“Hi, Aunt Ira. I won!” Aibek grinned at his aunt.
The always-smiling, short, stocky woman moved closer to her nephew, tucking her chocolate-brown hair back as she walked. Behind her, the housekeeper entered the room carrying a heavily laden, wooden serving tray.
Aibek held up the palm-sized medal for his aunt to see and grabbed a glass of water from the tray the housekeeper had placed on the low table before the couch. Ira took the prize from him and examined it at length. She handed it back and crossed the room to her favorite worn leather chair.
Aibek gulped the cold liquid. “You know I wouldn’t have left my things here.” He started down the short hall with his satchel thrown over his arm.
The house was small, with only two bedrooms on the ground floor, the main room, a moderately-sized, open kitchen that held an enormous coal-fired stove, a large prep table, a deep basin for washing, and a cozy dining nook. Up a narrow stair by the kitchen was a small servants’ quarters the housekeeper shared with their only maid.
It was a large home by Xona standards, but Uncle Noral often complained how cramped it was. He also insisted on wooden furniture, though it was quite expensive. In a region with no trees, wood was a luxury reserved for the very wealthy. Most homes in the city had iron or steel-framed furniture since the iron mines were less than an hour’s walk to the north. The men and women who mined the ore worked long, hard hours. Still, Aibek had heard they earned a fair wage and were able to pay for food and shelter in the city or surrounding villages.
He had shared a room with his father’s servant Serik since the day they arrived on his uncle’s doorstep nearly twenty years ago, though he had spent several years living away from home while attending university and beginning his training at the Academy. Narrow bunk beds occupied the far wall of the room. Aibek slept on the top bunk since his roommate was too old to climb the ladder every night.
On the opposite wall stood a simple, dark wood wardrobe. He placed his books, sword, vest and hat in it and closed the door. A full-length mirror leaned against the wall next to the cabinet. He glanced at his reflection and wiped a smudge of dirt off his broad nose and swept his still-damp hair behind his shoulders before he turned and ambled back through the narrow doorway.
He returned to the main room, where Faruz had made himself comfortable on the large brown couch that took up the middle of the room. He grabbed a chunk of heavy, spiced cake from the tray by the sofa and settled in to relax next to his friend. Faruz was demolishing what looked like a muffin.
Just as Aibek reclined on the couch, Serik trudged into the room with a worried expression on his weathered features. “We need to have a talk.” The old man spoke quietly as he slowly came farther into the room.
“All right. What’s the matter? Has something happened?” Aibek examined his oldest friend. Had he gotten smaller since the morning? Serik’s white hair had mostly fallen out over the past several years, leaving only a few wild tufts in various places on his head. His hands now held a wadded parchment, grasped tightly and crinkling under the gnarled fingers.
Serik limped to one of the two large blue armchairs opposite the couch. “I’ve received a letter from my old friend, the religious leader in Nivaka, the village where you were born.”
The color drained from Aibek’s face. He twisted his hands together in his lap as he fought the urge to jump to his feet. He’d never expected to hear from that village. For years, he’d had no idea whether the place had been destroyed or overrun in the invasion that had caused them to flee. Either way, he’d believed the townsfolk had no need of the last mayor’s son.
“Why? What does it say? Why did they wait so long?” He glanced at his aunt, who sat still and pale in her favorite chair by the fireplace. He hesitated, gulped, and asked, “Does it say anything about my parents?”
“It does. Here, why don’t you read it for yourself?” Serik handed the crumpled parchment to his young ward. The furniture was close enough that neither had to stand to reach across the gap.
The world could have imploded around him, and Aibek wouldn’t have noticed. Nothing existed except the paper in his trembling hands. Deep down, he had always maintained the dream of meeting his parents someday, and his heart leapt into his throat at the hope that this letter would fulfill that fantasy. However, the grim expression on Serik’s weathered features made Aibek doubt the note held good news.
He smoothed the wrinkles in an attempt to gain some composure before he read the neat script on the page.
My Dear Serik,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’m sorry so many years have passed without contact, but I couldn’t find a way to reach you without exposing your location to our enemy. The night you fled, our village was invaded by Helak’s warriors. We were completely unprepared for the attack, and their victory was swift.
Unfortunately, Eddrick and Kiri were killed in the battle. I’m sorry I don’t have better news—I know you were close to them.
I’m writing today because things here have changed. The villagers have overthrown Helak’s governor Tavan and his guards, and now the townsfolk are trying to return to their previous way of life. No one here believes that Helak will allow us to live in peace without attempting to regain control of our village. We need Eddrick’s son to return and help us defend the village from the inevitable attack. I trust you have trained him well.
I am looking forward to welcoming you and Aibek home again.
Please respond in all due haste.
Anxiously waiting,
Valasa
Aibek read the letter twice before he slowly lowered it to his lap. His eyes blurred with unshed tears, but he swallowed hard against them. He had long suspected his parents must be dead. Otherwise, they surely would have tried to learn what became of their only child. They’d never answered any of the letters he’d sent through the years.
Now the villagers wanted him to return and lead them through what could be a brutal massacre. The invaders had beaten the villagers easily the first time, or so the letter claimed, but they seemed sure he could lead them to a better life. He was nowhere near confident of that outcome.
“How can I lead a village I haven’t seen since I was a baby? Villagers I’ve never met are relying on me—a total stranger—to save them somehow?” Aibek scowled as he tried to reason through the villagers’ expectations.
As he spoke, Faruz took the letter from his hand and scanned it.
“I ‘m so sorry about your parents. Really, though, this is what you’ve trained for your entire life. You finally get to lead a whole army, and… and fight with something other than dull practice swords, Faruz babbled.
A long silence followed as Aibek struggled to come to terms with the news of his parents’ death. His aunt and uncle had raised him carefully, and his aunt had always treated him as her own child, but they had always made sure he knew who his parents were. He’d always treasured the hope of meeting them someday and having a father who would cheer him on at every step.
Aibek took a deep breath to clear his thoughts and sat up a little straighter. His family had made sure he was able to defend himself and his friends if he were ever called back to Nivaka. Still, he didn’t know how to lead a village. He’d always thought he would start out as a lower officer and gain responsibility as he learned from those above him. Now he was expected to assume the leadership of an entire village of strangers?
Serik sat quietly, with a blank expression. Aibek glanced at him and wondered what he was thinking. After all, this must be a shock for him, too.
Finally, Ira broke the silence. Tears streamed down her face, and she lowered the letter to her knees. “I always knew I would have to send you back someday. You were the answer to our prayers…”
While she was speaking, Noral quietly entered the room. He glanced from face to face, worry darkening his features. Aibek looked up at the interruption, then dropped his gaze before his uncle could meet his eyes.
Noral eyed his wife’s t
ears. “What’s happened?” He strode to her side and wiped her face gently with his handkerchief.
Serik spoke first. “We’ve had a letter from Nivaka. The time has come for us to return to the village.” He hesitated. “As we suspected, Eddrick and Kiri were killed in the invasion.”
Noral’s head fell to his chest. His face flushed red, and Aibek stared at the muscles working in his neck.
“I’ve already penned a response to this note,” the old man continued. “We’ll gather our supplies and be off within the week.”
Noral shook his head and looked toward his nephew. “Nivaka’s a beautiful place; I only wish I could go with you. I haven’t laid eyes on the forest since I was about your age.”
Aibek sighed; it was time to return to the forest. He just wished he had parents waiting to welcome him home.
About the Author
Leslie E. Heath is a wife, mother, runner, animal lover, nurse and writer. She resides with her family and a number of rescued pets in a quaint North Carolina town, near the Outer Banks. When Leslie isn’t cozied up at home writing, she finds inspiration for her work by spending time basking or running at the nearby beach or trails. Her love of writing began when she was ten years old, fueled by her love of reading. Her affinity with fantasy allows creativity when it comes to character development, settings, and a little magic.
Visit her website at www.LeslieEHeath.com for more information.
Journey to Nivaka Page 4
