Wamblee breaks his silence.
"I will certainly have some, Samoon. I live simply, not masochistically."
At Uncle's request, Wamblee takes a breath and speaks up:
"Out on one of Father's walks with us, myself and Samoon spotte a strange plant. I remember rushing to pick it up, and cutting my finger. Father joked about how it would all leak out there and then in my haste."
Wamblee finishes with a smile.
Uncle looks down for a moment, nodding. "Speaking of being cut by gifts..." He stands up, and walks across the kitchen/talking room, reaching into the pocket of his traveling cloak. It is wrapped in a heavy cloth.
Uncle looks soberly into Wamblee's eyes. "A long time ago, your father asked me to give this to you personally, if I saw you after he died. The message is - 'I wish I could have given you a home you did not feel the need to escape from. I am sorry.'"
Wamblee will uncover the crystal.
The crystal is a perfect sphere, completely smooth. It is mostly black with hints of reds within.
It is beautiful.
Wamblee is stunned for a time, just staring at the crystal.
He finally turns to Uncle, clearly trying to focus on the gift itself and not the implications.
"It's...perfect. Did he...did he say where he got it from? The mine?"
Samoon is silent upon his uncle's speech and the reveal of the crystal. Did I run? he wonders. And, Damn, that's a fine gem.
Samoon clears his throat. "I remember Dad being overjoyed at the birth of each and every one of you little anklebiters," he says. "Nothing gave him greater pleasure than coming home, putting his work boots away and playing with the babies."
"I'd....I'd like to hear about how he was...this last year." And the last two weeks, he doesn't say. He also doesn't mention how he didn't come home for the past two years, as opposed to his first years away. Eventually his eyes meet Marianne, Howie, and..."Samen! C'mon back already!"
Samen sighs heavily from the other room.
I'm never going to get anywhere with these studies anyways. Might as well go entertain the guests.
He puts his book down and comes back to the group. "Really Samoon? 'C'mon back already'? Father asked for you and Wamblee every day as he lay on his death bed, and you tell me to come back already? How long are you here for, anyway, because you're NOT moving back into my room."
Mother clears her throat. The slight brogue in her voice is a little sharper than usual, either from grief or from wine. "Speaking of which, Samen...Your father has a gift for you, as well. The message I was given says: 'Son, I wish I had inspired you to stop hiding from the world.'" She hands you a fine velvet drawbag. "By your Father's decision and my agreement, tonight will be your last night here. Then you'll find your own way, like your kin."
Oh shoot, I said that out loud, didn't I?
Samen realizes how acidic his words are and immediately regrets it. "I... I'm so sorry. That was hurtful. I'm sure you made it back as quickly as you could."
Samen laughs. "I guess you can have my room, Samoon!"
The woodcut is about a foot in diameter, cut from hardwood and polished to a sheen. It is a three dimensional model of the known world, with trees in the north, volcano in the center, and the river to the south. It is meticulously detailed, yet completely lacks any sign of the elen cities. The message is clear that the world is bigger than the elen upon it, or even the depicted gods.
He accepts it without further comment.
Samoon views his younger brother, wisdom and sadness in his eyes. "We all have to leave the nest, Samen. I do wish I could have been here."
He pauses. "Thank you for telling me we were in his thoughts. It was likewise for me. I got here as fast as I could. There was a slight...delay...at one point."
Marianne is silent for a time, simply watching the exchange, but livens up a bit when she sees Samen’s gift. ”He’s got a point there.” she says offhandedly, studying the map intently over her little brother’s shoulder. ”A perfect crystal, this beautiful map. Father was well off for a miner, but where did he get these?”
Wamblee sees if Mother or Uncle's reaction to Marianne's question says more than their words.
Uncle wears a very guarded expression all of a sudden.
Wamblee turns to Uncle and speaks in a soft voice.
"Uncle. Do you know something more about where Father got these items? Or how?"
Uncle reaches into one of his belt pouches, and pours a little sand on the table. He loudly says, "Just a bit of gas in the stomach, Wamblee!" As he speaks, his fingers weave a small bit of magic over the sand. The grains roll around and gather in smooth lines, spelling out the words 'NOT HERE'.
Wamblee bows slightly to Uncle.
"Ah, of course. As you say, Uncle"
”Really Uncle? Are you sure that’s all?”
”I have to ask, are there gifts for Samoon and I as well?” Marianne asks, ignoring the sand after a significant glance to indicate that she has seen it.
Samen frowns at the ruse. "Something tells me that kicking me out isn't the only secret father kept to his grave. We may never know what was going on. Samoon, what's the history department like at the university in Light?"
"Erm...extensive," says Samoon, not quite understanding the exchanges going on under his nose. "I didn't really study it, myself--focused on alchemy and natural world things. Shall we go take a constitutional outside? It's cooler now," says Samoon, standing and stretching.
”You know my vote. I’m always up for going outdoors.”
"A walk sounds like a fine idea, Samoon."
Mother's mouth is a flat, neutral line. She does not seem surprised - annoyed might be a closer fit. She is last out the door as you all leave the house.
Howahkan puts a finger to his lips, then says loudly, "And on the way, I will tell you a story. I call it 'The Bird and the Boulder...'"
"Many years ago, there was a powerful priest with a beautiful wife. They had three sons, as is appropriate. However, the first son renounced the gods, choosing instead to study the world. The second son, the greatest disappointment, chose selfish magics over the gods."
As Uncle speaks in his rich, lively baritone, and gestures with his long, clever fingers, you see small, crude figures, much like shadow puppets, dance in the air above you. The village vista slowly fades from view as the puppets and their backdrop come into focus.
"Well, that left the third son. And the third son tried his best to honor his parents, as is appropriate. He learned the rites. He passed the trials. All portents revealed good omens. Until..."
Uncle smiles, letting his voice trail off. His arms droop down, his fingers make small soothing motions. As the shadow-theater fades from your vision, you see you are out of town - perhaps a mile or more. You are in the middle of a small but dense thicket of trees, which lies at the edge of a creek. The brown leaves rustle in a gust of wind, but cling tenaciously to their branches.
Samoon blinks. ...I didn't think anyone had this kind of magic..."
"Also, if this is a euhemerization, it's libelous and inaccurate," he grouses.
"I don't think he's talking about us. He's being cryptic and theatrical for his own amusement, our befuddlement, and to mask his intentions. If I had to guess, he's telling us a story of events from before our births about himself, and father."
”I take it that you are the second brother then?” Marianne asks, eyeing her uncle somewhat nervously.
Wamblee cocks his head and looks at Uncle with fresh eyes.
This...was unexpected.
"What of the first brother? Our uncle?"
Uncle laughs at Marianne's question. "Do not let the dramatization worry you, hawk's flight. From the point of view of the priest, I was certainly his greatest disappointment."
He looks at Wamblee. "In truth, I have not seen my eldest brother since he left the tribe. He was hardly a man when he walked away."
Your uncle gazes around a few times and nods, as if satisfied. "I do not think anyone will be bothering us for some time. As for the third son..." He glances sidelong at Mother. "Well, the wisdom of the tale is that even a bird can break a boulder, given enough time." It is hard to tell in the Volcano's fading light, but Mother may be blushing.
"So you have asked, 'where did a simple miner come across such things'? And I have told you, 'a simple miner did not - it was the third son of a powerful priest.'"
"You have indeed answered that question. But you are wary of someone or something. What of that matter?"
Wamblee's tone is not accusatory, but is insistent.
"Did either of you, Wamblee or Samoon, run into any trouble on the road home?" You can tell Uncle is leading toward something.
Wamblee shakes his head.
"No, nothing out of the ordinary."
But did I miss something?
Samen connects some dots in his head and jumps forward.
"Who killed father, and is it worth the cost to attempt vengeance?"
Waiting for Samoon's answer, Uncle starts a bit in surprise to hear Samen. Brow furrowed, he says, "Do you think I whisked you out of that house to bring you into a tale of vengeance and high adventure, child? I am trying to help you survive what has been put in motion. These interested in the heirlooms left after your father's death could be dangerous."
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he casts detect magic and investigates the carving closer.
"I don't know what kind of tale you're spinning, Uncle, but I suspect your presence has only widened our risk profile. Whatever indiscretions your generation may have engaged in had nothing to do with us until you whisked us into it."
"I...yes." Samoon. "There was an incident."
"Samen. Breathe."
Samoon raises his head at his uncle. "What do you want to know? Or rather, tell me what you do know."
"Were you accosted by any of the black vein - anyone who resembled a worshiper of the Dark?"
"Yes. How do you know this?"
Samoon pauses. "I was at a caravanserai. I'm not a wildling like Mar here, so I couldn't take the shorter way through the forest." He smiles for a second, then grows more grim. "It was outside of Hearth, a way place. I was out for a stroll during dim after placing my bags, and someone followed me."
"They'd been following me for a long time, I'm pretty sure, and why they chose to reveal themselves at that point, I didn't know...but--how do you know about this? I didn't tell anyone what happened..."
Samoon clearly hasn't told the entire story.
"Because such an el came after me as well. He tried to steal Wamblee's gift. He did not succeed."
”I, for one, believe him. Samoon is not taken to such grand flights of fancy, and Uncle’s magic, blasphemous as it is,” she pauses to throw him a stern look, but says no more, ”also lends credence to the story. Furthermore, my gift alone would be...” Marianne trails off, bow coming down off her shoulder and an arrow nocked swiftly as she scans the surrounding woods. ”Who is there?” she calls, voice hard.
Wamblee thinks quietly for a short time, then replies.
"Perhaps it is because I did not yet have the gift that I was not struck at? It concerns me that I might have been watched without realising it."
He is surprised at Marianne's question.
Marianne, your query produces a rustle in the bushes about thirty feet away, and you see a dark skittering shape ducking behind a tree, farther away from the group.
”Something is out there,” Marianne hisses, scanning the area around where she last saw it.
It is quick, but Marianne is quicker. You let go of the bowstring almost before you realize you have done so. The arrow pierces a quivering blob of blackness to the ground. It twitches silently, then is still.
”Darkspawn!” Marianne shouts even as the arrow is in the the air. She immediately goes back to scanning their surroundings. ”Uncle, I’d finish your story quickly. Because somehow, I doubt that there was just the one.”
"That seems bad. I don't suppose you could conjure us away from here, Uncle?"
"This conversation is best held elsewhere," agrees Samoon.