Scars - completed first draft
Emmut heard his son sneaking out. The floorboards creaked and groaned, and the door squeaked as it was opened. The noise fluttered through the blackness where Emmut laid beside his wife, who’d drifted off an hour or so before.
He wasn’t quite certain whether he was surprised or not. Okashii had never done anything like this. But he was twelve now, and bound to display at least a small amount of rebellion. Most boys did. That aside, he had been sullen…stoically silent all day. Emmut had known that something was on his son’s mind, though Okashii had insisted he was simply tired. No, the boy’s emerald eyes had been alight and alert.
So, hoping he was merely paranoid, Emmut had lain awake. And he had been rewarded. Now, solemnly, feeling condemned, he rolled out of his wife’s embrace and stood to dress. He realized that he had been expecting this resistance to begin soon, as he reflected to himself. Okashii was twelve, and he had witnessed young men of that age displaying rebellious tendencies. It was still a shock, though, because he had always been close to his son. Okashii had never had any problems coming to him before…
“What is it, Dearest?” Alysan asked, waking up at the movement and propping herself on her elbow, and shocking Emmut from his silent contemplation. Though, just how awake she actually was, he couldn’t tell.
“Okashii just left,” he replied.
“Ah. He’s still your son. Don’t be rash.”
“I know. Thank you for reminding me.” They both knew that sometimes children needed to learn their own lessons. They both had - his father had been a drunk, hers a merchant too busy to care for her - come to realize that it simply did no good to leap in and try to control the situation.
“Take your sword and satchel. Just in case.” Alysan yawned and laid back down. Emmut smiled at her - Okashii was still her baby…still in need of protecting and healing, despite their long talks about and understanding of the need that they begin letting go of such views. At least she no longer tried to force herself into the situation anymore - Okashii had always been closer to his father. They were friends, as well as family. She had come to terms with that. She hadn’t liked it; Emmut remembered several instances in which he’d found her crying in their bedroom because she was afraid that her son didn’t love her.
But he was still her baby.
“I will,” he told her, then kissed her cheek and dressed, watching her close her eyes as he did so and wishing he could see the beautiful, vibrant green in them through the darkness. But she hadn’t been as awake as he’d thought. Maybe she wouldn’t remember in the morning. She was asleep again as he closed the door to their room and moved silently through the dark house. He checked Okashii’s room first, but found nothing. His son was gone. Emmut turned and weaved back through the shadows to the foyer, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his sword. He bent down and pulled the satchel with bandages and ointments from a lower cabinet. He attached this to his belt and slid his lead scabbard into place on his left hip.
He turned for the door, but paused a moment, and looked back to see whether Okashii had taken his wooden sword.
No, it was there. But the slot beside it was empty. The slot where his steel sword should have been...
Emmut paused longer. He’d taught his son better than to duel with a steel blade. Had he just taken it as a precaution? Wild beasts lurked in the forest. And occasionally brigands.
Or, perhaps, he’d been unable to sleep, and had stepped out to do a few exercises…
Emmut knew he was stretching. His son was in trouble, and that was all he knew. He would have to find Okashii first, and he prayed silently that he was simply being paranoid.
Emmut detoured as he stepped out into the grass of their yard and climbed to the roof of their little house, seeking a vantage point. Since they lived on the plains, any roof became a watchtower - one could see for miles in almost any direction. The exceptions were west, where the tree line began (sparsely, at first, but it thickened quickly in a manner that seemed unnatural), and northwest, where a little hill overlooked the village of Sansheo. In the bright light of the waxing moon, the far side of that hill was the only place that Emmut couldn’t see. And his white-haired son would stand out on the gloomy plains easily. It made a little sense that Okashii would go there. It was one of their favorite spots for training.
He just couldn’t sleep, Emmut told himself, taking a breath. He looked up to the stars for one moment, seeking out the green glow in the eye of Medin’s Priestess. Seeking guidance.
He found none. But it was his duty as a father, and he reminded himself of his vow to be a father just twelve years ago. He liked to think he’d done a good job. But he was certain he’d made plenty of mistakes.
Emmut gritted his teeth and hopped off of the roof, the cool night air ripping at his clothes momentarily, and the crickets silenced themselves nearby for a few seconds after he’d landed. The only thing that mattered at the moment was getting this right. That’s how he’d taken every challenge of being a father - one-by-one, just trying not to mess up. He had a good relationship with his son. So he thought.
He liked to think that proved he’d done well…
Emmut marched through the village streets and out onto the plains, heading toward the hill that loomed before him. He could clearly see a long snaky shadow in the tall grass where it had been bent. No…three…four? Okashii wasn’t the only one out tonight.
Emmut’s blue eyes lit with concern and he began to jog ahead. Something in the sporadic appearance of fireflies, and their fade from existence shortly after, and the singing of the grasshoppers incited urgency in Emmut’s mind. A breeze pushed at him from behind as he climbed to the top of the hill, worrying himself. How was he going to handle this? Doubt crept in gradually, eating at the edges of his mind. He was angry, yes, but he couldn’t decide who he was angry at. Okashii for this stunt, or himself for failing at being a father. He should have made the boy talk to him. He should have done something.
He crested the hill and looked around. In the distance, he could see a small crowd of figures. Two or three just stood in place, watching two others dance about.
The clash of steel sounded, and Emmut felt his world shatter. How badly he’d failed.
He hesitated only a moment, then ran down the hill, trying to cover the distance as fast as he could. Somebody would get hurt. It always happened when boys thought they were men. And, as the Captain of the village militia, Emmut had to intervene.
He could see the two dancing back and forth, slashing, thrusting, parrying. The moon highlighted it all - especially Okashii’s silver-white hair, a match to his father’s - a genetic trophy Emmut had won in the war. The Kessen line would be forever marked by that hair. And Emmut’s eyes fixated on it like a beacon.
He drew closer, but it was painfully slow. All he managed to do, in the end, was to get close enough to see the blade connect, and watch the finger fly free of its owner’s hand. Then he was there, parrying their swords apart with his own.
It was unneeded - one of the combatants was already crying out, screaming in pain and shock as he dropped his sword to hold his now-bloody hand, black-red in the moonlight.
The onlookers scattered quickly as Emmut bent, laying his sword on the grass and pulling out his satchel. He pulled the screaming boy closer forcefully and placed a strip of bandage over the lost finger to stem the bleeding a bit. Only then did he pause to make sure of who it was. Black hair, round face, and a voice that was well past its first changes. It was Lowell. The one who was considered a bully by most of the village’s parents.
At least Okashii’s opponent didn’t surprise him. They were always at odds.
“Okashii!” Emmut barked. He could hear his son wince at his tone. Having his father’s trust and respect had always been a point of pride and joy for Okashii. “Search the ground. Try to find the finger.”
Emmut worked for a minute longer, applying an herbal salve to the wound that would stem the blood flow further, but otherwise preserve it. Then he directed the boy to hold a fresh bandage to it, applying pressure, and helped his son to search on hands and knees.
Okashii was as silent as the grave, and remained that way.
They found the finger after a long while of desperate searching, running their fingers through the grass, feeling for something that was a bit warmer than the night air or the cool grass, not as hard as the stones and pebbles they found. As he pulled it up, Emmut caught his son’s attention again.
“Run ahead and wake the healer. Then wait for me at home.” Okashii nodded, and was off. Emmut took a moment to sheath his sword and apply the same salve to the severed finger, telling the boy he was lucky it was only his pinky, then made a few bad attempts at jokes, which he didn’t even really think about, as he tried to ease the boy’s pain and help him toward the healer’s home.
Lowell staggered and put on a hard face through his tears, too much in shock to be able to walk straight, but too proud to admit to his pain now that he had begun to recover. The tall, untamed grass didn’t help. It snagged at their toes occasionally, where dead and broken stalks formed a thin layer near the ground.
The moon had risen slightly higher in the sky since Emmut had left his home, and he glanced up at it as they walked, one hand pasted to Lowell’s tense shoulders. He had really begun to feel the pain now. And the moment came back to him, rushing up just a moment too late, helpless to do anything but watch as Lowell’s finger flew, hovered in the air, frozen in its flight for one terrible moment.
He had never faced this sort of challenge as a father. And he had worked hard in attempting to avoid them. The worst scolding he had ever had to give his son was when the boy had taken his wooden sword out of the house when he’d first gotten it and pretended his friends were ‘Demonic Scoundrels’ or some such thing. He’d bruised Eren’s leg by accident, in the midst of all of the giggling. Alysan had heard the cries break out.
“This is not a toy,” Emmut had explained to his son firmly.
But this was different.
“It doesn’t matter if it isn’t sharp, Okashii. Somebody could get hurt.”
Steel. An instrument of war. A cheap one, perhaps, but…
“It doesn’t matter, son. Explain that to Eren. I told you before - you’re only allowed to practice with it when I’m here with you.”
Discipline. Humility. Commitment. Those were the things that Emmut had been teaching, along with self-defense. But now what was he to do? He didn’t know where to even consider beginning…
Lowell wavered, swayed a bit far to one side as they walked, bringing Emmut back to reality as he was forced to steady the boy. They were back in the village now, with the healer’s house just around the corner.
“We’re almost there, son. Just a little further,” Emmut said softly, trying to comfort the young man.
They approached and Emmut knocked. The old healer looked out at them tiredly, his white eyes set deep in his withered old face.
“Good evening, Buren,” Emmut sighed, “I believe my son has been by to tell you we were coming?” Buren nodded and yawned. The old man was beginning to feel his years, and the whole village knew it. When he’d moved out to the plains, thirteen or so years prior, Emmut had found Buren to be an amusing old man. He’d had most of the same wrinkles, and yet he had always displayed such a sprightly demeanor. Nobody danced with more young girls at the Equinox Festivals than Buren.
“Come in,” the old man said wearily. He led them to his healing room and sat Lowell, his face lined with pain, in the center.
“I also brought the finger,” Emmut told him, offering the digit, wondering now how he had not been repulsed at all “and I rubbed some of that Sporin Crème onto the wound and the finger. In case you can reattach it.”
“Good thinking, Mister Kessen,” Buren replied, studying Lowell’s hand and the finger. “I’ll see what I can do about it. It may not be fully functional, but I’ll see…”
“Thank you, sir,” Emmut nodded, “and, please, I’ll be paying for this. I need to go and get his father. I’ll send him here.”
“Go on, Mister Kessen,” Buren nodded, “and thank you. Goodnight.”
Emmut left then, his mind still preoccupied as he walked out. Lowell had remained silent the entire time. Emmut didn’t blame him. He was in that transitory stage, and this would be an odd trial for him since he had likely just begun to think himself invincible.
But every child must learn that every action has a consequence. Even refusing to act comes with consequences. He was so certain he’d taught that to his son. He would have to reinforce it. There, that was one thing…but, what were the consequences.
Aside from Lowell’s finger. But that was still undecided. And, if he knew Okashii at all, he would be beating himself up over it.
But, then, tonight had just made him wonder: did he know Okashii at all?
What got him the most was that, despite all of the lessons and repeating himself, Okashii had still disobeyed. One of the biggest rules, too!
For just a moment, Emmut allowed himself to fume and swear silently as he walked, getting the frustration out of his system. Bottling it up would just make him furious. Losing control over his anger would just ruin things. Patience had always served him best.
He had learned that the hard way. More than once, before it stuck.
He walked into and out of the shadows cast by the bright moonlight. The dirt where the moon struck it seemed to glow light brown, tinged with silver. Everything was tinged with blue and silver on nights like this. The houses, the grass, the clothes Emmut wore. And he wished that he could use that as a scapegoat. It wasn’t his son out there. Rather, it was one of the blond boys in the village, whose hair had shone white in the moonlight. But he knew better.
Then, he was knocking on another door, wondering what he was going to say to Lowell’s father.
Larson answered the door, sticking his face and shoulders into the moonlight, leaning on the doorframe. He was a big man. The tallest in the local militia. Burley was the most common description. His breath smelled vaguely of alcohol.
“Evenin’ Captain,” Lars yawned, “somethin’ th’ matter?”
“I’m not here as your Captain, Larson. I caught Okashii and Lowell dueling. Lowell’s over at Buren’s now. He lost his pinky on his sword hand.”
That woke Larson up. Sobered him, too, if the alcohol was still having any effect. Larson was speechless for a moment, then he turned back to grab a shirt from his room. Emmut saw large amounts of chest hair disappearing as he pulled the shirt down just after walking into the moonlight.
“They’re expecting you,” Emmut told him. “And if Buren asks for payment, remind him that I’m covering any expenses. I need to go and speak with my son now, if you do not mind.”
“Go ahead, Captain,” Larson called back as he hurried on ahead of Emmut, “and thank you.” Emmut watched the man turn a corner and vanish. Then he turned back toward the center of the village where his home stood, larger than most, and began trying to fight down the nausea as he made one final attempt to sort out what he was going to say.
What could he say? What hadn’t he already said with all of the patience and love in the world? At first, nothing would come. Finally, as he walked through the arch gate and into his yard, he realized what it was that he was feeling, and what he had never told his son before.
He found Okashii on the roof, his hair blowing in the azalea-scented breeze and glowing brightly in the same bright moonlight, which had almost reached its nightly apex now. Emmut knew that his own hair glowed just as brightly, though it had once been black, like obsidian. He sat next to Okashii, and they were both silent for a long while, made longer by the anticipation of the pain to come. Finally, Emmut sighed.
“I am…very disappointed in you, son,” Emmut began. He paused, feeling the weight of his words impact Okashii. His son reeled.
“I’m sorry…I…” Okashii tried softly, his voice barely a whisper.
“Sorry won’t cut it, Okashii,” Emmut said firmly. “I told you never to do what you did tonight. You didn’t listen. Why?”
He turned to look at Okashii, waiting. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, Okashii turned to look up at him. It was then that Emmut noticed the cut on his son’s left cheek, since he had been on Okashii’s right. He grabbed his son’s chin and pushed his hair out of the way.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded. Emmut pulled out his satchel again and held a bandage to the cut to make certain it had stopped bleeding.
“I…I don’t know…” Okashii frowned. “I didn’t even really notice it until I had run on to Mister Buren’s place…”
“So, you’ve earned your first battle scar…” Emmut sighed.
Consequences, he reminded himself. Okashii couldn’t help a little grin. Emmut didn’t like that.
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter why you were dueling. The thing is, you did it. And now Lowell has lost a finger. Buren is going to try to get it reattached, but there is no guarantee of that. Are you glad of that?”
“Well, no,” Okashii began.
“No, and neither am I,” Emmut continued. “Son, you know you can talk to me. Usually, you do. I knew you weren’t really tired today, but I thought you would come to me when you were ready. So I let you be. And that, I suppose, was a mistake on my part. But I thought I could trust you. And now I am aware that, maybe, I can’t really trust you after all.”
“I’m sorry…” Okashii was solemn again.
“You’re going to have to accept the consequences of your actions, son,” Emmut frowned, thinking. “I wish I could say that scar on your cheek would be enough. But you’re probably going to be proud of it. Do you remember what I’ve told you about pride?”
Okashii nodded.
“But, then…how can I trust you to remember all of those lessons? Especially since you so easily forgot what I had told you about dueling. You need a reminder…”
Emmut paused, considering his alternatives. But it seemed to him that the most fitting thing was also one of the least favorable. But Okashii needed to learn his lesson. It was something that could save his life one day. Pride was often a warrior’s downfall. It was, in Emmut’s mind, one of the worst traits to have in excess.
“One scar for pride, prowess in battle - having been wounded, yet lived to tell the tale,” Emmut said as he stood and drew his sword. His arm was numb as he extended the blade easily, as though it were just another finger sprouting from his hand. “Another beside it for humility and shame, to remind you of this night for the rest of your life.
“Stand and face me, son, and receive the consequences of your actions. I will take that as your vow to never disappoint me again.”
A tear fell from each of Emmut’s cobalt eyes as his son stood, solemnly and sincerely, to face him.
One of sorrow, anguish, and fear. Filled with the shame of what he was about to do.
One of awe, love, and joy. Filled with fatherly pride in his son, despite his mistakes.
“I love you, Okashii,” Emmut told him.
The blade wavered, then cut.
Okashii watched his son’s eyes as he finished telling the story, then glanced at his daughter, measuring their silence. Rakusho and Raimey were ten now, and he had been putting off the story every time they had asked about his scars. He wanted to make sure that they were old enough to understand the lesson involved. He decided that, this time, they were finally old enough.
“Did it hurt?” Rakusho asked after a moment.
“Of course,” he replied. “But it hurt more that my father was so disappointed in me. I would have done just about anything to prove myself to him again. I loved my dad. A lot.”
“Daddy, I love you a lot,” Raimey grinned, “but I wouldn’t let you cut me!” Okashii chuckled. She was already starting to show bits of her mother’s sauciness.
“I know, sweetheart,” Okashii smiled. “But, no matter the method…it worked. He did what he thought was best for me. And his father was hardly a father at all, so he never had anything to look at for guidance like I do.
“But now you know, right?”
His kids nodded, and he tucked them into their beds.
“Goodnight, you two,” he smiled as he blew out the candles and headed for the door. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” they chimed back. He closed the door and headed for his own bed, smiling to himself.
He wasn’t quite certain whether he was surprised or not. Okashii had never done anything like this. But he was twelve now, and bound to display at least a small amount of rebellion. Most boys did. That aside, he had been sullen…stoically silent all day. Emmut had known that something was on his son’s mind, though Okashii had insisted he was simply tired. No, the boy’s emerald eyes had been alight and alert.
So, hoping he was merely paranoid, Emmut had lain awake. And he had been rewarded. Now, solemnly, feeling condemned, he rolled out of his wife’s embrace and stood to dress. He realized that he had been expecting this resistance to begin soon, as he reflected to himself. Okashii was twelve, and he had witnessed young men of that age displaying rebellious tendencies. It was still a shock, though, because he had always been close to his son. Okashii had never had any problems coming to him before…
“What is it, Dearest?” Alysan asked, waking up at the movement and propping herself on her elbow, and shocking Emmut from his silent contemplation. Though, just how awake she actually was, he couldn’t tell.
“Okashii just left,” he replied.
“Ah. He’s still your son. Don’t be rash.”
“I know. Thank you for reminding me.” They both knew that sometimes children needed to learn their own lessons. They both had - his father had been a drunk, hers a merchant too busy to care for her - come to realize that it simply did no good to leap in and try to control the situation.
“Take your sword and satchel. Just in case.” Alysan yawned and laid back down. Emmut smiled at her - Okashii was still her baby…still in need of protecting and healing, despite their long talks about and understanding of the need that they begin letting go of such views. At least she no longer tried to force herself into the situation anymore - Okashii had always been closer to his father. They were friends, as well as family. She had come to terms with that. She hadn’t liked it; Emmut remembered several instances in which he’d found her crying in their bedroom because she was afraid that her son didn’t love her.
But he was still her baby.
“I will,” he told her, then kissed her cheek and dressed, watching her close her eyes as he did so and wishing he could see the beautiful, vibrant green in them through the darkness. But she hadn’t been as awake as he’d thought. Maybe she wouldn’t remember in the morning. She was asleep again as he closed the door to their room and moved silently through the dark house. He checked Okashii’s room first, but found nothing. His son was gone. Emmut turned and weaved back through the shadows to the foyer, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his sword. He bent down and pulled the satchel with bandages and ointments from a lower cabinet. He attached this to his belt and slid his lead scabbard into place on his left hip.
He turned for the door, but paused a moment, and looked back to see whether Okashii had taken his wooden sword.
No, it was there. But the slot beside it was empty. The slot where his steel sword should have been...
Emmut paused longer. He’d taught his son better than to duel with a steel blade. Had he just taken it as a precaution? Wild beasts lurked in the forest. And occasionally brigands.
Or, perhaps, he’d been unable to sleep, and had stepped out to do a few exercises…
Emmut knew he was stretching. His son was in trouble, and that was all he knew. He would have to find Okashii first, and he prayed silently that he was simply being paranoid.
Emmut detoured as he stepped out into the grass of their yard and climbed to the roof of their little house, seeking a vantage point. Since they lived on the plains, any roof became a watchtower - one could see for miles in almost any direction. The exceptions were west, where the tree line began (sparsely, at first, but it thickened quickly in a manner that seemed unnatural), and northwest, where a little hill overlooked the village of Sansheo. In the bright light of the waxing moon, the far side of that hill was the only place that Emmut couldn’t see. And his white-haired son would stand out on the gloomy plains easily. It made a little sense that Okashii would go there. It was one of their favorite spots for training.
He just couldn’t sleep, Emmut told himself, taking a breath. He looked up to the stars for one moment, seeking out the green glow in the eye of Medin’s Priestess. Seeking guidance.
He found none. But it was his duty as a father, and he reminded himself of his vow to be a father just twelve years ago. He liked to think he’d done a good job. But he was certain he’d made plenty of mistakes.
Emmut gritted his teeth and hopped off of the roof, the cool night air ripping at his clothes momentarily, and the crickets silenced themselves nearby for a few seconds after he’d landed. The only thing that mattered at the moment was getting this right. That’s how he’d taken every challenge of being a father - one-by-one, just trying not to mess up. He had a good relationship with his son. So he thought.
He liked to think that proved he’d done well…
Emmut marched through the village streets and out onto the plains, heading toward the hill that loomed before him. He could clearly see a long snaky shadow in the tall grass where it had been bent. No…three…four? Okashii wasn’t the only one out tonight.
Emmut’s blue eyes lit with concern and he began to jog ahead. Something in the sporadic appearance of fireflies, and their fade from existence shortly after, and the singing of the grasshoppers incited urgency in Emmut’s mind. A breeze pushed at him from behind as he climbed to the top of the hill, worrying himself. How was he going to handle this? Doubt crept in gradually, eating at the edges of his mind. He was angry, yes, but he couldn’t decide who he was angry at. Okashii for this stunt, or himself for failing at being a father. He should have made the boy talk to him. He should have done something.
He crested the hill and looked around. In the distance, he could see a small crowd of figures. Two or three just stood in place, watching two others dance about.
The clash of steel sounded, and Emmut felt his world shatter. How badly he’d failed.
He hesitated only a moment, then ran down the hill, trying to cover the distance as fast as he could. Somebody would get hurt. It always happened when boys thought they were men. And, as the Captain of the village militia, Emmut had to intervene.
He could see the two dancing back and forth, slashing, thrusting, parrying. The moon highlighted it all - especially Okashii’s silver-white hair, a match to his father’s - a genetic trophy Emmut had won in the war. The Kessen line would be forever marked by that hair. And Emmut’s eyes fixated on it like a beacon.
He drew closer, but it was painfully slow. All he managed to do, in the end, was to get close enough to see the blade connect, and watch the finger fly free of its owner’s hand. Then he was there, parrying their swords apart with his own.
It was unneeded - one of the combatants was already crying out, screaming in pain and shock as he dropped his sword to hold his now-bloody hand, black-red in the moonlight.
The onlookers scattered quickly as Emmut bent, laying his sword on the grass and pulling out his satchel. He pulled the screaming boy closer forcefully and placed a strip of bandage over the lost finger to stem the bleeding a bit. Only then did he pause to make sure of who it was. Black hair, round face, and a voice that was well past its first changes. It was Lowell. The one who was considered a bully by most of the village’s parents.
At least Okashii’s opponent didn’t surprise him. They were always at odds.
“Okashii!” Emmut barked. He could hear his son wince at his tone. Having his father’s trust and respect had always been a point of pride and joy for Okashii. “Search the ground. Try to find the finger.”
Emmut worked for a minute longer, applying an herbal salve to the wound that would stem the blood flow further, but otherwise preserve it. Then he directed the boy to hold a fresh bandage to it, applying pressure, and helped his son to search on hands and knees.
Okashii was as silent as the grave, and remained that way.
They found the finger after a long while of desperate searching, running their fingers through the grass, feeling for something that was a bit warmer than the night air or the cool grass, not as hard as the stones and pebbles they found. As he pulled it up, Emmut caught his son’s attention again.
“Run ahead and wake the healer. Then wait for me at home.” Okashii nodded, and was off. Emmut took a moment to sheath his sword and apply the same salve to the severed finger, telling the boy he was lucky it was only his pinky, then made a few bad attempts at jokes, which he didn’t even really think about, as he tried to ease the boy’s pain and help him toward the healer’s home.
Lowell staggered and put on a hard face through his tears, too much in shock to be able to walk straight, but too proud to admit to his pain now that he had begun to recover. The tall, untamed grass didn’t help. It snagged at their toes occasionally, where dead and broken stalks formed a thin layer near the ground.
The moon had risen slightly higher in the sky since Emmut had left his home, and he glanced up at it as they walked, one hand pasted to Lowell’s tense shoulders. He had really begun to feel the pain now. And the moment came back to him, rushing up just a moment too late, helpless to do anything but watch as Lowell’s finger flew, hovered in the air, frozen in its flight for one terrible moment.
He had never faced this sort of challenge as a father. And he had worked hard in attempting to avoid them. The worst scolding he had ever had to give his son was when the boy had taken his wooden sword out of the house when he’d first gotten it and pretended his friends were ‘Demonic Scoundrels’ or some such thing. He’d bruised Eren’s leg by accident, in the midst of all of the giggling. Alysan had heard the cries break out.
“This is not a toy,” Emmut had explained to his son firmly.
But this was different.
“It doesn’t matter if it isn’t sharp, Okashii. Somebody could get hurt.”
Steel. An instrument of war. A cheap one, perhaps, but…
“It doesn’t matter, son. Explain that to Eren. I told you before - you’re only allowed to practice with it when I’m here with you.”
Discipline. Humility. Commitment. Those were the things that Emmut had been teaching, along with self-defense. But now what was he to do? He didn’t know where to even consider beginning…
Lowell wavered, swayed a bit far to one side as they walked, bringing Emmut back to reality as he was forced to steady the boy. They were back in the village now, with the healer’s house just around the corner.
“We’re almost there, son. Just a little further,” Emmut said softly, trying to comfort the young man.
They approached and Emmut knocked. The old healer looked out at them tiredly, his white eyes set deep in his withered old face.
“Good evening, Buren,” Emmut sighed, “I believe my son has been by to tell you we were coming?” Buren nodded and yawned. The old man was beginning to feel his years, and the whole village knew it. When he’d moved out to the plains, thirteen or so years prior, Emmut had found Buren to be an amusing old man. He’d had most of the same wrinkles, and yet he had always displayed such a sprightly demeanor. Nobody danced with more young girls at the Equinox Festivals than Buren.
“Come in,” the old man said wearily. He led them to his healing room and sat Lowell, his face lined with pain, in the center.
“I also brought the finger,” Emmut told him, offering the digit, wondering now how he had not been repulsed at all “and I rubbed some of that Sporin Crème onto the wound and the finger. In case you can reattach it.”
“Good thinking, Mister Kessen,” Buren replied, studying Lowell’s hand and the finger. “I’ll see what I can do about it. It may not be fully functional, but I’ll see…”
“Thank you, sir,” Emmut nodded, “and, please, I’ll be paying for this. I need to go and get his father. I’ll send him here.”
“Go on, Mister Kessen,” Buren nodded, “and thank you. Goodnight.”
Emmut left then, his mind still preoccupied as he walked out. Lowell had remained silent the entire time. Emmut didn’t blame him. He was in that transitory stage, and this would be an odd trial for him since he had likely just begun to think himself invincible.
But every child must learn that every action has a consequence. Even refusing to act comes with consequences. He was so certain he’d taught that to his son. He would have to reinforce it. There, that was one thing…but, what were the consequences.
Aside from Lowell’s finger. But that was still undecided. And, if he knew Okashii at all, he would be beating himself up over it.
But, then, tonight had just made him wonder: did he know Okashii at all?
What got him the most was that, despite all of the lessons and repeating himself, Okashii had still disobeyed. One of the biggest rules, too!
For just a moment, Emmut allowed himself to fume and swear silently as he walked, getting the frustration out of his system. Bottling it up would just make him furious. Losing control over his anger would just ruin things. Patience had always served him best.
He had learned that the hard way. More than once, before it stuck.
He walked into and out of the shadows cast by the bright moonlight. The dirt where the moon struck it seemed to glow light brown, tinged with silver. Everything was tinged with blue and silver on nights like this. The houses, the grass, the clothes Emmut wore. And he wished that he could use that as a scapegoat. It wasn’t his son out there. Rather, it was one of the blond boys in the village, whose hair had shone white in the moonlight. But he knew better.
Then, he was knocking on another door, wondering what he was going to say to Lowell’s father.
Larson answered the door, sticking his face and shoulders into the moonlight, leaning on the doorframe. He was a big man. The tallest in the local militia. Burley was the most common description. His breath smelled vaguely of alcohol.
“Evenin’ Captain,” Lars yawned, “somethin’ th’ matter?”
“I’m not here as your Captain, Larson. I caught Okashii and Lowell dueling. Lowell’s over at Buren’s now. He lost his pinky on his sword hand.”
That woke Larson up. Sobered him, too, if the alcohol was still having any effect. Larson was speechless for a moment, then he turned back to grab a shirt from his room. Emmut saw large amounts of chest hair disappearing as he pulled the shirt down just after walking into the moonlight.
“They’re expecting you,” Emmut told him. “And if Buren asks for payment, remind him that I’m covering any expenses. I need to go and speak with my son now, if you do not mind.”
“Go ahead, Captain,” Larson called back as he hurried on ahead of Emmut, “and thank you.” Emmut watched the man turn a corner and vanish. Then he turned back toward the center of the village where his home stood, larger than most, and began trying to fight down the nausea as he made one final attempt to sort out what he was going to say.
What could he say? What hadn’t he already said with all of the patience and love in the world? At first, nothing would come. Finally, as he walked through the arch gate and into his yard, he realized what it was that he was feeling, and what he had never told his son before.
He found Okashii on the roof, his hair blowing in the azalea-scented breeze and glowing brightly in the same bright moonlight, which had almost reached its nightly apex now. Emmut knew that his own hair glowed just as brightly, though it had once been black, like obsidian. He sat next to Okashii, and they were both silent for a long while, made longer by the anticipation of the pain to come. Finally, Emmut sighed.
“I am…very disappointed in you, son,” Emmut began. He paused, feeling the weight of his words impact Okashii. His son reeled.
“I’m sorry…I…” Okashii tried softly, his voice barely a whisper.
“Sorry won’t cut it, Okashii,” Emmut said firmly. “I told you never to do what you did tonight. You didn’t listen. Why?”
He turned to look at Okashii, waiting. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, Okashii turned to look up at him. It was then that Emmut noticed the cut on his son’s left cheek, since he had been on Okashii’s right. He grabbed his son’s chin and pushed his hair out of the way.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded. Emmut pulled out his satchel again and held a bandage to the cut to make certain it had stopped bleeding.
“I…I don’t know…” Okashii frowned. “I didn’t even really notice it until I had run on to Mister Buren’s place…”
“So, you’ve earned your first battle scar…” Emmut sighed.
Consequences, he reminded himself. Okashii couldn’t help a little grin. Emmut didn’t like that.
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter why you were dueling. The thing is, you did it. And now Lowell has lost a finger. Buren is going to try to get it reattached, but there is no guarantee of that. Are you glad of that?”
“Well, no,” Okashii began.
“No, and neither am I,” Emmut continued. “Son, you know you can talk to me. Usually, you do. I knew you weren’t really tired today, but I thought you would come to me when you were ready. So I let you be. And that, I suppose, was a mistake on my part. But I thought I could trust you. And now I am aware that, maybe, I can’t really trust you after all.”
“I’m sorry…” Okashii was solemn again.
“You’re going to have to accept the consequences of your actions, son,” Emmut frowned, thinking. “I wish I could say that scar on your cheek would be enough. But you’re probably going to be proud of it. Do you remember what I’ve told you about pride?”
Okashii nodded.
“But, then…how can I trust you to remember all of those lessons? Especially since you so easily forgot what I had told you about dueling. You need a reminder…”
Emmut paused, considering his alternatives. But it seemed to him that the most fitting thing was also one of the least favorable. But Okashii needed to learn his lesson. It was something that could save his life one day. Pride was often a warrior’s downfall. It was, in Emmut’s mind, one of the worst traits to have in excess.
“One scar for pride, prowess in battle - having been wounded, yet lived to tell the tale,” Emmut said as he stood and drew his sword. His arm was numb as he extended the blade easily, as though it were just another finger sprouting from his hand. “Another beside it for humility and shame, to remind you of this night for the rest of your life.
“Stand and face me, son, and receive the consequences of your actions. I will take that as your vow to never disappoint me again.”
A tear fell from each of Emmut’s cobalt eyes as his son stood, solemnly and sincerely, to face him.
One of sorrow, anguish, and fear. Filled with the shame of what he was about to do.
One of awe, love, and joy. Filled with fatherly pride in his son, despite his mistakes.
“I love you, Okashii,” Emmut told him.
The blade wavered, then cut.
Okashii watched his son’s eyes as he finished telling the story, then glanced at his daughter, measuring their silence. Rakusho and Raimey were ten now, and he had been putting off the story every time they had asked about his scars. He wanted to make sure that they were old enough to understand the lesson involved. He decided that, this time, they were finally old enough.
“Did it hurt?” Rakusho asked after a moment.
“Of course,” he replied. “But it hurt more that my father was so disappointed in me. I would have done just about anything to prove myself to him again. I loved my dad. A lot.”
“Daddy, I love you a lot,” Raimey grinned, “but I wouldn’t let you cut me!” Okashii chuckled. She was already starting to show bits of her mother’s sauciness.
“I know, sweetheart,” Okashii smiled. “But, no matter the method…it worked. He did what he thought was best for me. And his father was hardly a father at all, so he never had anything to look at for guidance like I do.
“But now you know, right?”
His kids nodded, and he tucked them into their beds.
“Goodnight, you two,” he smiled as he blew out the candles and headed for the door. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” they chimed back. He closed the door and headed for his own bed, smiling to himself.