Love For The Alien Primal

Chapter 1

Mirik

“Who wants to say the blessing?” I ask hopefully.

It’s a silly question. The blank faces give me my answer. It’s me. It’s always me. 

Old habits die hard, I suppose, and the head of the household is always expected to do the honors. Change is hard for some. And though I have made some headway here, this is something that won’t budge.

“You, my lord,” Yvrir says encouragingly. He’s right, of course. He always is. We bow our heads in unison, hands clasped.

“Look upon us, Krodo, Shaper of All Things. We thank you for the gifts we have, the gifts we have yet to receive and the gifts we overlook. Always in your name.” The words rattle off my tongue easily, but they are disconnected, automatic.

Opening my eyes, Yvrir smiles at me once more before we begin to pass the communal bowls of food around the table.

It has been over a year since I insisted that we, as a household, take our main meals together. Up until then, I had dined, as was traditional, in the ornate dining room of my ancestral family home, Monteluke Hall. Soaring ceilings and ornate crystal-fed lights looked down upon the massive table as I, the only diner, ate in silence.

More and more, I came to dread these lonely evenings. They took on a certain absurdity. The last of my line, I am the Hall’s remaining steward, assisted by a small but loyal set of Drokan servants. There are ten of us in all. But only one ate in the dining room.

I came to loathe dinner time. During the day, when I was busy with the upkeep of the Hall and the surrounding moors, it was easy to forget how isolated my family had become. How singular I had become.

But the evenings hammered it home. Whenever I passed the large kitchen, I could hear the happy voices of the servants at supper, communing with each other over the day’s events. My isolation was inescapable.

Until I decided to change it. Despite Yvrir’s staunch protests about tradition and honor, I banned myself from the dining room, installing myself in the kitchen at the appointed dinner hour.

The servants, with no choice but to obey, have largely accepted this new practice of their eccentric master. That is, with certain concessions. I must sit at the head of the table, and I must recite the nightly prayer.

For the sake of company, I am willing to do these things. Yvrir, I can tell, has never quite adjusted, but his loyalty demands he hide it.

A bubble of conversation can be heard at the other end of the table. As usual, it’s between the two young Drokans who serve as the groundskeepers and general maintenance men. They are impulsive and can be sloppy in their work. But around these parts, workers are hard to find.

“What’s that, Kurkis? What are you talking about?” I ask.

Instantly, Kurkis’ body stiffens somewhat. He thought he was in a private conversation, but now I’ve gone and asked him to share with the whole table. It is my prerogative as master, after all. Still, it does pain me that the lines between nobility and servant class are so deeply ingrained.

“Oh, uh…not much, sir. Just that there are rumors of more raids…sir,” he replies stiffly. His fellow worker, Hibron, looks squarely at his food. Both are slight and lithe, with tan colored skin and, as fitting their station, few body tattoos.

“Where? Near here?”

“Not quite, sir. But closer than before. Not much was taken, or so I hear.”

“Keep an eye on it, Kirkus. We don’t want them getting close,” I reply. Rumors of raids have become more commonplace lately. The terrain surrounding Monteluke Hall is difficult, though. This fact gives me some comfort.

Though beautiful in the warmer months with the fragrant jinari flowers in full bloom, the moors are uneven and full of hidden dangers like sucking sands and razor-sharp rocks. The soft tall grasses can fool the uninitiated and have done so many times in the past. It’s what has kept the Hall largely free of marauders.

The times, however, are becoming more and more dangerous. Conflicts over the crystals needed for essential fuel and the intense swings in the weather have put everyone on edge. Even us out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Yes, sir. I will, sir,” Kirkus replies and looks down at his food but not before shooting Hibron a look.

The meal continues in silence for several more minutes. As we near the end, Yvrir catches my eye.

“Forgive me for addressing business at the table, sir, but I’m afraid I must,” he says in his silky voice. Yvrir, in all the years I’ve known him, has never raised his voice. His quiet dignity and confidence smooth over any situation.

“Of course, Yvrir. I am all ears,” I reply.

The skin around his dark gray eyes crinkles slightly before he answers. I do not know how old he is, but he was serving my late father, so there are some years on him. Still, his dark olive skin seems ageless even as I feel myself grow older.

“The raids are not the only thing we must consider,” Yvrir begins. “There is another storm approaching. Surely you have felt the disturbance?”

I don’t want to admit it, but I have. For the last few days, the air has been charged, as if infused with an unseen power. It has only increased, even as I tried to ignore it.

“I have.”

“I fear it will be severe, sir. We must be ready for that possibility.” Tactfully, he leaves out the part that doesn’t need to be said. Another storm will likely damage the Hall. Again. 

More and more, we have had to come to terms with what the changing climate is doing to the old place. And more and more, I have to face the very real fact that she is slowly losing the battle.

“We will be, Yvrir. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

I stand, causing everyone else to follow suit. Muttering my good nights, I leave the room. I head to my bedroom, the last place still occupied in that part of the manor. All the servants sleep in another wing.

My footsteps echo off the lonely walls. I feel, yet again, the fizz of the impending storm in the air.

It infuses my thoughts as I get ready for bed. Tonight, I know, will be a restless night.