#tu'l and eml

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Eml Writes His Name (Part 2)

@diversetolkien are double / multiple submissions for fantasy friday allowed??? i couldn’t NOT post more of this story.  part 3 coming next week! 

(Part One)

At the end of the previous session, Tu’l had asked him which of the Signs he felt drawn to or if any of them seemed to speak to him.  She hadn’t wanted an answer just then, but had advised him to think on it before their next meeting.  For reference, she had given him a sheet with all of the Signs on it and their names.  

Six Signs for each of the three Ways, he remembered her saying.  But the page she gave him does not indicate how the Signs are aligned with the Ways.  It doesn’t even say what the Signs mean.  He has pondered them much over the past few days, pulling the page from his pocket and examining it in the spare moments between meetings or on walks.  

Tu’l had suggested that writing the Signs might also help him.  He had been too nervous to ask, but at her encouragement he had started to draw them in his spare time.  Compared to Aunt Tu’l’s quick and sure strokes on the page, Eml’s seemed rudimentary and haphazard.  

Koteh was always quick to share his own challenges and mishaps when learning Crevasse, and that soothed Eml.  Moreover, he was warmed—surprised, delighted, humbled—that Koteh had committed to learning with him.  My grasp on the signs and concepts was never much good, Koteh admitted.  It means more, to learn it with you.  It makes sense in a way that it never really has before.

Eml thinks about this often: if some secrets are only unlocked with certain people.  Did that mean the more souls one encountered, the more secrets were unlocked?  Koteh seemed to know an endless number of people, yet still claimed to not know nearly as much as Eml imagined.  Perhaps it depended on what was shared between those souls. ��Everything he shared with Koteh was glorious, but Eml often thought of the history he shared with his own family.  

Why was it that there seemed to be more secrets locked away there than those that were shared?  And why did certain people—his own brother chief among them—seem intent on keeping those secrets from him?  Eml could understand that, in grief, such things were difficult to talk about.  But did Or’e think Eml himself did not carry the same grief, had not suffered the same loss? 

When these thoughts circled back to him, Eml often tried to let them be without dissecting them too much.  He could not keep wearing himself down, as tempting as it was, in the slight hope that some revelation would be afforded to him.

“Much is on your mind, Eml.” Tu’l says when they had settled in the living room.  “I have an exercise for you, if you’re up for it.”

She had greeted him with a kiss on the cheek at the door and a squeeze about the shoulders. Conversation over their afternoon snack had been simple and quiet.  He wonders now if he had been distant or inattentive, and bites his lip as he instantly nods.  He hopes she will still teach him his name, but defers to this first activity in case he has something to make up for.  

Aunt Tu’l sits opposite him and takes up the cards with which he is slowly becoming acquainted.  Her fingers move deftly through them, not exactly shuffling them.  His eyes dart to hers when she speaks.

“Whatever you’ve been pondering so deeply, keep it in the forefront of your mind,” she tells him. “And as you do, I want you to look through the cards.  Which ones resonate with your thoughts and feelings?”

Eml blinks, surprised to find the cards in his hands.  The deck feels slimmer than it should, although he has only really handled the full deck just once.  He realizes as he looks through the cards that Tu’l has only given him the concepts. This almost feels like a test for which he’s unprepared.  To his surprise, only two of the thirty-seven cards stand out.

“This one, it looks like there’s a wall between the two circles,” he says, looking at the first card that had caught his attention.

Koteh’s aunt says nothing for a moment.  Eml sighs to himself, not sure how to sit with the hollowness in his own voice.  It sounds like defeat, he realizes. Despair.  Has he given up hope of any closeness with his brother?  Was estrangement inevitable?  Yet that already seemed to be the state of things.

Eml swallows the thickness in his throat, the back of his neck prickling.  He forces himself to breathe, more than a little surprised that he still had tears to shed for that particular loss.  Perhaps he is not as strong as he thought.

“And the other?”

“It’s like the sign for the hills,” he says.  “Except—there’s only one of them.”

A curious note of wonder draws a question into his voice and hope into his heart.  If there was only one hill, perhaps the barrier could be overcome.  He breathed again, steadying himself with a little more ease this time.  

“Are you fond of the hills?”

“There were some near where I grew up,” Eml answers absently.  “Koteh took me to the Songwood Forest the first time we visited Myrdaven. There are so many hills there, too. So much color.  Everything is so bright—”

He realizes he is rambling, and feels his ears tinge red.  His face is warm, but he’s not terribly sorry.  Thinking of Koteh always—soothes him?  Inspires him?  He’s not sure what the right word is.  Maybe there is no word that could ever sum up all that Koteh is.  

Eml blinks, looking over the cards scattered on the table. Was that why names were written with these—with coordinates and concepts?  Could these symbols convey more than words?

“Myrdaven is indeed a colorful place,” Tu’l says with a small spread of the lips.  “Culture and characters both.”

For several moments, there is silence between them.  Eml takes the paper Tu’l gave him last time out of his pocket, studying the coordinates. They were the same symbols he’d looked at plenty of times in the past week and a half, and yet they were a little different too.  

Each time he looked them over, he thought he saw something—or maybe there was something that was just beyond him that he couldn’t quite grasp. Something he was looking at without being aware of doing so.  

(Part Three)

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Eml Writes His Name (Part 1)

“Can you teach me the Signs, Auntie?” Eml asks.  “I want to learn—well, I suppose everything, or as much as you’re willing to teach me.”

“I’m happy to teach you,” Tu’l says with a smile.  “Crevasse is a mix of several things, the signs among them.”

“Cre…vasse?”  

Eml tests the word on his tongue, tilting his head.  He can’t pinpoint the exact associations the word brings to mind.  It almost sounds musical, but it feels ancient.  As old as dust, and yet other-worldly.  Tu’l nods from her side of the table.

“The signs and the concepts are part of the consideration deck.”  She reaches for the cards, but instead of shuffling them she hands the deck to the boy.  “I think you can separate them one from the other.”

The boy’s eyes widen, but he slowly reaches for the deck.  He is no stranger to magic, but he hesitates to believe its benevolence. Craft comes with consequence, he knows. For this reason, he is always cautious. Careful not to disrespect.  It is one of the many reasons why Tu’l takes no issue with teaching him.  

Eml is not a reckless pupil. If anything, she hopes to encourage his boldness.  It is in his soul, after all—he and Koteh are squared, soul mates who share the same soul type.  Moreover, they share the same persuasion as bliss souls, which only strengthens their bond. It is impossible for them to be broken apart, but that won’t keep various forces from trying.  

Sorting through the cards, Eml pauses from time to time.  He allots some to one pile, some to another, others to a third.  But then he pauses, eyes looking over his progress.

“The colors—they’re important, aren’t they?” he asks.

“How so?”

Eml hums, tapping his chin. He sets the unsorted cards aside, and then spreads through those that are already face up on the table.  His fingers are careful, undeniably gentle.  In Blacksmith society, everything has meaning. Koteh has said it plenty of times, and Eml himself has observed the way everything seems to be done with purpose. Nothing is done off-hand.  

He sorts through the cards again, this time by color.  Blue symbols, black ones, grey ones.  Eml pauses when he sorts the first two red cards out of the deck, but stops when he sees the third.

“I know this one.” It comes out as a murmur, with a hint of awe.  “This is—the Siren, right?”

He places it by the other two cards with red symbols, recalling the previous reading.  The Siren’s Sigil was a card of High Magic, Tu’l had told him.  He could only imagine that these other two were equally important.

“That’s right,” Tu’l said. “One of the Sacred Seals.”

Eml looked at the three cards for a long time.  Other than the color, the symbols all shared triangles and circles.  Although still simple, they were perhaps the most complex of all the cards.  He wanted to know more, but first he finished sorting through the remaining cards of the deck.  

“The seals are rarely used in writing,” Tu’l explained.  “But they are quite important to the deck.  Which of the other piles do you think are the Signs?”

The black and grey piles were about of equal number.  He noticed some of the symbols were almost the same, between the two piles.  His fingertip taps the third pile with blue cards.

“Are these the Signs?”

Tu’l nodded.

“There are eighteen of them,” she said.  “Six for each of the Ways.”

“So—like different suits?”

“Something like that. They’re similar to the major arcana in a standard tarot deck.  They’re also called Coordinates, because they’re used in a person’s witch chart.”

“A witch chart?”  Eml blinks at her.  “Is that like a soul type?  Does everyone have one of those?  What if someone isn’t a witch?”

Eml catches himself, face reddening at the volley of questions.  Tu’l smiles at him, always delighted by his curiosity.  He is drawing smart comparisons, making critical reflections.  Although determining his witch chart will take much more time, she can teach him a few other things.  

“Chart readings are quite an involved process, if you’re up for that one day.  The Signs often speak to a person’s character and personality—which makes them very useful for writing names.  Would you like to write yours?”

“My name?” Eml asks. “In—Crevasse?”

“That is the universal language of the craft, yes.  A common tongue among Blacksmiths.  The letters—called Carvings—might look somewhat familiar, but that is about as far as the similarities go.”

Tu’l pulled a notepad from under the table and came to sit beside Eml.  The mirror was helpful for readings, but it would make the carvings unnecessarily confusing.  Eml scooted over a little.  Tu’l slid a panel over the mirror so it wouldn’t be scratched placed the notepad on the table.  

“Carvings can be written backwards or slanted, depending on the meaning one might wish to convey,” Tu’l explained, copying the alphabet onto the pad while Eml watched. “Sometimes it has to do with the way a name is pronounced.  Other times it can offer clues about what a person thinks of themselves, or how they view their interactions with others.”

“Some of those do look like regular letters,” Eml commented.  “Or close to them.”

“Do you think you can pick out the letters in your name?”

Eml scans the row of characters, neat across the page.  Tu’l’s handwriting is small, but easy to read.  She offers him the pen, and he puts a little dot underneath three of the carvings.  Tu’l nods and circles them.  Underneath, on a separate line, she writes them in a row.

“Why is the E in my name backwards?” Eml wonders.  “Is that a bad thing?”

Tu’l shakes her head, writing Koteh’s name in carvings beside Eml’s.  Koteh’s name, Eml realized, also featured a backwards e.

“Usually when you write your name, you’ll only write the first letter of your call name.  The rest is made up of a combination of signs and concepts.  What do you think of Koteh’s name, here?”

“It makes me smile.”

It hadn’t been what he’d intended to say.  Eml blushes as he tries to elaborate.

“It’s—silly isn’t the right word.  Seeing it makes me think of the way he’s so playful and enthusiastic all the time. So excited that he mixes up his words.”

Tu’l laughed softly, nodding.  

“He was so excited to have learned the alphabet and how to write his name.  Very proud of himself too, for mastering what had been a difficult series of lessons.  The backwards e is as much a part of his earnest nature as the other signs and concepts in his name.”

Tu’l wrote the letters of Koteh’s name again, this time with what might be considered the “correct” use of the carvings.  She didn’t have to prompt Eml this time.  He immediately shook his head, pointing to the top spelling.  

“No no no, this one. It doesn’t look right, when the e is forward.”

“Try writing yours,” she said, handing him the pen.  “Write it a few different ways, a few different times.  Use regular letters and the Carvings, and see what works best.”

Eml glances at her, and then back to the page.  He takes the pen, hovers it over the page for a moment.  Tu’l knows he is hesitating, afraid of writing the wrong thing.  But then he takes a breath and carefully inscribes the symbols in various patterns.  He experiments with the Carvings, writing them forward and then backwards, slanted and straight.  Soon his eyes don’t reference the alphabet at the top of the page or Tu’l’s handwriting at all.  

Tu’l feels a warmth in her heart; nothing brings her pleasure quite like seeing Eml at ease. She doubts he realizes that he is enjoying himself.  When he tells Koteh about it later, undoubtedly Eml will laugh at his own excitement over something seemingly so simple.  But Koteh will share his enthusiasm, and thus encourage Eml to embrace his own joy.  

(Part Two)

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Eml Writes His Name (Part 3)

(Part One)  (Part Two)

“Have you written your name any, since the last time we met?” Tu’l asked him.

“Oh—I did!”

“May I see what you’ve come up with?”

“Come up with?”

“It is your name, after all.”

Tu’l tilts her head. She wants to smile, but she knows she must be a little serious to impress upon Eml what it is that he needs to know.      

“You will write what most comes naturally to you,” she explains.  “And you may find that, depending on the situation and the people present, you will write your name differently.”

“Is this different from my call name?” Eml asks, blinking.  

He still remembered the way Koteh had first introduced himself.  Although Eml hadn’t known it at the time, he was already parroting words back, testing them on his tongue.  Always careful, hoping he wouldn’t offend.  

-

Ko...teh…?  

Well, my full name is Ko’l.  Ko’l Theodore Edward Hawke is my formal name, but that’s too much for even me to remember—or it would be, if my Gran’m didn’t use it every time I got in trouble.  But Koteh is my call name.  What’s yours?

Eml had blinked, trying to capture all that had been said.  Koteh talked fast—and was still talking, Eml realized.

That’s not to mean to tell me your full name if you don’t wish to give it, and certainly not your formal name.  You needn’t share it simply because I told you my own.  I simply would like to call you however you desire.

And grinning.  Always, endlessly grinning.  Eml had felt his face mirroring the expression, but he was certain that Koteh’s cheeks were naturally rosy while his own face was flush with something quite different.  

I’m—just Emilio, I’m afraid.  Emilio Lucas.

Is that what I should call you? Em-Leo?  No, that wasn’t right.  Can you say it again for me?

He’d laughed, because it was impossible not to.  Koteh—Kole Theodore—was unbearably kind.  Unbelievably likeable.  And unquestionably attractive, but that wasn’t the point.  Koteh wanted to know his name.  Koteh wanted to know his name.  Eml had steadied himself with a breath, hoping he wouldn’t sound like a fool.  

Emilio.  But maybe I could have a name like yours.  A—call name?

You want me to give you a call name?  Then we certainly must be friends!  Or at least, I hope we can be. Eh—mee—Leo.  Lucas you said, right?  My own call name is really just all my initials.  Yours could be similar, with the Em and the L.  

Eml?  

Except when he’d said it, it, it sounded like he was nervous and nauseous before giving a speech.  He didn’t have Koteh’s eloquence.  There was a richness to the other boy’s vowels, a musical yet peculiar way he had of rounding out his words and enunciating the consonants with a light flair.  

Eml, yes.  Or Emuelle, in the Myrdaven accent.  Emil, if a smith from Kolraven were to say it. Of course, if you don’t like it—

No, no—it’s nice...

-

Eml sighs to himself, still wishing he had come up with a better way of expressing how touched he was. I love it, he’d wanted to say—except it would have come out as I love you.  Even then, he’d been aware how absurdly, dangerously, hopelessly drawn he was to Koteh.  

Now here he was, folded into Koteh’s family as if they had been expecting him all along.  He straightened, his eyes focusing on the paper in front of him as he wrote the carvings Tu’l had taught him.  He found he was fond of the backwards E, perhaps because it meant something in him matched something in Koteh.  Or so he hoped.

The M, he slanted to the right.  The L was the only forward letter—and compared to a standard alphabet, it was backwards.  Setting the pen down, Eml draws another breath—but his hands are not shaking. 

 Something about seeing his name written so always brought a twang through him.  It was right, he knew.  But from the outside—from his family’s perspective, he imagined—it was wrong.  Well, wrong might be a harsh word, but certainly bewildering.  

Tu’l hummed, nodding as if in agreement with the way the letters landed on the page.  Something in the note soothed him, as if Tu’l knew of his choices.  His hope—or intention—to be who he knew himself to be, even if it meant enduring some form of discomfort.

“To answer your question, this will be a little like your call name and a little not.  Your name in Crevasse says much about you.”

 Tu’l wrote out the carvings again as she spoke. 

“The first line is what you might use in any sort of introductory occasion, if you want people to know the type of person you are or your outlook on life.  The second line says more about how you came to that outlook, how it plays out in your interactions.  How much you share of your name is always up to you.”

Eml smiled, thinking again of how Koteh had given his name so freely.  Later, Eml had learned that it was quite rare that anyone offered another person their formal name.  They were formal names for that very reason—used only for ceremonious occasions. Full names—what he thought of as his own first name—were shared to explain or clarify a call name.  

He had yet to observe anyone share their name in Crevasse, but then again he realized there was still much he did not know.  His brow wrinkled a moment, wondering if he was still an outsider despite how welcoming Koteh’s family had been.  Was he intruding somehow, pushing himself into spaces where he didn’t belong?

“It is not every day that we get to teach someone their name,” Tu’l said, as if knowing his thoughts.  “Although really, it’s more like helping you learn more about yourself and your journey.”

“I’m learning more about me?”

Eml only found honesty in Aunt Tu’l’s smile.  Her gaze was direct, her nod firm.

“Our ways are all about learning—and while it may seem intimidating or perhaps prideful to others, what we really hope to know is how to be ourselves, both by ourselves and with other selves.  We would hope that as you learn more about us, you also learn more about yourself—and become more comfortable being yourself.  Because there is only one of you, and the world needs you.”

Something soft blooms in Eml.  He has become familiar with the feelings around Koteh: of his throat tightening, his chest loosening.  Of being overwhelmed and perfectly alright at the same time, never better.  He swallows and finds himself nodding—maybe not in agreement, but as if to say, I will do my best to believe you, because you’ve never lied to me.  I will try to trust you.  

Part Four

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Eml’s First Reading

Tu’l shuffles the consideration deck, rocking gently in her chair.  The boy sits on the other side of the low table, glancing around at the wares of her practice.  The jars in particular interest him.  Every time he’s here, his eyes are drawn to the stones and bits of twigs, grey silt and orange clay, moss that is deep red and (unbeknownst to him) home to a happy little family of tear-spiders.  

He doesn’t touch anything because he is far too polite, but his eyes are wide with wonder all the same.   Not staring—never that, because that would be indecent.  But curiosity shines from him, his eagerness as bright as the joy in his eyes.

“Will you choose three numbers for me?” Tu’l asks.  “Between one and ten, if you please.”

The boy comes to attention, surprised and delighted to have an active role in this particular session.  His face curves as he considers.  So eager, so earnest.  Tu’l cannot help but love him, and fiercely so. 

“Four,” the boy says.  “Seven.  And—nine.”

Tu’l hums.  She has not taught him how to write his name yet, but his choices echo the meanings of the signs and symbols.  Balance, perfection, and an almost.  There is nothing missing in this boy.  He is often shy to take up any space, instead always making room for others to be and feel as they are. 

Rising from the rocking chair, Tu’l kneels on the other side of the table across from the boy.  She tucks her skirts underneath her and cuts the deck.  After shuffling a few more times, she thumbs through the cards, keeping them face down.  She counts three cards and draws the fourth, then counts six cards and draws the seventh, and then does the same for the ninth.  After setting the three cards face up in the middle of the table, she sets the deck aside and places her hands in her lap. 

“What comes to mind when you look at these?” Tu’l asks.  “What do you feel, if you can name or describe it?”

The boy leans over the table, brows furrowed over the horizontal set of cards.  There is a mirror placed in the middle of the table so that they can both view the cards right side up, left to right.  The first looks unbalanced, perhaps because of the steep slant.  He wonders if it is a sign of caution, to tread lightly or conscientiously.  

“A circle for wholeness?” he guesses at the middle card.

The last, he is unsure.  The triangle is striking.  He notes the circle within, and the half circle embracing its top point. The consideration deck is strange to him, yet it is also familiar.  He has said as much, and his interest in the craft speaks for itself even if he’d said nothing about it.  Tu’l watches him puzzle over the cards for several moments, allowing him to wonder.  He is better at feeling than he thinks, although he knows to trust his intuition. 

Of the many joys of her work, Tu’l is always gladdened when someone strengthens their connection with the Deep.  Grasping elements of the craft, learning and working with one’s natural talents—witnessing this growth in a person and encouraging them along their path is an honor Tu’l cherishes.  She had sometimes wondered if she deserved such a privilege, but her deeper certainty holds that guiding others is her gift, and she would be remiss not to use it.

“Which card would you like to know first?”

The boy blinks.  He glances up at her and then back to the cards, puzzling over them. After several moments, he points to the triangle.  As he does, he realizes the half-circle is a halo.  Tu’l hums, nodding a bit.

“I’ll tell you its meaning in a moment, but first: which of the cards makes you most uncomfortable?”

The boy reaches across the table.  Starts to point at the triangle again, but then he pauses.  His index finger wanders to those two strikes with the slash through them.  The slant disturbs him, for some reason.  Perhaps ‘disturb’ is too strong a word, but he does find it unsettling.  

“The first card you pointed to is the Siren’s sigil,” Tu’l said, smiling slightly.  

“The Siren?”

He thinks of white waters and ice.  A fierce and unforgiving mythos.

“Sometimes called the Siren’s Call.” Tu’l nods.  “A card of High Magic—very strong, very mysterious.  Like a silver thread entwined in a head of black hair.”

The boy shifts, settles his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands.  He gazes intently at the card, marveling at what it might mean. Tu’l allows him to reflect for a moment longer, and then taps the card to the far left.  

“The card that makes you most uncomfortable is one of the Concepts.  A journey backward, but reversed.”

“So—would that be a journey…up…ward?”

Tu’l tilts her head for a moment.  I have already tried so hard.  The boy silently sighs.  But if I must go further, I will.  She cannot be too quick to reassure him, as tempting as it might be.  His discomfort with the card points to an opportunity for growth—even if that means becoming more confident of the good in him.  

“You intuited the middle card well,” she says.   “The circle represents the concept of a spirit, a soul, a being.  One interpretation of this reading is that you will find your sense of wholeness closer to the center, rather than on the margins.”

“Closer to the center,” the boy murmurs.  “Does that mean within me, rather than…outside of myself?”

“The journey backward, reversed, can be good news for you.”  Tu’l finally allows herself to smile.  “Perhaps some gentle guidance as well, although the Siren’s Call strengthens its meaning and its message.”

The boy sits back on his heels.  He studies the cards for a little while longer before looking up at her.  He is a rapt pupil, absorbing and exerting more from this reading than perhaps he is aware.  Tu’l has great faith that he will think on it deeply, and she meets his gaze as she murmurs.

“Fear not, for you have overcome a great many obstacles.  You needn’t fear your faults.  Be confident, be reassured, be comforted: you have grown much, and you will continue growing still.”

Tu’l straightens.  The boy glances up at her but then quickly away, ducking his head as the blush rises in his cheeks.  He is touched, although flustered.

“Your strength cannot be denied, Eml,” she says evenly.  “And neither can your beauty.”

Flushed a thorough shade of rose, the boy’s eyes fall to the knotted fingers in his lap.  With an effort, he untangles his hands and clasps them loosely.  Tu’l feels her cheek ache and her heart swell.  He is holding the words close, intent on treasuring them like precious gems even if he cannot totally comprehend he is worth more than all the gold in the world.  

Before he leaves, she gives Eml a hug.  He was afraid to ask for one, but gratefully squeezes her.  She kisses his cheek even as he swipes at a tear that has managed to find itself there.  He laughs at himself, but she holds his gaze.  He smiles a little wider, steadies himself with a deep breath.  

“Thank you, Auntie Tu’l.”

“Always, dear,” she says with a simple nod.  “Should you want or need a reading, feel free to ask.”

“Thank you.”  His grin widens, eyes alight.  “I would like to learn, whatever you are willing to teach me.”

As she watches him go, her heart beats strong in her breast.  She is not often overcome with passionate feelings, but she knows without a doubt that she will assist Eml along his journey.  He has already traveled far on his path, and endured far too much for a scurry of restless shadows to jeopardize his joy.  

She will divine for him as needed, instruct and guide him in matters to protect what he holds dear, and hope that he will care for himself with the same gentleness with which he does for others.  

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Eml and Koteh

Round faced, bright eyed, red-cheeked.  These are more impressions of Eml rather than absolute facts.  Tu’l has to remind herself that he is not a boy at all.  He has seen and survived horrors, but she does not ask him of these.  He carries himself well, with something like easiness to the untrained eye.  But he is careful, composed, in a way that betrays the strength he has acquired along a journey that has not been easy.  

“How have you enjoyed your visit thus far?” Tu’l asks.

Eml grins, quick and easy.  It’s not so much a visit as an extended stay—a whole month, and maybe longer, if his kingdom allows it.  

“It’s been lovely!  Everyone is so kind.”

She tilts her head and eyes him a moment.

“I hope you’ve felt well, while you’ve been here,” she said. 

Eml glances at her, then considers this.  He doesn’t reply right away, and she doesn’t expect him to explain himself.  But she imagines some of what he feels but is too polite to say.  That the atmosphere in the smithery is refreshing, absent of petty quarrels and political tension.  Here, the strain inherent to his home relationships is nearly nonexistent. 

“Oh.”  Eml ponders a moment more.  “I don’t want to intrude.  Everyone has been very welcoming, and I am—grateful.”

Surprised, delighted, confused—these words would work just as well.  Tu’l washes the plates leftover from breakfast, handing them to Eml to rinse and set in the drying rack.  The boy—she can’t help but think of him as that, because she loves him so—insists on helping with chores.  It is entirely unnecessary, but it puts him at ease.  Tu’l isn’t as territorial about her kitchen as some of the women in her family, both immediate and extended.  

“Gylraden loves her guests,” she says with a hint of a smile.  “You’re no exception in that regard.  But it’s not every day someone commands absolutely all of Koteh’s attention.  Our family is most happy to have you.”

Eml’s face reddens.  Tu’l had no doubt that Koteh found that boyish glee absolutely irresistible.  Eml’s mannerisms often resemble her nephew’s; it was easy to see why they got along so well. 

On Eml’s part, there seemed to be no other word to describe his feelings except for awe.  That everyone loved Koteh was no surprise, but that his family had embraced him, accepted him, with both simplicity and extravagance, was no small wonder.  

It was hard for Eml to believe he could be loved so easily—so freely.  And yet Koteh and his family proved it.  Despite being half-convinced that it was too much trouble, to include him as they did, Eml found no insincerity when they promised him a place here.

“Have you and Koteh any plans for the day?”

“The gardens again, I think,” Eml says, face still slightly red.  “It’s so peaceful there.  And the river—or the stream…”

Eml’s voice trails off.  Tu’l waits for him to gather his thoughts, and scrubs the baking pans in the meant-time.  She wonders, and not for the first time, when he might ask for a full chart reading.  She strongly suspects there are remnants, strains of mysteries woven deep in his history. Spirits hovered around his person, reaching for his shoulder.  Spectral hands held him, not so much hostage but more so with strong if silent care.  Those ghosts wanted to help, but Eml could only see a blurred reflection of himself.  

“Emuelle!” Koteh practically sings the other boy’s name, sounding it out in a rich Myrdaven accent “Darling!”

Koteh punctuates his greeting with kisses, first to one cheek and then to the other—and then sneaks another to Eml’s lips, quick and compulsive.  Tu’l notes the way Koteh presses Eml’s hands, the way Koteh leans toward him as he continues in a string of dialogue.  Beaming. Koteh is a good Blacksmith boy, composed like any other, but he’s never been able to entirely contain himself.  Tu’l knows it is one of the reasons why Eml is so drawn to Koteh.  She also knows that Koteh is largely unaware of the way he can put others at ease, but he does know that he is at greater peace when he is with Eml.  You have no need to fear the stillness, Gion had once told him.  

Her mate’s advice had been the wise words their nephew needed to hear, but Tu’l did not feel stillness.  She had known, long ago, that her familial role would not be as a mother.  She would not be a caretaker like those who opened their hearts and homes, adopting and embracing any child in need.  That was not to say that she refused others or lacked generosity, but she knew her work lie elsewhere.  But with Eml, she knew this was the role meant for her.  

She could not offer her services to everyone the way a dear friend could, but with Koteh and Kina nearing their twenties and Eml part of the family, she knew she had not waited in vain.  Her practice, although private, had prepared her for this.  She only hoped she would do Eml justice, for he was far too precious a soul to neglect.  May the All reprimand me fittingly, if I do not protect him.  If I do not protect them both, may the All deal rightly with my soul.    

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Eml Writes His Name--Part 4!

@diversetolkien in this week’s scene, Eml gets to see his name in Crevasse for the first time and is starting to recognize some of the Signs.  This is no surprise to Aunt Tu’l of course--she knows he’s smart, and he’s a natural at this too.  We learn a little more about each of their emotions with this work they’re doing.  

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Eml Writes His Name (Part 1)

@diversetolkien here’s a scene for #fantasyfriday! not sure how many parts this will have, but i hope it’s an interesting little arc. 

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Excursions Abroad (Prologue)

“Princess!  I was hoping to see you soon.  How are you?  Ila said I might find you here.  Aunt Tu’l said she invited you to breakfast.  Are you coming?  You don’t have to, but it’d be lovely to see you.  Do you need any help?”

The princess shifted to one side, letting the top three boxes from the bakery slide into Koteh’s arms. He caught them with ease and the continued down the lane.  The orphanage was not far ahead.  

“Eml and I were just thinking of you the other day—when we all met in Columbia.  I mentioned you might be going back there soon.  Would you like any company?  Or have you made arrangements with others?  I wonder if our other friends would be able to meet us there.  Probably not, but it would be a happy reunion, don’t you think?”

Koteh’s voice didn’t echo off the walls of the tunnel; instead, it seemed to lower in volume.  A trick of the earth.  The damp smell was sweet, calling to mind memories of home. Koteh had never told anyone this, but the smell reminded him of the place where he’d been born.  No one knew he remembered it—and he didn’t, not really. But there were bits, fragments, little pieces sharp enough to snag on the semblance of memory.  

The red door appeared as suddenly as it always did, and Koteh grinned.  They pushed their way through this first entry, stepped through the mudroom, and then into the titanic kitchen.  Children thumped in the floors below, shouting and giggling with eagerness for the day.  Some of the older children were setting the table.  Koteh’s Gran’m approached with a towel over her shoulder and a frown on her face.

“Did Gion send you for all this?” she scolded.  “I told him to let you know you could still visit, not that you had to bring every pastry in the village!  It’s a good thing he sent Koteh with you.”

“I only happened to fall into step with her on my way here,” Koteh said. “Aunt Tu’l asked the princess to breakfast, and I was curious if she might come.”

“You mean to tell me Gion sent you for all this and expected you to carry it all yourself?”

But Gran’m knew better, as did Koteh.  The princess had spent her own money for the treats, and would have carried them the whole way if Koteh hadn’t happened along.  Koteh would have to see if there was a way to offer the princess a gift in return.  The princess sidestepped the question by going to the cabinets, helping with the last few plates and forks to finish setting the table.

“I can’t stay to eat,” she said.  

“Kole Theodore those treats are not for you!” Gran’m barked.

A jumble of words, something along the lines of I’m just making sure they’re fresh.  Koteh polished off the little pinch of pastry and caught the princess’s eye. A white-powdered smile played on his red lips. Gran’m put a napkin in his hand, pushing him toward the door.

“Does that mean you’re coming to breakfast?” Koteh asked around his Gran’m’s shoulder.  

The princess took a look around the counters and the rapidly filling kitchen.  

“Best you be going if you’re to go,” Gran’m said.  “I would hate for that boy to eat everything before it could be enjoyed by those for whom they were meant.  There will be plenty for you to do the next time you visit.”

The princess glanced at Gran’m and sighed.  A moment later she and Koteh were out the door, but not before Gran’m blessed them both with a peach.  The princess tucked hers into a pocket of her dress, but Koteh’s was two-thirds gone before they were halfway to Aunt Tu’l’s place.  When they arrived, Gion greeted them at the door.  His smile wasn’t as wide as Koteh’s, but it was easy to see the gentle mischief that united them.

“Princess,” Gion said, half bowing at the waist and extending an arm to usher them in.  “An honor to have you at our table.”

“Enough of that, Gi,” Aunt Tu’l said.  “I’m sure she’s had plenty questioning from your nephew.”

“Gran’m says hello!” Koteh said, washing his hands at the sink.

He glanced around for Eml and saw him by the stove.  He leaned over to kiss him, but Ila stepped between them on her way to the kettle and he caught her cheek instead.  Ila gave ab ark of surprise, while Gion and Eml and Koteh couldn’t help but laugh.

“Really, Koteh?”

“She does say hello,” the princess said a moment later, offering Aunt Tu’l the peach from her pocket. “I wasn’t able to stay long.”

“You work too much, Aye,” Ila scolded, giving Eml and Koteh a wide berth as she came to the table with the tea kettle.  “Can’t Uncle Gion come up with some sort of invention that keeps you tied to a chair?”

“Aye would point out ten ways to make it better before I finished tracing it out on paper!” Gion said with a laugh.  

“Perhaps you two could try it out on Koteh,” Auntie said, “and see if he’ll wait until after the blessing to reach for the sweets.”

Eml kissed away a freckle of cinnamon and sugar topping from Koteh’s cheek, although plenty of his natural freckles remained.  Koteh squeezed Eml’s hands—which were perhaps the only thing which would keep him distracted from eating anything in sight.  How Koteh managed to stay so lean seemed impossible considering his appetite for sugar, but then again staying so excited must require quite the metabolism.

Aye slipped into a seat by Gion while Ila sat on Eml’s other side.  Auntie stood behind her chair with her hands laced in front of her, offering a simple prayer of thanks before she sat as well.  Uncle Gion started to serve her first, but she nodded to Aye instead.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Eml said, offering a small smile.

Aye regarded him for a moment, symbols floating before her eyes.  Reversed searching, shared between souls.  The Sign of the Willow.  She blinked them away and nodded, shifting her eyes to her plate.  She was still not used to divining a soul so easily.  It was one thing to do in the factory, where her Sight aided in her work.  It was another to have runes floating before one’s eyes whenever one happened to look at another person.  

“You look to be well.”

Eml tilted his head a moment, considering her words.  Ila and Koteh were arguing over tea and geography while Gion played referee. Auntie caught Eml’s eye and gave him an encouraging nod.  Aye knew he was trying to make sense of her words, but she didn’t offer any further explanation.  She simply ate quietly, savoring the sweetness of fruit and tea, the savory croissant with spinach and feta.  

Gion slipped another croissant on her plate before Koteh could grab a third—or perhaps it was his fifth. She cut it in half and gave a portion back, wondering at Koteh’s mention of Columbia and the night they had first met Eml.  The Sign of the Willow was fitting; they had all grown in the years since.  

“Kolraven’s Rusted Tea is sharp and sour,” Gion was saying.  “Better than coffee, for late night studies.”

“Koteh?  Studying?” Ila teased.  “I’ve never seen such a thing—only a sheer panic the day before a test.”

“Nonsense!” Koteh said. “Usually I’ve no idea there’s a test until it’s announced.”

Eml couldn’t help but laugh as he wondered,  

“What does Rusted Tea taste like?”

“River water and bloody spit, your father would say,” Gion said, glancing at Tu’l.

Auntie gave him a pointed look, warning him not to ruin the idea f the beverage before Eml had a chance to try it.

“It can be tart,” Aunt Tu’l said.  “Some brews are stronger than others—the more rust-colored, the sharper the taste. Sometimes the flavor is softened with a hint of vanilla and honey.”

“Have you ever eaten fresh cranberries?” Koteh asked.  “It’s supposed to taste something like that, but very different from cranberry juice. I’ve never tried it—”

“And a good thing you haven’t!  I couldn’t possibly tolerate you with caffeine in your veins, as you already drive me half mad.”

Koteh laughed, giving Eml a look that almost said ‘What can I do?’

“I’m sure the Princess will share some with you,” Gion said, smiling as he leaned back in his chair.  

He tipped his mug to his lips, tasting the green tea with a contented sigh.  A leisurely weekend morning was a luxury, especially in the company of the young ones he cared for.  Aunt Tu’l squeezed his hand under the table, knowing her feelings echoed his own. He lifted her wrist to his lips and kissed it.  As if reminded, Koteh kissed Eml’s hand, although their fingers remained entwined during the meal.  

“Aren’t there rules about that?” Koteh asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In proper company, it wouldn’t be an issue,” Gion said with a nonchalant shrug.  “If Ila bans you from having any, then there’s certainly someone to keep an eye out.”

“This might be the only exception where I would trust Koteh as a chaperone.”

“As if you would ever fail to look out for Aye,” Auntie said, looking at Gion.  

“I’m certain she could easily learn entire the Kolraven factory without me—but I’m glad to offer my company.”

Aye glanced at Eml again, tilting her head.  She had wondered through Gylraden’s factory on her own when she had first arrived. She had been searching then, just as Eml had been searching when he had met Koteh.  With a blink, she realized the similarity between herself and Eml was a shared desire to learn.  He wanted to know more of Blacksmiths and their society.  She, on the other hand, was curious about the designs of the tools used in the other village’s factory.  

“Will you come with us?” she asked.  “Kolraven is closest to your kingdom.  We should visit both.”

“Really?”  Eml glanced at Koteh in surprise.  “I—I wouldn’t want to intrude on your plans.”

“Myrdaven is technically closer,” Gion said.  “But it’s faster to get to your kingdom from Kolraven because of the terrain.  No mountainous twists and turns, only the flat Sore Desert stretching from Kolravn’s caverns to the meadows nearer to you.”

“Koteh mentioned seeing the others from our first party,” Aye said.  “A visit would be proper.”

“I’m sure everyone would be delighted to see you again!” Eml said, grinning.  

Everyone who could see, that was.  One person had been left blind by that night’s events—blind and bedridden.  He was well-kept, perhaps better than he deserved, but he could not be killed.  Two visits were in order, then.  Aye glanced at Koteh before nodding to Eml.  Gion was watching her closely, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Perhaps in another six months, she could tell him what had happened on her first trip outside Gylraden.

(next)

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Eml Writes His Name (Part Three)

@diversetolkien this is going somewhere, I promise! it’s just a meandering way of getting there, i suppose :P enjoy a brief flashback from when Eml and Koteh first meet, and (as always) some gentle encouragement from Aunt Tu’l.  p.s.---we’ll get another peek into Tu’l’s perspective next week! 

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Eml and Koteh 

@diversetolkien here’s a little snippet for #fantasyfriday!  Tu’l asks Eml how he likes the village, and we get a little more about their connection.  Plus we (sort of) get introduced to Koteh, who will probably show up in future scenes!  

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Eml’s First Reading

The boy sits back on his heels.  He studies the cards for a little while longer before looking up at her.  He is a rapt pupil, absorbing and exerting more from this reading than perhaps he is aware.  Tu’l has great faith that he will think on it deeply...

@diversetolkien  here’s a short story for #fantasyfriday! For a boy who is somewhat new to Blacksmith culture, Eml’s intuition is remarkable strong.  What will the reading hold for him?