23 April 2017 08:18 pm
Another perspective
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heirtothearcaneThe journey back to my office was mostly silent but for my sister’s occasional attempt to spark some conversation. I didn’t have the heart to entertain her, so my responses were half formed token efforts. They bothered her, I knew, but my mind was elsewhere. Troubled thoughts wrinkling my brow. It was only once we’d closed the door to the outside world behind us that she heaved a sigh that punctuated the small talk, signalling an inevitable confrontation. I went to put the kettle on and when I came back from the kitchen Isidor had hung up her coat and stood, arms folded, head tilted at me.
“All right. What’s wrong?” Her sharp features softened and her shoulders slumped. “I thought that went really well.”
The creases on my brow deepened and my lips rolled in uncertainty.
“Apart from Lawrence,” she added quickly. “But nobody fainted, nobody got hurt.” She smiled hopefully, joking, “I didn’t even challenge anyone to a duel.” My mouth twitched in and out of a smile at the fleeting sense of amusement. It wasn’t what she was looking for, which was why she sighed, and asked again, “What’s wrong?”
I ducked my head, watching my fingers fidget, and steeled myself to peer at her. “You were… You were very rude.”
Isidor looked as if I’d slapped her in the face. “Rude? How?” The makings of a scowl appeared then. “Lawrence was the one who-”
I shook my head hastily. “N-Not the part with Lawrence.”
“Then what?”
“Harrowheart.” Somehow his name seemed so much stranger now, a dangerous thing to say aloud. In a sense, it was. Today it was a match being held in a room of gunpowder. “I’m talking about Harrowheart. That’s his name.”
“One of them,” Isidor said offhandedly. “How was I rude to him? We were both good to his family. We were good guests, we were polite, we got along.” She shrugged. “Mostly.”
“That’s the name he gave us,” I pressed. “The one he wants us to use. The one he wants to be known by.” How could she not see this? How could she not understand? It seemed so obvious, so clear. My shoulders slumped, sad and bewildered at her blindness. Ignorance didn’t look right on her. “Why didn't you respect that?”
Isidor was frowning at me in return. The sternness with which she spoke reminded me of our uncle. “His name is also Peter. That is the name his family gave him. That is the name he was given when he was born. That is his name within his home.”
“That’s not the name he gave us,” I repeated, hoping somehow she would understand the full meaning of what I was saying. “We weren’t given any other name to use.”
She was quick off the mark. “His mother gave it to us.”
I tried and failed not to falter. “That’s different.”
“She was our host, she made a request and we followed it like good guests,” Isidor continued, her voice strong and unwavering in contrast to my own.
“She’s his mother, she’s allowed to use the name she gave him.” I felt like I was scrambling to explain.
Her jaw stiffened. “And that’s his name in that space. We were respecting our hosts, Viatorus.”
“But he didn’t give us that name.”
Her frown deepened. “His mother did.”
“We had no right to use it.”
“Why. Not?”
“That’s his True Name, Isidor!” I finally exclaimed. My hands flew out, frustration and stress coursing through me. There was nothing I hated quite as much as arguing with Isidor, but my nerves were trembling with the cold, sickly horror that she didn’t understand this. “You used his True Name without asking him! It was his right and his place to tell us his name, to give us permission to use it. If he wanted us to. Not for us to abuse his trust to gain some power over him.”
It felt as if my outburst had gone on for hours. My body was trembling, cold from anxiety and adrenaline. Somewhere in the back of my thoughts I was terrified she would just say I was wrong, that I had disappointed her, that I should be ashamed and guilty for accusing her of anything at all. I knew she wouldn’t, I think, but my fear was there anyway, stealing away the breath in my lungs.
“His True Name,” she repeated slowly. I nodded. Her eyes moved away into her thoughts and I felt the smallest sense of relief. I’d struck a chord.
How could she not have realised the moment we were given the choice between two names? Isidor often recounted lessons, old and new, that reinforced our family values, traditions and history. We were descendants of those who worked with dragons, gods, demons and Fae, and we knew all the stories of how important each name was. We were the grandchildren of Gnonyma Durant, the weaver of magic into names, and we wore the names we were granted like badges, like shields, like passes, like old treaties that gifted us ancient rights. We were the children of a man whose titles held such importance than even we knew to respectfully use them over his name. We were members of a family whose name had such power and magic woven into it that people invoked it like a god, and to belong to it was to have power that we hadn’t yet learned the limits of. Isidor certainly used the power of her name, of our name, to her fullest advantage. So how she could be so blind to such a defining moment baffled me.
Now that I’d told her why I felt it was so wrong I could see our heritage and lessons dawning on her. Slowly her frown faded into a look of cold realisation, lined with stubbornness. I’d seen this before, and I felt a little bad. It was difficult for her to know she’d done something wrong. She tried so hard to do what was right for me, for the family.
The kettle clicked and I left to make a pot for the two of us. I took my time. Going through the familiar motions helped my nerves to calm and my breathing to get back to normal. When I returned I handed her a mug and used a little magic to make the liquid in mine spin gently.
“I was trying to be a good guest,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“He didn’t tell us it would be brought up.”
I nodded.
“… Maybe he won’t mind.”
My eyes flickered up to meet hers, then dropped away. I gave a small half-shrug. An exceptionally non-committal response, I knew.
Eventually she sighed. “I have to apologise to him, don’t I?”
“You probably should,” I said quietly.
“He wasn’t even there,” she growled, frustrated. “He didn’t even help.”
I sipped at my tea. It was better not to argue with her. She was already arguing with herself, after all.
“I’m going to explain first,” she announced. “I’ll show him I wasn’t really in the wrong.”
“Maybe not do that…”
We shared a look and I raised my eyebrows briefly and then sipped my tea again. Her brow dropped, rose and she pointed a finger at me. “Don’t turn into Oraskis.”
I smiled, unable to keep myself from feeling a little proud at the comparison, and she smiled back. The night had not gone as smoothly as either of us had hoped, but it would all work out in the end. Isidor would make sure it worked out, like she always did.
“All right. What’s wrong?” Her sharp features softened and her shoulders slumped. “I thought that went really well.”
The creases on my brow deepened and my lips rolled in uncertainty.
“Apart from Lawrence,” she added quickly. “But nobody fainted, nobody got hurt.” She smiled hopefully, joking, “I didn’t even challenge anyone to a duel.” My mouth twitched in and out of a smile at the fleeting sense of amusement. It wasn’t what she was looking for, which was why she sighed, and asked again, “What’s wrong?”
I ducked my head, watching my fingers fidget, and steeled myself to peer at her. “You were… You were very rude.”
Isidor looked as if I’d slapped her in the face. “Rude? How?” The makings of a scowl appeared then. “Lawrence was the one who-”
I shook my head hastily. “N-Not the part with Lawrence.”
“Then what?”
“Harrowheart.” Somehow his name seemed so much stranger now, a dangerous thing to say aloud. In a sense, it was. Today it was a match being held in a room of gunpowder. “I’m talking about Harrowheart. That’s his name.”
“One of them,” Isidor said offhandedly. “How was I rude to him? We were both good to his family. We were good guests, we were polite, we got along.” She shrugged. “Mostly.”
“That’s the name he gave us,” I pressed. “The one he wants us to use. The one he wants to be known by.” How could she not see this? How could she not understand? It seemed so obvious, so clear. My shoulders slumped, sad and bewildered at her blindness. Ignorance didn’t look right on her. “Why didn't you respect that?”
Isidor was frowning at me in return. The sternness with which she spoke reminded me of our uncle. “His name is also Peter. That is the name his family gave him. That is the name he was given when he was born. That is his name within his home.”
“That’s not the name he gave us,” I repeated, hoping somehow she would understand the full meaning of what I was saying. “We weren’t given any other name to use.”
She was quick off the mark. “His mother gave it to us.”
I tried and failed not to falter. “That’s different.”
“She was our host, she made a request and we followed it like good guests,” Isidor continued, her voice strong and unwavering in contrast to my own.
“She’s his mother, she’s allowed to use the name she gave him.” I felt like I was scrambling to explain.
Her jaw stiffened. “And that’s his name in that space. We were respecting our hosts, Viatorus.”
“But he didn’t give us that name.”
Her frown deepened. “His mother did.”
“We had no right to use it.”
“Why. Not?”
“That’s his True Name, Isidor!” I finally exclaimed. My hands flew out, frustration and stress coursing through me. There was nothing I hated quite as much as arguing with Isidor, but my nerves were trembling with the cold, sickly horror that she didn’t understand this. “You used his True Name without asking him! It was his right and his place to tell us his name, to give us permission to use it. If he wanted us to. Not for us to abuse his trust to gain some power over him.”
It felt as if my outburst had gone on for hours. My body was trembling, cold from anxiety and adrenaline. Somewhere in the back of my thoughts I was terrified she would just say I was wrong, that I had disappointed her, that I should be ashamed and guilty for accusing her of anything at all. I knew she wouldn’t, I think, but my fear was there anyway, stealing away the breath in my lungs.
“His True Name,” she repeated slowly. I nodded. Her eyes moved away into her thoughts and I felt the smallest sense of relief. I’d struck a chord.
How could she not have realised the moment we were given the choice between two names? Isidor often recounted lessons, old and new, that reinforced our family values, traditions and history. We were descendants of those who worked with dragons, gods, demons and Fae, and we knew all the stories of how important each name was. We were the grandchildren of Gnonyma Durant, the weaver of magic into names, and we wore the names we were granted like badges, like shields, like passes, like old treaties that gifted us ancient rights. We were the children of a man whose titles held such importance than even we knew to respectfully use them over his name. We were members of a family whose name had such power and magic woven into it that people invoked it like a god, and to belong to it was to have power that we hadn’t yet learned the limits of. Isidor certainly used the power of her name, of our name, to her fullest advantage. So how she could be so blind to such a defining moment baffled me.
Now that I’d told her why I felt it was so wrong I could see our heritage and lessons dawning on her. Slowly her frown faded into a look of cold realisation, lined with stubbornness. I’d seen this before, and I felt a little bad. It was difficult for her to know she’d done something wrong. She tried so hard to do what was right for me, for the family.
The kettle clicked and I left to make a pot for the two of us. I took my time. Going through the familiar motions helped my nerves to calm and my breathing to get back to normal. When I returned I handed her a mug and used a little magic to make the liquid in mine spin gently.
“I was trying to be a good guest,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“He didn’t tell us it would be brought up.”
I nodded.
“… Maybe he won’t mind.”
My eyes flickered up to meet hers, then dropped away. I gave a small half-shrug. An exceptionally non-committal response, I knew.
Eventually she sighed. “I have to apologise to him, don’t I?”
“You probably should,” I said quietly.
“He wasn’t even there,” she growled, frustrated. “He didn’t even help.”
I sipped at my tea. It was better not to argue with her. She was already arguing with herself, after all.
“I’m going to explain first,” she announced. “I’ll show him I wasn’t really in the wrong.”
“Maybe not do that…”
We shared a look and I raised my eyebrows briefly and then sipped my tea again. Her brow dropped, rose and she pointed a finger at me. “Don’t turn into Oraskis.”
I smiled, unable to keep myself from feeling a little proud at the comparison, and she smiled back. The night had not gone as smoothly as either of us had hoped, but it would all work out in the end. Isidor would make sure it worked out, like she always did.
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