Page 88 of In This Iron Ground
The inside of the house was a capsule of the years the Nileses had lived there. Time told its story through the scuff-marks on the doors, the areas of wear on the rugs, the etchings on frames from children who had already grown. The place had the scent of food, of land, of family.
“And this is my daughter, Alice,” Camille said, introducing the young woman who was setting down saucers and plates for the large pot of tea in the middle.
She was dark-skinned, short and plump, her hair in long waves around her. When she looked up, her eyes were sharp and intelligent, her face broad and beautiful. Damien didn’t know if it was because he already knew that she was next in line to be Kephale or if it was the way she carried herself, but he immediately sensed something powerful in her. Not in regards to the influence she might wield over others, but the sense of confidence and balance she exuded.
“Hello! You’ve done all that formal mumbo jumbo stuff, right?” she asked with a cheeky grin, revealing dimples.
“Yes, Alice. We already did the ‘formal mumbo jumbo’,” Camille said with fond exasperation.
“Great. It’s nice to meet both of you,” she said, abstaining from physical contact in her greeting. Although Camille had hugged them, it was unusual for werewolves who did not have previous bonds to touch in greeting. Although Alice was human, she, like Damien, must have picked up the scenting ways of shifters long ago.
“Likewise,” Damien said whilst Hakan nodded.
They sat around the table, skipping any further pleasantries in their eagerness to start.
Damien took out the written package on the topic, now considerably thicker after he had worked on it for a few weeks. Both Nileses raised their eyebrows as Damien set copies of it on the table, explaining its contents, which were colour-coordinated and bound professionally.
“Wow. This is…more than we expected,” Alice said, sounding impressed.
“I hope you weren’t expecting any less from the Salgado pack,” Damien said playfully. Alice chuckled back, nodding in acceptance.
They spent the next few hours looking through the information. Hakan was a silent observer as the other three sunk their teeth into the package. Damien went through it once with them, clarifying any points that Camille and Alice questioned. He was able to answer any queries that followed, now knowing the topic well enough to extrapolate from his knowledge and answer the scenarios they posed.
Despite his nerves, his focus on pleasing the Salgados by completing the task successfully drove him forwards. Alice was engaged and vibrant, and it was easy to forget the pressure of the situation under her keen-eyed interest and playful demeanour. Despite the fact that she was not training to be a shaman, her knowledge on the topic of Ousía seemed well-honed, giving her the right tools to excavate the material Damien had brought.
Damien and Alice had deviated into a discussion of the necromancer bond with familiars when Hakan interrupted them subtly.
“Sorry, but, Damien, we have to leave soon to catch the train back,” he said. Damien looked out the window. It was already dark.
“Wow, I didn’t realize so much time had passed. I hope we didn’t overstay our welcome,” he said to the Nileses. They laughed, shaking their heads in an almost identical fashion.
“Don’t be silly! Time flies when you’re having fun, after all,” Alice said, smiling at him.
Damien returned the smile. “I reallydidhave fun.”
“So did I!”
“Before you go, Damien,” Camille said, calling him into the kitchen, leaving Hakan and Alice in the living room.
Damien followed, putting his hands out as she handed him a small book. The hard cover was covered with green material, the wordsRecipes of Oldin gold, leathery writing on the front.
“I want you to have this,” Camille said. Damien looked at her in confusion. “These are old family recipes, collected through the generations. Pack members are given one when they come of age, and they are guarded within the family. I entrust you with them, as I know you will honour them and keep them safe.”
Damien stared at her, completely speechless for a moment. He looked down, cracking the spine open. The pages were glossy, depicting high-quality photocopies of hand-written recipes.
“I…I couldn’t possibly accept this,” Damien stuttered.
“Dear boy, why ever not? It is your due.”
“My…how, I mean, that—I wasn’t the one who, this is too much, I—”
“Boy, I will forgive you the implication that you know what is due more than I do,” Camille said, managing to sound stern and playful at the same time. Damien flushed. “I know exactly what your input was in the collection and imparting of the information you just shared. Information which will be incredibly valuable to us and will help us maintain balance within our pack. You did not give us something material, but what you have done—the care with which you did it—has tremendous value. You know of the balance of Ousía. You must know the value of your actions, and imparted information should be repaid in kind. These recipes are yours because it is your due. That is not decided by you. That is the way of Ousía.”
“I…I mean,” Damien took a deep breath. “Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say.
Camille looked at him with shrewd, penetrating eyes. “Damien of the Salgado pack…there is something clouding your sight. To maintain balance in the world, in your life, you must know your true value. Not the value you feel. The value that is. And accept nothing less but something of equal value from others. If you consistently accept less than what you are from others, you will fool yourself into believing you are less. Your life will not find balance that way.”
Damien’s first instinct was simply to correct her and say that he wasn’t part of the Salgado pack. His second impulse was to tell her that she didn’t know enough about him to know his true value.
