Sequel

*enter same talk as from Partners about ending a story* A hundred and sixty-nine thousand words, three hundred and thirty-five pages. Which means between the two story, it's almost a thousand pages. Almost five hundred thousand words.

I love how it takes a good long moment before Rel realises what exactly is going on. And before anyone asks, I don't believe Mik ever calls Rel, Lel.

Read, Review and Enjoy.




Years passed. Rel hardly noticed. Life changed and became something and then was just. Existence. Mari agreed readily to naming the twins Ayato and Ayan. Boys, both of them, both green eyed and black haired. Identical twins.

Ayato rarely laughed, didn’t trust strangers and learned Muan’s language before he learned to speak people. The boy had an inquisitive mind and would listen and learn from everyone. It came to be known that if Ayato appeared and watched silently, he was interested in what was going on, what a person was doing.

Ayan laughed and danced and chattered constantly. The boy showed interest in learning to fight and danced and sang and dabbled in playing instruments. When one was hurt, the other always knew. When one was sad, the other would visit and become still. A solid comfort.

The troupe settled on a routine. Several small settlements sprang up and they, the troupe, were the only ones with wheeled carts. The only ones who could travel long distances. Transportation of relatives, news and goods were their main business. But soon enough they were attracting artists and poets, singers and musicians. They put on shows for those they were visiting.

For three years, the troupe skirted around a huge forest with trees that all looked exactly the same. Then on the fourth spring, they entered under the canopy via beaten path and their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.

They found people.

The troupe unloaded, settled in for a long visit. Rel took the boys wandering around the tree, being sure to keep to the beaten path. Over a root, as Ayan explained to Rel, a three year old to his father, that the mushrooms that looked like brains were edible.

“Well, how do you know what a brain looks like?” Rel asked Ayan.

Ayato peered at one of the mushrooms in question and pointed at it, looking up at Rel, “that looks like a brain. It’s got the folds.”

“But how do you know that’s a characteristic of a brain?”

“Character….”

“Istic,” Rel filled in for Ayan, “it means the things that make an object what it is. Like. You have the characteristic of a musician and your brother…” Rel looked at Ayato as the boy looked all too knowingly back, understanding the small silence. Knowing something that was beyond a three year old’s comprehension. “has the characteristics of a scribe.”

“I have no desire to write,” Ayato responded.

“Right, which is the marvellous thing about being who you are, Ayato. You can be anything. You can be anybody-” Rel paused as he heard something flutter over the humping root of the tree. He frowned and glanced about before he followed the path beyond and around the root. Over a little hump in the ground.

And there was Mik, with a little reed flute.

Rel pulled to a stop, rubbing at his own shaven face as he took in Mik’s grown beard. Gray hairs had appeared throughout the older man’s locks. This made Rel very conscious of his own looks. No looking glasses, no mirrors meant that no one really knew what they looked like.

Mik sat with his back to the bark. From a nearby branch, hung a Sidhe. Dark hair and bright eyes, a dangerous grin on his face as a hand reached for Mik’s flute. Mik spotted Rel and pulled the flute away from his mouth and thusly out of the Sidhe’s reach. The creature twisted, trying to reach the instrument but instead tumbled off the branch.

“Piho,” Mik grumbled, a rumble that moved from the man’s chest and into his throat. The Sidhe stood, taller than Rel thought possible, and brushed at the front of his shirt, “stop that. We have guests.”

Piho chattered back at Mik in Sidhe, insinuating that a guest should speak the native tongue of the host. Ayato shot back at Piho, an annoyed snappy comment that made Piho go red just a little. Mik seemed to approve of the words, a small smile tugged at the other man’s lips.

“Let me guess, Ayato and… oh. I should know this…”

“Ayan,” Ayato snapped out, shifting himself between Mik and Ayan to protect his brother.

“Ayan. Lovely. Rel. You don’t write, you don’t send messages.”

“We are the only mail delivery system in effect,” Rel responded with a mutter, “and I didn’t know. Wait. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Uh. Did you ever ask if I remained dead?”

Rel swore under his breath, “so.” Rel paused and thought about it, “when Una said Paw followed you and we all thought you were dead and hence Paw was off… dying…”

Paw dropped from the upper branches of the old time tree and growled at Rel before he focused on Ayato and Ayan, “ooooohhhhh,” the male chattered in Sidhe for several minutes before he realised what he was doing, “such adorable children, Ayato, Ayan. Marvelous. Come, come, Lel too.”

“Rel,” Mik tried to correct Paw.

“No,” Rel said, “I… go by Lel now. Lel Nyange. See. Everyone’s looking for the Rel DeAniege that that brought down the world…”

“Oh. Well then. Lel,” Mik stood and paused, hand over his chest, “come up to the. House. We’ll talk.”

“Talk.” Rel said.

“About old times,” Mik said.

“Will you tell us the story of how father met shae-ar?” Ayato asked, suddenly comfortable with Mik’s presence.

“Hmm.” Mik thought on it, “I suppose we could do that. Come on, the lift is over the next root.”

Rel got the feeling his children would enjoy the visit more than himself. But life went on.

It always went on.

.