by Kody Boye
Whether Karma approved of the child or not, he was going to seek the best treatment possible, no matter the potential consequence.
“It’s here,” Ectris said, “right around the hill.”
“Ah,” Karma replied. “Close.”
Ectris nodded.
“He’s quite small,” Karma said, taking the child into her hands and examining the shock of lengthening, raven-black hair atop his head. “You say he’s only just been born?”
“He’s a month old,” Ectris said, nervous at the fact that his unease seemed to grow increasingly strong as the midwife continued to examine the baby. “Do you need anything?”
“Light would help.”
Ectris set about the room gathering as many candles as he could, positioning them on both the table Karma stood before and at the corners of the room before striking a piece of flint and rock together to bring light to the room. Throughout the process, the midwife continued to look over the baby—first staring into his eyes, opening his mouth, then examining his skin, which over the weeks had gained some semblance of color.
“His ears,” Karma said.
Ectris raised his eyes from his work on lighting the candles. “What?” he asked.
“His ears are malformed.”
Stepping forward, Ectris brushed up alongside the woman and peered down at the baby’s face.
As the midwife had said, the child’s ears appeared to be curved at the tips and bore several strange, unwarranted grooves throughout them. It looked, to Ectris, like an uneasy hand had dragged a knife across the surface of a wax candle, but had faltered and permanently scarred its pristine surface. “What does it mean?” he asked, mystified and uneasy at the knowledge that his preconceived thoughts were slowly coming true.
“Given his eyes,” Karma said, “and the fact that his ears look the way they do, I would have to say that you are dealing with what can only be a Halfling, Mr. Karussa.”
A Halfling? Ectris thought. But how?
Stunned and unsure of not only himself, but the woman in his midst, Ectris reached forward to take the baby from Karma’s grasp, then steadied the infant against his chest. In response, Odin let out a slight hiccup the moment his adoptive father’s hand strayed to his back.
“How am I going to raise a child like this?” Ectris asked, turning his head to stare into his baby’s blood-red eyes. “What will the people think?”
“He will be different,” she said, “and he will be mistreated, possibly even neglected by those who would see him better off without their sons and daughters, but grow his hair long and you can hide the thing that sets him apart from the others.”
“But what about his eyes?” Ectris asked. “How will I hide them?”
“They will think him part albino. Nothing more.”
“An albino doesn’t have black hair.”
“Maybe he’s special,” Karma said, parting her hand through the baby’s black locks. “Actually… I lie. He is special.”
Ectris smiled.
The baby turned his head to stare him directly in the eyes and offered a slight laugh that seemed to warm his heart all the more.
“It’s been long since I’ve nursed a child,” the midwife said, “but for him, and you, I’ll do it.”
“Are you capable?” Ectris asked.
Karma nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”
She came once every day to feed Odin from her breast and eventually fell into a rhythm that Ectris found both calming and settling. He would, as she fed his son, sit in the corner of the room and watch the art of infant care as though he himself were a student of medicine. Sometimes he read, others he watched, but throughout the entire process he found himself growing fonder of the child more than he could have ever possibly imagined.
One night, while Odin slept soundly within the cradle Joseph had made for him, Ectris stood next to Karma looking down at the baby and tried to imagine what life would be like in the coming years as a father to a child that was not his own.
“Karma,” he said, turning his eyes up to look the woman straight in the eyes.
“Yes?” she asked.
“You don’t know how much it means to know that you’re doing this for me.”
“I try to help every child I can,” the midwife said, gesturing Ectris from the room and into the hall, where she led him into the kitchen and poured glasses of tea for the two of them. “It’s in my blood.”
“Your compassion knows no bounds.”
“It doesn’t.” With a slight smile, the woman lifted her tea to her lips and took a long, mighty sip. Shortly thereafter, she set the cup at the end of the counter and braced her hands against it, looking him straight in the eyes in a way that he found calculating and almost unnerving.
She can see right through me, he thought, nodding, sipping his own tea before he, too, set it down. She knows what’s bothering me.
“I guess there’s no point in dodging around the specifics,” Ectris laughed, seating himself at the table in the area sectioned off as the dining room before looking up at the midwife.
“I can tell you’re uneasy with this.”
“I never thought I’d be a father.”
“You’ve not a woman in your life?”
“Not for a while, no.”
“Tell me how he came to you,” Karma said.
Ectris explained in short, brief detail how no more than a month ago he had opened the door in the dead of a stormy night and found a shadowed figure cradling to his chest the baby that now slept in the other room. A knife at his belt, his heart pounding in his chest, he told of how he’d threatened to disarm the creature were it not to leave his property and found, shortly thereafter, that the being, whatever it was, would not leave. It was then—in pure, meticulous detail—that he explained the moment their hands touched: when, beneath his fingers, he felt the porcelain-smooth flesh of an individual he knew nothing of and took into his arms the very child he now considered his son.
When he finished his tale, Karma’s eyes softened, almost as if she were ready to let loose a few tears of her own. “Well?” he asked.
“It’s quite the tale,” the woman said, “especially considering the fact that this figure chose not to reveal its face.”
“It’s his child,” Ectris sighed. “Not mine.”
“He is as much yours as it was his.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Do you believe that the child is not yours?”
“I… don’t know,” he said, tilting his head down to look at his hands. “I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be doing this.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it seems as though I’m in the wrong place in my life.”
“Maybe this is the doorway to the right one,” Karma shrugged, lacing her fingers on the table before her. “I can’t say anything more than that, but I do believe you were given this child for a reason.”
“You do?”
“I do,” she smiled. “Things happen for specific reasons, Ectris. That baby was born because its mother died in childbirth; you were given that baby because someone believed you could take care of him; you went to a friend because he was able to give you milk; and you came to me because you needed someone to take care of your child. Life, and events, run in circles. Have you ever heard the saying?”
“That things come full circle?”
“Exactly. It’s for that reason I feel as though you should have no concerns about taking care of this little boy.”
“You’ll help me,” Ectris said. “Right?”
“I would never abandon a child who is without its mother,” Karma said. “I’ve not the strength in my heart to do such a thing.”
Ectris nodded.
When he closed his eyes, he pictured life with a child whom would one day become the man he could only hope to be.
I guess this is the point where I start acting like a real man, he thought, sighing.
The moment he turned his ey
es up to Karma, he felt as though the pieces of his life would soon begin to fall into place.
3
He came to accept himself as the boy’s father within the coming years. Slowly, over an amount of time that could only be measured by the passing seasons and the ever-swift growth of the boy that become his own, he came to realize that, regardless of whatever past regards had haunted him, and despite the odds so seemingly set against him, Ectris could do just as he pleased in his own life and his son’s—who, despite the differences between them, had come to call him father the moment he could talk.
When the boy turned seven—when his body, though small, acclimated to its own—Ectris took it upon himself to give the boy his own practice sword: a right of passage that, while seemingly simple, would one day secure within the boy the military career Ectris himself had never had.
“Here,” he said, kneeling before his son and holding the short wooden sword in his hands. “It’s for you.”
“Me?” Odin asked.
Ectris nodded. “Yes, it is. I need to teach you how to defend yourself.”
“But Father… I’m so young.”
How humble of you, he thought, reaching out to tousle the boy’s hair.
“Better early than never, son.”
Odin stared at the sword, almost as if he was unsure what to do.
When Ectris took the boy’s hand and slid his fingers around the hilt, Odin smiled.
“Come on,” Ectris said, standing. “Let’s go.”
“Like that,” Ectris said, bracing his hands along his son’s right arm. “Hold it steady, Odin. Bend your forearm just a little.”
“Why?” the boy asked.
“It’ll let you swing faster and move your sword easier. If you keep your arm straight out in front of you, you’ll get it chopped off.”
The child swallowed a lump in his throat. “All right,” he said.
Ectris settled into a crouch, watching carefully as his son clumsily attacked the straw dummy. It seemed, at several points, that the boy was having difficulty maneuvering the weapon, almost as if it were too heavy or if he wasn’t able to hold it steadily enough. He couldn’t see why, given that the sword was only two feet long and quite light. That alone was enough to make him uneasy.
Can he not fight? Ectris thought, his hopes and dreams for the boy slowly crumbling way around him. Is he—
Odin stopped attacking the straw dummy before him, paused, then switched his sword into his left hand.
How is he—
Immediately, the progress bloomed before him.
“He’s a lefty,” he mumbled, laughing, almost unable to contain the emotions spiraling within him.
He should have known that his son would be more capable using his left hand over his right. By God, he wrote with his left hand, had done so since the horse-riding accident last year, when his arm had been broken and he’d been unable to use it for nearly six months. How stupid could he have been?
When the surrealism of the situation began to wane, Ectris braced his hands against his knees and watched his son stab the dummy directly in the torso—then, slowly, disengage his weapon from the figure before twirling and hitting it right in the neck.
Had the sword been metal, Odin would have easily cut the dummy’s head off.
He’ll be fighting for the king someday, he thought, closing his eyes.
The boy deserved better than he did—much better.
“Father?”
Ectris blinked. Odin stood directly before him, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face and his chest heaving from the effort of practice. “Yes?” he asked.
“Will you teach me how to fight?”
“You know I will,” Ectris said, rising to his feet. “Come on. I’ll show you a few things.”
By the time they settled in for the night, Ectris could hardly make dinner. Between showing his son evasive maneuvers that could be used to avoid jabs and thrusts and allowing his boy to use him as a moving target, he felt as though his lungs were about to cave into his chest and his heart was going to stop beating.
“Easy there, boy,” Ectris laughed, setting a hand on his son’s shoulder when he approached swinging the wooden sword in front of him. “Put that down. We’ll train more in the morning.”
“We will?” the boy asked, eyes wide with intent.
“We will. I promise.”
After double-checking to make sure that his son had secured the sword at its place near the door, Ectris set about the kitchen gathering up the breads, meats and cheese freshly delivered from Joseph and another neighbor before crossing the room to arrange them upon the table. Odin, the attentive son that he was, darted into the kitchen to fish for the silverware and plates that they would be dining with and swiftly returned when Ectris finished placing the last of the three platters on the table.
“Did I do well today?” Odin asked, taking his seat at the opposite side of the table and sliding a piece of cheese into his mouth.
“You did,” Ectris said. “There’s few things we’ll need to fix, but I’ll help you.”
“Were you ever a knight, Father?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“Peasants can’t become knights, Odin. Only royalty can.”
“Why?”
“Because the training is only reserved for those of the royal family,” Ectris shrugged, continuing with his own food and trying his hardest not to give in to his son’s shocked, almost-sad face. “That isn’t to say that common men have never become knights though.”
“How?”
“Sometimes when you do something amazing for your country—like securing a checkpoint on the battlefield, saving a nobleman’s daughter or even just returning home after killing one of the king’s most horrible enemies—the court takes notice and makes even the most common of men into heroes.”
“Do you think I could be a hero, Father?”
“I don’t see why not. If you have drive, you can do just about anything.”
“I don’t understand something though,” Odin said, bowing his head for a moment before returning his attention to his father. “If common men can’t become knights, then that means… that means you could’ve become a solider.”
“I could’ve, yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Military life is hard, son. When your grandfather was still alive, he needed help in the farms to the east.”
“Near Bohren?”
Quite the eye that boy has, Ectris thought, but only nodded in response. “Yes,” he said. “Near Bohren.”
“Did you want to become a solider?”
What do I say to a boy whose dream is to become a knight?
He could say nothing, he knew, to deter someone who was just a boy, and for that he straightened his posture, reached up to paw meat sauce from his face, then set both hands on the table, offering only a sigh in spite of the fact that the question, which seemed so simple, was very complex. “I don’t know if I ever wanted to become a solider,” he said, choosing to offer the best response he could. “To be quite honest, Odin, the horror stories you hear of men who go into service are absolutely terrible, and given the strain between our country and the one next to us, I wouldn’t be surprised if war broke out between us sometime soon.”
“You think so?” Odin asked.
“I do,” Ectris sighed. “I’ll tell you something right now though, son, and I’ll be damned if I ever break this promise—I will do anything within my power to help you become the man you want to be, even if that means putting you into a situation that may be dangerous.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I mean it. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you get to Ornala and enlisted within the king’s army.”
Odin slid another piece of cheese in his mouth, as if prompting silence across the table.
Oh well, Ectris thought, resisting the urge to frown by shoving food into his mouth. This is expected.
Odin had never been one for interaction with others his age. Why Ectris couldn’t be sure, given his personality and the fact that he seemed perfectly capable of making friends, but more often than not he found his son off to the side, head stuck in a book or sketching something with charcoal and ink. Even as a baby he’d been like this—this small, quietly-driven creature who seemed to be forcing himself not to interact with anyone who showed even a modicum of interest in him. Even the other fathers of the village, whom had so desperately tried to introduce activity between their children and Odin, had failed to help his son make any friends. While part of that could be because of his eyes, and though he’d done as Karma had once suggested and kept Odin’s hair long and his ears hidden from view, nothing Ectris did seemed to help his son earn the confidence he needed to socialize with other people.
Knowing in the end that, someday, this would not matter, Ectris bowed his head to his food and continued eating, all the while silently praying that Odin had not seen his facial expression and learned his weakness.
This is bullshit, he thought. He’s such a good kid! Why doesn’t anyone want to be friends with him?
Why, out of all the sheep his son could possibly be, did Odin have to be the black one?
“Can I go to bed?” a small voice asked.
Ectris looked up to find his son’s plate completely devoid of food. Even the platter that held the small row of biscuits was devoid of the baked goods.
“If you want,” Ectris sighed, shoving another piece of food into his mouth. “Goodnight, son.”
When he bowed his head to continue his own meal, his mind filled with regret and his heart pained so, he began to believe that nothing he would truly do would ever bring his son happiness.
Have I failed as a father, he thought, because my son is too afraid to be around other people?
A pair of small arms circled around his waist.
“Father?” Odin asked.
“Yes?” Ectris replied.
“Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” he said, wiping his mouth before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his son’s brow. “Goodnight, Odin.”
