Fields of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Ra-khir sucked in a deep breath and loosed it slowly before speaking again. “Calistin, no. That’s not what I believe, not the way you’ve phrased it, at least. You know how proud your mother and I have always been of your accomplishments, of your dedication and skill.”

  Calistin’s anger dissipated in an instant, driven away by surprise. He could not recall his father ever saying such a thing. “You’re proud of me?”

  Now, Ra-khir looked as shocked as Calistin felt. “Of course, we’re proud of you. Your entire tribe looks up to you, and the Renshai do not bestow admiration lightly. Throughout the world, the men who don’t revere you, fear you. Parents always love their children, always believe them capable of accomplishing lofty goals. But, Calistin, you’ve achieved beyond any parent’s wildest and most unrealistic dreams.”

  None of that mattered as much as Ra-khir’s previous statement. Your mother and I are proud of you. Calistin wondered if this was the first time his father had spoken the words aloud or if he had simply never listened. When Kevral had trained him, as his torke, she had rarely used a word of praise, even as she drove him harder than any other student. It had never bothered him before; it was as things were meant to be.

  Ra-khir glanced around the Fields of Wrath with obvious reluctance. He wasted a moment reading the sky as well. “Calistin, there’s nothing I’d like more than to discuss this with you at length. I’ll do so tonight, if you wish. But, for now, I’m on duty. I need to talk to others about what happened.”

  Calistin made a gesture of dismissal. Unlike Saviar and Subikahn, he had no idea what his father did and no particular desire to learn. He had noticed that Ra-khir spoke to Saviar differently than to him. The oldest of the brothers was expected to know how to handle himself around Ra-khir, his on- and off-duty personae and how to approach them. Ra-khir gave Calistin far more leeway, at least in this regard.

  Ra-khir took a better grip on Silver Warrior’s reins. Before he could signal the horse to move, Calistin spoke again.

  “Papa?”

  Ra-khir hesitated. A tolerant smile eased onto his features. Calistin rarely found him worthy of conversation. “Yes, son?”

  The question tumbled out of Calistin’s mouth, almost before he could stop it. “What does it mean when a young woman pats you on the bottom?”

  A light flickered through Ra-khir’s eyes, then disappeared. For an instant, Calistin thought his father would laugh at him, but Ra-khir maintained his composure. “It means she likes you.”

  “Likes . . . me?” Calistin supposed he knew that on some level. “Likes me . . . how?”

  Clearly, Ra-khir considered his mission urgent and important, yet his hands eased on the reins, and he gave Calistin his full attention. “Did she say or do anything else?”

  Calistin remembered clearly. “She winked. And brushed against me. She was talking about the type of man she wanted, and it sounded an awful lot like . . .” He trailed off, the connection suddenly clear. “. . . well, like me, I guess.”

  Ra-khir made a strange face. The corners of his lips twitched, as if trying to smile against his will, and he swallowed a laugh. “Does a cottage have to collapse around your ears before you realize it needs tending?”

  Calistin supposed it would. He knew absolutely nothing about construction. “She wants to be my girlfriend,” he realized.

  “Do you want that?”

  A smile eased across Calistin’s features, beyond his control. “What should I do?”

  Ra-khir remained silent. Calistin watched all amusement leave him. For an instant, he looked like he might actually cry, and the contrast with his recent amusement worried Calistin. “You really don’t know?”

  Calistin shook his head. “Should I . . . pat her bottom?”

  “No,” Ra-khir said, quickly. “Spend some time with her. Talk. Find things you both like to do.”

  “Like svergelse?”

  “Sure. Why not?” Ra-khir added, “Just don’t hurt or belittle her.”

  Calistin suspected Ra-khir would never have given such a warning to his brothers. They would instinctively know how to behave around a woman, how to treat a girlfriend.

  “We can talk more about this tonight, too,” Ra-khir promised. “If you want. When I’m off duty.” Again he seized the reins, clucking for Silver Warrior to go.

  “I’d like that,” Calistin said, doubting his father had heard him. Emotions distracted warriors, and Calistin had long ago chosen to discard them. Yet, they had not, apparently, completely abandoned him. Treysind’s soul had discovered them, determined to breathe new life into them; and Calistin did not feel wholly certain he wanted to escape. At least, not before he experienced romantic love.

  Tae sprawled in a padded chair beside his bed, sweat dripping from his face and his arms limp on the rests. Imorelda purred in his lap, the sound shockingly loud in the hush, as if amplified. Ivana occupied Tae’s bed, curled on the blanket like an animal, her broad thumb wedged into her mouth. Baby-fine hair lay in disarray across her cheek, and she snored erratically, just often enough to startle Tae each and every time. His mind glided back to Subikahn’s youth, the boy lying still and innocent in sleep; but the analogy did not work. Watching his son rest had brought out every protective and loving instinct he had, while the girl evoked only sympathy and revulsion. Had he not promised Tem’aree’ay, were she not the daughter of a respected friend, he would have avoided her altogether.

  “What are you thinking?” Matrinka’s voice came out of nowhere, startling Tae. He had forgotten she was there.

  Well-trained to conceal discomfort, Tae hid his surprise behind a casual movement of his head in Matrinka’s direction. He hoped she could not see the pulse hammering in his neck, the sudden stiffening of his fingers. “I’m trying to decide what I’m going to say to her parents.” It was not true, but it was what he ought to be thinking. He deliberately turned his mind in that direction, interrupted by the squeak of the opening door. Tem’aree’ay floated through the crack, followed by the heavier bulk and tread of King Griff who scowled and examined the hinges. He had no way of knowing Tae preferred the noise; it warned him of visitors, wanted and unwanted.

  Gently shifting Imorelda into his arms, Tae rose. “Come in. Sit.” He waved Griff to his own chair.

  The bearlike monarch of Béarn ignored the offering of the chair to seat himself, cross-legged, on the floor. Tem’aree’ay fluttered to the ground beside him. Never one for formality, Tae retook his seat without comment, and Imorelda settled back into his lap. Either she did not mind the movements, or she was too exhausted to complain.

  Sitting on the only other chair in the room, a sturdy, high-backed seat with a pillow for a cushion, Matrinka looked nearly as tired as Tae.

  Tae expected Ivana’s parents to ply him with questions, forgetting elves rarely hurried and Griff displayed all the speed of a sleepy turtle. Tae had never met a more patient couple in his life. “As you both know, I spent the day working with Ivana.”

  Griff nodded solemnly, glancing at the sleeping child. Instinctively, his face broke into the fatherly grin Tae had not managed earlier. His dark eyes held all the charmed love Tae’s lacked.

  Tae tried to organize his findings. Though he and Ivana had performed few significant physical actions, the intensity of scrutiny and concentration had exhausted them both. “I did some reading, too, trying to learn as much as I could about . . .” He guarded his tongue, uncertain of the proper terminology. Parents had a way of blinding themselves to flaws in their own children. “. . . human imbeciles.” He hesitated, judging their reactions.

  The king and his second wife only watched Tae with proper focus, intent on his words.

  “Ivana shows certain similar characteristics in her physical appearance as well as her actions.” Tae did not think he was telling them anything they did not already know. He turned his attention fully on Tem’aree’ay. �
��Of course, there’s nothing about elfin . . . defects in Béarn’s library. Do elves suffer from . . . such abnormalities?”

  Tem’aree’ay tipped her head. Gradually, her brow furrowed. She took longer than Tae would have thought necessary to consider the matter. Uncertain what to make of it, he glanced toward Matrinka, who shrugged.

  Imorelda supplied the answer. *Remember? Elves don’t spend a lot of time thinking about trends and details.*

  For the first time, that seemed odd to Tae. Given centuries or millennia to live, he imagined he would consider every minuscule particular in the universe or risk utter boredom. He knew elves did not think like humans, however, and they mostly occupied themselves with play.

  Tem’aree’ay answered eventually. “I can’t recall any defective infants in my lifetime, nor any stories of such. We never become ill, per se, and our elders do not grow senile.” She fell silent again but clearly had not finished.

  Tae hesitated, allowing Tem’aree’ay to continue, although she had answered the question.

  “I do know of one elfin imbecile, though he was not born that way. A powerful magical item rejected him. Explosively. So, apparently, it can happen.”

  Though intrigued by the story, Tae did not press. Likely, the thing this unfortunate elf had battled existed only on Alfheim. Its destruction at the Ragnarok was a sore subject with elves, Tae knew, and one he did not wish to raise at the moment. “I learned that, in some cases, a certain man or woman might produce imbeciles no matter who he or she coupled with. That’s clearly not the case here. Griff has several normal children and, presumably, Tem’aree’ay, as an elf, cannot be the source of the problem. In other cases, the same couple can produce abnormal and normal children. The only thing for which we have no precedent at all is the coupling of elves with humans.”

  Tem’aree’ay answered more swiftly this time. Apparently, she did not have to give the matter much thought. “The elves believe it’s the coupling itself. They think it’s an unholy alliance and Ivana is an abomination.” Her voice wavered, and Tae could not help looking for tears in her eyes. “They sequestered themselves so such a thing could never happen again, by chance or deliberation.”

  Tae did not want to press Tem’aree’ay but saw no way around it. “Do they know for certain the coupling is to blame? By some magical means? Or are they simply making assumptions?”

  Tem’aree’ay sighed. “When I conceived Ivana, we thought we had found the answer to two problems.” She gave Tae a searching look, hoping she did not have to explain.

  Tae knew that, at the time of Ivana’s conception, the lysalf and humans lived in grave predicaments. When killed unnaturally, elfin souls were forever lost. Whittled down by the Ragnarok and the division of the svartalf, they seemed doomed to disappear, slowly or suddenly. Meanwhile, the humans had suffered from an infertility plague inflicted upon them by the svartalf. Tem’aree’ay’s pregnancy had seemed god-sent to rescue both groups from generational annihilation.

  Over the years, Ivana’s abnormalities had become more apparent. In the meantime, the sterility plague was lifted, allowing humans to procreate normally, and the elves had retreated to self-imposed isolation.

  Tae raised his hand, rescuing Tem’aree’ay from explanation. Aside from Ivana herself, everyone in the room was familiar with the situation, including Imorelda. He repeated his question, which she had not yet answered. “Do the elves know for certain whether Ivana’s condition occurred in spite of the pairing or because of it?”

  Tem’aree’ay shook her head. “No one knows for certain, except perhaps the gods. And they aren’t talking.”

  Tae realized she did not speak flippantly. In his youth, Griff had played with an “imaginary” companion/guardian, named Ravn, who had turned out to be the son of the goddess Freya and the immortal Renshai, Colbey Calistinson. Though exceedingly rare, the gods did, occasionally, interact with elves or humans.

  The solution seemed obvious to Tae. “Why not make another baby, then? If it’s normal, we could put the controversy to rest. Those elves who wished to live among us could do so, and some humans might prefer to go to the elves. We could trade and communicate and intermingle freely.” He smiled at the image. He would love to fully learn the elfin tongue, and he imagined they could teach others dancing, grace, quickness, perhaps even magic. They might find that a certain level of interbreeding brought strength and numbers to elves and humans alike. It still seemed like a winning scenario for both races.

  King Griff buried his face in his hands. A look of horror stole over Tem’aree’ay’s foreign features. “No,” she said firmly. “No more children.”

  Clearly, the couple had discussed the matter on more than one occasion. Tae realized he had walked into a long-standing battle he might not wish to provoke, but the rewards seemed too far-reaching to abandon. “How can it hurt to . . . just try?” Tae knew creating children was not a decision anyone should take lightly. Some couples felt it necessary to conceive as many as possible so a few might survive to continue their line. Others, like himself, found one difficult enough to handle. Some saw children as more hands to help, others as more mouths to feed. Griff considered himself the father of seven children, including the deceased Arturo. Obviously, he had no particular desire to constrain himself to one, or even one per partner.

  Griff’s hand groped for Tem’aree’ay’s. Her long, slender fingers disappeared into his enormous paw. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to take over the explanation.

  Tem’aree’ay shifted closer to Béarn’s king. Though she shared Griff as a husband, Matrinka smiled at their closeness. The love between man and elf came through as clearly as her own for Darris. “People who don’t have a child like Ivana can’t ever really understand. We love our daughter, as all parents do; but we live in a fragile state, often running on exhaustion. Most of the time, I can’t leave her side for an instant. When I do, I worry for her safety the entire time. The servants mean well, and they love their king, but they don’t understand Ivana. Some fear her, some hate her, others she disgusts.”

  Tae forced his expression to a neutral state, concerned his own aversion to Ivana might become suddenly visible. They trusted him to handle her appropriately, and he always would, but he had no idea how to get past the negative feelings she inspired in him. And he felt guilty for them, especially now that he had some understanding of her limitations.

  Tem’aree’ay continued, and the fatigue now came out in her speech. “So, I rarely get a moment away from her. I’m worn out by the many battles. She can’t express her frustration with words, so she throws tantrums. She doesn’t understand what’s safe or not, for herself or those around her. I have to constantly guard against her harming herself or others by accident. She can’t handle her own . . . secretions and excretions. I’m always cleaning, always apologizing, always worrying that I’m not attending to her every need.”

  Tae felt more aware of a situation to which he had not given enough thought. Still, he saw a need he could not just release. “I get it, Tem’aree’ay. At least, as much as someone without a child like Ivana can.” Tae could not help considering his own son. Subikahn had an affliction of sorts, a peculiarity that could result in his execution, at least in the Eastlands. Tae did not know how to explain it, but it was clearly not the simple choice he had once believed. He avoided the topic; Subikahn had a right to privacy. “But most people who have children have more than one, even those dealing with crippling abnormalities.”

  Griff finally spoke. “Tae, if solely up to me, I’d fill Béarn Castle with children.”

  Tae believed him. Fair and gracious, Griff had to make an excellent father. Aside from Ivana, every one of his children was well-liked and –mannered, even the ones sired by Darris.

  The king continued, “Work grants me the time away that Tem’aree’ay can’t take. By the time I take my shift with the children, I’m eager to interact with them all. I
don’t have a right to force her to care for another baby . . . like . . . Ivana.”

  Therein, Tae suspected, lay the real concern: the elves could be right. One Ivana proved difficult enough. Two would overwhelm Tem’aree’ay. “I don’t think that’s likely. I suspect a second baby would most likely be . . . normal.”

  Tem’aree’ay threw Tae’s words back in his face. “Do you know that as a certain fact? Or are you simply making assumptions?”

  Tae did not take offense, though he did smile at the clever turnaround. “Let’s call it an educated assumption. After working with Ivana all day, I think I have some insight into what makes her the way she is and some ideas for how to improve her life.” Tae pushed on, anxious to get his full point across before they forced him to focus on his findings. “If you gave birth to a relatively normal half-human child, it would prove the elves wrong. Even if you gave birth to another Ivana, it would not prove them right. Some families have more than one imperfect child and still make normal ones—”

  The elf’s sapphire eyes flashed. “You could never convince them. And they would condemn me for bringing another into the world, even if I believed I could handle two Ivanas.”

  Tae frowned but wisely kept silent. In most human cultures, including his own, defective children were humanely euthanized or abandoned to the elements, to the whim of the gods. Long ago, the Renshai had left every newborn outside overnight, believing only the strongest could survive the rigors of their training. Those born in winter were considered especially tough. The elves, however, found many human practices barbaric. This one, in particular, made no sense to them. Allowing an elfin baby to die meant losing a soul to oblivion, one less potential life for all eternity. Tem’aree’ay would parent any child she produced, even if it consisted of a disembodied lung and heart.