yayaz, iz chapta 2.
Two
in which we meet two young men
Gaelan's parents said that his eyes had always been the colour of the rolling green fields. It was true: people meeting him would walk away disconcerted --and if they were a girl, blushing-- by his startlingly green gaze.
But the first time he left the plains to go sailing, his eyes turned blue the moment they fell on the water. His father said that they were just reflecting the colour, but it is a curious thing that they were never entirely green again...
Gaelan's animal was a dog, and his pointed ears flopped at the ends. He thought it made him look a bit of an idiot, but everyone else seemed to think it was cute. Everyone else also seemed to think that he was cute. When he was younger, girls would follow him around all day without even realising they were doing it. Later, they blushed when he looked at them and giggled when he spoke. The girls buzzed among themselves: It's so weird! All the other boys just blush and grunt when we talk to them, but he seems totally oblivious! (of course, most of the village girls didn't know the word 'oblivious', because most small highland towns did not set much store by education.) Gaelan simply had no idea what was going on.
Gaelan was woken by what was probably the brightest ray of sunlight that ever passed through curtains. It sliced across the crisp white linen of his pillowcase, making his eyes ache. He pulled the sheets over his head and groaned quietly. Closing his eyes, he sank back into a light, cool bed that smelled faintly of lemon soap. Birds were singing softly outside the window, and Gaelan started to fall asleep again. The piercing light that had woken him turned dappled as the branch swayed back into place. His lemon-scented reverie was shattered by the most inconsiderate squawk-voiced bird ever (or so it seemed.) Sitting up in bed, Gaelan saw that sometime during the night he had pushed the eiderdown off of him and onto the floor. He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs off the bed. He sniffed. Besides the all-pervading smell of lemon, there was also a faint hint of scones...
He got up, or attempted to get up. He didn't manage it, because the sheets were wrapped around his ankles. He fell over. He eventually managed to stand up and walk over to the dresser without injuring himself. It was sheer luck that he managed to pull a pair of shorts on before the door burst open. The girl who entered was slightly built, much shorter than Gaelan and wore a white, frilly, flour-covered apron over a white, frilly nightgown. Her thick, honey-gold hair was bound up in pigtails which curled gently at the bottom.
“Time to get up, sleepyhead!”
This is the official war cry of little sisters everywhere when waking up their older siblings.
“I was already getting up, Lydia, ” Gaelan said, annoyed. “And you could have at least knocked.”
“Whatever,” Lydia said flippantly. “It's nearly ten.”
“And I'm not allowed to sleep in past ten?”
“No, you're not. Now get up.”
And that was that, Gaelan thought as he pulled a shirt over his head. Lydia was constantly trying to be like their mother. She never would be, he reflected. She never wanted help when you offered it. She always wanted to do things herself. When she was gutting fish by herself, she wanted to know, What's this wobbly green bit? But when you tried to tell her what the wobbly green bit was, she would say, I know, I'm old enough to do it by myself.
He was greeted in the kitchen by the sight of freshly-baked scones. He was also greeted by his mother, whose unruly chestnut hair he had inherited. He bit into a scone. Lydia's back was to him, but he could tell that she smiled when he complimented the scones.
It was around noon, and Gaelan had strolled outside, past the fenced-in meadow where the sheep were kept and towards the grove of trees that couldn't really be called a forest, or even a wood. The trees were a long way apart, and mostly slender deciduous trees. Every so often, a huge oak or pine would dominate the scenery and the roots would disturb the smooth ground. The light, though dappled and green, was bright. He found t he stream, with its small, trickly waterfall and the large smooth stones at its banks. He had brought a book; the local schoolteacher had been kind enough to let him borrow it. It was fiction, and therefore a rare gem in the village. If it's not true and not useful, why bother? Said the townsfolk. It wasn't well written, but after months of reading about sheep, a determined reader can find anything interesting, as long as it's not woolly.
As he read, he began to sing softly. It was a simple song, just a folk song his father used to sing when it was late in the inn and everyone had had a few drinks, a song that calmed things down a bit. It had weak and unimaginative lyrics, but a beautiful tune. The kind of tune that, in the right voice, would bring tears to the eyes of surly drunkards. It could probably make an entire tavern stop in mid-brawl and the brawlers fall, sobbing silently, onto the tables. His mother was always trying to sing it, but she would always stop halfway through with tears in her eyes. He usually sang it without words.
Later in the afternoon, Gaelan heard a slight crackling of twigs and turned to see a child in a deep green dress with one very small sheep embroidered on the pocket standing behind him. She had short honey-gold hair with a small bow in the back. Her animal was a dog, the same as Gaelan's. She looked almost exactly like Lydia except that Lydia had inherited her mother's animal; a Scottish wildcat. As soon as the girl was sure he had seen her, she turned, giggling, and ran off between the widely-spaced trees. Gaelan sighed, picked up his book and the bag he had brought with him (it had recently contained sandwiches) and followed. The girl always ran ahead of him, but always stopped for a bit once she had got ahead. Then once she knew he had seen her, she would start running again, stopping just far enough ahead to make sure he didn't catch up but not so far ahead that he wouldn't see her. Sisters.
When Gaelan reached the inn that his family ran, he entered the kitchen and saw, to his dismay, that the two children at the table (who looked exactly like the girl who he had seen in the forest) were both wearing light green coveralls with little sheep embroidered on the pockets. They were also both wearing hats. Gaelan knelt between them and inspected their haircuts. Finally, he said, pointing to one child, “this is Collin, right?” Lydia turned around, looked at the boy, and said,
“Yes, that's him.”
Gaelan turned to the other, and pulled off her hat. She wore a tiny pale green bow in her hair.
“HEY!” said the girl, trying to snatch it back from him. “Give me my hat back!”
Gaelan shook his head mutely.
“MOMMY!!”
“Mom's working.”
“LYDIA! Make him give my hat back!”
Lydia turned around and threatened him with the soapy brush she was holding. “Give Cassidy's hat back. Now.”
“Fine.” he hung it on the wall clock.
“I can't reach it up there!”
Gaelan had already gone up the staircase and vanished onto the landing. He peeked down over the edge and saw Collin pull on the little chain that dangled from the clock's face. The little bird came out and knocked the hat off the clock. Gaelan smiled.
It was often remarked that Tyrill was sensitive, quiet, kind and helpful. What they never added to that list was “Cute.” Nobody ever said he was cute, they just squee'd over him and said that “No teenager has a face like that!!!” But they were, of course, wrong. Tyrill Schrift was all of thirteen years old, and he had a face like that. He seemed to have a perpetual blush. His hair was a beautiful shade of royal blue, a fact often remarked upon by those same people who did not call him “cute.” Mostly, it just turned from deep sapphire blue to bright jewel-tone blue to soft, pale chalky blue at the tips. But on one side, a thick lock of downy, feathery hair turned from jewel-bright blue to pale emerald green to bright, soft gold. His eyes were quite as blue as his hair-- but it was a fluid, bright, slightly aqua colour that somehow reminded others of a thick, sweet syrup. Blue syrup.
Tyrill would probably have looked even stranger to us than Vicki, Chantrelle and Gaelan, because whereas they had ears and tails, Tyrill had only a tail; however, he also had wings. They were small wings, and would be totally useless in flight, but they were there and he had to deal with them. So did his sisters, his parents, and nearly all of his ancestors all the way back to the beginning of... Families? I say nearly, because one female ancestor on his mother's side had been a hamster-girl. Other than that, his lineage was pure; the Camour and Schrift families were noble, and noble families were notorious for picky marriages. The Schrifts had been very selective and only suitably highborn cockatoos had been allowed to marry in; thus, they were scarce and had nearly died out. The Camours had been less strict in terms of animal, allowing in any bird from hummingbirds to geese (and once, a hamster). But, by common consent, his mother was probably a macaw.
He was the penultimate child, the sixth of seven. His siblings were all sisters.
Delana, the eldest, was 21. She was tall, tan and slight, like his mother. Her hair and wings were a bright, fiery red, laced with flamelike, feathery streaks and sparks of pale green and blue, turning gold at the ends. The tan skin on her face looked as though it had been painted, with pale stripes arcing over her nose and around her dark eyes. The second eldest, Beatrix, was 18, and she was pale, unlike Delana-- Though she was quite as slim and beautiful, and even taller than her elder sister. Her hair was strawberry red, and always flipped back ostentatiously. The third eldest, sixteen-year-old Ida, was just like Delana, except that her face was unstriped. Next was Mallory; tan, long-necked and slender, with cerulean blue hair and eye-spotted feathers. No one was quite sure which bird she was. She seemed to be a mix of peacock, goose and blue heron, and it was certain that she had inherited at least a small amount of hamster. The third youngest, Sofie, was brown-haired and grey-eyed. She seemed to be mostly sparrow, whereas Klarissa, the youngest, was a pale, jewel-bright blue.
Tyrill had looked up all their names in a name dictionary he'd discovered in their vast library; Delana's meant 'noble protector.' The other six had all agreed that this fit her very well; from the minute Beatrix was born Delana had been a perfect big sister-- the kind that's there when you crash your bike or step on a bee's nest, and helps you up or, if necessary, carries you to the house.
According to the book, “Beatrix” meant “blessed, happy, bringer of joy.”
“Ida” meant “hardworking,” and this was so; “Mallory” meant “unlucky” and-- and this was a bit puzzling-- “Army counselor,” and this was so, although they would later look up “army counselor” in the encyclopedia. Sofie was surprised that her name meant “wise” and flattered that her siblings had agreed on this point. (although, of course, if you found out someone's name meant “wise” would you say, “No, that's dead wrong”?)
Klarissa (who, although she was ten, had the cuteness of a five-year-old) had smiled sweetly-- and with just a hint of “I know”-- When she heard that her name meant “clear and bright.”
When they finally reached “Tyrill”, each and every one of them, except for Tyrill, expected it to mean “kind” “honest” “gentle” or “modest”. They were all surprised, however, when it turned out to mean “lightning ruler.” The girls immediately chorused that this was not the case, that Tyrill himself was like, the nicest person they'd ever met!
But despite their reassurances, Tyrill would be haunted by the meaning of his name until the time he met Chantrelle, when it would be driven right out of his head (although, of course, that might have been due to the fact that that was also when he met Vicki).
Up until the time when Tyrill was thirteen,* the entire family was quite happy. But just a week after Tyrill's birthday, his parents went for a walk and didn't come back.
It was said that they were hit by a cart, and the cart was never found-- but the carter must have really been trying to hit them because their bodies were found on the sidewalk.
A week or two after the funeral, the Schrifts' will came to light when Delana was searching their extensive filing cabinets. They were excited at first, until they realised that the will left the entire estate not to the children, but to a friend; it also left the children themselves under the care of the aforementioned friend, Lord Viert (a weasel) and his wife, Lady Vanessa (a mink).
The veracity of the will was questionable as there was very little reason to leave everything to Viert and Lady Vanessa (who insisted on having the “lady” put in, even when it was her husband speaking to her), but the signatures seemed genuine and a statement was written by each parent (by hand) detailing their bequests. The handwriting was compared to other samples and generally declared equally genuine.
“Of course, Delana and Beatrix can do whatever they want,” said Viert when he heard about the will, “but the younger children will have to stay with us.
Delana and Beatrix chose to stay, and it was a good thing too because Viert was just as untrustworthy as he looked. Less than a month after taking the seven children into his house, he announced his intention to either turn them out onto the streets or sell them into indentured servitude. The two eldest intervened and, as Viert had no intention of keeping them, all seven left together. However, they had no money except what little had been left to Delana and Beatrix (the will said that each of the children who were 18 or over would inherit a certain [small] amount of money each, and only two were overage) and no lodgings.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
*Which was when they had looked up their names, and at which point Vicki and Chantrelle were seventeen and Gaelan was fifteen.