A Father’s Choice

Some Airthai fiction


Here’s a piece I have been working on as background to a bigger piece (perhaps a novel, hint-hint) set in the Southern Lands of Airthai. It takes place about thirteen centuries after the Sundering of the Lands and about two centuries after “A Dragon’s Freedom”. Where the Eastern and Midlands have the Keepers, the Southern Lands had the Khallahna, who split into the Khalné and Khalvér after the Khallahna War. At first the Khallahna all followed the Creator, but the Khalvér followed the Werlea after the war, while the Khalné followed the Ahma (the Werlea’s antithesis).

A Father’s Choice

“Sir? Your son is here to see you. May I send him in? As you wish, Sir. After you, Young Master, your father will see you now.”

Elgar smiled at the retainer and pulled at his shirt and light cloak before stepping into the large office. He knew his red eyes still bespoke of much sorrow, but he would look his father in the eye, looking for the same pain there.

“Father,” he greeted the man behind the desk. His father looked much older than he remembered, as if he had aged fifteen years in the five he had been absent from home. “I came as soon as I could.”

His father kept on writing, not even looking up as he dipped the quill in ink, not saying a word to the young man he hadn’t seen in five years. But Elgar knew better than to speak again. That much he could remember. After nearly ten minutes of silence his father placed the quill aside and looked up at his son. Elgar took after his mother, his hair an indistinct shade between red and brown, his eyes a striking blue offset by his fair, freckled skin. A strange look indeed. And now, a hateful one.

“You came to pay your last respects?”

“Aye, sir. I only got the news three days ago and came directly from the tower with all speed.”

His father steepled his fingers under his chin, looking him up and down. Elgar at first stood proud and tall in the cream and gold cloak of the Khalné, but then realised that the look in his father’s eyes were one of disdain – and of fear.

“Damn you, child!” he shouted and Elgar took a step back. “You went and chose the bloody Khalné?”

Elgar frowned. To him the Khalvér had never been an option. The Né served the Light with their Talent; the Vér served the darkness with magic and spells and turned the Talent into a deadly weapon. He swallowed and tried to speak to the raving man in front of him.

“Sir, if you will – Father! What did you expect of me? To choose the Vér? You know what Mother thought of-“

“You will not befoul her name or memory, you spoiled little brat! I sent you to the tower because I had to, not because I wanted to. You know the Khalné are treated not much better than the Ahma? But the Khalvér and Werlea – people look up to them!

“People fear them, Father. I will not be feared because of my Talent.”

His father sat back down and poured a dark liquid into a glass. He took a swig and stared at his son. “Who knows you are here?”

“Father?”

“Answer!”

“My Né brothers. I came straight here and did not tarry –“

“Good. And now you will leave for the Western Tower with all haste and never return to this house again.”

“Father? But-“

“You are no longer my son.”

The words hit him like a blow to the stomach that left him without any breath.

“Please leave.” His voice was softer this time. “I’ll give you money, my fastest horse, but you have to leave here. Now.”

“I don’t understand, I –“

“You’re not meant to, Elgar.” He took another swig of the liquid. “And there is no time to explain everything.”

“Please, Father –“

“I… I… I promised you to them, Elgar.” He lifted tear-filled eyes to his son.

“To whom?”

“The Vér.” His voice was just a whisper.

Elgar looked at him in disgust, finding no words now.

“You were ill, just after you were born, you see? They said, they said they can heal you, that they know of a potion –“

“And in return for their witchcraft you offered me?”

“I gave you life!”

“You betrayed the house! You betrayed me!” He bowed mockingly. “Goodbye, Father.” He left the room.

He took another swig of the dark fluid. There had been another promise as well. He had become a Nightwatcher, spending his nights tracking people with the Talent that stood against the Khalvér. He didn’t do the killing himself, not usually. But the work still took its toll. It was never what he had wanted. But he had given his word and would never be free from them. Never. But they had saved his son. They gave Elgar back his life and now he was healthy. He didn’t have a choice. Not then, not now. He sent Elgar away again to save him. Only the Né could keep him from harm now.