Dictionary of my Heart

Ketet: a swear

Tejak: sing

Tuyyan: sorry

Kuom: loud

Ja: signifier to make something more

Vettuj: red

Araverej: forever-rain, or rain/storm that seems never to end

Yamnay: flyer, friend, companion 

Kheekjak: sibling

Yamkeek: False sibling

Erttusha: and insult for a mean person, ass-mouth

Ummak: art, collage or combining

Korkemkers: mind-splat, meditative diary

Ameokk had been appointed Kirjnhas^1*, August heard the next day.

It was hard not to hear about it, it was though the wind was whispering it, every conversation he overheard mentioned it in some way. The beastguards who trailed the halls, the creatures who preened the flowers and plants, the cooks, the cleaners, the entire estate seemed to be speaking of it alone.

Somehow, August hadn’t known the duel for the title took place yesterday. It had to have been something being planned for weeks. Maybe not publicly planned for weeks, but Mother wouldn’t be impulsive about Ameokk doing that, they would have had a plan.

And Ameokk hadn’t told him.

When Ameokk visited him last night, after the duel  (though August hadn’t known this at the time), they hadn’t been able to speak.

They had been unnaturally still again. Still and silent, until they had started sobbing.

There was nothing August could do but hold them as they shook. Despite being nearly a foot taller than him, they were so small in his arms.

It wasn’t until the morning that he found out what had happened, and not from Amek.

They weren’t back to normal that day after. Or the day after that. Or the week after.

But that was okay. They were quieter, and smiled less, and the smiles that did flicker onto their face were so clearly fake. But that was okay. August would be the normal one for them both.

He would ramble about his books, even if Amek didn’t interject as often as usual. He would curl Amek’s tail with his a bit more often, a gentle hold that they could easily pull away from if they wished. He would sit with Amek in silence when they wanted to sit in silence. Just watch the clouds.

A little over a week had passed when Amek finally talked.

It had been a long day for them, August could see it in the tension of their tail, in the emptiness of their gaze, in the fast billowing of their cloudy hair. And of course, their eyes.

Twin red flares.

They had been that way for the last hour or so.

Despite everything, they had managed to have a relatively nice dinner. Or meal, it was well past midnight. Amek had picked up a fruit and custard pie and they each took a half.

With a fork in hand and sweetness coating his tongue, August had been detailing the plotline of his most recent novel when Amek accidentally leaned their knee on their plate, which was placed on the ground.

This caused a chain of events.

Amek jolted in surprise and launched their fork away, causing the current bit of pie on it to fling partly onto their shirt and partly onto the carpet. Realizing the rest of their pie was in jeopardy, they quickly removed their knee, and when the plate (and pie) wobbled unexpectedly, they reached out to steady it, miscalculating and getting a fingers full of pie. Custard, sticky jam, crushed berries, and all.

August burst out in laughter at the sight, as one does when your brother manages to mess up so spectacularly.

Amek immediately sprang up and went to the sink, the rush of running water following as they presumably washed off their pie covered hand.

But his laughter began to peter out when he realized Amek hadn’t laughed at all. And that Amek was washing their hands a long time.

Their back was to him.

Their wide shoulders were hiked up, and he could see the muscles of their back move as they washed their hands in a repetitive, jaunty motion.

The longer he stared, the more the noise of the faucet seemed to roar in his ears.

“…Amek?” he said softly.

And it was though that had flipped a switch in them. Once quiet, now words wouldn’t stop tumbling out.

“I know it’s silly, isn’t it.” Their back was still turned. “I’ve killed before and it’s been fine. Yet he asks me to kill him and I still feel his blood under my finger nails.”

“I… What?” their voice had raked over him, he struggled to process what they had said. They had been eating pie only moments ago.

They turned, leaning against the counter. “The Kirjnhas duel. You know I barely hesitated. I think another creature would have.” They rubbed at the hand that had previously been covered in custard. After all their washing it was red and raw. “And it wasn’t hard. It was so easy.” That last word was spoke tightly, as if caught in the snarl of their teeth. “It didn’t take much strength at all. It was easy. It’s that storm spirit strength, I know, it was so easy.”

As they stepped away from the counter, August only just noticed their other hand had been gripping the wood hard enough to leave scratch marks. At some point, black talons had sprouted from their fingertips.

“Have I told you what storm spirits are called before, it’s Kesuvkortyaa.” Their hand, the one not raw, raised to gesture, while the other twitched at their side. “Beings of storm –  we referred to ourselves as distinct, as removed from other creatures. Isn’t that remarkable, I suppose it makes sense.”

He should interrupt, in his gut, he felt he needed to interrupt, to stop all of that leaving Ameokk’s mouth. He didn’t want to get a stormspeak word this way.

But Ameokk barely seemed to break to breathe as he continued, and August was frozen.

“Non-storm spirits are called Avkretymet, that means dim-er , less-keyaa than us, weaker. And it’s true,” Ameokk laughed, throwing up their one hand” it’s true! It was so easy. I’m a mere quarter of his age, his experience, and he didn’t stand a chance. Because keyaa runs different in storm spirits than creatures^2*.”

August’s throat felt cinched shut.

What do you say to that? He wanted to say that’s not true, but maybe it was. (And what did that mean if it was?) And even if it wasn’t, Amek believed it was, and he was sure he couldn’t convince them otherwise.

That seemed to be all that Amek had, and at once, all of their heated energy disappeared. Their hand dropped, limp at their side, and a tired film fell over their eyes.

That abrupt silence somehow was worse than that tumult which had left their mouth. Perhaps now because they both had to sit with what had been said.

Their gaze drifted towards August before going down to their twitching hand. Slowly, as though it took an infinite amount of effort, they raised their other hand up to rub at their face.

August heard their exhale, it was shaky.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He struggled to form a word with his tongue. He had to say something.

“…And don’t say it’s okay,” they added quietly, almost sounding amused in a horrible, weary way.

Their raw hand twitched at their side, seemingly irritated. They rubbed it against their pants and then clenched their fingers in and out several times.

At a loss, and with his heart thumping a nauseating pace in his chest, August said, “… there’s still… there’s pie left.”

They dropped their hand, and their face looked pained. “I don’t want any more pie. I’m full.”

His ears drooped, and he could tell they were twitching with distress.

“Do you… do you want a hug?” August hoped he said yes.

Amek looked downward. Their eyes were still glowing red, though dimmer than before and partially obscured by their hair.

They clicked no, and August’s heart sunk.

Then he remembered Ameokk’s hesitance on the night of the duel. “Are you, um. Is it. Are you scared of hurting me again?”

They stiffened, but didn’t respond.

“…you didn’t hurt me last time.”

Still, they didn’t move.

“And your hands were like that last time too.”

A sudden desperation welled up in August, and he stood to meet Amek instead, pausing once Infront of them.

Then slowly, so slowly, he wrapped his arms around their waist.

It was a loose hold, barely anything, barely touching. It gave them opportunity to escape, if they wanted it. They didn’t fight it. Just stayed still.

He didn’t dare to breathe as the silky fabric of their shirt ghosted over the insides of his arms.

Then, there was soft a pressure that dropped on his head. Amek was pressing their cheek into his hair.

One arm circled across his back and rested there, a gentle weight of warmth. The other arm remained limp at their side.

When August pulled them closer, just so, they relented.

He could feel puffs of air on his ear as they breathed, their chest shuddering with restrained sobs.

And as he held them, nothing but the silence of their own breathing to be heard, nothing but silken fabric slipping on his fingertips, nothing but their weight leaning against him, he wondered whether this was more for himself or for them.

They weren’t normal the day after that. Or the next week. Or the next month.

They did get better over time, but not normal. Not as they were before. Eventually, August realized this was the new normal.