02-04-2020, 09:12 PM
He looked at her then looked away in favour of the zipping landscape beyond. Though it had been years ago now, it brought to mind unbidden of how she’d caught him on the stairs the first time he had returned home from the Negus Mena’s summons. It’s alright, Sessy. How many times had she heard those soothing words and knew them for a lie? It had chafed back then. It had never stopped chafing. And yet she held her tongue now, as she had then.
It wasn’t what he said this time, though.
Sesuna’s chest contracted. It still hurt. She didn’t expect it to ever not. When she closed her eyes she could still feel her drumming heartbeat as she raced to find her brother, convinced he was the fixer of all things, while all the time behind her their mother was dying. She should have stayed; should have fought the way they were always taught, with tooth and nail and teeth if she had to. Sometimes she wondered if doing so might finally have won her their father’s love; if perhaps he would have brought flowers to her grave. She supposed she’d never know.
“She would hate to hear you say that, Anbessa.” The words were fierce. And powerless. They had never truly spoken of their mother -- or, not what had happened at least. She’d overheard plenty of his conversations with their father afterwards, but of course he’d always protected her from the brunt of it. In truth her childhood innocence had burned away long before Anbessa truly recognised it, though she’d never tell him that. The clarity of his pain now hurt her in turn, polishing up all the old dusty guilt (and she knew he would hate that even as she felt it; that she felt any guilt at all). A sigh pushed itself out of her lungs. But, fearless creature that she was, she never looked away.
After a moment her fingers moved. I miss her too.
“They can’t ask any more of you. You’ve done enough.” Though if they asked it, he would give more, until every drop was gone. She did not look down at the mark on her own wrist. Her feelings on that no longer mattered, for she was as bound as he. Instead her expression wrinkled, though only because her next words were so soft. “Ibrahim would have died of the Sickness if you had not taught him control. You chose to teach him honour too, not just how to kill. And I do not think Rohama would still be here, even if she had survived the power, but for the family you have given her. Maryam looks at you like a father, did you know that? That is a heart.”
It wasn’t what he said this time, though.
Sesuna’s chest contracted. It still hurt. She didn’t expect it to ever not. When she closed her eyes she could still feel her drumming heartbeat as she raced to find her brother, convinced he was the fixer of all things, while all the time behind her their mother was dying. She should have stayed; should have fought the way they were always taught, with tooth and nail and teeth if she had to. Sometimes she wondered if doing so might finally have won her their father’s love; if perhaps he would have brought flowers to her grave. She supposed she’d never know.
“She would hate to hear you say that, Anbessa.” The words were fierce. And powerless. They had never truly spoken of their mother -- or, not what had happened at least. She’d overheard plenty of his conversations with their father afterwards, but of course he’d always protected her from the brunt of it. In truth her childhood innocence had burned away long before Anbessa truly recognised it, though she’d never tell him that. The clarity of his pain now hurt her in turn, polishing up all the old dusty guilt (and she knew he would hate that even as she felt it; that she felt any guilt at all). A sigh pushed itself out of her lungs. But, fearless creature that she was, she never looked away.
After a moment her fingers moved. I miss her too.
“They can’t ask any more of you. You’ve done enough.” Though if they asked it, he would give more, until every drop was gone. She did not look down at the mark on her own wrist. Her feelings on that no longer mattered, for she was as bound as he. Instead her expression wrinkled, though only because her next words were so soft. “Ibrahim would have died of the Sickness if you had not taught him control. You chose to teach him honour too, not just how to kill. And I do not think Rohama would still be here, even if she had survived the power, but for the family you have given her. Maryam looks at you like a father, did you know that? That is a heart.”