Zynaid simply greeted her with an inclination of his head, which
predictably resulted in confusion on her part. “Since when do you act like
some respectable city-folk?” she asked, not so much derisively as outright
shocked.
“Because, Ruth,” Zynaid responded, “I've spent a lot of time in cities.
And not all of them do that, mind. Especially in the Southlands.”
This statement caught their attention. Ioel pinwheeled to face him. “The
Southlands? You actually went there?”
Nodding, the prodigal responded, “And a few other places. But before I
forget,” he turned to Parnsus standing behind him, “This is Simon Leon, my
companion for the past few years,” he lied with a completely straight face.
Obviously it wouldn't do to just announce that he was with the eldest son to
the Scolastin family everywhere he went. Even here there were some who would
have heard of the family's name.
“Hi, er... hi,” Parnsus greeted them.
“I was wondering when you'd introduce your friend,” Ioel said, giving the
round mage a lookover. “So Simon, what is it that you do?”
Fortunately, Parnsus had run through his cover story enough times that even
he wasn't (very) nervous using it. “I'm a scribe, help Zynaid to keep track of
things.”
“For what sort of work?” came a voice from inside the hut.
There had never been any way around it; Zynaid knew this moment would have
to come the moment he walked back into this village. “Hello Sadif.” he said as
he turned around to face the old woman stepping out into the afternoon light.
The old woman locked eyes on the prodigal, her hazel eyes betraying some
smattering of gray in them. They brought animation and life to her sagging old
frame, hinting at willpower and tenacity that would never let go once set on a
task. Zynaid stared back, this time with equal force; unlike once upon a time
when his focus was scattered, wild, and undisciplined, now he gazed with equal
rigidity and clarity. She of course noticed how he had addressed her, though
unlike the somewhat aghast Ioel and Ruth, she did not react with shock.
Instead those old eyes narrowed ever so slightly, familiar with the challenge
set before her. No one spoke for quite a long time until Sadif spoke again to
Parnsus. “Well, young man? Out with it.”
The mage looked more than a tad uncomfortable, clearly intimidated. “I,
erm... bookkeeping, records. We, um, we peruse over a great many things,
especially small arts, old tomes, antiques and the like.” All things
considered Parnsus handled the description well; it had taken years of practice
and more than a few near-disastrous fumbles before Zynaid felt the mage could
handle being put on the spot like that without having to be covered for. He
certainly still fumbled with his words, but then again he always did that, so
people tended to take his social awkwardness at face value.
“An art and antique collector?” Sadif raised a critical eyebrow. Everyone
but Zynaid seemed to squirm with discomfort.
The bearded man didn't bat an eyelash, instead just staring with all the
more focus. “Among other things. I've done a variety of jobs over the past
few years,” he explained, and he could actually make that particular claim with
perfect honesty. Cover identities and jobs worked best if you actually became
familiar with them at least to some degree.
More silences followed. Parnsus shifted side to side several times before
Sadif seemed to regard the two's bellies. “Well you probably haven't eaten a
good meal today traveling. Come inside and I'll fill your bellies. You can
tell us more about where you've been then, and you're welcome to spend the
night. And you too, Ioel and Ruth, you come share a meal with us,” the old
woman turned and slowly but steadily marched back inside.
Both Ioel and Ruth turned to stare at Zynaid, not sure quite what to say
but both seemingly relieved. “And of course young Ioel and Ruth can come in
too. You just tell your families old Sadif is hosting you for a meal,” she
called out.
“Well...” Ioel sighed with some relief. “That... wasn't sure what would
happen there but I guess it was good.”
Zynaid nodded once. “She didn't launch into a tirade immediately. I
suppose that's something positive.”
Ruth looked between Zynaid, Ioel, and Parnsus before moving in. “Well,
come on, she's waiting for us.”
They all began to filter in, though the mage seemed quite disquieted and
lost. “Um... right,” he said softly to Zynaid. “I know you said I'd see 'soon
enough' and all, but what just happened?”
“That,” Zynaid said with a sigh, “is my grandmother.”
“... oh,” Parnsus said, “That would explain a few things at least...”
Discomfort hung in the air so thick it made the mage squirm, as if trying to
find a better position to breathe. “Guess we should go inside?”
A scowl forced its way on Zynaid's face as he walked inside, the familiar
smells and ever so slightly bent doorframe flooding his mind with memories,
some good, some bad. He braced himself against the deluge, reminding himself
to be mindful of his surroundings.
Parnsus followed behind, while Ioel and Ruth heading around to the table.
Sadif, meanwhile, stood near the back, preparing a small cauldron of soup.
“Now go ahead and fix the table for all of us to eat. I'll need help with
these potatos,” the old woman declared.
Of course the first to step forward; always trying to be helpful, she was.
Parnsus blinked, dithered for a second like he was agonizing over the choice,
then tentatively stepped forward to offer his services. The two women gave him
a curious look before Zynaid cut in, “He's a better cook than you'd think.”
The mage shrugged sheepishly, before finally scooting beside the two.
Ioel just busied himself with moving the table and rearranging it to fit
five occupants. Zynaid noted it was set up for three normally. “Guests over
frequently?”
“Of course; I always try to be a good host and invite neighbors over,”
Sadif said proudly. It was all Zynaid could do but eye her, though he managed
a scowl; he had walked into that one by posing such a question. He should have
predicted she'd resort to that given the opportunity. It all made his blood
seethe on some level, bringing to mind the idea of just up and walking out of
the whole mess. More prudent thinking prevailed, and he just nodded, finding a
seat.
Finding more chairs, Ioel and Ruth pulled them forward to the table and set
them down. “So...” Ioel began. “Zyn, where exactly [i]have[/i] you been this
whole time? We never heard from you at all since you... left. You said you
went to the Southlands?...”
“The Southlands, yes. And Pyralis, and Yesulam.”
“But... why didn't you come back at all during that time?” Ruth asked,
setting across from Zynaid, her features marking her as older than he
remembered but not by that much. Certainly to a degree she found agreeable.
“Clearly he was busy, Ruth,” Sadif chimed in from the kitchen counter,
gazing upward from her casual slicing at her grandson, who took the opportunity
to gaze back, not returning to face the others until she turned away. “Dealing
in your antiques and other goods. Selling to all sorts of strangers.”
Zynaid gripped the chair he was setting into place hard. Oh she was out to
make this [i]difficult[/i]. “It's rather interesting all the new sorts of
people you meet, actually. Lots of fascinating people out there.”
Only lifting to meet her grandson's gaze for one second, Sadif kept
chopping away and stirring her stew pot. “Difficult to arrange a marriage in
those circumstances, I imagine, to find someone good to settle down with.”
Once again Zynaid was gritting his teeth. It was entirely assured that she
was going to get like this but even still he found her getting under his skin.
Not desiring an opportunity for his temper to burst, he took a quick look at
the stove. “You look low on firewood in there. I'll go out back and chop some
for you,” he declared and hobbled out the door, leaving dinner to be prepared
without him.
“Zyn, wait,” Ioel called behind him, concern marking his face as he stared
at Zynaid's leg. “I'll help.” He rushed out ahead before his friend could
object, and Zynaid knew him better then to think that he could be persuaded
back inside. It wasn't all that bad anyway; out of anyone Ioel was by far the
least insufferable person in this whole village.
Quickly they set up the logs from the woodstand, and in a jiffy Zynaid was
swinging away. “Uh... Zyn, are you ok with your leg like that?” his old friend
piqued up as he kept setting the wood up for the chopping.
Without even a pause Zynaid swung down again. “It only hurts to walk on
it. Balancing on it is alright once you figure out how.”
“Huh...” the villager winced even still, unable to understand how to
compare the brash youth who had stormed away years ago with the dark bearded,
stonefaced man who was walking briskly about on a clearly hurting leg with no
pause. “How'd you get that anyway?”
Zynaid allowed himself a snicker. “Long story, a lot of it probably
unbelievable involving a shipwreck, an island, giant crabs and a dragon that
was possibly mad.”
Predictably Ioel didn't have much to say in response to that. “Uh...huh.”
He was just about to say more when a loud commotion echoed from the house.
“G-gah! I'm so sorry! Sorry about that!” came out Parnsus’ shrieking
apology.
“Looks like Simon is settling in just fine,” Zynaid remarked dryly. “Don't
mind, he's no doubt scrambling to fix things up good as new. He's actually
quite good at that, had lots of practice.”
Ioel looked a tad unconvinced, but didn't move to argue. He looked over at
the door, then back at the wood, not commenting for a while. “I can't imagine
how difficult it is coming back, I won't try to think it was otherwise. But
you did the right thing; coming back here to set things right is something that
was going to have to happen sooner or later.”
Ugh, and here he went too. “Uh huh, settling things and putting them
right. How do you think I should go about that?” Zynaid said with a mild taunt.
Ioel paused, clearly discomforted. “Umm... well, just sit down and talk.
Try to bridge the gulf, work out the differences. I know things got... touchy
between you and the elders, especially your grandmother, but you've got an
opportunity now to fix things.”
Well he was just speaking like a real true believer wasn't he? Zynaid
sighed and didn't reply, and to his credit Ioel didn't push the matter further.
Work continued for a long while, until they could fill the wheelbarrow with
chopped wood. Carting their finished product inside they filled the stove
again, though by this time the soup was nearly ready. Sadif bade her guests to
sit around the table at last. “Well then, take a seat, make yourselves
comfortable.”
Letting Parnsus gain some modicum of isolation by sitting in the corner,
Zynaid sat next to him at the end, opposite his grandmother's traditional
place. In the past he had sat directly by her side, an arrangement he had
thought little of growing up but now the thought made him twitch. Instead he
now sat down opposite of her, each of them staring at the other as they seated
themselves. Ioel seemed too hungry to notice the two of them glaring, but
Ruth's face morphed into one of concern.
“Well then, let's eat” Sadif said without further delay, and folded her
hands and closed her eyes, the rest of them following suit. “Abba, thank you
for the blessing of the meal we have before us, of the family and friends we
have, and the opportunity to see those we have not been able to commune with a
long time, and may the wounds of the past be healed so that we may be one under
you again. Amen”
All of them repeated the amen, though Zynaid glared at his grandmother and
the particular choice of her words. She only met his gaze for a moment before
passing out the soup. “So, Ioel,” she began, “Marina is well?” At once Zynaid
felt like he could relax just a little, though he still felt a little stiff as
long as Sadif was the one controlling a conversation.
A nod from Ioel was the response as was a small smile. “Yes, she's...” he
trailed off, looking to the somewhat lost looking Zynaid and Parnsus.
“Apologies, my wife of three years now. She has been with child for seven
months and she has been at home resting for most of the day.”
Zynaid took this revelation in stride. “Marina... I don't recall that
name.”
Ruth piped in. “She's from a farm to the west, about 10 miles. Her family
came here often, don't you remember Floran? The tall man with one eye and a
scraggly beard?”
“Ah,” Zynaid nodded, a flash of memory aiding him. “I remember seeing him
once or twice.”
“Yes,” Ioel said, continuing. “We're hoping this time she'll make it to
full term,” he added quietly.
A small measure of discomfort accompanied the following quiet, the slurping
of soup being the only sound. “Eli willing, you will. What about you Ruth?
How has it been at your farm?” Sadif continued on.
“Well,” the woman responded. “Father has been fighting bouts of the flu
recently, but he has been recovering.”
“Thank Eli,” Sadif said. Zynaid noticed that Ruth mentioned [i]her[/i]
farm; that of her fathers. She was in her late twenties, hadn't she married by
now?
As if she could read her grandson's mind, Sadif pressed on. “It's alright
dear. Your father will take good care of you no matter what happens.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Parnsus chimed in. “Disease can be rather nasty...”
Somber reality seemed to weight down on Ruth, as she lowered her head.
“Yes, very much so, alas.” Her words seemed punctuated by something, like she
was thinking of something very specific. “It is difficult for my family to
continue providing for me all the time.” Suddenly Sadif cast a glance in her
grandson's direction, and instantly Zynaid bristled.
And then Parnsus walked right into it. “Haven't you found anyone?” he
blurted before Zynaid could kick him under the table to shut up.
Ruth's shoulders slumped a little. “It... well, yes, actually,” she said
level headedly. “Twice. Both times my husband passed away from consumption or
drowned in a fishing expedition gone wrong.”
Sadif gave her grandson a look, as if encouraging him to say something.
Zynaid responded by glaring knives back at her. “It's a pity,” Sadif said,
taking a sip from her cup. “Without family and close friends around, what are
we? We should always have someone to help us shoulder the burden.”
Before Zynaid could shot a barb, Ioel spoke up. “Well, this is Gemesaret,
after all, the best place in the world where you could find support,” he said
like he was offering a toast.
“Indeed,” Sadif intoned. Only a few minutes into the meal and she was
already hard at work getting under his skin. “We always look out for each
other here,” she smiled gently at Ruth. “So, Zyn,” she began turning back to
face him. “How long do you think you'll keep your life of travel going?
Perhaps you'll find time to settle back down?”
And there it was. She had set up her opening gambit and tried to apply
pressure on him in front of Ioel and Ruth. Typical. Zynaid sat up straight
and took a sip from his cup. “I don't think there's much possibility of that
in the near future,” he said dismissively.
There was little indication in Sadif's expression that indicated that she
was dissuaded. “It may be fun for now, but your body has never been in the
best condition, even as a child.”
“It's nothing intolerable,” Zynaid insisted. “Growing up with it has also
made me used to it, mind you.”
“It's still going to catch up with you sooner or later. Maladies and scars
don't just go away,” his grandmother insisted back ever so slightly. Parnsus
began shifting uncomfortably, feeling the awkward in the room grow in
intensity. Ruth looked on somewhat interested but oblivious, but Ioel began to
look just a little concerned.
Zynaid said nothing for the longest time, just spooning up some more of his
soup. “Or maybe it won't. Perhaps I'll be perfectly fine and content with
what I find and live out in the world,” he said in a nonchalant tone.
The blatant phrasing of his challenge suddenly plunged the dining room into
an icy pause. Sadif regarded his response curiously, before eating some more.
“Are you so sure of what the future will bring that you think it alright to
stay out there?”
“Depends,” Zynaid responded, “Are [i]you[/i] so certain of the future
yourself?”
“I know of what the Canticles speak of, of the importance of family and
how's it's best to settle down and yoke yourself with a good believer.”
“'It is better for a man not to marry,'” Zynaid quoted immediately from the
Canticles. “If you can't control yourself it's best to settle down. But if
not, why bother? There's a reason that the clergy is celibate. Less pointless
distractions.”
Finally some visible ire started to show itself on his grandmother's
features. “But that's for men of the cloth who devote themselves to Eli. I
don't suppose you've taken any vows while you've been away?”
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