Ojaveda
Yister Narach leaned over the straw-mattressed bed, his eyes never leaving those of the frail figure within it. A wet cough came from the mouth of the prone form, though the mouth itself smiled.
“Yister, my son-“
“Do not speak, father,” the young menki said, patting his sire`s hands. “Rest.”
The older menki chuckled though it quickly turned to a hacking cough that wracked his body.
“I- I will rest, soon enough, and forever. But you: you will live on. Carry on the family name, and its traditions.”
The son shook his head sadly, “But what of mother`s stall?”
The father took the son`s hand and squeezed it with his remaining strength, “I`ll be with your mother soon. I`ll make sure she doesn`t mind. Sell it. Sell this place too,” he looked with clouded eyes about the small adobe house.
“Father, I-“
The hand left Yister`s and for a moment it dropped back to the blanket and the son thought the end had come, but it rose again, one withered finger covered in silvered hair pointing toward the mantelpiece above the fire. To a small box made of split bamboo-canes. “Bring me it, my son.”
Yister rose, crossed the small room and returned to his dying father with the box, setting it on the old Blikau menki`s lap. He fumbled with the catch for a moment, batting away his son`s attempt to do it for him and finally eased the lid open. Within were several scrolls, a cylinder wrapped in cloth...and an ornate dagger, the pommel of which was shaped like the head of a pterosaur, the sheath of aged leather encrusted with scuffed gemstones. Yister knew what the scrolls contained: they were posters from over two decades ago, advertising exhibitions at the pterosaur arena north of Hydlaa. Exhibitions at which his father had been one of the main draws.
Narach the Elder took out the cloth-wrapped cylinder and handed it to Yister, who as soon as the heavy weight was put in his hands realized it was a stack of circles. Evidently his father`s savings.
“Not much, but the stall and this place should fetch you a bit more. Enough to get you to Hydlaa and get you a room,” he then, with the greatest of care, took out the dagger from the box and, holding it with both hands, presented it to Yister.
Yister bowed his head to hide his tears.
“What once was mine is now yours, my son.”
Yister accepted it with silent reverence.
“Go now,” the father said between wheezes, “seek out Krestal Dhusho, in the plaza of Hydlaa. He was but a young cub when I rode the beasts, but I hear he is the menki to see these days. He will set you on your path. Our path,” the old menki smiled and fell silent.
The son closed the small box, the posters still in it, and wrapped his father`s arms around it. He then carefully put the dagger in his belt and the circles in his pouch. Soon the house and his late mother`s stall were sold, his father`s body was on its way to the Burial Well...and Yister Narach set out toward Hydlaa to seek his fortune.
