Tritik

“Mother! Wait f'r me!” the young boy's halloo echoed in the mountains, bouncing off the rocks and snow. He stumbled in the cold, chilling his already numb and bare legs. The others fleeing gave him no succor; time was precious little before the marauders closed the gap between them and the escaping villagers. His mother gasped, half of exasperation, and half out of breath from her weary flight. She hustled back to her child, speaking in short breaths,
“Come, Tritik! Not much... time.... your father... behind.... never again... not you, also!” The medley of phrases did not make much sense, but it rid the boy of his languor as he struggled to his feet. Taking her elder son's hand, the woman supported the sleeping baby hastily strapped to her chest with strips of cloth. The young child faltered once more, jerking his mother's arm and waking the babe, who let out a long skirling of discomfort. A much desired interloper appeared, a young man, and relieved the lady of her burden. A pestilential fear had been festering among the villagers, but alongside it had been bred a unity like no other.
“I'm sorry, Mother,” the boy whimpered. “I... I looked down the mountain... an' I getted scar'd... I won't ever get scar'd 'gain.” She felt a wave of sympathy all at once. Why should her child be forced to go through this? She too glanced down the mountain, then quickly turned back at the sight of the precipitous slope, squeezing her son's hand.
“It'll be all right, Tritik,” she hurried on. “We'll get to the mountain shelter.... and they won't find us...”
“Will Papa be there?” She felt a knot twist in her stomach as she remembered attracting her young one's attention to avoid his witnessing the death of his own father. Her throat ached at the memory of watching her husband cut down like an old tree.
“No, Darling. Papa won't be coming.” The silence of her usually inquisitive son brought mixed feelings. Relief at not having to answer any more questions, and yet a deep sadness that he had figured it out for himself. She prayed that he would be protected for the rest of his life from such grief.
A woman's desperate scream came from behind. Few turned to see their pursuers; all hastened even more. There was something strange to Tritik about that scream. It rang in his ears and pounded in his head like his quickened heartbeat. It coursed through his veins like foreign blood; trying to work itself into him as he rejected it. He was in a daze; blindly tripping beside, or behind, rather, his mother. He tried to look at her for an answer about that chilling cry. All he could see was her golden hair whipping wildly in her own wind of speed, and the puffs of air that were visible only in the cold.
All of a sudden, he realized that that scream, frozen against time, was not fear. It was far more than that. They were all in fear, weren't they? They were running, scattered, fleeing into the mountains. They were drenched in fear. The fear was as real, as tangible as the cold that enveloped them all. No, that scream was death.

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The colors of dawn spread across the horizon of the earth. Tritik surfaced from the sea of sleep, though droplets still clung to him, as he slowly stirred from his slumber. Sitting upright in his bed, he ran his fingers through his longish blond hair. He stood and stretched, glancing at his reflection in the long oval mirror beside his bed. He smirked; his hands hadn't helped much.
One lock brushed past his cheek, the red one; the color of blood. With blood to remember his father. To remember his mother. His infant brother. It brought out the red accents of his tattoo; the sea serpent curled around his arm. He sighed. He definitely didn't fit in here. Tritik entered the one other room of his house, not even bothering to change out of yesterday's tunic and pants. In the hallway, Tritik fastened the brass buckle on his belt where his knife hung. He had hardly stepped outside when he was greeted.
"Hail, Tritik!" Frelor was seated on a low wooden bench along the wall of Tritik's small home. Tritik raised his hand in greeting and sat down beside the older man.
"I was wondering when you would get up," Frelor cocked his head. "Are you a night owl?" Tritik laughed at this; dawn had barely broken.
"Not all men are farmers," he said. "They don't often rise before the sun."
"Ah,well... 'Early risers soon to sleep...'"
"'...a healthy life is sure to keep'," Tritik finished. He knew it well. "You didn't come here to lecture me on my morning routine, did you, Frelor? What is it?"
"Good, not ill brings me here. I've started construction."
"Construction?"
"Yes, for your new home." Frelor's reply was genuinely kind.
"My new home? But, Frelor, as you can see," Tritik gestured with his hand. "I already have one." "Ah, yes, but this," he stood and mimicked Tritik's motion. "Is not big enough for my Zendra to raise a family in."
“Z-Zendra?”
"You ask many questions. 'A curious mind may ask it well...'"
"'...but time may see the answers tell'." He was familiar with most of Frelor's sayings.
"But, yes. You have my blessing. The new home I am constructing will be large enough for you and my daughter to live in with many children."
"Oh!” Children. He hadn't thought of children. Just him and the beautiful Zendra. He supposed children were part of it, after all. He hadn't been around children since he graduated academy. Now that he thought about it, they seemed to avoid him.
"Ah, yes, I will be a grandfather!” Frelor interrupted his thoughts, stroking his beard gleefully. "You know that I didn't want you to marry Zendra. I.... I didn't trust you. I thought she should marry one of her own, a Kayuan." Tritik uncomfortably fidgeted with the strings of his leather boots.
"But you are a good man," continued the old man with a pat on the shoulder. "And I know you will take good care of my daughter, because you love her. When my wife wanted Zendra to marry you, I said that I wouldn't allow my daughter to marry into a home hardly big enough for her. So, I am having a house built for you. It is on the other side of my vineyard, only closer to the town."
"Thank you... for everything Frelor."
"Oh, tis nothing. Well," he stood. "I must be off. 'The sooner begun...'"
"'...the sooner done'," Tritik stood as well. "cli hamé leara, Frelor." (a good morning.)
"lé, elod yamell hayo." (yes, and to you)
Frelor left to go back to his vineyard. Tritik sighed a sigh of relief. He had Frelor's blessing! Now he could marry Zendra without invading on the traditions of Kayua. Thinking of that made Tritik slightly sad. They weren't in Kayua.
Eleven years ago, it was a Zangon Erapelean village. His village. Then the Kayuans came and took the entire district by force. Tritik remembered that day like it was yesterday, and the memory haunted him every night. He pushed that away. Then he smiled. He had a proposal to do.