Root and Branch

by Tripp Greyson

  No. There definitely were, thinking back on it. I was such a wanker. What was I thinking?

  After an obviously difficult but heroic effort to regain his composure, Acheron said firmly, "When you're ready to get to know me as your son, and not just as the leader of your 'Alephtovers' — and yes, I know you call us that, which I find damned insulting — let me know. That way I can gather up Abaddon, Abdiel, Abednego, Adriel, Apollyon, Ahpuch, Ahriman, Akatash, and Azrael. Those are my Imp brothers, by the way. Maybe you've seen their names written down somewhere?"

  I said nothing. My throat was too tightly constricted with self-loathing.

  Unfortunately, he took my silence the wrong way. "Yeah, whatever. Let me know when you're ready to be a father. In the interim, you can contact me through Captain Apollo if you ever need to." He then kicked over the tiny chair and said icily, "And find me something to sit in that isn't a godsdamned toy. Honestly, Dadinator, do you disrespect me that much?"

  Then he flew out the nearest window, fuming — as I just stood there, stunned, speechless… and ashamed.

  I didn't feel any better when a very Divine voice said in my head, SUCH A WANKER.

  A moment later Little Magic contributed, Yup.

  Then a more feminine Divine voice pointed out, Idiot.

  I could not disagree. I balled my hands into fists and said firmly, "I will fix this. I will."

  Yes, the two Deities said in unison, you will. My demigod son had nothing more to say.

  Chapter 8

  The next day, I sat down with the Mamas and told them that we were going to be planning a special barbecue for all my Imp sons so that we could get to know them. Montana encapsulated their relief and frustration when she rumbled, "About friggin' time," before following up with, "Just keep 'em off my damn tits. I'm allergic to fire."

  I planned to introduce the Imps in person to their baby brothers who lived with us, and to provide them abridged copies of my Fatherhood Ledger so they could introduce themselves to the parents of the other babies, and get to know the tykes while they were still little. (They already knew all their Dixie brothers, of course).

  To my chagrin, my first few attempts to get Acheron interested in the barbecue didn't work very well. The first time, I got busy with other things and was stupid enough to let a week pass before I approached him at the Pecan Grove barracks after an aerial drill with his company. My intentions were good, and honestly, I had quite a good excuse for not approaching him earlier. You see, the afternoon of the day we'd started making plans for the gathering, Montana went into labor.

  It was a very difficult birth, attended to mostly by our few larger-race midwifes and the other Giants. Regrettably, she was in far more pain than was apparently normal, the labor took forever, and I was a mess the whole time. I just paced back and forth outside the castle, wearing a path in the grass. I couldn't get anything constructive done that day, not even fathering.

  Or should I say, especially not fathering, for Montana cursed my name in a very loud voice throughout the entire process, promising to deliver unto me unimaginable amounts of agony for putting her in this position. As if it hadn't been her who came to me! This ensured that even had I been willing, none of the ladies were.

  I didn't dare go in and hold her hand or croon encouraging words like I usually did when my ladies gave birth, or she would have crushed my head to mush. How do I know that? Because she told the whole Township, that's how. Multiple times. A Giant in pain can be very loud indeed.

  Apparently boy Giant babies have wider shoulders than girl Giant babies, because that was what caused most of the trouble. Montana was in labor for an agonizing 33 hours, and I didn't dare go visit until late the next day, when she was half-stoned on willow bark and belladonna.

  She still grabbed me by the throat, and I thought I was dead. But then she dragged me in and kissed me before letting me go, then showed me the baby's peaceful little red face. I say "little," but that was a relative thing, since he was 40 inches long at birth and weighed close to 35 pounds.

  His wangle was already half the size of mine, as she proudly pointed out. He was quite big for a Giant newborn in all dimensions, and of course, he was beautiful.

  "What're we gonna call him?" Montana asked as I rubbed my throat. "An' not Goliath or Hercules or Atlas or any o' that mythical bullshit. Let's start a new tradition."

  I had actually given that a lot of thought while I was pacing, so I tried out my favorite idea. "Well, your name basically means 'Mountain' in Spanyol. How about we name our babies after famous mountains?"

  She looked at me closely, or at least as closely as the drugs allowed, and said slowly, "That ain't a half-bad idea."

  "The biggest mountain on this Earth is Mt. Everest in the Himalayas. Did you have Mt. Everest on your Earth?"

  "'Course. They all do."

  "Everest he is, then."

  "So it is," she said sleepily.

  "So mote it be," I finished the formula. And that was that. I left Montana and child snoozing peacefully, feeling normal for the first time in day. I didn't remember the Imps until several days of dealing with Newdie clothing issues later.

  ❖

  But I had come at last, and I watched Acheron drill his company. He was very good, very precise, and an excellent teacher. Later, after he excused his company, I congratulated him on all that, and extended the invitation to visit from myself and the Mamas.

  All he said was, "No."

  "No?"

  He whirled in midair and shouted "NO! Even after our talk, it still took you a fucking week to bother to speak to me again. I know when I'm not wanted!"

  "But that's the point, you really are —"

  "Bite me!" he snapped. Though that was one of the other-Earth insults I didn't really understand, I got the gist of it. He glared at me icily. "You may be well aware of who your parents are, Fell Tobias, but that makes you no less a bastard. Now excuse me. I have some battles to plan, some boys to train, and some women to impregnate."

  And he stormed out, or at least zoomed out, head held high. I hadn't realized he craved my attention and approval that much.

  CLUELESS, the Wold commented dryly. Followed by a small Yup. Little Magic wasn't really speaking to me at the moment.

  "Hey!" I snapped, looking up in the air as I usually did when dealing with absent Deities. "Your Mama Montana almost died giving birth to your brother! Forgive me if I got a little distracted, you shiny brat!"

  No answer. As Dad would've put it, I wasn't exactly batting a thousand. Whatever that meant.

  The second time I approached Acheron, when I confronted him in front of the rest of his company, he just told me to fuck off, scandalizing the Alephtovers somewhat... though not as much as I would've expected. That hurt more than a bit, and proved forcefully that everyone agreed I was in the wrong.

  I got smart the third time. I sent out individual invitation cards to him and his brothers, done in Coulter's neat calligraphy, telling them I expected them to arrive at Yorkshire Castle promptly at 10 AM on the first Saturday in September.

  "All ten of them came, by Goddess!" I crowed to Old-Father Trent, as my Imp sons landed on the lawn of the castle in neat formation.

  "That's what she said!" Dad cackled. He'd already been in the wine.

  I punched him on the shoulder lightly. "What is it about the printed word that always seems to trump the spoken one?"

  "They're soldiers," he observed. "With the memories of NCOs. They always respond to written orders, without question."

  I looked at them thoughtfully as my wives began greeting the Imps. "Huh."

  The day that ensued was… interesting. Even I can forget things now and again, as I once mentioned. I just so happened that a small matter named Saul that I had prophesized 312 days before slipped my mind that late summer day.

  Our whole family was there to greet my Imp sons, including my mother and Calvin, for whom they were an endless source of fascination. They hit it off with my brother immediat
ely, and soon he and the Imps were all but inseparable. I should've known.

  What can I say about the group of my sons that eventually became known as the A-Team, per my father's suggestion? Each and every one was handsome, rugged, smart, hard-working, driven, relentless, prone to taking risk, and thoroughly mischievous. It didn't take long to figure that last one out.

  Physically, they all looked very much alike, with their typical Impish features, including tail and batwings. With the exception of Acheron, they all had pitch-black hair, and black eyes as well — with the exception of Ahpuch's bright Fell green.

  They were obviously brothers, and must've been at their full heights, now that they were three months old and at what functioned as Dixie adulthood. All of them had carried on the family fatherhood duties, and several had sons with Cobbers already, with more to come from various of the small races, especially the Pixies.

  Acheron, of course, looks a lot like me, a fact that the Mamas picked up on immediately. But Ahriman is the spitting image of Gration, and Abdiel looks a heck of a lot like another Stupid Cupid. He acts a heck of a lot like one too.

  The most startling resemblance however, was Akatash, who looks like he could have been Freddy's child, a patent impossibility. In fact, he looks more like Pippin, Freddy's actual son, then his Imp brothers. They even have the same rounded, chubby face.

  All my sons, large and small, had a great time meeting and eating and playing and learning about each other. I did have to give an outraged Isaiah a couple of swats on his bottom when he snapped at Abaddon with his beak, but I think Abaddon's little fire tweak of his nose hurt more than my swats. And it was certainly more effective, because after that he treated all the A-Team boys with more respect.

  He even offered to share his micicles with them, something that surprised the hell out of me, since he was in that selfish phase. They took him up on it, and suddenly, a new trend was born. The Imps love micicles, and we couldn't make them fast enough after that. People actually started farming mice instead of just hunting them.

  I never realized, until then, that even a ubiquitous pest could become rare when it became a food source.

  I do have to say that the Imps didn't know what to think about Rudolph and Valentino. They were enchanted by the fact that the little Incubi had wings just like theirs (though they were more decorative than functional), and the fact that they had hooves instead of feet was considered "way cool!" as Abednego put it. The stripes were also a hit.

  (There were a number of Terran boys who had started painting stripes on their scrawny chests and going without shirts, but their tans kind of ruined the effect).

  A couple of the A-Team imps seemed confused by the fact that the little boys' pheromones attracted them, but when I explained to them that it was probably because they were bisexual, they accepted it without a peep. I was quite aware that while all my sons developed a strong need to breed with the ladies when they hit sexual maturity — pretty much right after birth for the Dixies and Imps, of course — many would boink anyone who would hold still long enough. Old-Father had told me that before the Ruin, bisexuality had been considered the default state for most people. He claimed it still was, and that it was nurture and personal preferences that led to identification as het or gay later in life. The Imps were no different.

  After devouring most of a barbecued cow, the A-Team worked up the nerve to sing their theme song, Achy's really, for me and the Mamas. Apparently, it was about some fellow who was afraid his achy, breaky heart would explode after his woman left him, at least if he allowed his own brain (or anyone else) to make it clear she was gone for good. Unlike the Hero Dixies, the A-Team couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, with the possible exception of Apollyon.

  By the time they were done, I was in love with them all, and hopefully I made that clear then and later.

  The A-Team remained a bit reserved with me, but they fell head over heels for the Mamas, and the feeling was mutual. Not in a squicky way, mind you. I mostly just watched them interact, with a few comments here and there to my sons and my wives. I was especially gratified to see how well Acheron got along with Coulter, who was enormously pregnant.

  I don't know why I didn't remember my prophecy, given that fact, but I did not. Perhaps I wasn't allowed to. (Are you listening, Deities?) Acheron was rubbing her belly and laughing delightedly as he felt the baby kick. Coulter said happily, "Wow! Looks like you've made a connection!" My oldest Imp son rubbed her horse belly again, and shouted as baby Saul kicked in recognition of his older brother. This delighted both of them, and Coulter took it as a sign that they were meant to be have a close relationship later in life.

  Five minutes later, her water broke, practically flooding the corner of the room where they were sitting. Chaos ensued (not my son Chaos, though he was there, but in general). The birth itself was relatively easy, despite all us men running and flying around screaming our heads off, waving our hands in the air and trying to find something useful to do. Saul emerged from his mother in a rush, followed by the afterbirth. As the women saw to that, we men saw to Saul. He lay there dazed in a pile of spindly legs for a while as we cleaned him up, mostly scrubbing him down with our best napkins, soap, and warm water.

  I was astounded by the little gem that emerged from the bloody mess. His skin was the color of cafe au lait, his hair long and golden like his mother's, and his coat identical to hers. He was definitely male; he was hung on both ends like, well, a horse (lucky kid). Like newborn horses do, he was trying to get to his feet within an hour. The Imps surrounded the little Centaur, staring avidly, cheering him on and fixing the event in their memories. It took Saul a while to struggle to his hooves, as he was top-heavy due to his nearly helpless newborn human half. But he did it, while the A-Team and his other brothers who were old enough to be there screamed cheerfully. They also tried talking to him and getting him to talk back, but unlike Dixies and Imps, Centaurs are not born capable of speaking or understanding Anglic within moments of leaving their mother's womb.

  Although weeks later, as Achy was riding Saul around the compound, playing soldiers, Achy shouted, "Dadinator! With my fire and Saul's brawn, we're gonna be unstoppable!"

  Saul echoed, "Uns'oppabuh!"

  I just gaped at them both for a long, long moment. Saul was still a newborn baby. Like Terran babies, Centaur babies didn't even start speaking until they were over a year old. Last I heard, Saw-Saw been gooing and gahing with the best of them. When Achy dissolved into laughter, I realized that the little Imp was, in fact, a talented ventriloquist. I roared with laughter too, because it was really quite funny. I still think so.

  Yes, I'm a bit juvenile, so shoot me.

  I don’t know why I took so long to accept the A-Team, or even to just meet them. I almost lost them forever. Sometimes, I'm just a bloody idiot. Or wanker, as the Wold just reminded me.

  I did have to put my foot down about the "heavy metal scream rock band" they and Calvin later formed, the Imps with miniature instruments made by the Pyskeen and Cobbers, Cal with an old electric guitar someone had scrounged up from Hexawatchie. Cal was the lead singer. Or shouter, really. Soon, I found I could no longer allow them to practice at the castle compound because they were so loud their "music" throbbed in my chest, and it scared the living hell out of most of the babies — though my Harpy boys loved it, screaming along with the beat. The A-Team (which is also what they called their "band"), soon retired to the far end of Pecan Grove to practice… and sometimes, I could still hear them in the distance.

  The Imps were small, and their instruments were small. I couldn’t figure out how they made their music so very loud without electronic amplification… and Little Magic just whistled and walked away when I asked.

  He and his mother were angry at me for a long time.

  ❖

  As the year turned toward fall, Calvin hit his majority. If we'd been back home, he'd be taking part in Bundling Day in the Spring, and he'd made it clear on several occasions that Bun
dling Day was the one Hamiltown tradition he'd been really looking forward to. Mother and I had held him back from participating in the sexual revolution that was most of Icarus Township's entertainment at the time (aside from his band, which he used to burn off his baser energies), until he hit his majority. But puberty had had its way with him by then, and he was fast approaching hypersexuality.

  Now that he was officially an adult, he asked me about holding a Bundling Day just for him. I told him we didn't do that here, as it wasn't necessary, but he was welcome to work something out on his own. He got a crafty look on his face and declared that he would.

  It was about a week later that I realized someone had been using my Fathering Chamber when I wasn't, and I had my suspicions about who it was.