The Nivaka Chronicles Boxed Set

by Leslie E Heath

  “I’m Serik’s brother,” Pagi finished. He gave a little bow. “I’m happy to meet you, Kiri.”

  Two hours later, Aibek stood in the den holding his sons’ freshly washed hands and called out for the women. “It’s time to go! The food will be cold if we don’t go now.”

  Aunt Ira emerged first in her favorite zontrec dress. She’d returned with Aibek after the battle for Xona and had never left. Marah and little Kiri followed close behind. Both had washed and braided their hair, though Marah’s blonde curls still refused to be contained.

  “Ready?” He asked.

  Rather than answer, Marah led the procession out the front door and across the Square. Pagi strolled beside Aibek toward the brightly lit Pavilion.

  Faruz and Zifa pressed through the crowd, and villagers stepped aside with repeated, “Hey, Captain,” and “Glad you could make it.”

  Zifa pressed a hand to her rounded belly and eased herself into the chair beside Marah.

  “How are you feeling? Any better?” Marah asked.

  Aibek couldn’t help noticing Zifa’s pallor and weight loss. Each of Zifa’s pregnancies had been the same, with several weeks of severe nausea even Valasa’s tinctures couldn’t cure. This time, the nausea had lasted well into the second half of her pregnancy, and she had only recently been able to start eating regular food again.

  “Better. I ate everything cook made last night, and I feel so much stronger today.” Zifa busied herself with the three dark-haired little girls who’d followed her in.

  “Papa! I can’t see!” the smallest girl, Vorana, stood on her tiptoes and strained to see what was happening at the front of the Pavilion.

  Faruz lifted the tiny girl onto his shoulders and seated himself beside Zifa. “Is that better?”

  Vorana nodded and grinned, and Aibek wondered at how the child could look like an exact copy of Faruz, but with her mother’s straight dark hair.

  Aibek helped Marah settle their children onto the benches before he climbed the steps to the dais. Villagers crammed into every corner of the Pavilion, and more strolled along the boardwalks outside its peaked roof.

  The chatter died as more and more people noticed Aibek standing on the stage, and he waited until he was sure the people in the back could hear him before he spoke.

  “Thank you all for coming. Serik lived a long and happy life and made it very clear we were not to mope around after his passing.” A chuckle went through the crowd at this. “He loved each and every one of you, and he asked me to host this celebration to ease our transition into a life without his patient guidance. We have all of his favorite foods and we’ll have dancing later tonight.

  This night is about celebrating the life Serik lived and rejoicing in the years we got to spend with him. Who knows, maybe we’ll make this a new tradition to honor our loved ones when they pass into the eternal arms of our ancestors.

  Now, I’ll open the floor to anyone who has a story to tell or a thought to share.”

  King Turan stood and rushed onto the stage. He’d replaced his ordinary forest garb for a cloak and matching suit in resplendent purple silks from the city. The fabric shone in the lamplight, drawing Aibek’s eyes away from his face.

  “Serik risked everything to come to us. He came to ask for safe passage to save Mayor Aibek from the first invasion more than twenty years ago. He returned several times with Aibek to beg for our help in the struggle against those who would have seen this forest destroyed. He worked tirelessly to protect the forest from enemies who meant to kill us all and take the Bokinna’s fertile wealth for their own.

  His trials will never be forgotten. Not by us. Not by you, up here in the strange treetop villages. Not by those who live in the villages and towns beyond our forest’s border. Serik loved this forest as his home, and she loved him in equal measure in return.”

  The crowd roared its approval, and Turan took his seat beside Queen Idril and turned his attention to his meal. While they ate, the villagers told story after story of Serik’s wisdom, patience, and charm. Aibek hadn’t fully realized how much his mentor had helped everyone else in the village until then. He leaned back in his chair, watching, listening, and reveling in the loving community that had become his family.

  The stories slowly wound down after an hour, and the band struck a chord. Marah took to the dance floor to teach Galfrid her favorite dance, and Ahren settled into the seat his wife had occupied.

  “It’s so good to see everyone,” she said.

  “I’m glad you made it in. The weather’s been awful.” He cringed at the small talk, but couldn’t make himself ask more personal questions.

  Ahren had moved to Kainga after the battle. She’d said she needed time to figure out who she was away from the forest and her father’s presence.

  “It has.” She smiled. “You can ask. I’m doing all right, though. My carvings earn a good living, and I have a little house near the river.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Are you staying in the city for good, then?”

  Before Ahren could answer, little Kiri bounced up to the table and grabbed his hand.

  “Papa! Dance with me! Mama’s dancing with Gal and I want to dance, too.” Ahren smiled and waved him away. Before he’d even stood, she scooted closer to Zifa and leaned close.

  After a few dances, he led Marah out to one of the benches beyond the Pavilion for a bit of rest and fresh air. He settled onto the polished wood and she leaned back against him.

  “How would you feel about another little one?” Marah asked after a long pause.

  Aibek grinned and pulled her close. “Really? Another one? How long?” He pressed a hand to her belly, trying to feel the life growing there.

  “Probably near the winter solstice.” She placed her hand over his and sighed.

  Aibek couldn’t contain his happiness. He pressed a kiss to her neck and tried to remember the life he’d once dreamed of. He had planned to be an officer, to travel the land with the army. How silly those dreams sounded to him now. He leaned back and stared up at the stars through the tangle of branches overhead. He couldn’t imagine a better life.