. Had they remained here, in the isles, where the bloodlines are pure, they’d have grown up ridiculed. You would’ve only found peace on the mainland, where people don’t shy away from racial impurities.” She continues.

          “I know that, too.”

          “Not to mention they also would not live as long as you. You’d have buried them one day, just like Saya.”

          “I know, mother.”

          “Then why involve yourself?!” She snaps.

          “Because... She was a good person. A warm, kind, loving woman with a heart twice as beautiful as her smile. She was worth it.”

          As a tear runs down his cheek, glinting in the light of the fire, Okolana drops her head. She cannot help but smile. Harokian is so sensitive and caring. Truly, they have done a fine job of raising him.

          “I’m sorry, son.” She speaks softly.

          “I miss her.” He says with a sniffle.

          “I know you do.”

          “Had I been there when she was taken, I’d have done something!”

          “Well, I’m glad that you weren’t, because those soldiers would’ve killed you without a second thought! Hopefully, the Seraphs will guard them and their fate won’t be shrouded in darkness.” She replies, whirling around and once again busying herself with her cooking.

          “Hopefully...” Harokian murmurs, shifting his eyes toward the fire.

          After a sleepless night of tossing, turning and crying, Harokian watches the sunrise, sitting atop the straw bed of his humble room. Within an hour of the dawn, he hears Cydren climbing out of bed one room over and preparing himself for the day. His father always works so hard. Perhaps work will take his mind off of the horrors of the past few days? The exhausted young Vizhek pulls his weary body out of bed. Why couldn’t he at least get an hour of sleep? After eating a breakfast of bread and cold, leftover stew, Harokian prepares for the day. Cydren has long since left for the workshop, and, as usual, his son is left to catch up.

          Walking through the desolate streets, the town that was once so lively is now quite eerie. Many of the residents were taken, as many of them were not Vizhek or Helngar. Home after home sits with the door ajar and the candles and torches burned out. A few have broken doors. As the young elf makes his way toward the shop, he cannot help but wonder. Will they even have customers now? Will they be forced to move once again? Will this happen to the next isle? What’s become of his beloved Saya? Turning a corner, he traverses a street that is not part of his route toward Cydren’s workshop. It’s a subconscious action.

          The closer he comes to his new destination, the faster his heart beats. The tension is palpable. He lifts his head and glances to the right, his heart sinking when he finds the door to Saya’s family home broken down. Heading inside, his shimmering eyes scan the floor. Seeing a patch of dried blood, he dashes toward the stain and drops to a knee.

          “Oh, no! Please don’t be her blood!” He speaks to himself.

          Rising to his feet, he checks the rest of the home. Dashing up the stairs, he looks to and fro for any signs of the fate of his lost love, though he knows in his heart what's become of her. Entering her room, he remembers their first night together. It wasn’t planned, when they first made love, as it rarely is. Her family, lagging behind at a festival, gave them more than enough time to share their feelings. The passion overcame them and they both claimed something from the other. After falling asleep beside his lover, the pair awoke to the sounds of her family entering the house. Harokian made an escape from her window, but not before saying “I love you” for the first time.

          Her reciprocation and tender kiss before he dropped to the ground of the nearby alley only made their first night together that much sweeter. Sitting at the edge of her bed, Harokian looks around the room. He sees a ring sitting atop a slip of paper. Though many are incapable of literacy, Saya's family were artisans, and even if they were not, Harokian would’ve gladly taught her. To this day, he does not know why only the Vizhek and the upper classes are given the privilege of reading. Collecting the ring and the paper, he immediately recognizes the silver band as a gift he’d given her. He pockets the ring and reads the note.

          “They’re calling for us. Soldiers. They grabbed at mother. Father is trying to stop them. They’re bashing in the door. Harokian, if I never see you again, remember how much I love you. Forever yours, Saya.”

          With that, he breaks down. The young, passionate man can no longer contain his emotions and falls back atop the bed. With the paper crumpled in his hand, he presses his fists against his forehead and weeps. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but during his outpouring of emotional energy, he finally succumbs to his exhaustion. Opening his eyes, he sits up only to see the evening light pouring through the windows. The tears have dried, but the pain hasn't gone away. Rising to his feet, he sees that he still holds firmly to the note. Feeling the silver ring in his pocket, he gently, even lovingly, folds the note and slips it inside of his pocket, placing it beneath the ring.

          Taking a deep breath, he makes his way out of Saya’s bedroom and down the stairs, before stepping back into the street. Looking toward the sky, he’s certain that his father will be furious. Perhaps he might be forgiving, considering the circumstances? He makes his way for the workshop, but fears of his father’s anger and disappointment push him faster and faster. He begins to jog. Rounding a corner, he slams into someone, throwing them to the ground as he too falls over.

          “I’m so sorry!” He exclaims, pushing himself off of the person’s legs. “Please, let me hel-!”

          Harokian stops mid-sentence, his hand outstretched as he looks upon the person he’d struck. Sitting up in the dirt is a beautiful Jaliscan with brown fur of varying shades and wild, pink hair pulled into a high ponytail. A long-haired human kneels beside her, and arm already around her as he lifts her up.

          “It’s alright, but please, be more careful, mister.” She tells the Vizhek.

          Her voice is so soft and sweet, even as she grumbles with frustration.

          “Are you hurt?!” The human asks, examining the Jaliscan woman.

          “No, I’m fine.” She says, flashing him a warm smile.

          “Thank the Seraphs.” He says as he gives her a loving embrace.

          Harokian, seeing their passion, cannot help but smile. His eyes well with tears. It's at this point that the Jaliscan notices how the elf stares at her. She furls her brow as she looks up at him, her gaze unyielding as the human lifts her to her feet.

          “Are you alright?” She asks.

          “I’m fine.” Harokian murmurs.

          “You look sad.”

          “I’m sorry. The past few days have been... Never mind.” Harokian shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I’m just not used to seeing your kind on Fol... Not after what happened, anyway.”

          “What happened?” The human asks, brushing the dust from his female companion.

          “Soldiers came and took everyone. Men, women, even the little children. Everyone they deemed an ‘inferior’... Even my... They were all taken away...”

          Harokian pauses, unwilling to trouble them with his emotional baggage. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. As he lets out a sigh, he runs his fingers through his fine hair. Glancing at the pair, he notices how the human treats the Jaliscan, his hand gently rubbing her upper arm as he holds her close. He kisses her furry cheek so lovingly. She has an arm slipped around his waist, holding him tightly.

          “Please, forgive my curiosity but are you lovers?”

          “Yes. She’s my bride-to-be.” The human proudly replies.

          “Oh, Val!”

          The bashful Jaliscan rests her cheek on his shoulder and tilts her head back, burying her face and snout beneath his chin. She gives him a nuzzle and then a soft kiss, her tail swaying gracefully, swishing through the air.

          “How sweet.” Harokian murmurs.

          “Why do you ask, mister?”

          Harokian flashes a pained smile and turns his head away before letting out another sigh.

          “For your own sakes, I would take your lover and leave this isle right away. We do not know if the soldiers will return, and after having lost my own lover, who was also deemed an ‘inferior’...” He snarls as he repeats the assertions of the soldiers. “Well, I would hate to see you sharing my pain.”

          “We’ll keep that in mind, mister.” The heart-warmed Jaliscan speaks softly.

          “Thanks for the warning, mister?” The human extends a hand, waiting for the Vizhek's name.

          “Harokian.” He says, shaking the human's hand.

          “I’m sorry?!” The human and Jaliscan both raise their brows in shock.

          “My name is Harokian. A pleasure to meet you, mister?”

          They stand in shock, their wide eyes unnerving the young elf. So overcome are the pair that the human never answers the elf with his name. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, Harokian clears his throat as he pulls his hand away from the human's grasp.

          “Well... You two have a wonderful day, and consider heeding my warning.”

          As he walks away, he can feel the eyes of the two strangers burning into the back of his head. He glances back and sees that they’re staring at him, but as soon as he looks upon them, they turn and look away. They whisper to each other and glance back once more. He furls his brow. What strange behavior. Is something troubling them? Shaking the odd turn of events from his mind, Harokian continues to his father’s shop, where Cydren has already been hard at work for hours. He said he’d wanted to make bricks and mix plaster powder to repair the damage done by the soldiers.

          As he walks, he cannot help but glance over his shoulder several times. Though he doesn’t see anyone behind him, he still feels as though he’s being watched. Upon entering the workshop, he finds his sweat-drenched father standing over a large stone grinder.

          “Well!” He sighs and wipes the sweat from his brow. “You actually decided to come to work today!”

          “I’m sorry, father. I was just-”

          “I’m joking, Harokian.” Cydren interrupts him, flashing a little smile. “I know how hard it’s been for you since...”

          “W-what do you mean?” Harokian turns away.

          “Saya. Don’t pretend to be dense. It’s never easy losing a love, even when she walks away from you, but to have her taken?!”

          “You knew about that?!” Harokian gasps.

          “I think the entire town knew.” Cydren chuckles.

          “Mother didn’t.” The young man murmurs.

          “Of course she did! She was just lying to herself. Self-delusion can often be easier than the truth.”

          “Oh...”

          Cydren approaches his son, wiping the brick dust from his hands with a damp cloth.

          “You didn’t need to come in, today. I won’t force you to work when your heart is as broken as these rocks.”

          “I thought you might be angry if I didn’t...”

          “I admit I’d be frustrated, but I care about you, son. If you need the time, you can take it.”

          “Thank you, father. I love you.” Harokian says, embracing his dad.

          “I love you, too, son.”

          As the pair pull away and Cydren softly pats Harokian’s cheek, the front door of the shop swings open. The Vizheki men turn toward the door as the two strangers Harokian encountered earlier now enter the building. To Harokian’s surprise, however, they’re followed by a group consisting of a beautiful, buxom, blonde-haired and sapphire eyed human woman wearing brown leather armor, a cloaked human male who appears twice the age of both ‘Val’ and the woman, and an exceptionally small Falmun with wavy, golden hair and ruby eyes. They stand in silence for a moment, staring at an increasingly unnerved Harokian.

          “Hi there, big guy.” Mairlynn coos, her eyes scanning Harokian’s form.

          “Hello. Can I help you?” Cydren chirps and approaches the group.

          “Cydren?” Kirsta asks.

          “That is I.” The older Vizhek nods.

          “Good. I believe you can help us.” Irzain steps forward.

          “Would you like to have a seat? We need to talk.” Valan says, motioning with a hand as he approaches Harokian and his father.

          “About what?” Harokian eyes the group with suspicion.

          “About Euralian’s heir.”

          Cydren takes a step back, his eyes growing wide. Harokian can see his shock and fear. It’s written all over his father’s face.

          “Are... Are you?!” Cydren chokes out.

          “Hebron Grimzlay.” Irzain extends a hand.

          “We’re not here to harm you, or him.” Kirsta speaks up.

          “In fact, we’re veeerrrry friendly.” Mairlynn coos, jutting out a hip and wriggling closer to Harokian.

          “By the Seraphs...”

          Cydren stumbles backward, nearly falling over as he looks for a place to sit. Harokian is quick to catch him, aided by Kirsta and Valan. Jarae closes and latches the door to the shop, carefully peeking through the sole window, her eyes scanning the desolate streets for any threats or witnesses. Cydren sits atop the grinder, his hands gripping tightly to his knees as he begins to cry.

          “Father?!”

          “Are you alright?” Valan asks, taking a knee before the elf.

          “I was so scared when the soldiers came. I thought they knew! And now you’re here.”

          “Indeed, we are.” Irzain says with a little smile, standing before the mason.

          “I've been waiting for you for so long! I’m so grateful, so happy that you’ve finally come!” Cydren says through joyous tears.

          “You know these people?!” Harokian gasps.

          “No, but I’ve been expecting them, son.” Cydren answers.

          “What’s going on, father? Who are these people?” A panicking Harokian asks, clinging to Cydren’s arm and shoulder.

          “Please, son. Sit down. We need to have a talk.”