“. . . normal?”
“. . . appreciably elfin,” Tem’aree’ay corrected. “They fled from us until none remained.”
Captain defended his own. “Elves have more reason than most to fear the unknown. The few things they cannot fathom represent possible danger.”
Tem’aree’ay’s lips pressed firmly together and her fingers curled, both elfin signs of significant anger. “But they’ve made no attempt to fathom Ivana, given her no chance to prove herself . . . fathomable.”
Captain’s amber gaze whipped to Ivana. Outwardly, she appeared too simple to even have fathoms, a drooling, animalistic creature doomed to act solely by instinct. He understood why the elves would want no claim on her. “I do not believe they fear her existence so much as the possibility of populating the world with more of her.”
Doubting he had made himself clear, he elaborated. “Elves are spontaneous, capricious, and free with sexuality. If they remained among humans, interspecies copulation would certainly occur. Elves have a natural way to control their population: the need for a freed soul. Humans do not, and elves who breed with humans can produce unlimited offspring. How soon before the . . .” Captain stopped himself from using the current elfin term for half-breeds: ivanas. “. . . human/elfin children outnumber the elves? What happens when elfin wombs fill with them and leave no room for the rare elfin soul? How long before the humans come to despise these creatures and blame us for them? Any imperfect human child will be assumed to have elfin blood. Accusations of rape, of coercion, of corruption will fly.”
Captain stopped there, worried to offend Griff. He had lived long enough to foresee the dangerous inequities that might occur: people declaring themselves superior by virtue of blood, accusing those they considered inferior of carrying various amounts of elfin “contamination,” whether half or only a drop. Elves had pinkish blood compared to the rose-petal red of humans. Some might see that as physical evidence of inferiority.
Apparently, Captain had not quit soon enough. A frown deeply scored the king’s rugged features. “I think you give both humans and elves too little credit for intelligent and ethical thought. Surely, the elves understand that humans sometimes have imperfect children, no matter the race of their spouses.”
Captain pointed out what seemed obvious to him. “With other humans, it’s uncommon. With elves, it’s certain. Even with the best of intentions, assumptions will be made.” Captain had enough experience to realize every eye in the room had riveted upon him, suggesting he had said something untoward. “What?” he demanded.
Griff pointed out the problem. “You’ve just said every coupling between humans and elves will result in imperfect children. As if it were fact.”
“Isn’t it?”
Tem’aree’ay put it in terms Captain could not help but understand. “Suppose you awakened one morning to a blizzard. Would you assume you’ll suffer through ice storms every morning?”
Captain could see the analogy she wished to make, but it did not fit. “Of course not. Because I’ve lived on Midgard for thousands of years, and time has proven blizzards relatively infrequent. On the other hand, we have a single human/elf combination, and she is . . .” Captain finished cautiously. “. . . what she is.”
“And what is that?” Tem’aree’ay demanded, anger clear in her voice.
Captain would not be baited. “A less than ideal representative of either race. And all we have to go on for what happens when elves and humans procreate together.”
Tem’aree’ay turned away, arms clenched to her chest.
Captain turned his attention to Griff. “With your permission, Your Majesty, I’d like to leave.”
Griff grimaced. “You are free to come and go as you please, Captain. You are not a prisoner. But I wish you would stay. I want very much to understand this situation from the viewpoint of the elves. I think you know you can always speak freely here. I would never punish anyone for stating facts or beliefs, even if they’re painful to me and those I love.” He walked around Tem’aree’ay to force her to look at him. “My lovely wife may certainly leave, if she finds the topic offensive.”
Tem’aree’ay stiffened, then turned back to face Captain. All signs of anger had fled her features, though she looked close to tears. “My good husband is right, Arak’bar Tulamii Dhor. We both need to hear this. I’ll handle meeting with our people better if I have an idea what they think and feel.” She took a seat and gestured at Captain. “Please continue.”
Captain had finished his piece, but he elaborated to accommodate the request. “I’m merely saying that if a man eats an unknown berry and dies, it’s safest to presume it’s poisonous.” He believed his analogy more apt.
Tem’aree’ay’s brow furrowed, probably in response to the equating of her daughter to poison. “Unless it’s all you have to eat.”
“In which case,” Captain said smoothly, “there’s no significant risk to trying again, is there? It’s simply a matter of choosing a quick death over a slow, prolonged one.” He could not help adding. “Of course, one could always argue that other food could be found prior to starvation, so it’s still better not to eat the berries.” His mind went naturally to people who, trapped on the sea, resorted to drinking sea water. And, invariably, died. Those who held out for rain usually survived.
Griff took a different tack. “Tae was right. We need to have more children, to prove Ivana was an anomaly.”
“Or not an anomaly.” The words needed saying, so Captain did so. “There exist only three possibilities when it comes to children produced by the coupling of elves and humans: they are all . . . defective, many are defective, or abnormalities are as rare as when humans breed without elves. I’m not certain elves could accept any of those states, but the best case scenario at least has a chance of convincing them to interact, at some level, with humans.”
Griff grunted. “You mean, if abnormalities are as rare with elf/human pairs as with human/human pairings.”
“Yes.”
Tem’aree’ay slumped in her seat. Quite possibly for the first time in eighteen years, she had allowed herself to look at the world from the vantage of an elf who was not Ivana’s mother. “So Tae is right.”
Captain chuckled. “I find that, ultimately, he usually is.” He added, “Damn it.”
Tem’aree’ay ignored Captain. “We do need to . . . make more . . . children.” She studied Ivana with a mixture of love and tolerance. She clasped her long-fingered hands, squeezing until they whitened.
Griff shrugged. “I’m game.” The look he gave Tem’aree’ay could have defined human lust.
She shoved him, and the expression disappeared. “It’s not a joke, beloved. What if the elves are right? What if we just make more . . . imperfect children? What if it’s not an elf/human thing but a me/you thing? What if every child we produce is . . . defective but other elves and humans could safely couple?”
“All valid questions,” Captain had to admit.
“And all surmountable,” Griff added. “Let’s take it one step at a time. First, we decide what we’re going to do if our second child is like Ivana. If we can come to a satisfactory agreement on that, we produce the child. If he or she is relatively normal, we can eliminate the worst of the possibilities Captain presented. If not, then we can probably reasonably conclude that either all, or an unacceptable proportion, of elf/human combinations are . . . not ideal. Or, at the very least, that the two of us . . .” He weighed each word, “do not . . . create . . . ideal . . . offspring.”
Clearly oblivious to her role in the conversation, Ivana curled up on the floor for a nap.
Tem’aree’ay pinched her heart-shaped lips, clearly wavering.
Captain wondered if he should even bring up his next thought, then decided to do so. The couple had a difficult enough decision without hearing all the facts. “You may want to consider one other thing.” As
both looked interested in hearing what he had to say, Captain continued, “You know about mules, don’t you?”
Tem’aree’ay looked at Griff, who nodded. “We’ve had a few donkey and horse crosses here, but there’s a region in the East that specializes in them. We’ve traded in the past to get certain colors and features.”
“The ones with more horselike features cost more: smaller, rounder ears, hairier manes and tails, thicker limbs. The larger-sized, horsey ones are the most expensive of all. Do you know why that is?”
Griff shrugged. “I’d always assumed people preferred them.” He cited simple economics. “More demand, higher price.”
Captain shook his head. “In this case, it’s less supply, higher price.”
Griff’s brows twitched downward. “You mean donkey features come out more commonly.”
“I mean mules are easier to make than hinnies.”
Griff shook his head. Captain had fully lost him.
“It’s much simpler to get a jack to breed with a mare than a stallion to breed with a jenny. And fewer breedings result in foals.”
Griff blinked several times in succession. He seemed eager to speak but could not find his words.
Ever patient, Captain waited.
“So,” Griff finally managed. “When the donkey is male and the horse female, you get a mule. When the donkey is female and the horse male, you get a . . . hinny.”
“Correct.” Captain waited for Griff to take the evident leap.
“Hinnies are smaller and more . . . horselike.”
“Yes,” Captain encouraged.
The expression dawning across Griff’s coarse features suggested he had finally taken the plunge. “You’re saying even if the offspring of a male human and a female elf are all abnormal, it is possible the offspring of a male elf and a female human . . . are normal.”
That came close enough to Captain’s point. “Normal is a relative term, of course, but it’s worth consideration.”
Tem’aree’ay shook her head, hair flying, with obvious outrage. “Donkeys, mules, and horses are one thing. But you’re talking about experimenting with intelligent lives here. Ivana is not an object of study; she is a person.”
Captain sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “She’s a person. And an object of study.” He took another cleansing breath. Taking Griff at his word, he went on long after he entered foolish and dangerous territory. “Elves see each and every life as sacred. To do otherwise would condemn us to oblivion. If we allow even one life to end short, we lose that soul for all eternity. We can only decrease in number over time, never increase. With humans, it’s not the same.” Not wanting the wrong conclusion drawn, Captain continued, “The loss of a single human, while tragic to those who loved him, does not pose a threat to the survival of the entire race.”
Tem’aree’ay tipped her head, looking at Ivana. “Are you trying to say . . . that human life . . . isn’t as valuable . . . as ours?”
Captain could not help smiling. “I’m trying not to say it.”
Griff nodded his appreciation. “Thanks for that, but your point is valid and important. It puts several things in perspective that I hadn’t considered before.” He did not elaborate. Captain suspected it clarified Tem’aree’ay’s handling of Ivana. “Another way to think of it is that humans deal far better with issues of death because we have to. If an infant dies, we suffer terrible grief, but we can ease it with the knowledge that we can make another child. We also know, when we conceive, that a certain large number of infants do die.” He shuddered at a realization that must have struck him at that moment. “To elves it must seem impossibly callous, but most people do not keep children like Ivana.”
Tem’aree’ay’s head jerked so suddenly to Griff it looked like the movement must hurt. “What does that mean? What does it mean not to keep them?” The only realistic explanation dawned on her. “They don’t feed and shelter them? They leave them to . . . die?”
Griff shuffled his feet, avoiding his favored wife’s gaze. “More often, they . . . humanely end the suffering of the child, thus allowing the other children, and the families, to lead normal lives.”
Tem’aree’ay stared at Ivana. “That’s disgusting! It’s barbaric!”
At her mother’s sudden outcry, Ivana stirred in her sleep.
Captain seized Tem’aree’ay’s arm. “It’s not fair to judge others by our frame of reference. We live exceptionally long lives free of illnesses and, for the most part, of imperfections. Occasionally, someone loses a finger, a foot, an eye, but these are not the kind of issues for which humans euthanize their own. I’ve spent time with Khy’barreth Y’vrintae Shabeerah El-borin Morbonos.” He named the one feeble-minded elf, his brain damaged by taking two repelling magical items in hand at once. “We care for him because not doing so means he dies of something other than age, which utterly destroys the soul that future elves can use. But that care comes at a price. It’s demanding, difficult, distracting, and a constant reminder of a costly mistake. If I had to choose between saving Khy’barreth and any other elf, I would have no difficulty. Would you?”
Tem’aree’ay turned away. Captain could only guess at her thoughts. Although she would never consider allowing anyone to harm Ivana, she had to understand why others felt differently about such matters. “No one chooses to have a child like . . . ours. But one is responsible for the lives one creates. For the problems one causes to others.”
Griff said softly, “Which is why so many choose to end them. Because human lives and resources are finite. Whether it’s time, money, food or even just sanity, how does a poor tradesman justify spending it on an imbecile rather than those children who can assist him with his work, who can help provide for the family, who can marry and contribute to future generations?”
Tem’aree’ay rounded on him. “Are you suggesting we should euthanize Ivana?”
Griff backpedaled fiercely. “Of course not. We have the resources and inclination to take care of her. We don’t have to choose between love and necessity.”
“But if we made a second . . . abnormal child?”
“Let’s talk about that possibility and our options now, while I’m still young enough to make children and enjoy them. I don’t want to wait another eighteen years, and I’m sure we can come to an agreement we can both live with.”
Griff’s pronouncement got Captain thinking in a direction he never had in all of his centuries. He wondered if elves ever became too old to make children. The random mating habits of elves rendered paternity a nonissue. No one kept track of timing or partners. Any male could have fathered any child. Although maternity was never in question, no one cared which womb had carried a child. They raised their rare offspring communally; every young elf belonged to all of them. No one looked for his own height or facial features or coloring in the offspring. The only inheritance that mattered to elves was the reborn soul of the last elf to die of age.
Now that Captain had brought up the point of mules and hinnies, he could not help wondering if the product of an elfin male and a human female might prove more stable than its opposite. If so, he might be the only elf willing to prove it. He wondered what the world would make of a six-thousand-year-old father.
As the couple had much to discuss, Captain tried to take his leave again. “Rantire, Tae, and I plan to leave by noon tomorrow.” He did not mention the fourth passenger; Griff would not approve and Captain had promised to keep the secret. “I’ll need a few hours to get the ship in peak condition.”
Griff nodded, smiling. “I doubt your ship is ever out of peak condition, but you’re free to go.”
“No,” Tem’aree’ay said unexpectedly but without vehemence. “Before you go, I’d like to try a scrying spell.”
Captain understood the words, but Tem’aree’ay knew as well as he that such magic was currently impossible. “That’s not a specialt
y for either of us. We’d need a good-sized jovinay arythanik.” Despite having declared it impossible, he could not help asking, “Who are we trying to see?” He did not believe all the elves together could scry a site none of them had seen, such as the Kjempemagiska’s lands.
Tem’aree’ay clearly had considered the matter longer than Captain. “Just the elves, for a single moment, without sound. Using a powerful magical device, we could do it with a minimal jovinay arythanik.”
Captain knew exactly the artifact she meant: the Pica Stone. Even if Griff allowed them to use it, they would need more elves. “A jovinay arythanik requires a minimum of three elves.”
Tem’aree’ay did not miss a beat. “And, luckily, that is what we have.”
Captain paused, uncertain what she meant. He licked his lips tentatively. He might have taken all night to work out the answer, without noticing the passage of time.
Tem’aree’ay saved him the trouble. “You, me, and Ivana.”
Captain cocked his head, assuming she had access to information he did not rather than that she had lost her mind. “Ivana can... ?”
“It would appear so. When it came to repelling the magic of the single Kjempemagiska who attended the war, she linked with me and Chymmerlee.”
That intrigued Captain, both for Ivana’s ability and the mention of an elf whose name he had never heard. “Chymmerlee?”
Tem’aree’ay continued as if he had not interrupted. “Of course, it wasn’t a true jovinay arythanik with Chymmerlee being human.”
“Human,” Captain could not help repeating. “Wait! A magical human?” The description raised ancient memories of those long ago days when Myrcidians walked the continent and Cardinal Wizards kept the balance. “You linked with a magical human?”
Tem’aree’ay tossed her head. “Linked isn’t the right word. She tapped the Kjempemagiska. Ivana and I fed her raw chaos. It wasn’t a well-coordinated effort, but it did the job.”
Captain did not know which question to ask first, which only further delayed speaking.
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