by Devon Vesper
“…Father,” Valis whimpered.
A shudder ripped through Darolen’s large frame, and he pressed a hard kiss to Valis’ forehead. The arm around his back almost bruised him as it tightened further.
Darolen closed his eyes. His throat worked as if to swallow something too large to go down. It took long moments before he breathed without each inhale sounding like a gasp.
Valis worried his lower lip. He was about to apologize again when Darolen pressed another, gentler kiss to his forehead. “I’ll strive to live up to that title, Son. Gods know I love you like my own.”
Sniffling, Valis tucked his head under Darolen’s chin again and fought against the surge of tears. Then he laughed. “It seems all I do of late is cry…”
Darolen huffed a laugh of his own and nuzzled into Valis’ hair with a soft, deep purr. “If we are correct about your lifespan, it is only hormones, stress, and sudden and constant changes.”
His arm loosened to cradle Valis instead of crush him. As Darolen relaxed, he breathed in the clean scent of Valis’ freshly washed hair while Valis breathed in the scent of soap and clean skin mixed with Darolen’s natural scent that always calmed him. “You asked how old I am. I think that is valid. What do you know of normal lifespans? How old do you expect people to live to if they are able to reach old age and die without violence?”
Having only known his own family, and the hired workers, Valis shook his head. “I don’t know, to be honest. I expect seventy to eighty, perhaps.”
The nod moved Valis’ head with it, and Darolen nuzzled back down. “That is the general expectation for laymen. Mages, though, live to be between three-fifty to four hundred years old under normal circumstances. If you are magically inclined, you’re probably just hitting puberty. When did you start getting hair under your arms and on your groin?”
Valis shifted uncomfortably and pressed his face tighter to Darolen’s throat. “About a month or so before we met. Perhaps two. Roba made fun of me for years, saying I was supposed to be a woman and bleed because I never grew hair there. Mother said I may never be able to grow a beard, like the men in her side of the family.”
Another shiver shook Darolen when Valis called his birth father by name, rather than title, and he hugged Valis again with a pleased purr. “Then I do think you are a mage. Since we haven’t tested you yet, we will wait until we reach the monastery and have one of the Patron Priests test you properly.”
“Why can’t Brother Cazho do it?”
Darolen grunted in disgust and nuzzled deeper into the pillow. “You would suffer him again?”
“He did enjoy it a bit much for my tastes,” Valis said, laughter in his voice, “but he wasn’t awful.”
“Mm.” Darolen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I would rather have someone more attuned to performing such tests be the one to do so. I would also like someone calmer and with less a love of dramatics.”
“If it worries you, Father, I’ll wait,” Valis said loyally. He heaved a contented sigh and purred as he tucked up against Darolen’s chest. “Speaking of that… what do I call Kerac? Calling you both ‘Father’ would get confusing.”
Darolen’s amused chuckle shook the whole bed. When he calmed, he pressed a kiss to Valis’ ear and whispered into it. “Call him ‘Papa’ and see what he does.”
Not more than a moment later, the door opened, shut and soft footsteps drew near the bed. “And what is all this?” Kerac asked, a smile in his voice. “I wake in a cold bed and find you two snug and warm here without me.” He swatted Valis’ backside through the covers. “Make room!”
Both laughed. Valis and his new father scooted until poor Darolen nearly fell off the other side of the bed. It took some maneuvering and strategy, but soon they all somehow fit on the mattress, packed into a tight tangle of arms, legs and towels.
Kerac pressed a kiss to the back of Valis’ head and murmured there. “Did you get your nap?”
Valis snickered. “I did. Though, apparently not as good as yours.”
“I was attacked by a wild Darolen,” Kerac said with a dramatic sigh. “I had no choice but to faint from exhaustion.”
Darolen snorted and reached over Valis to smack Kerac’s rump. “I remember that differently.”
Frowning, Valis gave Darolen a playful shove that nearly sent him tumbling to the floor. “Don’t hit Papa so hard. That sounded like it hurt!”
A whimper, high and soft, huffed next to Valis’ ear. Behind him, Kerac stiffened until his entire body felt like steel. In the very crammed, limited space of the bed meant only for two bodies, Valis twisted, wrenched, and rolled while trying not to knee or elbow anyone’s sensitive bits. He settled once he faced Kerac and frowned.
“Aw, Papa,” he murmured.
Kerac’s eyes were overlarge. Fat tears beaded in the corners and he held his breath. Valis tapped his lower lids to make the tears fall and wiped them away.
That gentle touch made Kerac suck in a sobbed breath. He closed his mouth and swallowed with another high, breathy, wet whimper. His lower lip quivered so hard that his entire chin shivered with the force of it. Unable to stand that look, Valis kissed his chin and wriggled until he was able to reach up and wrap his arms about his neck and hugged Kerac tight. That seemed to break whatever kept him rigid, as with the next breath, Kerac stuffed his face in Valis’ hair, wrapped him in his arms, and let out a loud, choked sob.
Valis saw him shed tears before, both of joy and sorrow. They always remained silent and controlled. This seemed as if something was ripped out of him. As Valis held onto him, Kerac cried hard. His voice cracked with barely restrained wails. Each inhale drew on his vocal chords backward in pained, ululating gasped moans.
It was like he couldn’t get Valis close enough. His arms became bruising. His legs wrapped about Valis’ and became a vise. Terrified, Valis frantically petted Kerac’s hair to try to soothe him, but nothing seemed to work. Crooning into his ear only made him cry harder. He surprised Valis as he shrugged off Darolen’s touches.
I broke him, Valis whimpered to himself. Gods, I broke him…
As if he heard Valis’ thoughts, Darolen’s steady hand rubbed his shoulder, and he kissed the back of his head. “It’s okay, Son,” he whispered. “He needs this.”
Gritting his teeth to keep his own emotions in, Valis went back to stroking Kerac’s long hair. “What’s wrong, Papa? I can’t help you if you don’t calm down.”
Valis didn’t expect an answer, at least not right away. He didn’t get one right away, either. Kerac seemed inconsolable for long minutes. Gradually, though, his cries came softer and calmer until he wept himself out.
Kerac’s storm left Valis soaked from the torrent. Valis teased Kerac’s face out of his wet hair and kissed his father’s forehead as he used the soft down-filled duvet to dry their faces and necks. “What’s wrong?”
Kerac shuddered and went to tuck his face back into Valis’ hair, but Valis tilted his head and met him with a kiss to the nose. “No hiding. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he croaked. His voice came hoarse and thick. Even with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose, his timid smile lit up the entire room. “Everything is as it should be.”
He couldn’t match that smile if he tried, but Valis did his best. “Then why the flood?”
Kerac devoured Valis’ face with his eyes and shook his head with a soft, huffed laugh as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. “You,” he murmured. “I have dreamed of you since I was young. And every time, you called me Papa. And every time, I was heartbroken when I woke to find a reality without you in it.” He shuddered again, and his shaking hand came up to cup Valis’ cheek. “I’ve dreamed of you off and on for over a century.”
Valis gasped, and he stared. “How old are you? Father never said…”
Darolen chuckled. “I turned two-hundred and thirty-one this past spring. Kerac is one-sixty-two.”
Now Valis wanted to know everything, and he squirmed. “How o
ld were you when you two met?”
With that pleased, deep purr, Darolen reached across Valis and stroked a hand over Kerac’s hair. “I waited a hundred and four years for Kerac. He was only thirty-five, and a timid thing.”
Kerac closed his eyes and nuzzled into Darolen’s hand with an almost shy smile. If they got any more adorable, Valis might gag. Though, the way they were so very in love made him feel luckier than just having two impossibly kind people adopt him. They made it feel like he belonged in that love, and he basked in it.
“I can’t imagine Papa ever being timid,” he laughed. “I—”
Someone rapped at the door, and a woman called, “Laundry!” Her sharp voice made everyone jerk, but Kerac recovered first. He squeezed Valis tight and kissed his temple as he untangled himself and rolled out of bed. It took him a moment to adjust the towel about his hips and answer the door to get their laundry. Six men accompanied the laundry woman with their bundles of clothes, tents and bedding, armor and weapons. Soon, Valis’ room was full to bursting and in need of sorting.
Once the door closed, Kerac turned a fond smile on him and shook his head as he picked up their conversation. “If or when you ever enter an Ezhav, you will find that any timidity you have will diminish in some areas.” He picked up his laundry, weapons and armor, setting them in a neat pile so he could carry them. “When you have someone strong attached to you, they become your strength, and you theirs.”
“That,” Darolen paused to grin at his lover, “and over sixty years of gently forcing him into situations to get him desensitized worked wonders.”
Kerac blushed and threw his wadded up towel at Darolen’s face, but he laughed. “I was sheltered!”
Darolen caught the towel with ease and folded it up. He gave a sage nod toward Valis. “Yes, you were. So is our son. Blood related or not, I see a lot of you in him. It will do neither of you any good to keep such things from him. Matter of fact, it may do more harm than good.”
Smirking, Valis went about folding and sorting his things into his freshly cleaned bags and picked out his warmer traveling clothes while his fathers bickered in their good-natured way. He finished before they ended their discussion, but when he looked up, they both had grins, even if Kerac’s had an accompanying flush.
“You know, it’s awfully awkward to be the only man dressed in a bedroom,” Valis teased. “Get some clothes on. I’m starving.”
“That’s our boy!” Kerac crowed. “About time you had your proper appetite back.”
As Kerac fled the room with his things, Darolen laughed. “We won’t be long. Pack our bundles if you would. The less we must do before bed, or in the morning, the better off we will be.” He gathered up his clothes and went to the door before turning his gaze back on Valis. “We leave before dawn.”
His tone made Valis frown, and he stood from where he’d been rolling their bedding. “What’s wrong? Your jaw shifted. You’re worried about something.”
Darolen snorted and shook his head. “No wonder I can’t get anything past you.” His jaw shifted again, and he turned to face him fully. “We’ll be riding harder than normal. One of the guards alerted me to an oncoming storm. I hope to outrun it.”
“I won’t let you down, Father,” Valis vowed.
“I know you won’t, Son.” Darolen’s jaw relaxed, and he elbowed the door the rest of the way open. “You never have.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The last seventeen days after leaving the border garrison seemed like they would never end. Snow swirled around them in increasing thickness until it was hard to see where they were going, but it wasn’t quite storm-snow. They were still making good time. Tonight, when they camped, Darolen didn’t look pleased as he stared up at the sky, but their routine stayed the same. Pitch the tents, care for the horses, eat dinner, sword forms. After that one night in the border garrison, sleeping in the tent was almost like torture, but this night, Valis all but passed out the moment his head hit the pillow.
Wind woke him up. The shields kept out people and animals. They did little about the weather, and nothing at all about wind. In the darkness of early morning, the freezing wind whipped at the tent Valis shared with his fathers. The bitterness blasted his face from between the tied tent flaps.
Valis shifted and felt two warm bodies pressed in against his. He was never the first one awake. He shuddered as his stomach pitted and he lifted his head to stare at the hole in the flaps made by the blasting wind kicked up by the swiftly growing storm. All he could see was snow. It swirled so thick that it looked like a fluffy blanket wafting in the breeze beyond the shield. It piled up around the base, some of it melting from the warmth created by the shield’s magic.
That chasm opened up in his gut again, and Valis rolled to shove against Darolen’s chest. “Father, wake up.”
Darolen grunted and lifted his head, instantly alert. “What is it?”
“My stomach is pitting,” he said. “Something’s wrong. Something is going to happen.”
Without need for clarification, Darolen got up and peered outside the flaps. He uttered a curse and whirled back around. “Up you both get. We need to reach Avristin before midday. We should be near enough.”
Kerac sat up and rubbed his eyes. He took one look at Darolen and was on his feet. “The storm is upon us?”
He spoke as he worked to get his boots and armor on. “Blizzard. Seems to have hit us just a few moments ago with the way it’s putting down the snow. Much longer, and the wind will snatch our tent.”
That got Kerac moving. By the time both men had their armor on, Valis already had the bedding rolled and tied and started work on breaking down the tent. Between the three of them, they had their gear packed and on the horses in a fraction of their normal time.
By the time they mounted up and got underway, the skies had belched out enough snow that the valleys between the drifts came up to the horses’ knees. Valis had to shout above the wind. “How are we going to get through this snow?”
“Slow and steady,” Darolen shouted back. “We can use a bit of magic to melt the snow for the wagon, but we have to get out of this before we all freeze.”
“And how can you tell where we’re going?” Valis asked. “All I can see is snow. I can barely see you!”
“Avristin is like a beacon to our souls,” Kerac said from his side. “We can feel it like you feel the sun on your face in the summer. It is especially strong with as close as we are. If we keep a steady pace, we should make it today.”
“That, and I always remember which direction the tent faces,” Darolen said from the front. “It is important to always be aware of your surroundings for emergencies such as this.”
They lapsed into silence as the wind crushed in around them, stealing their breath and voices. With a numb nose, Valis pulled his shirt and cloak up around his face to breathe some warmth back into it. Darolen and Kerac did the same with their cloaks. It took a thought, but after a few slips of his shirt and cloak, Valis tugged on the pack horses’ tethers from the back of his saddle and found the one holding his packs. He rooted through one and brought out three shirts.
“Here!” He passed two to Kerac and motioned for him to give the second to Darolen. “Wrap them around your faces.”
In case Kerac didn’t hear, he wrung the shirt in his hands into a loose rope and tied it around his face and head so that only his eyes showed. Kerac grinned and mimicked him, then handed the second to Darolen and pointed to his own face as instruction.
Now that they could breathe easier and keep their faces warmer, the day progressed with less pain. Every so often they had to stop and change out the shirts as the condensation of their breath swiftly made the shirts into frozen masses that hurt worse than the wind. Still, they helped more than keeping their faces uncovered.
When mid-morning came, the skies looked just as dark as it did well before dawn. Dark clouds, thick snow, and bitter wind gusting both in swirls seemed an endless vortex of indomitable obstacles
. The snow that came up to the horses’ knees earlier now became walls that they had to melt with magic, as the valleys came to their chests in some places otherwise.
Everything ached. Valis tried to rub warmth into his numb knees and calves, but that only made his hands tingle and burn from the cold. When it got to be too much, he laid down along Chath’s neck and hugged the beast, both to warm himself on his mount’s neck and to help warm his poor horse. Since he named his gelding, he now worried more about his survival, which seemed to be a vain hope now. With every stride, their horses’ eyes started to glaze over, and Chath mis-stepped often. He thanked Phaerith every time Chath righted himself, instead of going face first into the nearest snow drift.
Every time he checked on the horses drawing the wagon, he shivered. They seemed nearer death than the rest. Sweat coated their bodies, and Valis knew firsthand how that made a person—or beast—colder than if they were dry. He hoped they would make it, hoped they wouldn’t freeze out here. Hoped he wouldn’t have to help carry them off the path and strap the pack horses to the wagon for the last stretch. Would they even make it? They already carried such a burden with their clothes and gear, but nowhere near the weight that rested in the back of the wagon.
The deep chill sapped Valis of all his strength and energy. He didn’t realize he passed out until Kerac caught him by the shoulder and shoved him back atop his horse. “Wake up. We’re almost there,” he shouted over the wind. “Look!”
He pointed with a shaking finger into the snowy distance. Valis rubbed the frozen crust out of his eyes and peered ahead. He saw nothing for a long few moments. Then a flash of golden light pierced the darkness and was gone. “What is that?”
“Avristin’s beacon.” Kerac let out a joyous laugh. “We will be upon the docks soon. Rest your heart, Son. It’s almost over.”
Valis couldn’t rest his heart. Everything was numb, from his heart to his head to his fingers and toes. What once ached, then seared with cold fire, and now there was nothing. Part of him had a desperate hope that if—when—they made it to Avristin, he would still have all his fingers, toes, and other important necessities. He only managed a dull nod that got Kerac to urge his mount closer and rub his back. He knew that the rubbing hand was there, but he couldn’t feel it. The loss of that loving comfort opened up his chest into a raw wound, and he had to swallow down the fear it belched up.
