33rd Summer, 497 A.V.
Witt Household
“Very good Ennio, that is correct.” Erasmo, Bennar’s father, said with a nod and the shadow of what may have been a smile at the eldest of his children. Ennio sat next to his father, and looked rather pleased with himself for answering one of his father’s queries correctly. At the time, it being 497 A.V., Bennar was six years old, and Ennio eleven. Erasmo Witt had a habit of drilling his children on their lessons, and specifically things to do with Alvadas and her economics. He was a rather well-to-do merchant of all sorts of cloth and exotic food stuffs within the city.
Bennar never did well.
“Bennar,” his name escaped his father’s lips thick with the preemptive disappointment. It was like the man relished the unavoidable torture he put his children through every night. “Do you know why Alvadas is so important to the trade of both Kalea and the eastern world?”
Erasmo Witt knew damn well Bennar had no idea why the hell Alvadas was so important! His mother was still teaching him more mundane things. Bennar stared at his father, who stared back with those icy blue eyes. Bennar searched them, but found nothing soft, no bit of warmth.
“Bennar has not been studying the same as his brothers, honey. He has been-“
“Quiet, Lorita. I did not ask what he has been studying, I asked if he knows why Alvadas is important for trade.” The man cut cleanly through his wife’s polite words without so much as an empathetic emphasis. Lorita clamped her mouth shut and looked at the wall across from her. Bennar had glanced to her desperately as his mother tried to come to his aid, and thought he saw a flash of something in her eyes. Anger?
Why would his parents be angry with each other? They were married, in love.
“Is it because we have so many things to sell to others?” Bennar said, his voice rising with hope.
Both Erasmo and Ennio looked at him with the same loveless disappointment. Salvatore, who had remained out of the conflict so far glanced up at his younger brother with a pained look on his face as he shoveled a few select bits of boiled potato into his mouth. He shook his head a fraction.
“Is it?” Erasmo said, it was a mocking question. Everyone knew it wasn’t. Bennar knew it wasn’t. But the man wanted him to feel dumb. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Another ugly meal. There was never any enjoyment, only thinly veiled tension.
“No.”
“No. Salvatore, I want you to tell me the correct answer.” Erasmo said, sliding his gaze from Bennar to his second son. Sal wiped his lips and shot Bennar an accusatory look before answering.
“Uhm. Because it’s by the Suvan Sea? It gets to trade with all those eastern cities and Sultros.” Sal said. The know-it-all never had as much trouble with the old man as Bennar had.
There was no smile, no look of satisfaction. Only a perfunctory nod and a ‘very good’ that seemed more habitual than genuine. But after the customary halting congratulations, Erasmo had to reprimand the offender, as always. “You know, Bennar, when you are working with me in the warehouse and visiting shops you will have to know this. Our family has been merchants in Alvadas for a very long time.”
What if I don’t want to be a merchant? The youth almost asked. But wants were not relevant with the Witt family.
Erasmo was looking at his youngest son as if he had really let him down. No one ever taught me that! Tell mother to teach me the things you care about rather than writing and reading then! He wanted to shout the words at the sire who had ruined so many dinners with his mean questions. But that would just be inviting more punishment.
“Why don’t you teach us ever? Since you know so much about it and we will be working for you.” Bennar quickly added on the second sentence to recover from the unintentionally accusatory tone of the first. It was true though. Erasmo had not taught them anything, only served as the ever critical judge of their academic accomplishment. Their mother, the woman who taught them, was not knowledgable enough in the field to be trusted with such things as assessing their growth. The question hung in the air, it’s weight far more powerful than young Bennar could have meant.
Witt Household
“Very good Ennio, that is correct.” Erasmo, Bennar’s father, said with a nod and the shadow of what may have been a smile at the eldest of his children. Ennio sat next to his father, and looked rather pleased with himself for answering one of his father’s queries correctly. At the time, it being 497 A.V., Bennar was six years old, and Ennio eleven. Erasmo Witt had a habit of drilling his children on their lessons, and specifically things to do with Alvadas and her economics. He was a rather well-to-do merchant of all sorts of cloth and exotic food stuffs within the city.
Bennar never did well.
“Bennar,” his name escaped his father’s lips thick with the preemptive disappointment. It was like the man relished the unavoidable torture he put his children through every night. “Do you know why Alvadas is so important to the trade of both Kalea and the eastern world?”
Erasmo Witt knew damn well Bennar had no idea why the hell Alvadas was so important! His mother was still teaching him more mundane things. Bennar stared at his father, who stared back with those icy blue eyes. Bennar searched them, but found nothing soft, no bit of warmth.
“Bennar has not been studying the same as his brothers, honey. He has been-“
“Quiet, Lorita. I did not ask what he has been studying, I asked if he knows why Alvadas is important for trade.” The man cut cleanly through his wife’s polite words without so much as an empathetic emphasis. Lorita clamped her mouth shut and looked at the wall across from her. Bennar had glanced to her desperately as his mother tried to come to his aid, and thought he saw a flash of something in her eyes. Anger?
Why would his parents be angry with each other? They were married, in love.
“Is it because we have so many things to sell to others?” Bennar said, his voice rising with hope.
Both Erasmo and Ennio looked at him with the same loveless disappointment. Salvatore, who had remained out of the conflict so far glanced up at his younger brother with a pained look on his face as he shoveled a few select bits of boiled potato into his mouth. He shook his head a fraction.
“Is it?” Erasmo said, it was a mocking question. Everyone knew it wasn’t. Bennar knew it wasn’t. But the man wanted him to feel dumb. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Another ugly meal. There was never any enjoyment, only thinly veiled tension.
“No.”
“No. Salvatore, I want you to tell me the correct answer.” Erasmo said, sliding his gaze from Bennar to his second son. Sal wiped his lips and shot Bennar an accusatory look before answering.
“Uhm. Because it’s by the Suvan Sea? It gets to trade with all those eastern cities and Sultros.” Sal said. The know-it-all never had as much trouble with the old man as Bennar had.
There was no smile, no look of satisfaction. Only a perfunctory nod and a ‘very good’ that seemed more habitual than genuine. But after the customary halting congratulations, Erasmo had to reprimand the offender, as always. “You know, Bennar, when you are working with me in the warehouse and visiting shops you will have to know this. Our family has been merchants in Alvadas for a very long time.”
What if I don’t want to be a merchant? The youth almost asked. But wants were not relevant with the Witt family.
Erasmo was looking at his youngest son as if he had really let him down. No one ever taught me that! Tell mother to teach me the things you care about rather than writing and reading then! He wanted to shout the words at the sire who had ruined so many dinners with his mean questions. But that would just be inviting more punishment.
“Why don’t you teach us ever? Since you know so much about it and we will be working for you.” Bennar quickly added on the second sentence to recover from the unintentionally accusatory tone of the first. It was true though. Erasmo had not taught them anything, only served as the ever critical judge of their academic accomplishment. Their mother, the woman who taught them, was not knowledgable enough in the field to be trusted with such things as assessing their growth. The question hung in the air, it’s weight far more powerful than young Bennar could have meant.
