The Weight of Legacy

The gathering’s already tense atmosphere had somewhat worsened from there.

On the bright side, dinnertime hadn’t actually imploded.

Yet.

Alaric had returned within minutes, now with a fresh set of clothes, but it wasn’t hard to guess that he would have preferred not to return at all.

Bernie had two small bowls in front of her, and was using a large serving spoon to fill them up. As her guardian pushed her chair back to stand up, Malwine frowned. Wait, aren’t we still missing someone?

With as many relatives as she had in this world, Malwine had to do a headcount. Luckily for her, one of the few transferable skills she’d brought with herself to this life had literally been her ability to keep track of such things. It only took her a moment to situate the problem.

Adelheid? Hello? Does Adelheid not eat? Malwine was starting to worry. She couldn’t recall seeing her little half-aunt eat now that she thought of it. Did she just eat away from everyone?

Malwine soon got the answer she needed but did not want, as she watched Bernie leave a covered bowl atop a stool in one of the storage rooms before leaving the door slightly ajar.

How is this supposed to be normal? Is it even safe? Malwine’s internal grumbles continued, no matter how pointless they may be.

“How do you get this food?” Malwine asked Bernie, still engrossed in her intermittent interrogation. She had yet to figure out how she would spin this into something that would get her some harvestables, but it was a start. “Can I try some?”

“We purchase it on the markets of Beuzaheim,” Bernie said. Malwine doubted ‘we’ was an accurate choice of operator there. “And you can try some when you’re older.”

Malwine twirled her spoon before downing some more soup. “And the ‘utensils’?”

“We purchase them from metalworkers, or variety shops.”

“Variety shops?”

“They are places that sell odds and ends, often for a good price.”

Odds and ends? I feel bad for Adelheid. Is this how you talk to her? Clueless as she was as to the widow’s more detailed memories, Malwine suspected using idioms like that with an actual child would confuse the hell out of them.

Then again, for all she knew, Adelheid might be happily sipping her soup in the storage room. First thing I’m going to do if I get astral projection is make these people understand that Adelheid is a creepy child, not a creepy cat.

Malwine shook her head. It was times like these when she had to admit she honestly had no idea what was going on, despite her best efforts.

“And the bowls?”

She might have seen Bernie’s eyebrow twitch. “More often than not, we get those from ceramic workers, also in Beuzaheim.”

“What’s a ceramic worker?”

“Think of them as experts in a single thing. In their case, they do good work on ceramic.”

Bernie had fallen right into that one.

“What’s ceramic?”

At the sight of her guardian’s soul leaving her body, Malwine had to suppress a laugh. Her uncles clearly failed at the same, as Kristoffer snickered, and even Alaric seemed to lighten up a bit. Anselm was hiding behind his hands.

“It’s what the bowls are made of,” Bernie said slowly. “Experts take clay and turn it into a material we can use like this.”

“Oh! Can I grab some clay from outside?” Malwine beamed, allowing herself to imagine the outside world—and harvestables! She doubted it would be that easy in reality. “I want to make ceramic!”

“No!” Bernie’s hands went up, a hint of desperation finally showing through the cracks in her masked expression. “It’s unladylike!”

“Pardon?” Thekla interjected, nursing a cup in her hand. “If Beryl’s girl wants to learn, I would love to teach her how to make tiles.”

“You don’t make tiles,” Abelard whispered. Thekla’s elbow soon came to rest somewhere against his ribs.

“No, you are not teaching her anything!” Bernie shot back as the remainder of her composure decided to abruptly exit the room. The change back was just as swift, deep breaths followed by her straightening the visible folds of her dress. “She is too young for such nonsense.”

Malwine pouted. “But I want to do things!”

“When you’re older, perhaps,” Bernie said, but it came off as the type of thing people told children to placate them, as opposed to the truth.

Rather than argue, Malwine decided to just pour gasoline into the fire and turned to Thekla. “Who’s Beryl?”

It was Thekla’s turn to regret her words, as the platinum blond paled, her eyes wide. “Uhm.”

“Your mother’s name is Beryl,” Anselm said, his fork bearing one of the stick-like vegetables he apparently refused to eat. “What? She should know.”

“You open a dangerous door,” Kristian sighed. “It’ll only bring her confusion.”

“Spoon?” a voice next to Malwine said.

“Please, she has to know something,” Anselm finally bit down on the vegetable, taking his time before continuing. “Do you really think that’s the first time the name has come up? It must have, before.”

Malwine nodded along, handing an unused spoon to the speaker.

“You don’t know that,” Bernie argued, shooting Thekla a glance. “Until now, we had been absolutely careful.”

“If it hasn’t yet, it would come up eventually. Eventually, she would want explanations. We might as well tell her now.”

Malwine nearly jumped on her seat, turning to see Adelheid sitting next to her, about to start eating her soup. After a moment, she calmed herself. “Hi?”

“Hi!” Adelheid smiled, but the soup remained the object of her attention.

“In any case, it would be a decision for us to make. You can’t just, unilaterally decide to bring Beryl into this,” Bernie insisted. “Devils know I am at my wits’ end as it is!”

Kristoffer raised a hand. “I would argue it was Thekla who misstepped, not Anselm.”

“What did I ever do to you?” Thekla glared at her brother.

“Oh, you know.”

“Where’s mother Beryl, then?” Malwine blinked expectantly, and another round of shouts erupted, harder to follow than the last. She sighed.

Adelheid patted her in the back, and Malwine flinched. Oh, dear, I’m so sorry I haven’t been a better friend to you, little half-aunt.

“Sshhh,” Adelheid whispered. “Great-grandma might know.”

Malwine’s brain short-circuited. Kristian was an orphan, and even the system seemed unwilling to reveal the identity of his parents. Bernie belonged to a family that was now gone, that much she had gathered.

How could Adelheid have a great-grandmother? Through Bernie, somehow?

Alternatively, a completely random old lady?

The rest of her family continued to act as if Malwine knowing Beryl’s name would somehow usher in the end of the world, as Malwine struggled to process Adelheid’s words.

In the end, she went for repetition. “Great-grandma?”

Adelheid nodded while simultaneously shushing her again.

If nothing else, she had Malwine’s attention.

“Look, Malwine—” Bernie started before freezing, her eyes landing on Adelheid. She looked away slowly, as if her daughter were a mirage about to disappear at any second. “Look, Malwine. Your mother was indeed named Beryl. She was your grandfather’s daughter. That’s who she was.”

“Was?”

“Is!” Bernie corrected herself, her panic evident. “That’s who she is. And she’s gone away. But we have dedicated vast resources solely towards finding her.”

“Why did she go away?”

“We know not. But we hope she may yet be found.”

“Hope?”

“Yes. Nothing is certain.”

Malwine pouted. “Why not?”

“We know not where she is,” Bernie said carefully.

“And what is she like?”

At that, Bernie froze—for once, she seemed to be at a loss, her gaze flickering between the other adults in the room.

Kristian rose from his chair. “I am full. I shall retire for the day.”

“Us as well,” Thekla said. Her aunt looked positively mortified still, all but dragging Abelard away from the table. “It has been quite the eventful day.”

Malwine crossed her arms—even at a family gathering, it seemed people would rather run in the opposite direction than be frank with her.

Alaric shot her a sympathetic smile, but neither he nor the middle brother wasted a second to vacate the room.

It was more than a bit irritating.

Bernie sighed. “Come, Matilda. I shall take you to your room. Malwine, I will come for you shortly.”

“But dessert—”

“We shall retire at once!”

And just like that, Malwine was left staring at a nearly empty table. Adelheid had disappeared again at some point. Only Anselm remained, finishing the vegetables. The two pieces were the only thing she saw him touch, and they’d each only been slightly larger than the average asparagus.

She was suddenly more worried about whether her uncle ate than whether Adelheid did, honestly. At least she saw her little half-aunt down an entire bowl of soup.

“Here.”

Malwine was startled out of her reverie by her uncle, who was holding something golden out to her. She reached for it—barely smaller than her own hand, the metallic item looked like a tiny compact. Or a locket, if unconventionally positioned for one.

It was cold to the touch, and made of a golden metal that almost glowed.

The first thing she saw was the panel—perhaps by instinct, she’d reached out to see what it was.

Memento of Beryl Rīsanin

Harvested by Anselm Rīsan

Revealed by Anselm Rīsan

An image brought forth from memory, of one Beryl Rīsanin, as she was when the one who revealed it last laid eyes upon her.

Malwine went very still.

The figure on the item was looking off to the side, her eyes a dark shade of brown. She had prominent lips, nearly identical to Katrina’s, but the shape of her head was off—closer to Kristian’s. It was almost eerie. From the trial, Malwine recalled Katrina’s appearance quite clearly. And she had been peculiar.

Seeing a single one of her features on somebody else was a bit disconcerting for someone used to not knowing what most of her relatives even looked like. Certainly, she got to see her aunts and uncles in this life, but…

None of them really looked that much like Katrina.

Clearly, Beryl did.

Her hair was a light shade of brown, cut just under the jawline, and its tips were curbed upwards in a somewhat exaggerated matter. If that wasn’t an intentional hairstyle, Malwine might start to question reality.

It took her a second to notice just what was on the lower lid of the faux compact.

Warm brown eyes stared back at her, loose dark curls framing her small, chubby face. With the clarity of the compact’s faint light, her hair looked like the type of jet black that bordered on bluish.

Fuck.

Malwine knew what she looked like. It was still disorienting.

She scrambled to close the faux compact, hitching her breath.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though her uncle didn’t reply—he had left. Not that Malwine felt like talking, even if he had remained.

Right now, all she wanted was to lean forward, her face on her hands.

And despite her best attempts, she cried.

Though the estate had many exits, Anselm’s favorite had long since been the one with low, marble steps that led outside. Combined with a few other features, it stood as one of the last remnants of whichever original structure had rested here, before the Champion Saint took this land from the fell beings that dwelled upon it.

For all Katrina felt like a stranger since he learned of her actions, his search had paid off in some ways—namely, he had learned far more about the location’s history than he had ever expected to. The attic was full of paperwork someone had clearly not expected anyone to stumble upon, what with all the hazardous, brine-tinged material some boxes had been wrapped in.

Unfortunately for whoever placed them there, Anselm was beyond caring at this point.

He sat upon the steps, one hand within the other. Did he regret ruining the family meal? Maybe. Kristoffer had not erred in claiming it, strictly speaking, had not been Anselm’s fault, but he knew he had escalated matters.

Still, he found he could not hold his tongue. He loathed the idea of hiding things from the girl. His only doubt, now, was whether he had pushed too far. He had left, not wanting to intrude as his niece stared at his creation with such intensity.

Anselm remained unsure as to just how he had managed it—he’d thought of what he wanted the harvestable to be, and it had become exactly that. With items, it usually took a few attempts, and personalization could only go so far, yet the harvestable had obeyed at once, and perfectly.

As much as he detested most of its effects, the blessing apparently had its uses.

Humming to a tune he had little recollection of, Anselm chose to linger outdoors for just a little longer.

What kind of mother would Beryl have been? Would be? Anselm knew not. He wondered if she’d spiraled in the same manner. When their mother died, Beryl had been nineteen, not much more than his own sixteen, but he doubted any of the others remembered Katrina as she did. They’d seemed like clones at times.

Until one day, something had changed. It was the start of Beryl’s rebellious phrase—though perhaps it could not be called a phase anymore, not when it had lasted for the rest of Beryl’s life here.

Suddenly, the matriarch and the eldest did not get along.

If nothing else, the latter hated the former.

Anselm had never known why, but he wondered, now.

Had his sister known what Katrina had done?

Malwine sniffled, glad the table had so many unused napkins upon it.

Bernie had yet to show up, taking her time as always. I should be glad, Malwine admitted to herself. She wasn’t in the mood to come up with excuses as to why she had cried, even if the past dinner’s events could have easily provided one.

And I didn’t even get myself some harvestables!

The faux compact rested in her inventory, its light bright whenever she tried to visualize the space. It was beautiful, even without accounting for all the unwelcome emotions that rose in her chest whenever she snuck another peek at the reproduction of her mother’s face.

The widow had been much more stoic when she’d seen pictures of her own parents, back then. She’d been less emotional about the late couple then than she was now being about her absent mother.

Malwine was only slightly peeved by the fact that it had come from a harvestable.

After giving Bernie a few more minutes to come pick her up, Malwine gave up. Carefully, she positioned herself to go over the chair’s railings. Small or not, her attributes were objectively unchildlike. She landed on the floor with grace that surprised even her, but it didn’t last long.

Gripping the legs of the chair, Malwine steadied herself. Walking wasn’t a problem, but no amount of practice made her confident. She was jealous of actual toddlers who walked like this and could feel good about themselves.

She might have ruined the family mealtime. Maybe.

But if Bernie was going to go disappear, then the idea of trying to sneak out was back on the table. Her guardian had been the main roadblock for that plan.

Well, that, and the fact that I have no idea where the harvestables are.

Still, she hadn’t expected to find herself so grateful about her family’s utter lack of communication skills. They could just talk things out… or they could all avoid the problem, and leave Malwine with the time and opportunity to grab some harvestables.

Malwine focused on her inventory again. That thing glowed a lot. Still, [Unpacifiable] was quiet, so she kept it where it was. An annoyance, sure, but nothing grave.

She almost stepped towards the side she knew led to one of the outdoor areas, but stopped herself. Slowly, she moved closer to the storage room and glanced inside.

Nothing had moved.

Malwine turned to confirm Adelheid’s perfectly empty bowl had not moved from the table. It was right where she had seen it before going down.

Who the fuck was the soup for then? Malwine stared at the untouched, still-covered bowl on the stool. She backtracked without a word, leaving the dark room behind.

Not my business!

Besides, harvestables awaited.

As she hobbled down the stairs, and towards the nearest path, Malwine couldn’t help but be a bit confused. Certainly, she was confident enough on this to try, but… This was actually going well?

Slow step by slow step, she walked further away from the estate.

[Unpacifiable] remained silent.

Choosing not to jinx it by questioning her luck so far, Malwine took another step forward.