My olbytla wife Frieda laughed her ass off later that afternoon while she doctored my left shoulder, which now resembled the needlework on my right, except fresher. "Done," Freddie said, after taping a bandage over the wound. "I would advise no skin flute instruction with that one."
I winced. "Freddie! Don't even joke about that!" Then I reached out and caressed her cheek as she giggled. "Besides, no one can compare to your recitals."
I guffawed as she turned very, very red. A typical olbytla, she was quite small; and because it was difficult for me to perform the, ahem, traditional husbandly duties with her, we sometimes had to make do with alternate activities—when she wasn't with Montana, her long-time lover, who had suggested she play the "skin-flute game" with me in the first place, Montana having been a man on her Earth.
I was a virgin three months before. I had never even heard of such things until then, and found the theory intriguing. The practice was even better.
"Off with you," I said gruffly. "I have three vixens to service yet this afternoon."
I'm glad none of my wives are the jealous type; she just smiled and went. As she exited, a rather short, pure-white vixen entered and immediately started disrobing, a sultry smile on her fine-featured face. She was a bit stouter than most, and her fur was thin this time of year; I could see her pale skin through it. She was barely a foot taller than Freddie, so I made sure there was lubrication available on the nightstand next to my bed. I glanced at my clipboard and smiled back at her. "So nice to meet you, Alba. You're very beautiful, did you know that? Very sexy, too. I can barely take my eyes off you."
She dimpled cutely. It was all true, but in a world where every member of the new races is a knockout, it never hurt to remind them how attractive they were to us mere mortals. "You can call me Toby, if you like," I continued. "Tell me about yourself. You're second generation Arctic, I understand?"
Later, as I drew Alba's small-breasted form down with me into bed, she started panting with excitement, and I said, "Do me a favor, sweetie? No teeth, no matter how enthusiastic you get?"
"Okay... Toby. If you say so." She grinned widely, her ivories glinting in the dimness, and I knew I was in for it now. Didn't matter. I touched her black button nose, then kissed my way down toward her heat, wondering what Arctic vixen would taste like.
❖
Nine days later, I was a father again. The mother's name was Thayli, and she had a shock of white hair, though her velvety fur was the standard gray-brown. I remembered her well. She gifted me with chubby twin bunny boys who were the very picture of health, though she seemed disappointed that there weren't more babies in this litter. I assured her that I was very happy and satisfied with her and her boys. Both shared her hair color, though their eyes were Fell green. "What are their names?" I asked her.
She looked shocked. "You won't mind if I name your sons?"
"Of course not." I grinned. "You did all the hard work, after all!"
She giggled, and then proceeded to establish a sylvie tradition. "Then in honor of their father the conqueror, they shall have fierce names." She touched the one on the left in the bassinet. "This one will be Fenrir, and his brother will be Lobo!"
And thus it happened that my first pooka sons, born to a peace-loving sylvie, were named after killer wolves. What will my wolfin sons be named after? I remember wondering, after I congratulated little Thayli and went about my studly business. Rabbits? And would my sylvie sons grow up to be warriors?
I wasn't even close with the wolfin naming convention. They turned out to favor plants, colors, and no kidding, adjectives. (I actually have four wolfin sons named after various ways to describe the color black).
As for Bo and Fen becoming warriors, well, not as such. In between their work as second-generation studs — like father, like son, ha-ha! — they chose peaceful professions, in keeping with their culture. Fenrir works as a carpenter, and Lobo builds railroads. Both wield a mean hammer, though, and neither has ever hesitated to use those hammers to bash in the heads of anyone who attacks their homeland. They've both got the scars to prove it. They may not be conquerors, but I couldn't be prouder of them.
But I'm getting ahead of myself a bit.
Chapter Three
Someone once told me that the days are long, but the years are short. I was certainly experiencing that recently, at least in terms of months.
Our farmers, mostly terran, pooka, and olbytla, had reaped a bumper harvest in the rich bottomlands of the Serendip as October faded. Winter would be along soon. We had a few small herds of cattle, sheep, goats, and greeps, as well as the usual crottles, chickens, and even a few turkeys. We also had half a dozen rideable horses, and a few mules and donkeys for agricultural work. We still needed some pigs, but I hoped I could trap and tame some ferals eventually. They were common enough.
Most of the animals had been brought in by small groups as they arrived and joined our little community, and the milk and wool would be especially appreciated as the babies were born. Luckily, food wasn't a problem, although our numbers had grown to nearly 250, including several terran families, two more giants and their daughters, a small group of faunlets, a lithe, feathered non-flyer with a long tail that Montana called a quetzal, and two crow-like tengu who were devoted to each other. There were also three fairies, much to the delight of the Dixies.
I did feel a vague sense of unease about our upcoming population explosion. I should have planned better for that.
On the defense front, the pooka engineers had already produced a working prototype of Petra's catapult, which when loaded with broken stone—including the debitage from the old Faire's flintknappers, as well as our grown stone-working industry—basically shredded anything it hit within 20 yards, and riddled anything within 50 yards with deadly shrapnel. It would be a perfect area-of-effect weapon for defense; modified to hurl intact boulders, it could be used as a siege weapon. I had appointed Petra, who was already starting to show, as my Chief Weapons Developer. She was developing a rather interesting version of a mangonel for closer-in defensive fighting.
I was now father to 11 more sylvie-boys by four women, who had named them Mordu, Jambavan, Shardik, Condor, Eagle, Hawk, Falcon, Heracles, Cuchulain, Hector—and Icarus II, a rare single birth. I adored them all, and visited them each daily, along with Fen and Bo.
Meanwhile Fennel, the tiny Fennec fox, had caught pregnant despite my never having touched her. She was really too small for any terran male, but as I noted earlier, there are ways to get a woman from one of the smaller races pregnant. I just hoped she'd used the old-fashioned way, and further hoped that Gration, with his lazy charm, hadn't poached her from Apollo. I didn't need a feud between my sons. Either way, it remained to be seen whether she would produce a grandson or granddaughter for me. I was hoping the Y-chromosome effect wouldn't be limited to the boys' own race, but would work for any woman they laid with. We'd know for sure if she bore a son. If Fennel produced a girl, it was possible that either of my sons had produced daughters, or that a full-sized terran male had catalyzed parthenogenesis in her — which wouldn't make me happy at all.
I made a mental note to speak with my medical personnel, and to check on whether any of the olbytla I had yet to service were with child. None of Gray's olbytla girlfriends were showing, but if Apollo could knock up Fennel...
The previous week, I had sent a delegation to the fairies who inhabited the Great Trinidad Forest, led by my purple-haired Dixie son Dionysus. I hadn't heard back yet, but then, I hadn't expected to. Their settlements are small and difficult to find, and they aren't especially fond of pixies. Then again, they hadn't met a Dixie yet, and my charming Dionysus, like all his brothers, was proud of his "wangle." I was sure he'd introduce Little D to any fairy he could find.
Fairies and pixies were enough alike that I figured the combination would work to ignite a male branch of the fairy race, just as I'd done for the pixies—if Dewberry and the other singletons who'd visited or joined us hadn't already got
ten started with that.
I had also begun to worry about how my children with S'linkitha and Jenna would turn out. If their mothers were succubi, named after the legendary female sex demons, then going by the same convention, wouldn't our sons be incubi—male sex demons? And how long would it be before an incubus's pheromonic powers kicked in? Would I have to protect them from sexual assault from the time they were babies? Toddlers? Teens? Would they attract the other Mamas? There was no way to know, because they would be the first of their kind.
I was also accomplishing plenty of things that had nothing to do with reproduction. Or at least making them happen, more often than not...
I yelped as someone kicked me painfully in the shin. I'd been half-aware of a voice in the background, but it was so small, and I was so lost in my thoughts, that I hadn't really noticed. I looked down to see a very short but sturdily-built woman dressed in overalls, a flannel shirt that barely constrained her ample bosom, and a bright-red pancake hat, leading a goat behind her on a thick hemp rope. She was the ugliest new race woman I'd ever seen, which was to say that she was merely very attractive. I caught her in the act of kicking me in the shin again, and I howled, "Ow! Son-of-a-gyp!" and hopped around on my right leg as I clutched my left. Goddess, she was strong for her size! "What the hell do you think you're doing, you little sh-"
She hauled off and punched me in the thigh. "Watch yer mouth, ya skinny young runt!"
"Who are you calling a runt, runt?!" I hollered. She was all of 18 inches tall, and part of that was her thick-soled hobnailed boots. "Stop striking me, you, you...!" Words failed me. I wasn't used to getting disrespected like this, at least not since conquering the Alfas and settling the former Scarborough Faire.
"Pay attention to a lady, then!" she yelled up at me. "I asked ya a question three times and ya just ignored me!"
"I have a lot on my mind!" I snapped. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"I'm lookin' for your king, the one they call Fell Tobias!" she declared. "I got a proposition for him, I do!"
"You and every other woman in Tejas!" I snarled back. "What is it?"
"I'm here to speak to yer king, not some sickly mooncalf what can't even watch where he's goin'!" she retorted.
"Well, you can back that pint-sized ass up and head right out the nearest gate!" I replied. "Fell Tobias doesn't want to speak to you!"
"I'll hear that from him!" she bawled.
"You ha-"
I was interrupted by a whirr of wings behind me, as a quiet voice said, "Well, well, well. Who are you, my feisty beauty?" My Dixie son Bellerophon settled onto my shoulder for a moment, stared at her as she stared back at him, and then relocated to one of the stones outlining the path, putting him close to her height. He'd already shot up to 14 inches. As usual, he wore a battle harness, BDU shorts with a tiny codpiece, and nothing else.
"It's true!" the tiny woman squeaked.
"Yes, all the new girls are astonished to discover that I really am this handsome," Bill said smoothly. "My name is Bellerophon. You can call me Bell if you like."
I gaped at him. Bellerophon doesn't let anyone call him Bell, not even me or his Mamas.
"My, my name is Sera." After a long moment, she blurted, "Your eyes. They're red! Red as my cap! I love red!"
"I have something else you'll love," Bill smiled toothily, "and it's just the right size for you." He reached down and started to unbutton his fly.
"Bellerophon!" I said. "Don't you dare! What have your Mamas and I told you?"
"'Don't wave your wangle around in public'," he grumbled, scowling as he looked up at me.
"And?"
""Get to know a lady a little before you proposition her'. But she won't mind, Old Man! She's an expert in anatomy! She's a Red Cap!"
My leg still hurt like hell, but I tried to be polite. "Please forgive Bellerophon. He's a bit impetuous. So, what's a Red Cap?" I asked, genuinely interested. "I don't know that race."
"A physician," the tiny woman sniffed, "if you even know what that is, barbarian boy. Leastways I was, before that glowy hoor to the east stole away all our equipment after we Stepped Through."
"Glowy hoor...?" As I realized Who she was speaking of, all civility in me disappeared. Instantly furious, I growled, "That 'glowy hoor' is my Goddess, and the mother of my unborn son!"
Sera the Red Cap rolled her eyes. "Sure, an' I'm a succubus. Pull the other, it's got bells..." but she broke off as she saw that Bill was waving his arms at her frantically, shaking his head, eyes wide. Hers widened, too, and she said, "Oh, good Lord, you're himself himself, the Y-Chromosome Repository, ain't ya?"
I nodded curtly. I was outraged. No one insulted any of my women and got away unscathed.
"Crikey, I did it again, din't I." She sighed, and uttered, "Serafina, old gal, once again you've let your mouth ruin things for ya."
She turned and, tugging on the goat's rope, said, "Let's go, then, Herman, I hear the Clearwater pixie hive's gotta lotta pregnancies lately. If I tape my mouth shut, maybe they'll let me help."
Stop her, Father, Little Magic said urgently in my mind. He was the aforementioned unborn son, which had never stopped him from ordering me around. She's Serafina McGriff. Mother says she's a medical genius.
I looked up toward the sky and said, "I don't care. Did you hear what she called your Mother? I can forgive her for kicking me, but not for insulting Aurora, the Deity I owe everything to! She's not welcome here, Eos!"
Eos? You called me Eos. Little Magic seemed nonplussed. That was the first time you've ever called me by my true name, Father. You're honestly not willing to forgive her, are you? Sorry, I hope you can forgive me, but I must take direct action. Mother tells me Serafina is crucial. If she'd been here when brother Icarus was... injured, he would not have died.
My jaw dropped; but before I could say anything, a toddler dressed in a neat outfit of button-down shirt, overall shorts, white socks, and some kind of puffy plastic shoes appeared on the path two yards in front of the ornery little Red Cap. His hair was bowl-cut and neatly combed, and he was cute as the dickens. It was the first time I'd actually seen my demigod son manifest; he was still gestating in the safety of his Divine Mother's womb a hundred miles away.
To my eyes, he emitted an aura of Glory so bright I could barely look at him. But Sera had her eyes to the ground, so she wasn't really looking at him, and all she said was, "Outta my way, kid. Gotta long trip ahead o' me."
"Serafina McGriff." She jerked her head up, startled, and jumped about a foot high when she saw the little glowing magic boy. "I am Eos, son of Fell Tobias and the Dawn Goddess Aurora, who saved your life when this worldline and your native one merged 24 years ago. You are sorely needed here, and very welcome. Please, turn around and continue on this path until you come to a building called Yorkshire Castle. Ask for the Succubus S'linkitha; I will inform her you are coming."
She blinked and then, as if hypnotized, turned around. Little Magic then looked at me impishly and said silently, Father, brother, would you mind moving aside for her? and vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Bill and I moved aside and watched as the Red Cap silently trudged up the path toward the castle, which was flying our banner: on a field, argent, a pixie, gules.
When I heard Bill whisper, "Ho-lee shit," I looked down to see that his jaw had dropped, showing the sharp little "baby teeth" canines he alone among his brothers had never shed—and he was drooling. "Old Man, did you see the ass on her? Did you?"
"Bellerophon! We do not treat women like meat!"
"Oh ho ho, I'm definitely gonna treat her to my meat! I'ma hit that for sure!"
"Bellerophon! We do not hit women!" I was aghast.
My Dixie warrior son side-eyed me. "Sorry, Old Man, an old saying from Mother's Earth. Doesn't mean what you're thinking." Mother was his pixie mother, Kaityline; she'd left the boys with a full set of racial memories that sometimes had them saying and doing things that made no sense to me. "It does mean I'll be doing my duty to co
mfort a fine woman and help save humanity." He winked. "After all, I was made for that, and I'm a dutiful son. Later, Old Man!" He took off toward the Dixie training grounds in Pecan Grove.
I shook my head and went to do my own duty to save the human race. Today I was visiting a few of the olbytla, who though rather short were as lusty as any woman I'd ever comforted... though too small for my comfort.
There were, however, ways around that, as Freddie and I had learned.
Chapter Four
Three nights later, I was working my way through an odd dream in which I was fighting other men wearing green-and-brown face-paint, shooting them with bullets (bullets!) that left them marked not with blood, but with non-lethal splashes of blue. We all wore enormous clear spectacles. The battle was interesting and exciting, but no one actually died or even got hurt.
The Fathering Land Page 3