The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Kevral looked at her feet, fighting bitterness. She wished them all well, yet she could not escape visions of the tiny blond boy she had placed into the arms of the Pudarians only a week earlier. Sensing her pain, sharing it, Ra-khir placed a comforting arm around her.

  Captain paused a moment to assure the questioning had ended. Then he pulled the cloth from the misshapen lump of blue stone that represented most of the Pica. He gathered the retrieved shards, the nine parts of the sapphire together for the first time since its destruction nearly four centuries ago.

  Ra-khir interrupted the proceedings, voice urgent. “You’re not planning to restore it now, are you?”

  Captain returned a tilt-headed stare. “Why wait?”

  “The king and queen aren’t here.”

  “They requested we begin without them.”

  Ra-khir pursed his lips, surely weighing the safety of Béarn’s royalty against their right to a presence during such a spectacular moment. He glanced at Kevral. Apparently deeming her ready for battle, as well as himself, he fell silent and nodded.

  Kevral worried more for Darris, who surely would have created a reason to stay had he guessed Captain might start the proceedings immediately. Nevertheless, she did not chase after the bard. His subsequent quest for the details would help focus his mind from the ultimate knowledge so recently sacrificed.

  Captain sent khohlar: *Jovinay arythanik, begin the reconstruction.*

  The whole room seemed to swell with elfin song, a pulsating wave of sound with its own special beauty, though it paled in the wake of Darris’ squirrel serenade. Captain’s words sounded gruff and harsh, his voice losing its usual rhythmical gentleness. Beneath his spread hands, the main portion of the Pica Stone glowed as if lit from the core, a cerulean lantern that seemed to darken, rather than lighten, the rest of the room in comparison. Gradually, each shard took on a similar light. One twitched. Another rocked on its rounded surface. Then, all but the largest portion floated from the table. They buzzed like insects, gliding across that last, main segment until they found their proper positions. As the final shard merged into place, the Pica shimmered. The inner glow blazed outward, the sapphire shining with the radiance of a tiny sun, dwarfing the torchlight.

  *Release.*

  The elfin chant died in an instant. Every human eye went to Captain.

  “Did it work?” Kevral asked in a small voice.

  Captain sat back, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. “It’s repaired.”

  Kevral cocked her head, the answer incomplete. “The gem? Or fertility?”

  “The gem.” Captain rubbed his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Whether we’ve lifted the sterility spell remains to be seen.”

  Ra-khir asked the obvious question. “When will you know for certain?”

  Captain’s amber eyes swiveled to the knight. “When the first human pregnancy is confirmed in a woman who has cycled since the placement of the curse.”

  Andvari bobbed his head at the obvious logic. Ra-khir pursed his lips. Words rushed from Kevral’s lips before she could stop them, “But that could take months.”

  “Months,” Captain confirmed with an elfin gesture Kevral could not read. The canted, unvarying eyes, fine hair, and high cheekbones had never seemed so alien. “Months will not affect even mankind’s future, I don’t believe?” It seemed more question than statement.

  Not mankind’s. But mine.

  “Thank you.” Ra-khir drew Kevral closer. “We appreciate everything you’ve done for us.” He looked around the ring of elves. “All of you.”

  Nods and mumbles issued from the smiling outworlders.

  The air vacillated near Captain, liquid-appearing waves, like those emanating from tar on a hot summer day. Then, quietly, Colbey Calistinsson appeared beside him. The ancient Renshai looked different than when Kevral had last seen him. His golden hair was shaven to stubble, revealing bruises and burns on his scalp. Healing lacerations scored his face and hands. He wore two swords at his hip, a matched set of S-guards different than the one had carried the last time she saw him. He seemed tired, but the blue-gray eyes remained hard as ice, reflecting a vigor and youth that age and experience belied.

  Startled, Captain leaped aside. Concern sent his welcoming grin askew. “Don’t tell me. You came to lay your claim on the Pica Stone.”

  “Just to see it.” Colbey raised a hand over the sapphire and, for the first time, Kevral saw his fingers shake. Slowly he lowered his hand to his side. “My last touch shattered it.”

  “Bring it full circle,” Captain insisted gently, like a mother encouraging a frightened child. “It won’t happen this time.”

  Colbey studied the elf.

  “Trust me.”

  Colbey’s hand rose again, and this time he stroked the Pica Stone like a pet. The glow flickered and winked, then shone more steadily than before. Colbey sought out the page amidst a roomful of elves. “Record that the test of the Pica will now and forevermore choose the rightful ruler of Béarn. The Staves of Law and Chaos exist no longer.”

  Kevral looked up, too shocked to savor the news.

  Captain asked guardedly, “Odin?”

  “Destroyed utterly.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely.” The word carried the assurance of the gods.

  “How?” Captain asked, but many needed to know. Kevral winced at the realization that Darris could suffer eternally for missing this moment and the chance to personally elicit the story.

  Colbey’s eyes rolled back, following his mind to a distant location none of them would ever see. “Wars and battles. Deceptions and deaths. We lost a few more gods along the way, and I could not have succeeded without the help of your creator.”

  The smiles on the elfin faces seemed eternal, yet natural and right.

  “I never bonded with chaos.” It was a promise. “But I did sacrifice myself. Freya rescued me at the final moment, more than I expected or thought possible. She transported us both from the destruction that claimed Odin and most of chaos’ world.”

  “A special woman,” Captain said, the description bordering sacrilege.

  Colbey took no offense. “The best. I don’t deserve her.” He added with a twinkle, eyes returning to their proper position. “Thankfully, she doesn’t agree.” He removed his hand from the Pica Stone.

  “What do you plan to do with the life Freya rescued?” Captain replaced the Pica’s cover, and the room dimmed visibly.

  “Guard the balance.” Colbey reached to run a hand through his hair, then stopped mid-movement, apparently recalling that the feathers no longer existed. “Train and be tried by my adolescent son. Try to prove myself worthy of my wife’s loyalty.” Joy softened the coldness of his eyes. “And spend a lot of time in Valhalla.” His gaze swung to Kevral. “Someday I’ll see you there?”

  The presence of Kevral’s hero erased some of the pain. With the Fate’s help, she now knew she still had a soul. “You can count on it.”

  “Perhaps you’ll be the one to finally best me.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, Kevral would have vowed to that with the same certainty as her previous statement. This day, she felt beaten. “I can’t even win my battles here.” An image of the baby’s tiny lips and fingers filled her mind, the brilliant blue of his eyes with just a hint of future gray. Until that moment, she did not realize how closely he physically resembled Colbey.

  Though Colbey could not have guessed her meaning from words, the intensity of her sorrow surely reached him. “Kevral, that was never your battle.”

  Confusion filled many faces. Ra-khir squeezed Kevral’s hand, his arm still wrapped around her. Like Colbey, he knew that she referred to losing her youngest son.

  “Under the circumstances, you had to make that vow.” Colbey’s attention focused on Kevral and Ra-khir simultaneously. “And once you made it, the battle was no longer yours.”

  “No longer mine?” Kevral repeated, now as bewildered as Andvari and the e
lves.

  “No longer yours.” Colbey swiped a finger between her and Ra-khir, indicating the plural use of the word “you.”

  “Then whose . . .?” Kevral started, unable to finish.

  “One appropriately concerned for the wellbeing of his grandson’s mother.”

  His grandfather? Kevral followed the loop of Colbey’s words. “You?”

  Colbey shook his head. “I’m a grandfather only by blood. A real grandfather is the one who gives his time and love, who is there when the child needs his assistance and experience. I can’t help taking an interest, but I will not actively interfere.”

  Kevral’s mind turned to the next obvious candidate. Kedrin? She frowned. It would violate Ra-khir’s honor for his father to get involved. My father? A smile eased onto Kevral’s lips, crueler than those of the elves. She pictured Tainhar hacking his way through King Cymion and his guards, a Renshai battle cry ringing over Pudar.

  As Kevral savored her conjured images, Colbey moved on to Ra-khir. “Are you going to make me beg, Sir Knight?”

  Ra-khir’s bow contained so many flourishes it spanned longer than any pause in conversation should. “Certainly not, Sir Colbey. Every Knight of Erythane should have his own charger, and Frost Reaver is the only one worthy of you.”

  Colbey laughed. “Perhaps he is simply the only one who will have me.” He grew serious again. “I gave him to you in good faith. You would be within your rights to keep him.” He added somberly, “Without angering immortals.”

  Ra-khir bowed again, demonstrating his own earnestness. “So long as you’re alive, Frost Reaver would never be happy with me.”

  “Thank you.” All of the fatigue seemed to fade from Colbey then. “Now that you know what I am, must I worry that your father will place me into the rotation?”

  “I think I can talk him out of it.” Ra-khir smiled now, too. “Somehow, I can’t picture you taking part in five-hour rituals.”

  Colbey cringed. “Even immortality hasn’t granted me the patience for that.” He waved an arm, fading before Kevral could question further.

  Colbey’s final gesture, a signal of brotherhood, was clearly aimed at Andvari. Kevral could not ignore it.

  * * *

  Matrinka puzzled over her summons to the testing room, only moments after Griff had headed there himself. Dread gripped her heart as she hurried down the four staircases from her quarters to the first floor, leaving guards to scurry in her wake. From past experience, she knew the test seemed to take hours to the one undergoing it, only minutes to those waiting outside the room. It had never before occurred to her that Griff might fail, yet no other reason remained for him to call her. Success would simply result in a great celebration.

  Darris, Prime Minister Davian, Rantire, Griff’s mother and stepfather, and a page huddled outside the testing room door. Matrinka did not wait until she reached them before questioning, instead shouting down the corridor, “What’s wrong?”

  Darris rushed to her, though Davian chose to answer. “The king is asking for you. He wants you in the room for the testing.”

  Matrinka squinted. “The law doesn’t allow spectators.”

  “Ravn’s with him,” Rantire explained, jerking a thumb toward the door. “He permitted it. Suggested it, in fact.”

  Ravn? Matrinka greeted Helana and Herwin with waves, then turned to the entry. She did not bother to knock. The thick door of the testing room would not permit the sound to penetrate. Tripping the latch, she pulled the panel open.

  The glow of the Pica granted vision into every corner of the tiny room. Griff sat, cross-legged, in front of the sapphire, which lay on a gold stand on the floor. Ravn leaned against the back wall, leaving more space for Matrinka to enter. Once, before Griff took back his throne from elves, they had stuffed five people into this room. Now, Matrinka marveled at how they had managed such a feat. At Ravn’s gesture, she closed the door.

  Colbey’s son radiated a golden presence nearly as illuminating as the Pica Stone. “I’m leaving,” he promised. “Already used up my share of air. I just thought you earned the right of inclusion.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.” Matrinka crouched at her husband’s side. “I’m not getting tested again, too, am I?” She tried to hide fear. When all the available heirs had failed the staff test, the then-prime minister, Baltraine, had them all tested a second time. Only Matrinka, away on the mission to rescue Griff, had evaded that trial and the inescapable madness it inflicted on every victim. Her single failure had left her drowning in self-doubt, questioning her every decision and the value of her existence. She had gradually overcome the agony of that rejection and did not wish to revive the pain.

  “You can experience his testing as a spectator. You can’t influence the outcome.” Ravn studied Griff’s first queen. “Interested?”

  Matrinka felt a tickle of excitement in her chest. “Yes,” she admitted.

  Ravn waved a hand to indicate they should proceed. A moment later, the room contained only Griff, Matrinka, and the Pica Stone.

  “Ready?” Griff asked.

  Matrinka smiled at his generosity. “Please. Proceed at your pace. I’m just a spectator, remember?”

  Griff nodded, muscles knotting beneath silks. She had rarely seen him nervous, never more so than at this moment.

  “You’ll do fine,” Matrinka assured, illogically certain.

  Griff placed both hands upon the sapphire. Matrinka closed her eyes, bracing for the rush of pain that had accompanied seizing the Staves of Law and Chaos. She stood aside, unaffected while a whirlwind flung Griff in wild spirals. His cheeks flapped with the motion, but no pain filled his eyes, to Matrinka’s relief. She hoped Odin’s presence in the Staff of Law at the time of her testing accounted for the discomfort and that her cousin would not have to suffer it.

  At length, Griff fell on a familiar, little island, his hair whipped to tangles, his beard in disarray, his clothes a mass of wrinkles. Although he had started by clutching a gem, he held a staff in each hand, just as Matrinka had during her time of testing. Griff gazed out over a sea tousled by waves, its shore battered by bracken. Like her, he seemed not to question his location or arrival. Ruffled by wind and shielded by fog, the sea revealed a massive shadow in its midst. Matrinka knew its contents, waiting patiently for Griff to surmise the same. Way out in the sea, two humans stood balanced on a massive scale. They tossed their arms about wildly, desperately requesting help.

  Unlike Matrinka, Griff did not secure the staves before leaping into the frothing sea. Waves slammed him, tossing him in ungainly circles, but he persisted. His strong strokes should have taken him triple the distance in the same time in calmer water, and the burden of the staves slowed him further. Matrinka smiled at the simplicity of his forgetting to release them, wondering if that act alone separated her attempt from his. Memory emerged: the man in the left pan lived a simple life with his wife and four children in a hungry but generous and loving household. The young woman in the opposite pan had lived a cruel and selfish life, shirking responsibility. Her credits already included theft and murder.

  Matrinka recalled the dilemma in detail. Magic held both in their places, unable to descend without assistance. Left there, both would die of exposure and starvation; but saving one meant drowning the other as the balance dropped the weight in the opposite pan beneath the waves. Matrinka had measured her ability to pull one free, steady him or her, then rush to assist the other and found the necessary speed impossible.

  When the victims spotted Griff, they called out to him as they had to Matrinka. “Please save me,” the woman shouted first. “I can reward you. I can shower you with riches. My body and my soul as well.” She peeled back the sleeve of her shift to reveal the greater portion of a large and finely proportioned breast. Matrinka recalled being offered the heart and soul of a fine, young man. “Whatever you desire, I can see that it becomes yours.” Matrinka also remembered that, in testing state, she had never doubted the woman could deliver o
n her promises.

  The man in the other pan spoke next, “I have nothing. Nothing but as many warm nights in my family’s cottage as you desire. We would share what we have, but that would not be much, I’m afraid.”

  Matrinka held her breath, waiting for Griff’s response. The test delved to the core of the tested’s being, often placing him or her into a different persona or era, stealing knowledge of the testing, supplying details that the tested could not otherwise know. Oblivious, she had accepted all the test had presented: unquestioningly believing herself a previous king, an aged queen, and her placement into situations that would otherwise seem ludicrous. Her own version of this task had ended in condemnation when she had chosen the life of the honest man over the hardhearted woman. Even now, outside the scenario and with her faculties and memories intact, she still could not fathom her mistake.

  “A moment,” Griff said, giving the situation only a brief scrutiny as he treaded water that sloshed and roiled around him. He planted the staff from his left hand into the water, and its opposite end rose just high enough to brace the beam between the fulcrum and the man’s pan. Griff then moved to the right, jabbing the second staff into the waves to brace the scale’s other beam. Only then, he started climbing the contraption.

  Matrinka gaped at a simple solution she had never considered. With the staves blocking movement of the scale’s arms, he could shift weights freely. He could and would rescue both of its prisoners. Subsequently, he could try the woman for her crimes and return the man to his needy family. She never doubted that he would refuse the rewards both offered, having saved them only for humane and moral reasons.

  From her own ordeal, Matrinka knew the test never rewarded the actions that pleased it, only condemned those that did not display the naive and neutral proclivities necessary for Béarn’s ruler. Warmth suffused her, pride at her cousin’s cleverness hidden beneath an innocent mantle of childlike simplicity. No matter how many times she saw him deliver brilliantly guileless judgments, she could not help finding them awesome and sweet. She sought the shame that had so often accompanied her thoughts of this task in the past, heightened by the realization of an obvious solution that she had missed. Instead, she found an inner warmth and peace. She had made the wrong decision for the ruler of Béarn, but not for Matrinka. And she could finally put the matter fully to rest.