The purple light of dusk washed over the snow. Two Iyrmen sat opposite one another at a table, silent. Between them were two cups and a bottle of wine, peach wine, that which the Rot family loved most. It was a bottle which had been kept in the Rot family’s vault for generations, ever since Jarot’s birth.
Sarot poured his elder brother a cup of wine, before pouring himself a cup. He had no doubt his brother would have complained about his singular arm if he had waited any longer, for that was how he was.
Jarot stared down at the wine. It was dark, though he could see his face from the reflection of he nearby lamp light. For a moment he saw his younger self, the one who had gone out with his red shield, and had slain all manner of beasts. In his youth, when he was wild and free, he had caused the Iyr all manner of trouble.
A snowflake dropped down into the wine.
“It was snowing then too,” Jarot said, quietly. “When I left the Iyr, when I had become a man, my forehead still burning. You were a boy then, your forehead bare, your face full of tears. Your eyes asked me to stay, but you did not speak the words.”
“I knew you would not stay even if I asked,” Sarot replied. “You were too wild for the Iyr to keep until you were sixteen.”
Jarot’s lips broke into a wide smile. “They were glad to be rid of me. I trekked through the snow, and made my way through the first village. Chief Merl had become the Chief then, a girl who was forced to become a woman so young. She was afraid of me when she first saw me, but she did not speak her fear. She treated me like an Iyrman, allowing me a few days to prepare, but I left in the morning, without saying goodbye.”
“I thought you’d never return to the Iyr,” Sarot admitted. “I was prepared to take the role of Family Head. It was not that you were not suited for it, but we did not believe you would return. Not even father.”
“Everyone believed I would go and become a warlord, as many before me,” Jarot said, nodding his head slowly. Even he had thought the life of a warlord would have suited him. “I would sleep at night under the stars, and I would see the stars I saw in the Iyr. They were in different places, but they were there. When I slept, the Iyr came to me in my dreams. No, perhaps I went to the Iyr in my dreams. When I bled, I saw the Iyr too, and when I killed, I saw the Iyr.”
Sarot raised his brows. This was the first time he heard his brother talk about this. “The Iyr had already taken your heart, even then?”
“I do not know, but I did not forget the Iyr, nor the warmth it provided, even during nightval.”
“It was a surprise to see you when I had returned,” Sarot said.
Jarot smiled. “I was leaving then, for a second time. You had returned after your first few years. Your Iron tag held five holes.”
“It was six holes,” Sarot corrected.
“No,” Jarot stated, firmly. He sipped his wine, squinting his eyes as he looked to the past. “It was five. You slew a wolf and a crimson py-,”
“Python, yes,” Sarot said, slowly nodding his head, recalling the quests.
“It had come towards the forest thanks to the Beast Wave,” Jarot said.
“It must have been five holes, then.” Sarot spun the cup of wine on the table between his fingers.
“I still remember the shock on your face,” Jarot said. “It was like father’s.”
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“They always said I looked like mother.”
“Yes, but you inherited that face from father,” Jarot said, smiling. “Mother was better at keeping close her shock.”
“Not her tears, though.”
“Not her tears, no,” Jarot agreed, remembering how the woman cried when he had returned, revealing his scars so proudly.
Sarot thought back to those days, the days when he thought his brother would either leave to become a warlord, or would take the place of Elder Wrath.
“I married for mother’s sake,” Jarot admitted, though Sarot had long known the reason why someone as wild as Jarot had married. “You, who had always thought you would be the Family Head, had to step back away from the position. I saw how relieved you were.”
“I learnt to build cups,” Sarot said, motioning to the cups, “not families.”
“You thought I would fair better?”
“No, but you married sister,” Sarot retorted.
Jarot slowly nodded his head, sipping the rest of his wine. “It was unfair of me to force you to take a position you never wanted. I understand if it upset you, and perhaps it was wrong of me to place my trust in you.”
Sarot winced from the words, the blow striking him harshly. “What have I done to lose your trust in me, brother?”
“Sarot.” Jarot’s voice was low. “Are you suitable? I do not know. Are you better than me in these matters? I do not know.” Jarot shrugged his shoulders. “Even if it is not true, I must believe in it. I must believe that you were suitable for the position before you passed it to Mulrot. I must believe, brother.”
Sarot frowned, taking a sip of his wine, seeing the words which remained on his brother’s lips.
“I must believe in the way of we Iyrmen. I must believe that our way is best, even if it is not true. The rules we have, even if I have rebelled against them, I must believe that they are best.” Jarot thought back to when it was raining on that day. “Even back then, I would have forced my way forward, and I would have been beaten by the Chief. I would have been forced to swallow the truth. The Iyr has its rules, it has its customs, and I must believe in them.”
“Then you must return,” Sarot said.
“We are not Aldish, Sarot, that we move to act when it best interests us. We Iyrmen have always prepared for whatever we must, even if it was inconceivable. When Aldland fell a dozen times since our treaties, it was the Iyr which kept it together. How many times could we have become masters of this land? Yet our borders are a javelin throw beyond Five Bends, as it has been promised, by the King of the Aldish, and our ancestors before us.” Jarot pushed away the empty cup.
“And now?” Jarot whispered, as though his words were poison. “The Iyr is outnumbered. A hundred to one, at least. There was a time disease ravaged this land, and yet the Iyr did not suffer, for even diseases dare not tread on our land. We could have conquered the land then, but we did not. When Demons set foot on this land, destroying cities which had stood for hundreds of years, killing more than half the population of Aldishmen, we could have conquered the land then, but we did not. When the royal family’s influence had fallen low, when even three Duchesses and the Duke came to us, offering us the treasury of the Blackwater family to march alongside them, what did we Iyrmen do?”
“We called Reimwing, and joined beside the King’s forces, forcing the pretenders back.”
“At that time, if the Iyr wished for it, we could have asked for more, for the King to be our puppet. For the Blackwater family to remain within the Iyr’s debt, but we did no more than we had to, for that was promised. By blood and steel, for that is what an Iyrman’s word is, and will always be.” Jarot tapped the table with his finger to accentuate his point repeatedly. “We did so, because we believe it is right. We did so, because we believe it even if it does not benefit us, for there is glory in the ways of we Iyrmen by such virtues.”
“Greater than gold,” Jarot continued after a moment of silence. “Greater than diamonds. Greater even the Oaths of Guardians. The Iyrman’s word is in a class of its own, and it is only so, because we believe it to be, and we act as though it is. Even if it is not true, I must believe in it, Sarot.”
Sarot remained silent, his hands resting against the table between them. It was more like a wall between them, the brothers who could have, if they so wished, reached for higher heights in the Iyr.
“How could I hear the words from those called Iyrmen, those who I call Rot, that Goblins cannot help the Iyr. That we must take into consideration what is best for the Iyr and our family.” Jarot inhaled deeply, keeping his voice calm. “So what if his children do not share his blood? Why should we deny Jirot and Jarot the same rights we wished to give to them when they all do not share his blood?”
Sarot stared at the watery eyes of his elder brother, who had long passed the stage of anger, and only knew the despair and betrayal of those who he called his family. ‘It was Jarot who brought the Devilkin into the Iyr, and it is Jarot who brings Goblins into our family.’