Chapter Twenty-Six #3
“My father—” The words resisted, but she forced them out.
“He was a great metal-forged warrior. He joined some of the others on expeditions away from our settlement, fighting the dakii and finding people to bring back. But then he lost his leg, and was forced to come home. The Kleesolds fussed over him, hailed him a hero.”
A hero. The word cut roughly against her tongue.
“But he wasn’t a hero to you, was he?”
“He risked his life to protect people, and he followed every order from the Kleesolds. He fought bravely. He was perfect.”
The Keeper frowned. “What happened after?”
Iryana found her arms wrapped around herself.
“He didn’t recover well. He was in so much pain, they gave him tea from the Beast’s Poppy.
My father withdrew from the rest of the family, from the humiliation of being brought so low.
So, my family moved to one of the smaller houses at the far end of the post. My older sister, Hadima, stayed at the main house instead, for training. ”
Hadima had always been the fun one; she could turn anything into a game and cheer everyone up. Iryana had so many memories of those times that were now just as bitter as they were sweet.
“Iryana?” The Keeper touched her shoulder, and she realized she had gotten swallowed up by those memories.
“My father pushed everyone away. He tried to push my mom and me away too, even little Misha. But he couldn’t—we had to stay to take care of him. It was our duty to him. The Kleesolds were raised to be loyal. But he was always so angry with us.”
Iryana looked down and saw that her hands were shaking. It was still so hard to push down the anger and resentment, the feelings of a small child that refused to accept the hard things in life. That refused to accept consequences.
“Tell me.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Some secrets weren’t meant to be revealed. Weren’t meant to be remembered.
“I can’t,” she pleaded. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No, really. I just—I can’t.” Her head shook back and forth violently. “I don’t want to.”
The Keeper was quiet for a moment before speaking with as much gentleness as one used to coax a baby lamb. “Why are you doing this?”
The automatic retort fell on her tongue. It was a coming of age—every Istrin was forged before they turned twenty-one. It was just the way things were.
But that wasn’t why, and the Keeper seemed to know it.
“Everything rides on it—on my forging,” she whispered. And then because he’d said her words would not leave the temple, and she somehow believed him, she added, “For my sisters, for my family.”
“What happened after you moved out to help take care of your father?” he asked again. “Close your eyes and think of your sisters. And say it.”
She obeyed, eyes fluttering shut. The image of her sisters was branded there in her mind. Not as they were now—Hadima a stressed healer and her sister a near stranger. No, she remembered them before her father was injured.
She pictured Hadima when she was thirteen, stuck between being a silly, happy child and a young woman desperate to make everyone else happy. Her braids were blonder back then, her face softer, but she was already beautiful.
She imagined little two-year-old Misha. She’d walked early, approaching the world without a single fear.
She’d been so sweet, always wanting to snuggle or pretend to help with whatever Iryana was doing.
Her hair had taken forever to grow out enough to braid; she’d just had these little curls that lay against the nape of her neck.
Gods how Iryana missed them.
“Now tell me,” the Keeper urged.
The words came easily that time. For them.
“He hurt my mother.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned away from the Keeper. “And when I tried to stop him, he hurt me too.”
Once the words started, they didn’t stop.
“It was years of his anger, of failing to help him. I should have forgiven him for what he was doing to us, but I didn’t understand.
He had saved so many lives, and I could only think that he was ruining mine.
I was an awful child. I pushed him too far, argued with him, with my mother.
I just wanted to leave, to go back to the main house where I was happy. ”
She’d thought that if she were enough of a nuisance, perhaps they would send her to live with Hadima in the main house.
She was a terror. Ignoring her mother, hiding from her chores, talking back, and when she got lonely, she’d latch onto her mom and refuse to let go even as her father yelled for his wife.
“How old were you?”
She shook her head. “I think I was eleven when I begged my mother to let us go back to the main house, to let the rest of the family take a turn caring for father. I thought the Kleesolds would always help each other, never turn their backs on us.”
“What did your mother do?”
“She said the clan wouldn’t let us abandon him, that it was our duty.
She said, ‘We don’t all get to be happy, little owl.
’ That’s what she used to call me: her little owl.
I tried, I really did. I could see it on my mother’s face, how much she wanted me to behave, to stop acting out.
To be good. I think I realized too late how important it was.
I promised to be less naughty, but she said it didn’t matter anymore.
And then she walked away. And I never saw her again. ”
“Your mother left?”
Iryana shook her head. Everything was spinning, and she felt sick. Some things weren’t meant to be said. It already hurt too much just dragging the words out of her.
“The magic of the blood is still resisting. It can sense your walls, and it needs to get past them.” The Keeper sighed loudly. “I am sorry, young one. If you want to be forged, we must hear those words. I must bind Noshtiz’s magic to you with them.”
Iryana stared at her hands. She felt like another word would end her. Why did she have to face this to save her family? It was cruel and unjust.
She could turn away, climb up all the ladders, slip out of the temple, and find a new settlement to take her in. Perhaps with enough time, she could forget about the Kleesolds. But one thought of Misha’s face, and Iryana knew she would suffer through anything to save her. To save them all.
“My mother was wrong about it being too late, at least for her. She got out. I don’t blame her for that. But it was too late for me.” Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “I had let her down. I was selfish and unfeeling, and I made him hurt her more.”
The Keeper opened his mouth, but shut it firmly into a hard, thin line. Shame filled Iryana.
“It’s why she left without us. Misha was only four; it wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I wasn’t enough to make her stay. Gods, I messed up enough that even little Misha wasn’t enough. Then she was gone.”
Iryana looked at the Keeper, at how his head hung. His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “What happened after she left?”
“When the family eventually realized my mother was gone, they took Misha back to the main house. I stayed to look after him until he died two years later.”
“Did you go back to be with your clan after that?” he asked.
“For a few years.” She shrugged. “But I couldn’t go back to the way things were before.
I wasn’t the same. I couldn’t just laugh and pretend like those four years never happened.
I was so jumpy and anxious, and no matter how hard I tried to fit in, no matter how hard Hadima tried to make me, it just made things worse. I was broken, and I—”
Iryana swallowed, taking another breath to strengthen her nerves.
“I couldn’t forgive them for leaving me there. For abandoning my father and pushing him away when we needed their help. I did try, I really did. But I just kept ruining things. Making them worse. I even got my cousin killed.
“I focused on my studies, my duties, and I said my guardian vows at sixteen. But then I made a deal with my grandmother, and I moved back to our little cottage. I think she could tell I didn’t fit with the family anymore.
I knew it was best if I kept as much distance as I could.
And I lived there until this spring, when Karvek brought me into the brigade. ”
Iryana wondered if the Keeper was going to demand the secrets of her mission, how she planned to betray the knowledge of the temple to help her family. But that wasn’t what he asked.
“Have you forgiven them for abandoning you?”
Iryana flinched. “It wasn’t their fault; it’s the oaths we take. A guardian’s duty is to their people over their clan. Over their family. I just—learned that the hard way.”
“Then why?” His voice was almost as hard as hers. “Why did you live alone for years?”
Why.