86- Father

Quayleigh stood and stared at Phaedra. Of all the things she thought she may have discovered in the MET, a connection to her father hadn't even made the list of possibilities. She was in shock; stunned to silence.

"Please, come and sit at my table," Phaedra said, gently coaxing her to the side of his office to where a table had been set for two.

The china was of the finest make and the silverware was real. Even the waterglasses were of crystal and sang to the slightest of touch.

"I can tell by your silence that you were unaware of your father's relation to the MET," he said as he pulled a chair out for her.

Quayleigh shook her head slowly as she sat down.

"Let me start by asking you a question. What do you remember about your father?"

"His name was Sebastien Aodhan. He has a brother named Roibeárd. He was a professor at the Turnage Campus of the State university. When I was five, there was an accident, and he never came home. My mother, she destroyed everything to do with him, and refused to speak about him. I remember so little and have so many questions."

"I suspect you must. Jen never spoke about him, at all?" Phaedra questioned as if he found the very notion to be strange.

"No, but she was a wretched bitch, who died a wretched death, and got off far too easy in the aftermath." Quayleigh cleared her throat as Uru gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze, "Sorry. I'm sure you can gather that I shed no tears when she died. Well at least not for her. It's impossibly hard not to cry when you've been stabbed and in the worst pain you can imagine."

"I had heard that Jen had died some time ago. Can I ask what happened to her, and you?"

"Yeah, I don't mind," Quayleigh replied as Phaedra retrieved a pitcher of water from the trolley in the corner of the room. "Basically, her bad decisions caught up with her." She smirked as he filled their awaiting glasses. "Jen squandered everything away on drink and drugs, mostly the latter, and moved us in with her dealer boyfriend, Ezra Nari. It was a cesspit of depravity and constant abuse. I was barely nine when Ezra, high on who-knows-what, decided that he should auction me off, and that was the one day in four years that she decided to be a mother to me, sort of. She told him no, but it wasn't a firm no, it was more of a 'no, wait until she's ten', because somehow to her, that was totally okay. He stabbed her for it. Turned on me because I was stupid enough to run for the phone, and that was when he slashed out my eye. He stabbed me six more times and Jen, who wasn't yet dead made some noise, said some things best not repeated, and he went and finished her off. Strangely enough, I got really lucky. He had exhausted himself and wasn't in a hurry to see if I still had a pulse, and that gave the cops time to show up. They busted down the door and shot him dead a few minutes later."

"I'm so sorry you had to experience that," he remarked, having joined her at the table. "You've had a difficult life, Quayleigh, and it was all so unnecessary. If she had only asked, the Tribunal would have helped. If she had told you anything at all, you would have at least known where to turn."

"Yeah, I'm still not entirely certain what you even mean by that. Why would the Tribunal have helped either of us?"

"Yes, of course. I will explain everything from the beginning while we eat. I do hope you find todays menu to your liking," he said as the wall next to the table slid open revealing a dumbwaiter, a tray with two salads within. "This is the arugula and beet salad with feta, black raspberry vinaigrette, and a dusting of candied pecans," he explained as he pulled them from the tray and set one down before her.

"Wow. Thank you. This looks amazing," she remarked as she picked up the outer most fork, copying his selection.

"We do have the finest chefs in the country, but we can speak more on the cuisine later, for now, I digress. To start, I was six when I first met Sebastien. I had just been allocated to the archives as the junior most apprentice and was basically pawned off on him because the old Archivist despised children; even the gifted ones like me. I would go on to support him much in the same capacity as Riannoske serves you, but in those early years, it was more him helping me."

"Are you saying my father was a practitioner here?" she asked with a skeptical tone between mouthfuls.

"I apologize. I should have explained better. Your father worked for the Tribunal in an educational position. As you mentioned, he was a professor, but he didn't work directly for the university, although he did teach classes there. His particular area of expertise was, and remains, a rare field of study," Phaedra said before stopping long enough to take a mouthful of food.

"So, the Tribunal loaned him to the university?"

Phaedra nodded and muttered 'yes.'

"What was it that he taught that the university had to ask the Tribunal for assistance?" she wondered as he finished his mouthful.

"The History of Magics in the World for them, and here it was just the History of Magics. And although he was employed and registered with the Tribunal, he was not a practitioner. Like you, he had special privileges within the archives, but his went much further. When he wasn't teaching, he was down here assisting students, working on restorations, or doing research."

Setting down his fork, he removed his napkin from this lap and stood from the table. As she finished her salad, he retrieved a file from his desk and handed it to her before retaking his seat.

"What's this?" she asked as she placed it onto the table so she could wipe off her hands.

"It's your father's employment record. I thought you may want to verify what I've told you."

She froze as her heart throbbed and ached at the sight of the file. The cover was old, worn and faded; the labels covered in tape that had yellowed with age. Her hands shook as she reached for the file, and ever so delicately lifted it open. She tried to maintain a sense of composure, but inside, she was awash with turmoil as her eye beheld a sight, she had thought she'd never see; a glossy 5x9 photograph of her father, paperclipped to the inside of the cover.

Removing the paperclip, she carefully lifted the picture and found it difficult to breath.

"You struggled to remember him, didn't you?" Phaedra remarked in a soft manner, the tines of his fork chiming against his plate.

She nodded, "I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember what he looked like. She had thrown away every picture. Erased him from my life before he was even cold. Would it be too much for me to take a picture of this? Please?" she asked as tears rolled down her cheeks, and she felt the comforting grip of Uru's hands upon her shoulders.

"You can take as many as you like, but it may just be easier to take the file. I got it out of the long-term storage, just for you."

"I can keep this?" She was surprised and needed clarification as she looked down at the picture and then back up to Phaedra.

"Yes. It's yours."

"Thank you," she replied attempting to choke back her tears, clutching the photo to her chest as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"I can imagine. Losing Sebastien hit me hard as well. He was a father to me and treated me like I always thought a man should treat his son. As a ward of the Tribunal, I am not allowed to have a family name, but it didn't stop Sebastien from giving me his. On paper, thanks to your father, I'm Phaedra Vershinin, even though he knew that no one here would ever acknowledge it."

"He made you a Vershinin? You mean he adopted you?"

"Had he of been able, I wouldn't have put it past him, but unfortunately that isn't allowed. Once a ward, always a ward. What he did was give me a legal name change with the citizen registry. He said it was so I could get a passport if I ever wanted to travel, and so I had a name to give, should I ever marry."

"It seems my family keeps growing these days. If he treated you like a son, then that makes you my brother, even if it is in name only. And even if no one here recognizes it."

"I appreciate the sentiment. I have no family of my own. I was left on the doorstep of the dormitory in the middle of the night when I was but a few months old. I've known no other life but this. Your father was the first to treat me as a person who needed more than just a task and rules to follow. He spoke to me, when everyone else spoke at me. He was the only one who would sit me down and tell me of the world beyond the walls, comfort me when I was sick, bring me presents for the holidays, and sometimes, just because he could. He was a good man, Quayleigh. I am honored to have been a part of his life, and to have had him as a part of mine."

She looked down at the picture as he spoke and smiled softly, "I always worried that one day I would discover that he wasn't as amazing as I remembered him to be. I figured if Jenavere turned out to be such a piece of shit, maybe he was too, but he just didn't live long enough for me to see how flawed he really was."

"All men have flaws, some far more than others, but he was a man of few," Phaedra remarked as she looked up at him. "He had a bad habit of getting lost in his work and mumbling to himself when he was thinking. On more than one occasion I had to interrupt him more than a dozen times just to get him to eat, if not go home altogether. And he was never satisfied with any of his work, even when all I saw was perfection. He always insisted that something could be better or that there was something still left to be learned. Oh, and he had a terrible sense of humor. I never understood any of his jokes."

"Are you certain that doesn't mean that it's you who had a bad sense of humor then?"

"Tell me a joke and let's find out?" he asked with a quirk of his brow.

"Yeah, so, I inherited my dad's terrible sense of humor," she replied with an uneasy grin.

"Along with the color of his eyes, and the kindness of his smile," he complimented as he set down his fork. "Are you ready for the next course?"

"Yes, I believe I am," she replied as she set the photo back into the file as Phaedra took her plate and placed it back into the tray before closing the door and pushing the button on the wall next to it, that had been carefully disguised as a piece of the wooden molding.

"I hope you like duck. I was going to order the rabbit but feared it would be too strong of a flavor and didn't know if you had ever had it before."

"Good call. I've had duck a few times, although I'm going to bet that whatever your chef is about to send down, isn't anything like what I've had before," she said with a slight giggle.

"Oh, do tell," he remarked leaning forward onto the table and resting his chin into the palm of his hand.

"My dearest friend Cole, he's from La Bata'roy, and he loves to cook. I'm very familiar with what he calls swamp duck, but I swear it tastes so much better than it sounds."

"I should hope so, and I assure you, the chef will not be preparing that. We will be having the Tea-smoked duck breasts with roasted asparagus and cranberry reduction."

"Okay, I admit that does sound a lot better than swamp duck," she replied taking a drink.

Phaedra moved the file onto the coffee table for her and when the plates arrived, he set her dish before her and told her to enjoy. They kept conversation to a minimum as they ate. Quayleigh couldn't help but admit that this was one of the best things she had ever eaten, while Phaedra continued to speak fondly of her father. And once they had finished eating, and with the plates cleared, a pot of herbal tea was sent down for them to enjoy, while they continued their conversation on the sofa near the middle of the room.

"Phaedra, do you know what happened to him?" Quayleigh questioned, having found the courage to ask the one question she had always wanted to know the answer too, but could never get from her mother.

"I do. Well, sort of. Your mother failed to tell you this also?" he asked as he handed her a delicate, hand-painted teacup on a matching saucer.

"Yeah. She was a master at not answering questions. She only ever said it was an accident. Even as I got older, the answer got less specific and eventually devolved into, 'fuck off.' I don't suppose you could finally fill in the blanks for me?"

"I'm not entirely certain that I can. The truth is no one really knows what happened to him. He was found dead in a research room. He had been studying a text written in an ancient mage script that predates the Haangu Huaan by nearly a century. He was alone at the time, and I was only ever permitted to read his notes on the subject as the book was promptly sealed and sent to the vault in Javötpur, deemed too dangerous for further study. Rightfully so."

There was a hint of anger in Phaedra's words, as if the memory of what had happened was still fresh and the emotions raw. There was guilt lingering in his eyes, and the weight of Uru's hand on her right shoulder told her that everything he had been saying was the truth.

"Do you have any idea what happened? What was the book even written about?"

"The book was a cultic text from a temple that had been discovered in the Cada'mekat desert. The temple was dedicated to the god, Sa'ha Tekal. But we know little to nothing about the culture or what the god represented. I'm sorry, but I don't have any real answers to give you."

"Oh no, don't be sorry. You've told me more in one conversation than anyone else ever has," she exclaimed as she reached out and set her hand on top of his. "Thank you for telling me everything that you have." Returning to an upright position she continued, "I'd always been led to believe that he died in a car accident, and now, thanks to you, I at least know the truth, or as close to the truth as any of us can possibly get. It also explains why Jenavere hated the MET so much and why she always said that he abandoned us, as if he had a choice in the matter. I guess to her, in a way, he did. The name of that god, it was Sa'ha Tekal?"

"Yes, that's it. Why do you ask?"

"It's so I have someone to blame," she replied, only for Uru to squeeze upon her shoulders and press his nose to the back of her head.

This was a name he had heard before, one that he recognized, and for any further answers, Quayleigh knew she had to ask him, although deep down, she had a sinking feeling that Sa'ha Tekal, was just another name for Death.