by C B Samet
“We’re important,” she replied, her gaze dropping to the floor.
My heart felt an unpleasant surge of guilt. “Of course you are. That’s why I’ll always come back home—even if I’m late on occasion.”
Natalie seemed to accept my statement, although she didn’t soften enough to grant me a hug.
I slumped in the kitchen chair, numb to the screaming around me.
I had slain evil, mastered swordsmanship, fought giants, earned an advanced degree in chemistry, ended a civil war, freed an entombed wizard, and rescued an island of people from a harbor wave, but none of these feats prepared me for motherhood.
Rebekah screamed relentlessly. Squirming at the table, she refused her cabbage with a raging belligerence, as if I was trying to force boiling lava down her throat. Paul ran through the kitchen with a battle cry as he held his wooden sword high in the air. Natalie vied for my attention, all because a button was missing from her dress.
“Mama. Mama. Mama,” she repeated.
I closed my eyes for a long moment, wishing Joshua was here rather than at work. It was a Saturday, after all—a family day, not a working day.
All of our weekday childcare had the day off, which left only the children and me. I was entirely outnumbered.
Opening my eyes, I looked at the toddler who’d strewn her food all across the table, her lap, and the floor.
“Rebekah,” my calm, firm voice cut through her temper tantrum. “You may leave the table, but you’re not eating again until supper.”
She scowled. “Why?”
I lowered her out of her high chair. “It will take at least that long to clean up this mess.”
She ran out the front door before I’d even finished answering her question.
“Paul, can you keep an eye on your sister?”
My son gave me a laborious sigh before following her out the door. I watched him go. He was growing so fast—already five-years-old. I needed to let the hem of his pants down two centimeters and sew the hole in the knee.
“Mama. Mama. Mama.”
I turned my glaring look towards my oldest child—the one who was supposed to be at the age of reason. Natalie should recognize that I couldn’t address her buttons while dealing with a mutinous toddler and Paul fighting forces of evil in the kitchen. “Natalie, perhaps your button could have waited a little longer, until Rebekah was calm.”
Natalie shook her head, ringlets of soft brown hair dancing around her face. She put a hand on her hip. “Mama, she’s never calm.”
I couldn’t argue the point. “What’s this about your button?”
Natalie opened her palm to show me a blue, glass button.
“Oh. That’s off your lovely green dress.”
“Yes, and I’m wearing it next month to the spring ball, so we’ve got to fix it.”
“Okay, okay.”
Was the spring ball so near? I should have remembered. Natalie had spoken of little else since receiving the Queen’s invitation. I’d been receiving various invitations and politely declining them for so long that I hadn’t even considered that my children might have reached the age at which they’d want to go.
I knew Natalie had visions of ballrooms and fancy dresses dancing through her head. I blamed the princess children’s books my in-laws had bought her. They were beautifully illustrated, and Natalie loved to read them, but they did nothing to represent reality. In reality, she needed an education and an occupation—not royal balls and fancy dresses.
I smiled at her, reminding myself to let children be children, as my mother had always reminded me. If one’s imagination couldn’t be let loose in childhood, when could it?
“Of course. We’ll have it fixed before the ball. And you’ll look beautiful.”
“Will I talk with the Queen?”
“I’ll do my best.”
A procession of people would be waiting before the ball started to meet Queen Rebekah the Fourth. We’d have to arrive early and stand in line for close to an hour for little more than a brief introduction. Perhaps I could request more of an audience—not the day of the ball, obviously, but at some other time. I could ask for the Queen to spend a little time with my family.
What should I call my relationship with the Queen? Stronger than an acquaintance, but not friendly.
Yet, we had a bond and a mutual respect—enough that I suspected she’d grant us her company for a brunch or afternoon tea, despite her busy schedule.
“Why don’t I deliver a request for all of us to visit her majesty?”
Natalie’s face brightened before her brow crinkled. “Even Rebekah?”
I ran fingers through her soft hair. “Good point. Perhaps Rebekah’s presence will depend upon the time of day and her mood.” She might do well at a brunch, but as the day advanced, she became more of a tyrant.
“Thank you, Mama. That will be wonderful!” Natalie spun around the room.
“It may take some time to free her schedule,” I warned, “so we must be patient.”
Natalie nodded with an expression that suggested there’d be no element of patience.
2
At last, the house relaxed in tranquil quiet. Messes from the day had been cleaned, the animals were fed, and the dry clothes pulled from the line. Rebekah slept soundly in her bed. Natalie was reading to Paul in his bed.
Joshua sat in his cushioned chair beside me in the den, staring at the flames in the fireplace. He’d propped his feet on a nearby stool.
I pulled thread through the fabric of Natalie’s dress to secure the button. “How was your day?”
Joshua rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Busy. As a healer, I’m a bit out of my element—trying to pitch the need to build a hospital to investors and developers.”
“You can be charming.”
“I’m not sure charm is what they want.”
“Well, you can be infuriatingly rational as well. I’m sure they’d listen to the volumes of patients you’re seeing and know immediately that the right decision is more space.”
Joshua had begun the clinic twelve years ago, and had grown it from three rooms to ten. He went from being the only healer to managing a staff of three more, with an additional apprentice in training. The clinic desperately needed to continue to expand. Although Joshua was the only one there who commanded the Healing Stone capable of curing people’s maladies magically, he’d made such careful studies of ailments over the years that he and his team of healers now tried to seek practical remedies before ever resorting to magic. In addition, Joshua’s research benefitted more than just the patients of his clinic. He’d added substantially to the general knowledge of treatments and medicine.
“I think the investors listened, Abbey. I hope they’ll see the benefit.”
I leaned over, gripped Joshua’s hand and squeezed. I lifted it to my lips, kissing the back of it.
Joshua’s eyes rose from the fire to meet mine. The light of the flames danced in his brown eyes, illuminated the flecks of gold within them. He leaned closer and cupped my chin. “My beautiful champion. I’m sorry I’ve neglected us with these Saturday meetings. It’ll get better, I promise.”
I mustered a weak smile, unsure the situation would ever change in the foreseeable future. Joshua had such dedicated passion for treating patients, but the escalation to building a hospital, followed by the work of maintaining it, suggested there would be many more six-day working weeks to come.
“As long as it continues to bring happiness and fulfillment, I can manage the children on my own for one day a week, at least.”
Four days a week I worked at the university. I was home the other three days, but I still had help with the children for half a day on Fridays. The children had home tutors, sitters, planned meals, and playtime. We lived too far away from the nearest school to enroll them. While I could feasibly transport them to school daily, I’d become more cautious with those of whom I let know about my powers. I had children now, and I wouldn’t want them rece
iving either favoritism—because their mother was the Avant Champion—or to be shunned by those who either feared magical ability or resented it.
“Thank you, Abbey.”
I watched Joshua in the firelight. His square jaw was always clean-shaven and his broad shoulders reminded me of his college days, storming the Shullby field and winning the game. Since we’d wed, Joshua had given me everything I could have ever asked for—love, companionship, a home, and three beautiful, boisterous children.
“I can think of ways you might repay me, should you feel obligated to do so.” I winked at him.
His gaze grew heavy-lidded. “The children are in bed?”
“They’ll be asleep by the time you’ve taken your bath.”
He shoved to his feet, grinning. “Then I’ll get to that bath.”
The next morning, Paul bounded into the bedroom and shoved his way between Joshua and me. He burrowed his little body under the covers.
“Come here, my little rabbit.” I wrapped my arms around him as he giggled.
“Not fair! His little feet are cold,” Joshua protested playfully.
Paul deliberately walked his cold feet up and down Joshua’s back.
He rolled over and seized one of his son’s feet. “What’ve I got?” As Joshua tickled Paul’s foot, the little boy thrashed wildly.
Gone was my moment of snuggling. I tossed aside the covers and reached for my robe. “I’ll get breakfast started.”
“I want to help cook!” Paul scrambled out of bed after me.
“Absolutely.” I tussled his soft brown hair.
We whisked eggs, sizzled bacon, and baked biscuits. For the most part, Paul instructed me how to do each step properly—per his training from our house cook.
Within an hour, Paul and I had breakfast served. My family sat around the oval table in the center of the dining room. The morning sun radiated against the sheer white curtains, basking the room in soft, white light.
Joshua did his best to feed Rebekah, in between her flailing and knocking food to the floor. She didn’t discriminate when it came to whom she’d torment at mealtime. Natalie, meanwhile, poked at her food, complaining about the consistency of her eggs. Paul ate three people’s share of bacon.
I refilled water glasses and joined my family at the table. “So, family day. What’s the plan?”
“Dad and I already decided. We’re going to Mulan Island.” Natalie pushed the eggs around her plate.
“Well, we should ask everyone,” Joshua suggested.
“I want to go to the volcano,” Paul said.
“Me! Me!” shouted Rebekah.
“Mulan it is.” I took a bite of my eggs.
As we ate, we discussed plans for our excursion to the beach. The children then shared their weeks’ activities with their father. Natalie was reading now, Paul could recognize some small words, and Rebekah liked throwing her wooden alphabet letters, rather than learning to identify them.
After we finished breakfast, we achieved the next hurdle—dressing everyone.
Another hour later, we were walking on the shores of the volcano island of Mulan. The children ran around in their play clothes. I couldn’t fathom what they enjoyed about this lifeless place, with its black sand, black rocks, and perpetually gray sky. Perhaps what they enjoyed most was climbing the side of the volcano.
I walked along the beach, trailing Rebekah and scanning the waves.
“Still looking for Andi?” Joshua asked.
“It’s been eight years since the eruption. He said he’d reincarnate, but I never asked when.”
Andi was Mulan’s sea serpent, an iridescent beast who was as large as he was congenial. He had saved my life more than once, saved Joshua’s life, and even saved my mother’s life. I suspected he had died during the volcano eruption eight years ago. We hadn’t seen him since, and I wondered if I ever would again.
Joshua put an arm around my shoulder. “He’ll be back.”
Rebekah sat on the black sand, digging with her small fingers and scrutinizing the smooth obsidian rocks. She played several meters from the shoreline. The waves of Mulan were no caressing laps licking the black sand. An adult could probably stand against them, but a child would be instantly swept beneath the tumultuous depths, before a riptide swept her far out to sea.
I leaned into Joshua, enjoying Rebekah’s preoccupation and lack of fussing. “A moment of blissful peace.”
“How many more did you say you wanted?”
“Perhaps two.”
He kissed my forehead. “If you’re up for it, I’ll do my best to make your desires come true.”
I chuckled.
Rebekah jumped up, screaming an excited battle cry, and dashed straight for an ocean wave.
I transported in front of her and scooped her into my arms mere centimeters before she plunged into the frothy surf. She wailed in protest.
As I walked back toward Joshua, I shook my head. “Honestly, I don’t know how parents without magic manage to raise children.” Of our three, Natalie had the most caution. The other two seemed determined to test their mortal limits.
I set Rebekah down and she ran toward the volcano to play with her older siblings.
“Neither of us would be alive today without magic,” Joshua commented, pulling me close to him again.
“Perhaps we should try,” I suggested. “Start with an entire day, and then a week. Then maybe a whole month.”
“Are we taking bets on how long we’ll last without using magic?”
“Do you think we’d even make it one day?”
“No.”
With that, a wink, and a kiss, Joshua took off running to chase the children—starting a game of tag.
After the game of chase, Joshua and the children began coloring on the black rock at the base of the volcano, using white, yellow, pink, and blue chalk we’d brought with us from home. I watched my family from a distance, listening to the ocean waves behind me.
“You know this is the dreaded island of evil? You’re defacing a landmark.”
I turned to Mal, who’d suddenly appeared beside me. “They’re children playing.”
“Making a mockery of my home.” Despite his words, his expression contained more bemusement than irritation. “Natalie is probably drawing rainbows. Rainbows on the Serpent Volcano!” He made a disgusted noise. “Desecrating my temple. The next group of passing travelers won’t be intimidated at all. Soon, they’ll be calling it the pastel volcano. Hardly sounds threatening.”
I laughed. Natalie probably was drawing a rainbow. “It’s chalk. It’ll wash off.”
Mal opened his arms wide. “Have you noticed the lack of vegetation on this island? It rains here about once every decade.”
I looked up at the volcano. I hadn’t considered the rainfall. The volcano probably didn’t possess enough height and breadth to capture precipitation.
“You’re turning a desolate island of legendary darkness into a playground.”
I grinned. “I am, aren’t I?”
He rolled his eyes in feigned petulance.
I kicked at a pebble on the ground and watched it tumble over the sand. “Did you ever want children? Before you became what you are?”
His answer came swiftly. “I was twenty-three when I was poisoned and dying, and accepted my role as Malos. At that time, the armies of Bellos had marched toward Karnelik—and I’d never set foot south of the castle. I dreamt of warm coastal lands, women, and freedom at the time—not children.”
Rebekah screamed in high-pitched delight, throwing a rock at Natalie’s sketch on the rock wall. Natalie roared in protest.
Mal crossed his arms. “Your children do not inspire a sense of longing in me. There are many experiences I wish I could have, but managing screaming children isn’t one of them. I’ve seen you up at all hours of the night because they were ill or cantankerous. I’ve seen you give them every modern luxury, and they don’t even have the decency to close the front door or pick up their dirty clo
thes.”
“Children are egocentric. But all it takes is a warm embrace or cuddling in my arms and it’s all worth it.”
“Cuddling?” His nose crinkled. “I’ll take your word for it.”
I swung my sparring stick with gusto at Baird’s torso. He blocked and countered with a swing of his own. I parried. We continued to practice fighting with wooden sticks on an area of grass at the monks’ sanctuary. In the distance, the low rumble of the waterfall resonated. I could smell the faint waft of cinnamon in the air from the monks’ morning cider.
Off to one side, the wolf pup I’d rescued several months ago gnawed on a piece of rawhide. His coat gleamed a lustrous black, with a single speck of white on his chest and his paws painted as if the snow from which I’d snatched him still clung to the pup’s fur. Baird had accepted the cub with delight and named him Fury. It seemed appropriate that a man with the Language Stone should have an animal companion with whom to converse. I tried to detect when they communicated, but it was nonverbal. Baird did the same with the hawks the Gunthi monks bred and trained.
We continued fighting, and Baird brought his baton down toward my head. I dove, rolled, and lashed out a leg—striking Baird’s calf. He landed on the ground with a thud. I leaped to my feet as I swung the stick down, halting it mere centimeters from his face.
When he raised his hand in a signal of surrender, I stepped back.
“Formidable,” he acknowledged. “You haven’t fought this well since before you had children.”
“Well, Rebekah’s two now, so we’re in a routine that actually involves sleep every night—although her bedtime stalling tactics grow more creative every week.”
I extended a hand and helped Baird off his back.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of a practice during your work week?”
Without making eye contact, I set down the baton and picked up a set of throwing knives. “I was given a day of suspension.”
