Tyr forced himself to breathe normally. He was scanning the environment for potential threats with a higher level of paranoia than usual because today he was not concerned solely with his own survival. It was difficult to concentrate on the sights and sounds and smells around him while he awaited a woman and a small boy due to arrive here... five minutes ago. His nerves were taut, and sweat stood out on his upper lip from the strain of this quiet waiting.
Leaves and grass crinkled underfoot as two others approached the rendez-vous point. His breath stopped in his throat. Their steps were almost silent, but the undergrowth betrayed them. His eyes finally picked out the two figures, one tall and thin and the other with the proportions of a child. His heart started beating at its normal rate again.
"Tyr Anasazi," the tall figure said in greeting. It was a woman, her voice quavery with age and experience but still strong.
"Matriarch." He bowed his head from a respect ingrained in him since birth. The woman looked thinner than he remembered. His gaze flickered over her and then focused on the smaller figure. A rare smile spread over his face, a reaction even deeper than respect.
The pair reached him, and he squatted on his heels so he was face-to-face with the child. "Tamerlane Anasazi." He held out his well-muscled arm, and the child raised his in the traditional Nietzschean salute. For once in his life, Tyr was at a loss for words. There was a moment of silence. "Do you know who I am?"
The child nodded once. He gazed into dark eyes so like his own before answering. "The Matriarch tells me you are my father." His voice was high, fitting for his age, but his tone was overly formal. "Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa. Kodiak Pride." His child's voice couldn't quite pronounce the r's properly, and Tyr felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
"That's correct. Do you know who you are?"
The boy drew himself up, and Tyr had a vision of the child as an adult. He would be a powerful, beautiful man, he knew. "I am Tamerlane Anasazi, out of Tyr by Freya. I am of no Pride and all Prides. I am the genetic reincarnation of Drago Museveni."
Tyr bowed his head and then stood to address the woman. "You have taught him well, Matriarch. I am in your debt."
The woman's eyes were cool. "You were not a worthy husband, and now we shall see if you are a worthy father. For his sake and for the sake of our people, I hope you prove so." She glanced at the child, and her stern face softened. "I have taught him well, as you say, but he is no child." There was a note of sadness in her voice; Nietzscheans loved their offspring, not as miniature adults but truly as children. This one had been robbed of a childhood the moment he entered the world. "He needs the love of his father or his victory for us will be as bitter as defeat."
Tyr didn't need to reply. He had loved this child from the moment Freya informed him of his existence, and that was a pale prelude to the emotion he felt when he had first laid eyes on him. This child was the realization of his entire life's struggle, and he was worth it many times over.
He led them to his home amid a camp bustling with activity. The residents were clad in tatters and looked a bit too thin to be healthy, but they moved with purpose. A few nodded at Tyr as he made his way to the building at the camp's center. Many threw curious glances at the woman and child by Tyr's side; the child bore a striking resemblance to their leader, but the woman was too old to be his wife, and neither wore a double helix.
The woman was not a proper Matriarch, not anymore, but no Nietzschean would deny Olma that title. That did not mean they would not hunt her down and kill her without a second thought if it served their purpose, but they would address her with respect as even as they fired the final shot. Outsiders might call it honor, but it was closer to instinct.
She scolded Tyr for not having chosen a wife yet. She was sure he had loved Freya, but Tyr had affairs of state to think of, as well as the welfare of his son. This ragtag group looked as if they would follow Tyr through the gates of death, but the rest of their race would find it difficult to respect a man with a single small child and no wives. And the child would benefit from a maternal influence other that her own. She hadn't let herself become very attached to the child out of necessity, and she could see how it had hurt him.
Tyr assumed she would be staying in his home but she refused, preferring to choose a tiny place of her own among those scattered about the camp. She was a Matriarch, after all, independent and strong-willed. She couldn't live under another's roof, even if he was the father of the Progenitor's genetic reincarnation.
"I must say this choice for your base was inspired, Tyr." Her voice was dry. "It is the last place I would have thought to look for you, and I know I am not alone in that sentiment. The Genites are powerful, but they are not particularly creative." Her words held a note of respect. "You are unpredictable, Tyr, if nothing else."
Tyr's lips twisted into something like a smile and he left, leaving the boy in Olma's care. He had a highly encrypted message to consider, one with fascinating implications. No one in his camp had heard of the message's sender, but Tyr maintained a small intelligence network of his own, and he had heard whispers of something like this. He knew that he needed allies, and this potential ally claimed to have incredible firepower at his disposal.
After a few pensive minutes, he sent a reply. He made a mental note to brief his aides on a journey he would make soon. Tyr leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and thought that he might be unpredictable, but the universe was positively schizophrenic.
