IRON GOD | 1: Peripeteia

[5] Kolo: One Strange Soup

            The moment they walked into the kitchen, Kolo's mouth watered. Whatever was in the huge pot on the fire stove smelled fantastic. Then she noticed the person on a stool in the corner. They looked neither male nor female, or maybe they were both. Kolo stared and raised an eyebrow. "Are you a boy or a girl?"

The person scoffed. "Nobody's business."

Qila ignored the whole exchange. "Thanks for watching the stove, Rizval. It never boiled over, did it?"

"Nope." Rizval crossed their legs. "And you're welcome. It was about as riveting as watching paint dry. And hello, Azvalath. Good to have you back. The girls are like mosquitoes."

Azvalath folded his arms. "Someone needs a sympathetic pat on the head with a hammer."

"All right, I'm out of here." Rizval shoved their way past Kolo.

Kolo flinched. Then she caught herself smiling again. These people were monsters, but the way they interacted, it was like watching a family. Qila looked down at her and smiled back. "Well, it looks like the stock is ready. Let's add the main ingredients, shall we?"

Kolo nodded. She had already helped Qila prepare food a few times and she almost felt comfortable.

Azvalath stuck his head in the pantry. "These bulbs any good?"

"Are they moldy?" Qila asked.

"No," said Azvalath.

"Then yes, they are." Qila went over to stir the stock. Kolo took the whole scene in and laughed out loud. Two savage beasts in the kitchen. So mundane, so human.

"What's so funny?" Azvalath asked. He came out with a sack of pungent-smelling roots and plopped it on the counter with a thud. One bulb fell out and rolled across the tiled floor.

She pointed her finger at him. "You're a bad cook."

Azvalath scowled. "Big thing for you to say." He pulled a huge knife out of a drawer and chopped into one of the roots. Its odd-smelling juices spilled onto the cutting board.

"You're just a man," said Kolo. It was funny, really. She couldn't not chuckle.

Qila came over and gave back the bulb Azvalath had dropped. "Did you really think he was anything else?"

"Children are inclined to make monsters out of things as small as mice." Azvalath smacked the knife's handle.

Kolo folded her arms. "I'm not a child."

"Well, how old are you?" Azvalath asked.

Kolo shrugged. "I don't know. How old are you?"

"About twenty five centuries." Azvalath said it like it was nothing major.

Kolo's jaw dropped. "Centuries?"

Qila was quick to interject. "All of those given the chance of becoming a Ferash Therall are distant descendants of the Iron God. You and Azvalath both have a little bit of his blood in you. Same with the others. It gives you a long life and your incredible gifts."

Kolo looked at her hand and bent her fingers a little. "He's our father?"

"More like your many-times-great grandfather. He has many descendants in our world. Most of them don't live longer than anyone else or develop powers. Sometimes, though, they come out special," said Qila.

"Special?" Azvalath shoved aside his chopped-up roots. "That's one way to put it." He ran back to the pantry. Kolo heard something fall in there and got startled.