Post by Marko Iliev on Jul 4, 2012 21:59:11 GMT -5
The first day of summer fell on June 20th that year. The mid-morning sun lit Granor up like a beacon atop the cliffside, the sea below sparkling; refracting like diamonds... Yet not all was as bright as the glistening light suggested.
"Straighten your back, vnuk! [1]" Baba called from the open-topped carriage at the centre of the party, her croaking voice abrasive over what was otherwise simply the clapping of the horses' hooves and the quiet of the cliffside morning.
Marko winced upon hearing her voice, and sat up on his saddle, despite the discomfort it caused.
"Straighter, momche! [2]" She yelled again. He leaned back further. "Straighter! I will mould your back into shape with my cane if you do not sit up properly!" Not liking the idea of that, he arched his back until it hurt. "Too far!" She hissed. He shifted forward, sighing quietly in annoyance; having to try very hard not to just slump again. "What a barbaric manner your son rides in, Veselin!" The old woman put purposeful emphasis on the words 'your son', the bitterness in her tone as clear as the sky that morning. She added, with a snort. "As would be expected, I suppose."
Baba had most obviously assumed that a twelve-year-old boy wouldn't understand the inexplicit meaning of what she had just said. But Marko wasn't stupid. He only saw the wretched old woman twice, perhaps three times a year, but he could tell when she was being insulting to him or his mother, even in an undertone. She only ever used the term 'barbarian' to refer to Aleksandrina, now that he was old enough to understand it, and oh, did he ever despise the damn hag for it. Luckily, he had his back to her, and she couldn't see the scowl on his face. He wanted to turn around and give her a piece of his mind... Badly. But now was not the time. Instead, he glanced upwards to his father. Veselin's horse was a fully grown black-coated beast, unlike Marko's – Kosta – which was slightly shorter, a tanned honey-brown colour, and just barely into adulthood. Normally him glancing over at his father was a futile thing to do, but he hoped that if Veselin had been listening, he might say something to keep Baba quiet.
But his father merely kept his gaze on the road ahead.
"Tate? [3]" He tried to get the man's attention by talking, albeit quietly. He really didn't want Baba interjecting... Thankfully her hearing wasn't quite as good as her sight (or her wits, unfortunately).
"Bashta. [4]" Veselin off-handedly corrected him.
"Da, bashta..." Marko looked back down at the reins in his hands, frowning at the lack of acknowledgement he received. "Um... Would Baba get angry if I didn't want to marry a girl?" It was a redundant question. Baba got angry at everything.
"Do you want to marry a boy, instead?" Veselin replied, still not looking towards him. That was his idea of a joke, but he didn't voice it like one. In fact, he sounded quite aggravated with the notion.
"That's not what I said..." Marko pouted. Although, unlike girls, boys didn't have cooties; so if he hadn't have been aware that his family gravely frowned upon 'that kind of thing', he would have considered it. "Maybe I just don't want to marry at all. Or get to choose, like normal people do."
"You're not normal. We've held this conversation countless times, have we not?" Veselin's tone was hard and cold, as per usual. "You're the heir to the Iliev name, and everything that comes with it. Even the burdens. You need to know your place."
"But what does getting married have to do with any of that?" He began to whine, getting frustrated. "You got to choose maika [5] after you got the plant, didn't you?"
Marko looked up towards his father again, and saw annoyance cross his gaunt features.
"The circumstances were very different. Besides, the Cvetkovics are a military family. Aligning with them will protect us from such fates as the one your grandfather faced."
He didn't think he needed protecting. "It's an alliance? Why can't Grigor just do it instead, then?"
"Because you are the first born." Veselin became more forceful with his speech. "And it is more important that you secure a bride and an heir, because you have the weight of the entire Iliev legacy resting on your shoulders. Do you understand me, sin? [6]"
'No', he was tempted to say, but he shook his head in affirmation. "Da..." He answered, not sounding too enthusiastic.
"Good. Speak no more of this, or your grandmother will hear."
He had a point there.
Marko didn't know much about the Cvetkovics, asides from what he'd been told already. They were a military family, much smaller than the Ilievs, and only had one child – their daughter, Annica. She was two years younger than Marko, and that was all he knew about her. But she was a girl. And girls were icky. He didn't think they were important enough to warrant a travelling party like this one – four riders (himself, his father and two of Baba's henchmen) and a horse-drawn carriage, all in their best clothing... Which was heavy enough on its own, but was just uncomfortable and a pain when on horseback. Especially in the summer heat, the tight pants, and the patterned waistcoat, and the hat with the rose stuck in one side that just served to weigh it down even more, were cloying and itchy.
"Tat-- Bashka?" Marko spoke again, still frowning. "Do I really have to stay all summer here with Baba?"
"Da." Veselin replied bluntly. He still only kept his eyes ahead.
"...Can't I come home on weekends?"
"Ne."
"But what if maika has the baby when--"
Veselin interrupted, "Then you'll see your new brother or sister when you come home in September."
"But what if--"
"No more out of you, momche!" His father raised his voice. He then yelled over his shoulder to halt the party, turning his horse to the left.
Marko glanced up, and there they were; at the gates of the Cvetkovic's summer home. He lowered his head, looking down the rest of the cliffside road... He was sorely tempted to make a break for it.
---
Translations:
[1] – 'vnuk' = grandson
[2] – 'momche' = boy
[3] – 'tate' = dad/papa
[4] – 'bashta' = father
[5] – 'maika' = mother
[6] – 'sin' = son
"Straighten your back, vnuk! [1]" Baba called from the open-topped carriage at the centre of the party, her croaking voice abrasive over what was otherwise simply the clapping of the horses' hooves and the quiet of the cliffside morning.
Marko winced upon hearing her voice, and sat up on his saddle, despite the discomfort it caused.
"Straighter, momche! [2]" She yelled again. He leaned back further. "Straighter! I will mould your back into shape with my cane if you do not sit up properly!" Not liking the idea of that, he arched his back until it hurt. "Too far!" She hissed. He shifted forward, sighing quietly in annoyance; having to try very hard not to just slump again. "What a barbaric manner your son rides in, Veselin!" The old woman put purposeful emphasis on the words 'your son', the bitterness in her tone as clear as the sky that morning. She added, with a snort. "As would be expected, I suppose."
Baba had most obviously assumed that a twelve-year-old boy wouldn't understand the inexplicit meaning of what she had just said. But Marko wasn't stupid. He only saw the wretched old woman twice, perhaps three times a year, but he could tell when she was being insulting to him or his mother, even in an undertone. She only ever used the term 'barbarian' to refer to Aleksandrina, now that he was old enough to understand it, and oh, did he ever despise the damn hag for it. Luckily, he had his back to her, and she couldn't see the scowl on his face. He wanted to turn around and give her a piece of his mind... Badly. But now was not the time. Instead, he glanced upwards to his father. Veselin's horse was a fully grown black-coated beast, unlike Marko's – Kosta – which was slightly shorter, a tanned honey-brown colour, and just barely into adulthood. Normally him glancing over at his father was a futile thing to do, but he hoped that if Veselin had been listening, he might say something to keep Baba quiet.
But his father merely kept his gaze on the road ahead.
"Tate? [3]" He tried to get the man's attention by talking, albeit quietly. He really didn't want Baba interjecting... Thankfully her hearing wasn't quite as good as her sight (or her wits, unfortunately).
"Bashta. [4]" Veselin off-handedly corrected him.
"Da, bashta..." Marko looked back down at the reins in his hands, frowning at the lack of acknowledgement he received. "Um... Would Baba get angry if I didn't want to marry a girl?" It was a redundant question. Baba got angry at everything.
"Do you want to marry a boy, instead?" Veselin replied, still not looking towards him. That was his idea of a joke, but he didn't voice it like one. In fact, he sounded quite aggravated with the notion.
"That's not what I said..." Marko pouted. Although, unlike girls, boys didn't have cooties; so if he hadn't have been aware that his family gravely frowned upon 'that kind of thing', he would have considered it. "Maybe I just don't want to marry at all. Or get to choose, like normal people do."
"You're not normal. We've held this conversation countless times, have we not?" Veselin's tone was hard and cold, as per usual. "You're the heir to the Iliev name, and everything that comes with it. Even the burdens. You need to know your place."
"But what does getting married have to do with any of that?" He began to whine, getting frustrated. "You got to choose maika [5] after you got the plant, didn't you?"
Marko looked up towards his father again, and saw annoyance cross his gaunt features.
"The circumstances were very different. Besides, the Cvetkovics are a military family. Aligning with them will protect us from such fates as the one your grandfather faced."
He didn't think he needed protecting. "It's an alliance? Why can't Grigor just do it instead, then?"
"Because you are the first born." Veselin became more forceful with his speech. "And it is more important that you secure a bride and an heir, because you have the weight of the entire Iliev legacy resting on your shoulders. Do you understand me, sin? [6]"
'No', he was tempted to say, but he shook his head in affirmation. "Da..." He answered, not sounding too enthusiastic.
"Good. Speak no more of this, or your grandmother will hear."
He had a point there.
Marko didn't know much about the Cvetkovics, asides from what he'd been told already. They were a military family, much smaller than the Ilievs, and only had one child – their daughter, Annica. She was two years younger than Marko, and that was all he knew about her. But she was a girl. And girls were icky. He didn't think they were important enough to warrant a travelling party like this one – four riders (himself, his father and two of Baba's henchmen) and a horse-drawn carriage, all in their best clothing... Which was heavy enough on its own, but was just uncomfortable and a pain when on horseback. Especially in the summer heat, the tight pants, and the patterned waistcoat, and the hat with the rose stuck in one side that just served to weigh it down even more, were cloying and itchy.
"Tat-- Bashka?" Marko spoke again, still frowning. "Do I really have to stay all summer here with Baba?"
"Da." Veselin replied bluntly. He still only kept his eyes ahead.
"...Can't I come home on weekends?"
"Ne."
"But what if maika has the baby when--"
Veselin interrupted, "Then you'll see your new brother or sister when you come home in September."
"But what if--"
"No more out of you, momche!" His father raised his voice. He then yelled over his shoulder to halt the party, turning his horse to the left.
Marko glanced up, and there they were; at the gates of the Cvetkovic's summer home. He lowered his head, looking down the rest of the cliffside road... He was sorely tempted to make a break for it.
---
Translations:
[1] – 'vnuk' = grandson
[2] – 'momche' = boy
[3] – 'tate' = dad/papa
[4] – 'bashta' = father
[5] – 'maika' = mother
[6] – 'sin' = son
