Ugh.
Nor are there any true utopias. No matter how hopeful a new country might be in any timeline, people hurt each other there just as surely as they do in the most hellish dictatorship, if in lesser numbers — as I was rapidly learning. A month or so after I had to accept that I had limited authority over my own Lords Protector, I had to preside over my first murder case.
Up until that point, my wives, my Lords Protector, and the other Fathers had taken care of any legal squabbles, especially all the frivolous ones brought by the litigation-happy Cobbers. (Still immune, ha-ha!). The charges I was supposed to oversee personally were the capital ones: treason, kidnapping, war-crimes, crimes against humanity, murder, and the like. I had already wielded that power in Hamiltown, for all those charges rolled into a few loathsome individuals.
Now that there were well over a thousand of us, with again that many in the outlying communities now that the three Pixie hives had joined the Commonwealth, I knew such things would eventually happen at home. War crimes I would have to commit myself, though frankly, the Waykans had justified it with their crimes against humanity. I had yet to encounter treason as such, although that would eventually change — at the personal level, from someone whom I absolutely did not expect.
Murder, however, found me in mid-June A.R. 25, even as my beautiful wives Montana and Coulter entered the final phases of their pregnancies. Both murderer and murdered were Cobbers, fiery young women who had disagreed over one of my Hellspawn sons, Acheron. No matter how much he tried to explain to them that they could share him if they liked, that he had plenty of stamina and that there were plenty more Imps where he came from, they couldn't agree to do so. They made him choose, so he chose a pale-green beauty called Fatima, and sent Shakira away.
One morning, Shakira burst in upon Acheron in bed with Fatima, dragged Fatima out of bed, and broke her neck on the spot, before my horrified son could even wake up fully.
Later, Shakira was herself horrified, genuinely and deeply sorry for what she had done, and she admitted her crime; but she still had to have a trial. Acheron's testimony was damning, and there were plenty of ear-witnesses, since the crime had not been quietly undertaken and had occurred in the tight confines of Cobbertown. She was indubitably guilty, and it was indubitably a crime of passion.
Nonetheless, I had Little Magic check her mind, since that cost him no Quintessence, and he found that she had in fact murdered her sister in a fit of jealousy. I decided that this could never happen again. However, although brutality has been required of me in the past, the old CSA had been founded on rather libertarian principles as well as liberal ones. It did not sentence its murderers to death; they suffered instead life imprisonment at hard and dangerous labor.
We couldn't afford prison or a labor camp. We expected to be wiping out the Waykans, according to the Goddess's plan — though we were actually planning to sequester the Waykan children in place when we took Waco, just as we would later spare the Tejarkanye who didn't fight us.
So I gave Shakira to the army instead. Little Magic had already confirmed that she wouldn't try to escape or hurt her fellow Icarans. Until then, she was put in charge of the dangerous job of packaging Dad's Cyclone in bombs as he finished it in small batches, and she would later help deliver it to the Waykans.
It was a dangerous job, and it might kill her if she wasn't careful. After that was complete, she would fight on the front lines, insofar as a woman less than 10 inches tall could fight on those front lines, and should would do so without the aid of Dawn Steel or luminium-reinforced weapons.
I was actually hoping that one of my Cobber grandsons and the Coney Express would have a kestrel or other small hawk ready for her, so she could become our first aerial bomber. That would have been amazing, and I figured I could build a squadron around her. But the selfish little guys kept all the best birds for themselves, even the troublesome caracaras, so she ended up with a smallish turkey buzzard.
In the years since the Ruin had crippled society and the bitty-swarms had eaten the motor carriages and eyeways that had provided them with so much carrion, buzzard populations had plunged — though they were not rare. There are always dead things to eat, and some turned to actual hunting to survive.
Shakira named her mount Second Chance (Chance for short), and she became our first Buzzard Rider. The Buzzard Riders went on to become the most fearsome fighters in our Air Force, and Shak, as she preferred to be called, ultimately redeemed herself many times over. She never lacked male companionship, either, despite her past.
Meanwhile, although we remained insanely busy with our preparations for our war with the Waykans (which they didn't even know about yet!), the situation gradually calmed down both on the ground and in the skies above Icarus Township. Praise the Deities, all the leaders we had selected for the army were quite good at their jobs, and had hammered the Newdies and the Imps into shape as an effective fighting force. More than effective, if you ask me; certainly no Basic Training has been so effective in the history of the world. My little flyboys had taken very well to using the Dawn blades My Lady provided, which were ages ahead of anything that the Waykans would possibly be able to field.
Neither their abilities nor their discipline should have surprised me, actually. Their mothers were all either military NCOs on their original Earth who had expected to be entering a medieval world, and were therefore already skilled swordsmen, or were the descendants of such NCOs — and thus retained the memories and self-discipline that had characterized those men and women while they were in service. They followed and gave orders well. Of course, 25 years of their foremothers living in squabbling hives had had its effects, which made them all somewhat unruly and sometimes rendered it difficult to get them to do precisely what we wanted them to, especially when they thought they knew better. The problem was, they often did.
They really, really liked to fight, and did so quite often in Clutch against Clutch or, when they really wanted a brawl, in Company vs. Company. To my surprise, the Alephtovers (a name that I'd let slip once in conversation, so other people were calling them that now) were the most fearsome of the bunch. I detested the brawls, but seriously, how hard could a kid who weighed about the same as a sparrow really strike another kid of the same size? It had to be like fighting with pillows as long as they stuck to fists. They never hurt each other (much), and considered it all good fun.
For some reason, Genewín's Glorfindel and my son Michelangelo seem to carry on with their antics almost exclusively in my vicinity during that time — mostly, I believe, because they found it amusing and wanted to entertain me. I soon realized that Apollo was right about Glory: the boy did seem to be uncertain about his sexuality. Mikey exploited that unmercifully. I was really glad when they were all issued uniforms, and I made sure Mikey kept his on at all times whenever he was around me. I wasn't especially interested in teeny, tiny wangle-waving or full moons of any size.
After one day that seemed especially frustrating to Glory, I pulled him aside for a little talk and explained that I didn't care if he and Mikey boinked, as long as they didn't do it in public. Unfortunately, that was something you always had to caution Dixies and Imps about. I wasn't surprised to not see them again for several days after that, and when I did, they were well-behaved, in full uniform at all times, and exchanged the occasional knowing grin. Good for them.
As it happened, I was wrong about what I assumed had happened, but I didn't know that until one day a year later when they zoomed in and happily gifted me with tiny cigars. I was a grandfather again: I had a new Fairy grandson, Glorfindel F. Fell, son of Michelangelo, and a Fairy god-grandson, his bond-brother, Michelangelo F. ap- Genewín, son of Glorfindel. Some of the Dixie boys did pair off occasionally and temporarily, but Mikey and Glory never had. Truth was, they had seriously considered it, and the way Mikey told it one day after too many thimbles of wine, they were together in the woods the evening after I suggested it, skyclad and very seriously considering it, when
they were claimed by twin Fairies with whom they more or less permanently bonded. Daisy and Pansy left them with too little time to fight, and much too happy to do so.
Like my First Clutch, all the new Dixies were "horny as hoot owls" pretty much all the time, because they were all young enough to be "full of piss and vinegar," as my Dad put it. (To this day, I don't know where he gets his odd sayings). Naturally, there were some discipline problems as a result, especially when they tried to poach women of the medium and large races, as I've already noted. Fortunately, the large numbers of small ladies who were willing to let them work off their energy helped settle them down. That, and drilling them until they were exhausted.
Ahem.
All this is a preamble to an admission that, what with all that was going on, I hadn't yet taken the time to become well acquainted with all 157 of my Newdie sons. In particular, I had been avoiding dealing with Acheron and his nine Imp brothers. The self-styled Hellspawn bothered me at a deep level; not necessarily because of what they were, but because the Wold had hijacked the plans of the Goddess and myself in our efforts to produce more Hero Dixies. Obviously there was some reason for the existence of the Imps — who, collectively, were on their way to diverging into a completely new race — and obviously the Wold could see deeper into the future than Little Magic could… but having already had to deal with Its interference in regards to my Lords Protector, I didn't know what to think about anything the Wold did. I knew they were somehow meant to be used against some sort of looming threat, but that was it.
What threat? Where? When? How? Why?
Honestly, back then the Wold just plain irritated me. There were times when I devoutly wished I could be an atheist and believe Deities didn't exist, but atheism was no longer on the table. The Wold existed. The Goddess existed. Eos existed (or would eventually). There was no doubt about any of that. All took an active hand in the world's events. I had to respect that fact — if only because, to paraphrase a pre-Ruin philosopher named Pratchett, it was ill-advised to deny the existence of real, live gods when they could strike you down with a lightning bolt if you annoyed them.
(That statement turned out to be quite prophetic, by the way; or perhaps I should say apropos, but I wouldn't know that for years yet).
❖
I finally screwed up my courage to the sticking point, and sat down to have a necessary meeting with my eldest Imp son and leader of the Hellspawn and Aleph Company, one Acheron I. Fell.
It didn't go as well as I'd hoped.
Possibly this was because I was weighted down with guilt over the fact that I'd been deliberately avoiding him — while he was weighted down with resentment over that. Hell, the only reason I knew anything about him at all was that Tripp had carefully tracked him and all my other Newdie children. Like all Dixies, he liked women, partying, and fighting. Ditto for his nine Imp brothers. I had visited and caroused with all of my 147 Newdie sons so far — but not the ten Imps. I was remiss, I knew it, and I felt very bad about it. And that day, my son Acheron made sure to twist the knife I'd already stuck in my own chest over it. I can't really say I blamed him; I did deserve it. But it made our future interactions harder than I expected.
During our meeting, I sat at my usual place at head of the conference table in the new Community Hall near the castle, while Acheron, who was about a foot tall, sat in a tiny wicker chair that normally held Ike's plush stuffed bear, a gift a forager had found in nearby Hexawatchie. With so many Newdies and Imps running — or more accurately flying — around, any furniture their size was suddenly rare and at a premium, though more was on its way.
He sat nonchalantly on the obviously uncomfortable chair, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded across his chest, apparently not bothered by the fact that he was sitting in what amounted to a toy. Currently he was dressed mostly in dark leather obtained from a colony of Mexican free-tailed bats flushed out from under a bridge in Hexawatchie. It wasn't a fashion statement; it was part of his uniform as leader of Aleph Company. I understood there was also a cape, but he didn't wear it because it got in the way of his wings.
Which were bat wings, much like Slinky's but bigger in proportion to his body, rather than the dragonfly wings the rest of the Dixies sported... since he was, after all, Hellspawn. Whatever the hell that was, which was one of the primary reasons for my uneasiness and anger toward the Wold at the moment.
After entering the conference room and sliding into my chair, I studied him, a bit disconcerted by the fact that he looked very much like me in terms of face and build. None of my other sons looked that much like me, as far as I knew. Of course, there were the Imp differences. Also, every Imp known except for Acheron had fine black hair; his was dark blue, currently pulled back into a neat ponytail. And then there was the fact that he could shoot flames from the palms of his hands. How did that even work? How much had the Ruin meddled with the world's physics?
He was most definitely my son, that was obvious enough; though I didn't know much about him, and didn't really understand him, and didn't know if I could trust him. Not after all the things the Wold had done that were at cross-purposes to my and my Goddess's plans and desires.
He studied me back, tapping a tiny booted foot on the conference table. "Leftenant Acheron," I greeted him after a moment. If you're wondering, he pronounced his name "Acre-on."
"All-Father Tobias," he replied gravely, lifting his right eyebrow in a way I'd never been able to manage.
"You don't have to call me that in private," I said. "Why don't you just call me … What was it you called me when we first met, that day I was coming back from Hamiltown?"
"You mean the only time we met before today? Except for Shakira's trial?" he said archly. Dixies are good at that.
"Yes," I admitted guiltily.
"Dadinator."
"Yes. Call me that. "
"Okay then, Dadinator, you can call me Achy."
"Achy? "
"As in Achy Breaky Heart," he said, grinning suddenly. "That's what all the ladies call me."
"What's an achy breaky heart?"
He looked startled briefly, then said, "Oh, I guess that was before your time. Assuming your Earth even had that song. "
I sighed and said bluntly, "Achy, why are you here?"
He lifted that damned eyebrow again. "Because you ordered me to be here," he replied, a little saltily.
"You know what I mean! Where did you come from? What is your origin?"
"Well you see, sir, when a Dadinator loves a Pixie very much …"
I slammed my fist down on the table, and Acheron had to grab the arms of his little chair and brace himself to keep from falling over. "You know what I mean! You're the Wold's doing! Why? What kind of interference does It have planned?"
More than a little irritated, Acheron straightened his little uniform and looked me in the eye. "What? Just because I'm not First Clutch, you don't trust me? You don't looooorve me? Hell, you don't even like me! This is the first time you've even said a single word to me! You've never treated me or my Imp brothers like family! You haven't introduced me to any of my non-Dixie brothers — I haven't met a single one! I don't even know all their names!"
He jabbed a finger at me. "Even if I did know what was going on, asshole, why would I tell you?!" By the end of the statement, he was yelling.
I stared at him, suddenly feeling deeply sad and inadequate. "I'm so sorry, son," I said softly. "Things have been so… crazy. I never expected so many new Dixies, and I certainly didn't expect you Imps. I didn't mean to make you feel unwanted or unloved."
The tiny man, my son, sneered and laughed nastily. "Like I give a shit. I'm just here to do my job."
"And what is that?"
"I'll let you know when I know. Until then, I'm going to do my damnedest to prosecute this upcoming war against Wayko, then the next one against Tejarkán, and to keep this brave little experiment of yours going so that we can keep all our branches of humanity alive. Including mine!"
> He sighed long and low. "The Wold is not your enemy, Fell Tobias. Some of Its goals are not your goals, and they're certainly not our Goddess's, but the Wold's intentions are pure – and like it or not, the Wold is a Supremity, and is now in this worldline's chief Deity. Whether our Goddess Aurora likes it or not. Divinity does not recognize prior claim."
He then stood with a kind of angry dignity, pulling down his shirtwaist before clearing his wings with a brisk flap. "I'm not here to advise you on what to do about the Wold. I'm not here to offer you absolution for ignoring me and my brothers for the past three months, either."
He glared at me, naked hurt in his eyes. "You didn't even speak to me at Shakira's trial! Your Cobber did all the talking! You've spent more time with that murderous whore than you've ever spent with us — and she ended up getting away with killing her own sister! My girlfriend!" he screamed, and there might have been tears in his voice.
Root and Branch Page 6
