I walked over to the brazier my mentor had set up, with trepidation in my heart, knowing that what I would ask now, he might not approve of. And yet I knew that deep within my soul it must be done. I can see he has already begun to lay out for links of his own, but has not progressed any farther than to lay the materials out, weighing in his own way his own shortcomings, to see if they truly deserve Zyelo, his face impassive as when he used his scales for others.
I sat down across the brazier from him, in the manner of the Tsuganie and their Kensori allies, with legs crossed, the soles of my feet aiming away from the earth, not rejecting it, but denying myself the comfort of the feel of the flesh of the world upon them. To stand when crafting a zyelo was a sign of pride, and you could bring no such emotion to the forging of the somber links of the vyereegie. And now I had nothing to be proud of. I had failed.
The one now known as Dazg looked up, his eyes were much like that first meeting we had, full of wisdom, pity, a sadness all his own, and yet hope glimmered there. Why, I could not then say, though I would someday learn.
I laid out the makings of two links, and two links only. And the eyes became puzzled, knowing the years in the Zamok would have given me a taste for ostentatious zyelo. Yet mine were plain, yet there was gold in each. I had marked them as family links.
“What sins have you that you need such a weight malchik?”
I set my left hand over the left most pile of materials “The sin of failing my duty, to protect and keep safe my people.” I extended my right over the other. “And not being there for my friends, family, and love, who must now suffer darker times than they deserve, through my fault.”
“Neither zyelo is of your fault my young friend.”
“Yet that they must do so without my support is.”
“I would have expected more zyelo, one for each if that were true.”
“I will not lie, on the road, my mind sank to the level of the fools, yet in the end, I choose but two links, for my blood and friends, and my people as my full family.”
The fiery coals of the brazier burned and hissed against the occasional mist of the night for a long time, and when I looked towards my friend, his face was streaked with tears, of sorrow mixed with relief.
“Zhakono. You are still the malchik who came to my table that day, your heart is still strong, free and true. You have learned the lesson only living can teach.” He set up melting cups and handed over to me a mold. “Yes, you are that malchik, grown to a true karlykn.”
After a bit of silent contemplation, I looked at his works, and spoke again from that place within. “And who weighs your links, Uchenie? The Fordai? Yourself?”
“In the end we each weigh our vyereigei ourselves, though others may try to tamper with the scales of our souls, and only the gods can truly say if those scales were true or not.”
We spent the rest of that night on the shoulders a peak of the southern Iron Mountains, each of us making the symbols of his own Chain of Sorrows.
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