Page 7 of Beyond the Ruby River
“Don’t pester him, Imi,” said Mahu with a chuckle. “Please fetch us two beers and two plates and tell your mother I said hello.”
“Yes, Mahu. Back in a blink.” Imi flounced off, leaving Daka in a bit of a daze in her wake.
“Don’t mind Imi, she’s always been precocious. She’s the youngest of six. Her eldest brother, Beni, was once engaged to my daughter, Kasmut.”
“Not anymore?”
Mahu shook his head sadly. “The last great sickness took Kasmut and her mother, Ahset, along with her.”
Daka’s stomach sank. A stone took up residence where his guts should be. What was he thinking asking Mahu of his family after he’d seen him mourning graveside only last night? “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m glad they’re together.” Mahu’s gaze grew distant. “When my time comes, they’ll be waiting for me in the underworld, along with my son.”
The rock doubled its weight. “Your son too? Are you all alone?”
Mahu’s shoulders hung forward. “He took ill as a boy. The same sickness, but the first wave. It eases my mind to know his mother and sister care for him now.”
Well, that explained the three graves. Poor Mahu. An entire family gained and lost in one lifetime, and only him left in the mortal realm.
Mahu leaned in, one arm on the table. “I’ve made you sad. I’m sorry. It’s all right; I’ll be with them again someday.”
Daka couldn’t wrap his mind around Mahu’s apology. It was he who should apologize, asking thoughtless questions when he should have known better. He didn’t know what to say, but he must say something or he risked being seen as uncaring. And he wasn’t uncaring, only ill-equipped at showing it. He copied Mahu’s manner, leaning in, one arm on the table.
“I don’t mind taking on some of your sadness. I’d relieve your burden if I could.” The words were sincere, if awkward. Daka wished to be helpful.
“Let’s not be sad together when we’re about to enjoy a feast.” Mahu changed the subject. “You will love Herit’s cooking, or I’ll swallow my tongue.”
Mahu had made an effort to perk up, so Daka did the same. “The food smells divine.”
Imi came around with a tray nearly as big as she was balanced along arm and shoulder. She placed their drinks and dinners in front of them with a flourish. “Sourdough and lentil stew, your favorite. And mother says it’s about time you brought a friend.”
Daka was utterly charmed at Mahu’s sheepish expression.
“Off with you, Imi, you rascal. And only return when the beers are empty.”
Imi stayed her ground and held open a hand. “You’ve brought me something, I know it. Let me have it now, Mahu, please? What if she sends me to bed before you leave?”
Mahu reached into the folds of his tunic and brought out the tiniest papyrus scroll Daka had ever seen. No bigger than his longest finger and tied in the middle with a blue slip of fabric.
Imi snatched it from his palm with glee. “Thank you. Kita will be so jealous.”
“Be nice to your sister.”
Imi kissed Mahu’s cheek and ran off to do whatever young humans did before bedtime, Daka supposed.
Enchanted by the interaction, Daka asked, “What was that about?”
Mahu’s smile for the girl had not faded. He aimed it at Daka, and Daka melted beneath its glory. “There is a joke within the scroll. I’ve forgotten which one. I carry them for the children to help them learn to read, but they’ve become quite demanding.”
If Daka had thought Mahu charming before, he was positively endearing now. “That’s very sweet of you.”
Mahu lifted a shoulder. “It’s nothing. They’re made from the scraps of my work. Trash really.”
“Treasure,” Daka corrected. “Her eyes lit up when you gave it to her.”
Mahu lowered his gaze. Before them, wisps of appetizing steam rose from their stew. “Let’s eat.”
Daka wouldn’t argue with that. He dipped his spoon into the thick, red lentils and took a bite. Spices burst on his tongue, savory and fresh, as good as Mahu had promised.
