Kastori Tribulations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 3) (9 page)

She rushed the words out, so fast that Typhos had to repeat them in his head to make sense of them. But aside from one last gasp, the hysteric emotion behind them had vanished, and she could finally speak without breaking down.

“We lost Adanus at too young an age on a day that should have been joyful and full of celebration.”

Yeah. Thanks, Dad. All because you didn’t tell us.

“But the thing we must do is not speak ill of the man, for he cannot defend himself, and it does little good to speak of his mistakes.”

Not true. We can learn from his mistakes. All of them.

Typhos felt Fargus looking his way and did his best to shut his thoughts off to avoid the elder’s judgmental stare.
Compassion. Dad was a good man.

“Adanus means something to everyone on Anatolus, from the children just learning their magic to the elders who will soon join him. I will speak today about what he meant to me.”

Typhos felt his shoulders arch and tighten in preparation for a potentially awkward speech.

“Without Adanus, I am not chief. Without Adanus, I do not have a beautiful son, one of the few people who are always there for me.”

Thanks, Mom. And I’ll never leave you. That, I will say and not break.

“Without Adanus, I do not have the confidence to pursue the things that I have. Adanus means everything to me, and without him, it will be a tough life, but a life that he gave me the necessary tools to face.”

Her voice shook as she went further. When she paused, she took a second to weep. Again, all Kastori observed without so much as a scratch on the face to distract her. Typhos gulped silently, hoping his mother would not collapse in front of everyone. She stopped crying after about a dozen seconds and resumed.

“Adanus is not just one of the greatest chiefs we have ever had. He was a loving husband and an amazing father.”

Lies.

Typhos didn’t care if everyone’s eyes shifted to him.
I doubt I’ll ever think otherwise after the way he left.

“Adanus’ greatest legacy is not what he did as chief. It is what he left behind—the man Typhos will become.”

She’s got that right. But he will have little to do with how I turn out.

“Let us remember on this night the difference Adanus brought to all of us. We have lost a former chief, a husband, and a father, but more than that, we lost a Kastori, and such a moment requires grieving and gratitude simultaneously. We grieve his loss, but we have appreciation for the gains he gave us in our life.”

Aida gave a short bow and walked to Typhos in silence, her head down. Typhos met her a few feet in front of the first row and hugged her. She collapsed into his shoulders, the tears coming at an accelerating rate.

Fargus moved to take her place and looked out on the masses.

“Thank you, Aida, for your brave speech in your time of mourning,” he said. “Does anyone else wish to speak?”

No. No one else had better either.

Typhos knew people would wonder if he would speak. Even Fargus, generally one to never pressure anyone, cast his eyes on the boy, but Typhos wouldn’t speak even if it guaranteed him a week with the council. Only the guarantee of becoming a councilor or chief would make him talk, and even that would just result in the briefest of words, unprepared and not as compelling or sympathetic as his mother’s.

Fargus waited several beats, to the point that Typhos wondered if he wouldn’t continue until someone else chose to speak.
Nope. No. I will just berate my father and curse him out. Not now, at least. Probably never.

“Very well,” Fargus said.

A Kastori ran over to him with the torch in hand, and Fargus held it aloft for all the Kastori to see. He turned to face the pyre.

Last chance. If ever you want people to remember your words for Dad, this is it.

Fargus took enough steps that he could place the flame beneath the pyre, reducing his father’s body to ashes.

You sure you don’t want to say something? Anger will subside—I think—but the flames won’t. He wasn’t a terrible dad. He was a good dad. He just wasn’t there enough to be a great dad. He loved you, even if it never got deep.

Do it.

I… I can’t. I can’t look past the way he died. No.

Fargus lowered his arm and paused.

He knows. No, Fargus, I’m sorry. I cannot. I’m… I’m too angry.

Fargus quickly tossed the flame to the base and turned around, striding and with his head bowed. He looked at Typhos, and Typhos saw tears in Fargus’ eyes. It brought strong emotions to Typhos, who bit his lip and took deep breaths in to avoid his own tears. Ahead, he heard the flames dancing on the pyre, working their way up to his Dad. He also heard the sounds of lupi howling mournfully in the forest.

“Typhos,” Aida said, but he could not bear to look at her, the way her voice quivered. He didn’t want to cry—not in front of everyone, and not when he still felt bitterness toward Adanus. “Typhos.”

He acquiesced somewhat and put his arm back around her, holding her tight as she sniffled. Typhos could not hold the tears back entirely and let a couple fall down his cheek, but he fought with all of his power to limit the display of emotion.
Bye, Dad. I wish we had done this better.

What if we had. What if you had been home more often.

If only…

Instead, all I’m left with is…

Typhos shook his head violently, pushing the strong thoughts out of his mind. The flames reached the pinnacle, and he could no longer see his father. He wrapped up his mother tighter when the pyre began to collapse, and the smoke scaled high enough that anyone at the peak of Mount Ardor would see the black fumes.

Hope someday I can see you in a better light, Dad. But right now…

Goodbye.

He looked up to the heavens, beyond where the smoke reached, and tried counting the stars.
Pointless. But I’ll have to go to some of those. Have to get off this world. This planet is nothing but sadness and grief. There’s no debate for me. Only the council and Mom are why I’m here. And I have to have that council position.

Have to.

Or I’ll make it so no one needs the council.

The last of the pyre burned, and his mother’s tears slowly dried up. The Kastori in the crowd dispersed. A few nearby Kastori came to express their condolences, and Typhos played the part of the sad son well. To his surprise, his mother seemed calm and able to have amiable conversation. She did not cry while talking to other Kastori. Most gave her space, though, and soon just the boy and his mother remained in front of the pillar of smoke.

“We need to move past this together,” his mother said, much to Typhos’ surprise. “I feel good now. Like I finally laid him to peace.”

“Really?”

“I promise.”

That seems unlikely.

“I just know we gave your father the kind of funeral he would want, and he’s definitely not coming back now. It’s final.”

Typhos nodded.
Then why can’t I get rid of the anger like you can get rid of the sadness?

“I appreciate you, son,” his mother crooned. “I love you and I am going to do more to show that to you. I know you wish we were around more, and sadly, I can’t fix that with your father.”

Wouldn’t want you to. Wouldn’t want him to anymore. He had his chance.

“But I’ll do my best. I still have to fulfill my duties as chief. But I will make it a point to come home more often and spend more time with you.”

She’s serious.

“That would… be great,” Typhos said, emotions reaching him. “It’s been hard. I am so jealous of the friends whose parents are always there.”

“I know. All too well.”

“As long as you can change going forward…”

His voice trailed off.

“I will. We’ll get this right.”

The two hugged in silence for several moments, staring at the remaining embers slowly fading into the blackness of night. His mother approached the pyre and said something that Typhos could not hear. She walked past the pyre after that and turned to Typhos, allowing him one last moment with his father’s memory. He approached and thought of all of the times that he had had with Adanus. The good times—the times when he had left work early or not gone in at all.
Those were actually some great times. Just… why couldn’t there be more… what if…

“What if?” he muttered, his voice shaking.

A single tear fell from the right eye of Typhos before he bit his lip and stopped any more emotional displays. He turned and walked with a fury to his mother, trying to suppress his true emotions but knowing he would never completely do so.

12

A week later, Typhos woke up to the sound of his mother, still sniffling, opening the flap and departing. He quickly sat up, shocked, and ran outside to meet her.

“You’re actually going?” he asked, jumping in front of her.
We’ve gotten so close. We need to keep doing this.
“We should talk some, go on another walk. We—”

“Typhos,” his mother crooned, her eyes wet. “Yes, I am going.”

Don’t leave me here. I’ll just go mad thinking about what Dad did and how it ruined my birthday and at this rate the rest of my life. You balance me out and make it OK.

“But why can’t you just telepathically communicate like you always have? I can help you here and take care of you, and we can get over it together, and—”

Aida surprised him with a sudden embrace, one that silenced his voice but produced new sniffles and tears. She let out a loud groan as she slowly pulled back after he had cried a few tears.

“You are right that we could do a lot of things together, but Typhos, I have to be honest, I am not sure I will ever get over this,” she said, creating a depressing, hopeless feeling in Typhos’ gut. “If that is the case, there is nothing for me to do personally. I can only focus on guiding the people and doing so in person at the council. It is much more effective than communicating from afar. For one, communication is spotty because of the density of magic up there. For another, I miss the council members.”

Enough to leave me behind? Are they that important?

You have to ask, Typhos. This is the chance.

“Aida,” Garron said behind Typhos. “Are you actually coming today?”

Aida nodded grimly.

“I need to take care of my son first, but I will be there. Go on ahead.”

“OK. Typhos, Pagus could use some company. He hasn’t seen you in a week and would love to hang out.”

I don’t want to hang out with Pagus. I want to hang out with my Mom. If I don’t…

Garron got the hint when no one responded and departed. Typhos looked his mother in the eyes and saw a woman uncertain of her next decision.

“I would like to stay here, Typhos, but I cannot,” she said.

“Hang out with me if you can’t get past Dad!” he said, his voice rising to the point that his mother shushed him.

“And we will, son, we will. I hope. But I have duties. When you are old enough to work, you will understand.”

“Mom!” he cried, but she started to walk past him.
You gotta ask. You gotta do it now. Otherwise later turns into never.

“Mom,” he said, his voice soft enough that Aida did, in fact, pivot back to him. He put on his softest expression. “May I go with you?”

Typhos could not place the immediate facial reaction of his mother, but it seemed like a blend of shock, anger, annoyance, and curiosity. He hadn’t seen such a look before.
Then again, never really done anything like this before. Keep talking.

“May I please go with you,” he said, grabbing her hand gently. “You say you can’t get over Dad, but I just don’t think enough time has passed. But one way to ensure you never get over it is if you don’t spend time with your only other family member. I’m not saying ignore the council and your job as chief, that would hurt us all. But Mom, there’s no reason I can’t join you up there and at least comfort you when you need it. I’ll be totally silent during the day. I’ll stay out of discussions and even go out of earshot during the most important moments. I don’t want to be a burden, but I don’t want to see you suffer. Please?”

His mother looked like she wanted to say no but had gotten so shellacked by the questioning that she couldn’t produce an actual response.

“If you need to, can you put it to a vote? I get if you don’t want to overrun the council with some chief decision, but I really think we need this. I—”

“We?” she said, and Typhos bit his lip, worried he’d inadvertently stumbled.

“Yes, we both need each other to recover,” he said, hoping she did not remember or know of his unchecked ambitions to become chief—or something greater.
A kind of god.

Aida spent several moments with her arms crossed, staring at the ground, unable to look her son in the eye. Typhos hoped she was deep in thought and not in depression at the request. He waited as long as he could not to say anything more, but the temptation to talk more nearly overtook him.