Arodus 22, 4719

Breachill

Afternoon

I’ve spent a lot of time with Renali off and on over the past couple of weeks. She’s been helping me learn some Mwangi, which has been a good excuse for us to talk at length.

I’ve always had an ear for languages. I know the best time to learn is supposed to be when you’re young, but it’s never been difficult for me. Back in Macridi, I picked up Sylvan nearly just from exposure to it. In school, I learned Dwarven because The Five Kings the dwarven city-states were next door, and dwarves were everywhere. I learned Aklo so I could speak with Marcus when he has his episodes. Elven has been a project for a while, but given where we’re probably headed, I’ve been pushing on that too.

Anyway, she and I were having lunch in the Wizard’s Grace, just chatting about nothing, really, when she abruptly said, “You never talk about your family.”

I don’t have a lot of tells. Two years of a carefully constructed identity bludgeoned most of those out of me. But now that I’ve…started living as myself, direct questions like this have a way of throwing me off. I know she saw it.

“My family…wasn’t very good at being a family,” I said, not really sure where to go with this. I was not exactly comfortable telling the others about it, and Renali wasn’t even part of that circle. But…she deserved some truth. “That includes me, too. My father was not a responsible man. My mother was not particularly nurturing. And I was distant from both of them. None of us treated each other the way we deserved.

“Um. Mom makes that harder to say.”

I honestly don’t know if she loved me, or just loved having a daughter. I thought she loved me when I was young, but as I listened to people like Kyira and Tarsius talk about their families, I realized I just didn’t have a good frame of reference for what that meant. I was too young to understand what I was seeing in those days, but looking back, healthier examples were all around me. I think she had a plan for the life she wanted, and having a daughter was part of it. The trouble was, I turned out to have plans of my own.

“I think I understand what you mean,” Renali said. “Some parents have a hard time realizing we aren’t supposed to become smaller versions of themselves.” She was quiet for a moment before adding, “And some just shouldn’t have been parents.”

I won’t deny it. That second one hit hard. I could feel Iskaryn flinch through the bond, even as far away as she was.

I knew a little bit about Renali. She was born into an insular clan—those are her words, not mine—and as she grew up, this wanderlust took hold, and she started feeling less at home when she was at home. Her parents recognized her potential, but saw where she was headed and kept trying to nudge her back down the path they had planned for her.

It didn’t work.

She tried to play the part of the herbalist—really tried—but it only left her feeling empty inside. So very empty.

“I don’t know if it would help to share this, but…” She paused, thinking for a moment, then said, “One day, our village herbalist, Yoneria, the one whose role I was being trained to assume, saw my ennui. She sat me down to talk, and the truth just…poured out. I told her I didn’t want the training. I didn’t want the life of the village herbalist, no matter how important that role was.”

“How did she take it?” I asked.

“She was saddened. Disheartened. But not for the reasons I expected. She told me that I valued myself so little that I was willing to languish in unhappiness, just to avoid disappointing my family.”

“Nine Hells,” I said. “That…that had to hurt.”

“It did. But I knew it was true once she said it. And she knew I wouldn’t take the initiative, so she acted for me. She devised a plan for me that was truly for me. I would go into the wild, and after two years, I was to return and make my decision: the village, or the life of an explorer.

“I was terrified,” she laughed. “Both of how my parents would react to such a brazen plan, and of being alone in the wider world. But they agreed, to my surprise. They were willing to let me go. I just hadn’t stood up for myself enough for them to understand. I think they wanted me to be happy more than they wanted me to become the village herbalist. I just never gave them the chance to show it.

“As for the latter, it seems to be working out,” she said, gesturing around the room.

“You handled it with more grace than I did. When I pushed back…” I said, the sentence dying in the air between us.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then Renali smiled faintly.

“At least you pushed back.”