Rivek and Mirab are Alisian on their father's side and Brennan on their mother's. Prejudice, violent history, and no effort from either side to understand the other resulted in both societies growing increasingly xenophobic of the other. Each child was raised and assimilated into one of their respective countries but their peers would make sure they always knew what it was like to be foreign. Not completely relevant, but Rivek is 5'10" and Mirab is 5'8".
Funny how those lambasted for being foreign consider those that ridicule them just as foreign. And those with half-blood are foreign to both. In addition, Mirab was much more of a crybaby when she was little.
If there's a sudden change in writing quality (be it better or worse, it's because this excerpt was written over three years ago.
The wooden boat skidded to a stop on the rocky shoals. “Careful not to poke a hole in ‘er,” muttered one of the two actual seamen on board. “These islands aren’t friendly. In more ways than one.”
Rivek stepped out of the boat and rubbed the light drizzle off his eyelashes. Ocean travel had never been his thing. He dropped his dagger and sword in the bottom of the craft seeing as he wouldn’t need them. “You all stay here. Don’t go exploring until I’ve returned.”
“Not like we’re particularly hell-bent on being slaughtered by you demon-blood types. I’m happy right where I am,” muttered the sailor. Rivek threw him a glare, but decided that reprimanding him was not worth the effort.
The shallow water lapped at his boot heels as he circled the cliff base to find a passageway he hoped he had not forgotten, but a decade was a long time to remember a secret road. Despite the cliff face, this was the easiest place to dock ships around the entire island. Any other inlet threatened to rip off the outer layer of one’s hull.
There it was. The path looked smaller, but he suspected it would since he had been only a child when he last left it. It was a little thing, meant for people to move single-file up the rock.
He ascended slowly, unsure of his footing. He kept his dark cloak wrapped around him, hood over his face, to keep the salt spray away from his eyes and to keep the chill out from under his shirt. He forgot how often it rained and how cold it became. Occasionally, he put his hand out on the rock to steady himself and wondered how many extra calluses he would have if he had lived his whole life here.
At the top of the cliff, he walked to the side of the road and let the pine branches brush against his arms. It was something stupid he had done as a child. People had made fun of him for it, but he hadn’t noticed them enough to stop. The trees felt the same. All things considered, they probably were the same, just older. He was the one who had changed as he aged.
The road itself was little more than footpath. Horses were too large to be commonly used on the islands. Things like plowing and pulling carts were usually done by people. Te tens, te resbilas. “Your things, your responsibility,” was one of those Alisian-mother phrases burned into his head, one that had carried over into his Mainland life. Albeit, in his case, his father was the one who usually did the Alisian reprimanding. His mother never bothered to learn much of the language outside of what she would need in a marketplace. He rubbed a drop of water off the tip of his nose.
“Akero.” Stop. More like 'halt,' actually.
Rivek stopped walking before stepping into the sword blade inches from his stomach. “I hold no quarrel with you,” he said, fumbling with the much more formal, now slightly foreign, syllables. “I wear no arms.” What a waste of time, but he had known it was something he’d have to put up with. From what Rivek knew, most Alisian actions were driven by nothing more than tradition, and everyday occurrences – security patrol among them – turned into bizarre rituals.
“Your accent is unfamiliar.” The other man sneered. “Where are you from?” Rivek knew there were probably now at least two other people behind him, also pointing something sharp in his direction.
“Mainlaid, Tirid.” He felt those two other weapons close in to rest against his back. The extreme xenophobia of his own people – although justified in most cases – did prove rather inconvenient on occasion. “I am here to speak with Ailinar Ailinar Mirab Imrin.” He carefully reached up to put down his hood, revealing the distinctive scar on the right side of his face.
The guard blinked a few times. It was uncommon to know someone’s fourth name let alone to use it. The blade poked at Rivek’s navel, but he knew the man wouldn’t try anything. To draw blood was an action with many connotations, over half of which could get you into trouble. The patroller motioned to a bush. Or rather, someone hiding in a bush. Rivek’s guess would have been someone with a blowgun, just in case things had taken a turn for the worst.
Waiting with three blades pointed at your torso was not something Rivek enjoyed doing, but it was something he would put up with. Even so, he hesitated to roll his shoulders a bit despite their stiffening up.
The fourth guard would have to run back to town center, or whatever the Alisian equivalent was, to get Mirab. There was probably a fifth somewhere, a magic-user in all likelihood, someone who didn’t need to be seen in order to fend off intruders. Alisian patrol tradition tended to have two or three groups of five circling the community at once. It was an odd version of town watch that most adults took part in although it was usually unnecessary, and the only things they killed were feral animals.
Rivek wasn’t sure if he could call this place a city. It was too small, and the physical structure wasn’t like that of a town. If you wanted to buy something, you wouldn’t go to a store. You would simply knock on the door of the man you knew made the things you wanted. Domara, the word for Alisian community, derived itself directly from the word for ‘family,’ and the two were usually considered one and the same no matter how confusing lineages became. Lacking space on the island, the Alisians had built upwards rather than outwards, and carved homes into hillsides and stacked shelters up trees. A record number of small children died from falling off of things. Even Rivek still had a few scars.
The runner returned, followed by a tall, blonde, woman whose long hair, decorated with random braids, flapped against her lower back as she walked. She would be what, now? Twenty-seven? She was four years older than he. Few people would see the similarities between the siblings. Her eyes were green and her nose significantly smaller, but they shared the same thin, regal, skeleton trademark to the wiry Alisian people. Lucky her, though, she got the prettier traits from mom.
“You’re dead,” she hissed.
“I sure don’t feel like it,” he replied in Common, their mother’s language, the language his sister and him used to speak between themselves when they didn’t want other people to know what they were talking about. Although, most people who had been off the islands at some point or another had picked it up. “Although if you don’t call these fellows off in a second, I very well could be.”
It took her a minute to process the words. She hadn’t heard this tongue used in ages. It struck her that she would have no idea what her younger brother looked like now. The only resemblance between this man and the eight-year-old boy she once teased was the scar across his face. And, well, scars were relatively common and easily lost and gained. Ten years, you’d think it would have faded. She was not about to get her hopes up. “I need verification.” She nodded at the runner. “He says you came across the channel, and we do not take kindly to strangers.”
Rivek sighed, but he had come prepared for this. “You have a birthmark on your shoulder that looks like a pig,” he said, switching back to Alisian.
She scoffed. “Everyone knows that. Try again.” He could feel those pointy things in his back sinking into his skin.
“You’re missing one of your back teeth because it rotted out when you were seven.”
She made a face. Obviously, not her favorite piece of information. “Someone could have told you that.” She reached for her own sword, a curved, one-sided blade that one could visibly tell received regular usage.
He sighed and switch to Common. He didn’t know why, it just made him a little more comfortable. “When you were nine, you had a pet snake, Dudu, and he died when our cousin stepped on him. We gave him a funeral in your best friend’s back yard and scattered the ashes over the ocean, but that night, you slept outside with the sheep because you didn’t want anyone to see you cry. And I went to look for you when it didn’t look like you were coming back. And then, I found you sobbing against a ewe. And then - you made me promise never to tell our father.”
Mirab inhaled sharply as the whole story played out in her head. She waved the guards away. “He has my custody. Go finish your duty.” They bowed and walked off, glancing backwards on occasion. Rivek took the opportunity to stretch his shoulders.
“I really thought you were dead. Word got back that Mom was caught in a fire…”
“That’s not the nicest thing to say to your prodigal brother when he first comes back, is it?”
“Fine, how’s this? You got tall.”
He smirked and hugged her. She came up to his chin. “Better. And you got short.”
She flicked him in the ear. “Still talking to birds?”
“As if I could stop.”
She laughed and returned his embrace.
“Welcome home.”
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