Lamordia, five years ago
Uncle Claud had died that winter: a nasty cold that clogged up his lungs, they said. Being the eldest son of his father, he had been a boy when they settled in Martira Bay; his false memories had told him he'd been born in Darkon all along, but his soul yearned for old Lamordia and thus, unusuallly, his will had stipulated that his body should be taken back there upon this death. The family remembered the fact of the existence of the Glaese crypt, in the old cemetary north of Ludendorf, but only once they had escaped the reach of Darkon did the cognitive dissonance resolve itself and Claud's siblings born in Lamordia recall that, of course, their mother had been interred there, too.
The younger generation of Glaeses -- born in Darkon, and therefore immune to its memory-warping effect -- said nothing. To draw attention to this phenomenon was considered one of Darkon's highest taboos.
Carina, somewhat the black sheep of the family, came to Lamordia separately and arrived at the family crypt while the ceremony was underway. A religious service in Lamordia was itself something of an exotic aberration, but the Darkon Glaeses had, to varying degrees, embraced the Overseer in an effort to integrate in Martira Bay. The dull yet comforting droning of the Overseer Witness performing the ceremony made onlookers gawk in disgusted horror; and indeed, that part of the Glaese clan who had remained in Lamordia stood in mute shock and polite, unvoiced yet obvious aversion as the priest spoke the eulogy. Yet the Witness seemed to be doing his job: Carina's more immediate family were aided along the course of their grief by his gentle (if, to Carina, hollow-sounding) words.
Her father caught sight of her as she stepped into the gas-lit crypt, but merely frowned before looking away.
Eventually the service came to an end -- to the relief of more than half the gathered Glaeses -- and individually or in pairs began to file past Claud's casket to pay their respects. When Carina's turn came, she stopped a moment to stare at her dead uncle's face. His expression was peaceful, a state of mind which had been alien to him for much of his later years. She wondered at their relationship. Of her three uncles, he had been the most distant: reserved and aloof in a way he had never been with her siblings, never praising nor criticising her. He had treated her with all the warmth of a statue, and while in her youth she had been wounded by this, age had brought understanding: she saw now that she had reminded him of his own father, her grandfather; and their own relationship had been frought.
With this retrospective, she had come to see his treatment of her as the deepest of compliments, even if it had not been intended as such; for she admired her grandfather more than anyone, and she, of all people, could understand the hurt that could stand between parent and child.
"Farewell, patruus," she murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead and leaving a small silver ouroboros ring in his hand.
As she left the crypt into the cold spring air, she was virtually tackled by a shorter, duskier Darkonese woman who began to shower her with kisses.
"Mother... you'll smudge my make-up," Carina managed with a demure smile, under the maternal assault. But she returned the hug; that part of her where she bottled up her loneliness aching almost unbearably for a moment. And she then endured the following barrage of questions with uncharacteristic good will.
"Yes, I am eating properly. No, I'm cooking for myself, it is Borca, after all. The school is fine. No, I've not asked for a raise. The money's fine. Maybe I will next year."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father watching them. When she turned in his direction, he moved away, she was sure, with a supercilious sniff. Her heart filled with resentment; no doubt he considered her chosen role inferior to being some fat burgher's broodmare--
"He does love you, Carina," said her mother, interrupting her thoughts. Carina turned her gaze back to the older woman, meeting her eyes.
"Is that why he threw me out?" she asked bitterly. "Mocked my ambitions?"
"He wanted what he thought was best of you," her mother said, softly, who then smiled and stroked her daughter's cheek. "But you must forgive him. We love you. We're your family."
Family, Carina contemplated bitterly. What does that even mean? But before she could articulate the thought, her sisters interrupted them to introduce her to the mewling babes and infants that were her young nieces and nephews. Much as she usually disliked children, it was a relatively pleasant distraction from the precedent subject.
* * *
She eventually found refuge from it all with her uncle Samwell. Her father's youngest brother had always been the easiest to like, the most avuncular and understanding. And this time, as they sat alone in the study of her distant cousin, slowly drinking his expensive brandy by the fire place, he patiently indulged her as she ranted, mostly about her father. It was only as he sensed she was reaching the natural conclusion of her paroxysm, that he interjected strategically, "But you know, he's got a point..."
The lure caught, and Carina turned to him, blue eyes briefly furious. Before she could catch her breath, he pressed his advantage. "What are you doing with your life? Right now?"
"I'm a teacher," she said defensively. "A language teacher. What's wrong with that?"
Samwell gave her the candid look of the semi-inebriated and shrugged. "Nothing. If that's what you want to be. Is that what you want to be?"
"No," she allowed lamely, then sighed in exasperation. "You know what I want to be."
He nodded. "So why are you a teacher?"
"Because it pays. Because I need money for my private studies."
Samwell gave a knowing nod. "If that's what you're after, there's better ways of making money. And I'm not talking about the amateur nonsense you were involved in back home."
He had her attention now, and she tilted her head, asking, "What do you mean?"
Her uncle looked at her, and smiled. "How much do you know about the great merchant syndicates of the Western Core?"