The Courtyard
Midday on the 65th of Roalis, 2719
Ezre was late. Sound asleep, luggage still packed, packages still wrapped, and the clothes he'd arrived in the darkness of this morning some odd hour after the tenth house ago still mostly on his person. The dark-haired boy had made it into his dorm room with every intention of sneaking out of it and climbing eagerly up some particular terrace, presents and words and so much more ready to share ... only to totally pass out sorting through books he'd brought back with him on the floor of his room instead.
Still sprawled there, windows open to the oppressive, low-elevation Anaxi Roalis summer heat, the Hoxian slowly woke to the bells of the Church of the Moon marking midday. For a brief moment, caught somewhere in that mysterious fog that clouded between conscious and unconscious states, still floating somewhere between existences, he could have almost been fooled into believing he'd remained in Kzecka just a few more precious, difficult days He'd not stayed long enough and yet he'd been there too long. There were so many bells in the city of temples tucked snugly high up into the black rock Spondola cliff sides, but somewhere in the back of his flight-lagged, groggy, physically exhausted mind, he knew their sounds were different, ringing through the frigidly crisp high altitude air—air so cold and pure that even the Rho Tsvat’kyett himself agreed it was a blessing from the gods upon the humble people of Hox.
Ezre hadn't been home in nearly three years.
The thin air made him tired. The chill caught him off-guard. The familiar faces had welcomed the young man with open arms, but his heart had arrived heavy and burdened. He'd left Brunnhold foolishly. He'd unbalanced everything. He'd lost his tenuous control of his growing, changing teenaged emotions and left nothing but hurt and misunderstanding in his wake.
He'd had almost thirteen long days to fester over his mistakes while all of northeastern Anaxas, the Quiet Sea, and the northernmost sandstone of Mugroba passed below him and his private cabin, the loud rumbling of engines not at all able to drown out the memory of Lilanee's angry voice, of Lilanee's confused tears. It had all been too much to explain! Boundaries blurred with the excitement of merged fields and mingled bodies, and the Hexxos acolyte had somehow lost the distinction between his true, private self and his careful, public self in her company. As freeing as that glorious emotional connection had been, initially, it had also, in hindsight, become just as frightening. Had he ever really connected with anyone outside of his family? Outside of his small, trusted circle in his homeland? What was he truly able to share with the Hessean? What was he meant to keep secret when he wanted to give someone else—an outsider—so much?
That lack of clarity and immature indecision had led to his returning home alone—he could have asked. He should have asked.
What did he really have worth hiding?
Home.
Ezre had arrived with so many questions and yet when he found himself walking the quiet, carefully paved streets of Kzecka still dusted with snow in the shadows of temples, he found he had no reason to ask them right away. Instead, he lightened himself of all that weighed him down by talking, by sharing everything he'd carried for years as a foreigner far from all that had once brought him comfort.
His umah had listened. His uhat had spoken.
He'd meandered libraries. He'd sifted through ancient texts. He'd focused his body and centered his mind, even though it had been far harder to sleep alone than he knew how to admit and even though he struggled to let go of thoughts that were not at all as helpful as he'd considered them to be. He'd let his heart breathe and realized that, much like he'd told Tom Cooke all those months ago outside of Ghost Town: nothing truly had value until you were willing to let it go.
Ezre saw clearly what—and who—was important in the life he'd begun to form for himself with his own inked hands.
The dark-haired boy had not only found his footing again in those weeks, but also accepted his place as Guide among the Hexxos. No longer an acolyte, he knew his calling but admitted to the small council of his order that his desire was to continue to travel, that his longing to understand the Cycle and their place in it required a wider knowledge than all the books in Kzecka's beautiful, ancient libraries. He wanted to be that Witness, and his request to continue his exploration and research outside of the precious isolation of his home was granted with prayers and blessings he'd not entirely expected.
He'd returned to Anaxas lighter in spirit, marked in ceremonial officialness with more hand-tooled ink beneath his skin, and heavier in luggage than when he'd left. The Hoxian had written so many letters—every evening!—to Lilanee and yet chose to keep them all but one, tucking them away in a box along with the much more heartfelt present he'd had one of his uncles skillfully craft before leaving. He'd sent the last one to tell her when he'd be home. He'd also sent one to his raen acquaintance, eager to share with him all the research he'd gathered on his behalf.
And here he was, finally back, half asleep, and so late for everything.
The last bell seemed to finally filter through his groggy senses and Ezre was up with a gasp, stretching and yawning on the floor before squinting at the clock in his small room, realizing the time.
The time!
Scrambling up, he scattered papers and knocked over his suitcase, pulling himself together with a slow exhale: he gathered into his school satchel the cloth-wrapped stack of scrolls and books and letters for Tom, he set aside the smaller, no less precious package for Lilanee, and he fumbled for new clothing in his suitcase, not at all yet ready to don the restrictive and limited Brunnhold uniform in the last few weeks of the university's summer break. Loose linen layers of brilliant saffron, burnt orange, and simple undyed creme, a wide belt of dark, volcanic ash grey replaced the dull browns of his wrinkled, traveled-in comfortable clothes.
The Hexxos Guide caught glimpses of himself in the mirror: fresh hand-tooled linework from his bottom lip and all the way down to his hands and toes with a variation in thickness would surely attract more misunderstanding and attention now, but its significance in his commitments to care for not only the dead but also the living far outweighed the opinions of over-opinionated Anaxi mhoren. The matters of the afterlife and the mysteries of a broken Cycle were his inheritance and more firmly part of his willingly accepted identity. Staring at his changed face while pulling back dark hair finally cropped to just below his shoulders into an informal topknot, shaved sides comfortable in the oppressive Anaxas heat, he let his gaze wander the way his new tattoos disappeared into the neckline and folds of his clothes, the lingering alpine scents of Kzecka temple life, incense, his umah's cooking spices filling his senses.
Tucking his spectacles in the fold of his innermost shirt layer and a familiar, shiny restored pocket watch into his wide, heavy cloth belt, he felt the strangely comforting tingle of anticipation trickle through his nerve endings and dance along the base of his skull. He smiled while packing his things and shouldering his bag, not rushing despite how tardy he knew he was, despite knowing he had to meet not only the young woman he'd missed for weeks but also the raen he'd made promises to ... which was perhaps an odd combination of individuals to bring together had Ezre been better at looking backwards instead of forwards most of the time.
They should meet, however. It would give him the opportunity he needed to explain—to show all of himself in trust.
He'd barely returned to this Kingdom, and had he been someone else, he might have worried about hurting Lilanee further. But he did not, his Clairvoyant-laden field brilliantly bright and sharp, light like the comfortable grace with which he wore his rhakor. He would finally see her again today and he was so full of words—even apologetic ones—that she surely would hear them. Enough tears had been shed, and he hoped forgiveness could be won with his sincere form of enthusiasm. Nearly sixty days was a long time to be apart, but he hoped the perspective he'd gained from a much-needed trip home would be enough to overcome the confusion and suffering he was aware he'd left behind. His family had promised to make space for Kuleda-vumien over Winter Break, and his umah had written the invitation herself. The generous, expressive note tucked among his saved letters.
He was quick and sure-footed down the steps from his dorm (they were no ancient hand-carved temple stairs, after all), squinting once he was out into the Roalis humidity and low altitude heat that all but threatened to steal his breath. Floating on hazy, distracted thoughts as he tried desperately to filter his short but intense experience home into presentable material for conversation. Ezre made his way to the Courtyard, having left a note in the Liaison Wing of Long Hall with instructions for the Incumbent on where to meet him, very much desiring to make his amends with Lilanee before making proper introductions.
Ezre could have found Tom first, but at the same time, he told himself he had rightly recognized his priorities. He knew it would be a strange meeting if he didn't have a moment of explanation first—
Oh.
There was an unexpected sense of disappointment that interrupted his almost meditative internal reassurances, however, in the realization that Lilanee Kuleda was not alone awaiting his arrival, awaiting their necessary reunion.
Zjai, he was late.
Zjai, he'd not specified his requirements for their awaited reunion ... But.
A ripple of confusion fluttered through his field before he was even in range of caprision, the Hexxos Guide aware of the shock of his appearance, recognizing Madeleine Gosselin of all students he knew there in the grass near the Hessean he'd missed, near the Hessean he'd certainly longed to reconnect with outside the purview of others for just a few precious minutes ... and now couldn't. Not quite in the way he'd imagined for days, anyway. Not in the way he'd rehearsed on the long flight home. Not in the way he'd prepared. There was a genuine flutter of frustration, of immediate, uncomfortable fear and anger that may have burned in the depths of his mind—much more critical of himself and what he immediately assumed were his own shortcomings instead of placing any blame on the young redhead and her equally bright-haired companion—but these shallow, self-depreciations never made their presence known on the well-practiced calm of his face.
It would be fine. His assumptions were immature.
There was no reason for these unnecessary emotions. There was most likely a logical explanation for the interloper because it wasn't as though Lilanee would invite someone to simply stand witness to a more-than-platonic greeting after how they'd parted.
Right?
Unless—
Was she still angry? Had he underestimated the strength of their friendship? Had she invited someone else to soften the blow of unanticipated rejection? Was time spent apart not as productive for her as it had been for himself?
Surely, she had not grown so bitter in his absence, though he had to admit he had yet to grasp at a full understanding of her thought process. He'd certainly hoped he had more time for such studies and the sharp pang of concern that he had muddled too much for her tolerance levels of his company finally caused his otherwise calm facial expression to falter for a moment or two.
Recovering, he pushed away the self-doubt and allowed instead the hope he'd carried all the way from Kzecka to warm in his smile. He waved, polite and cheerful, and then he nodded at Maddie in an acceptably amicable and friendly manner. His manner of speaking seemed to emphasize consonants far more strongly than before he left, his return to his home reviving the thickness of Deftung in his accent, "Hello again, Miss Gosselin. I expected to see you more often in Yaris, considering my cultural requirements have somehow found me drafted into confisalto as if it were the Karmine in Hox, but it is a surprise to see you again today. Excuse me a moment—"
The Hexxos Guide had more important things to say but did not want to utterly ignore the younger student. Gingerly, he stepped over a few scattered books to slide a rather heavy satchel off his shoulder and onto the blanket before all but pouring himself into Lilanee's personal space with a true warmth, the Clairvoyant's field brimming with anticipation and excitement as if overcompensating for the simple expression he wore on his delicate-featured face—a face now adorned with a thin but obvious line of dark ink that began at his lower lip, traced over the fine bone structure of his chin, and traveled down his neck into the bright folds of his very traditional clothing,
"—I am sorry."
Ezre Vks began without any hesitation, heartfelt and thought out and utterly sincere. His tone was not deadpan, but the emotion in the tenor of his voice was contained and measured. To anyone who did not know the dark-haired boy, that would have meant very little, but to those who understood his sense of discipline, it would be clear that he was very full of feelings and intentions, "First: for my tardiness—I underestimated travel-lag—and then second, for, well, for everything else before I left. I recognize that I made mistakes and poor choices, Lilanee, but I do hope that time has assuaged the sharp edges. If not, then I hope I can dull the hurts now that I have returned. I—"
His dark eyes shifted to the younger student for a moment before meeting the Hessean's blue gaze, arms moving in expectation that she would stand and greet him in return, that he could put aside his more than simply cultural distaste for public displays of affection in order to offer what he considered a necessary apologetic and caring response in the form of a much-awaited (on his part, at least) embrace. A hug felt needed, even if it required an audience.
Ezre did not care in this moment who in all of Vita would bother to watch him hug Lilanee Kuleda—unless, of course, she told him no.