The Child
Paragus woke at dawn and for a few seconds contemplated the light filtering through his window with happiness. Then he remembered the night before. He lay paralysed on his bed. It felt like a cross between his birthday and the worst day of his life. The acts he had committed over the last few days seemed even more like lunacy now. He could scarcely believe he had gone through with it all. But he had the wound on his hand as proof. It had healed up now, leaving an enormous itchy red scab. It would probably become a scar.
Paragus sat up in his bed. His wife could be alive right now. She could be waking up in the Field of Ash and Bone, wondering where she was. He would have to go to her. He should be there already. But what if she wasn't there? What if there was just a bloodstain and a few white petals? What would that make him?
Swallowing a wave of nausea, Paragus realised he hadn't eaten in over forty-eight hours. Saiyans are Saiyans. Before he made any moves, he would have a good breakfast. His employees turned to stare at him as he sat down at the table in the hall.
'I've been sick,' he mumbled. They nodded. Paragus tucked into four bowls of porridge and a small goat, laced his boots and set off. He'd go to the Field, see what was there, and then he'd go and pick up Mehetabel.
The moors of Tersee looked very different in the daylight. The grass was a cheerful shade of bright blue, and swallows danced in the air. Even the line of dark conifers didn't look so sinister, more like a line of shabby trees. But as he pushed past them and looked out into the Field of Ash and Bone, it looked every bit as scary as it had done the night before. The grey sand, or whatever it was, looked as dull as it had done in darkness. Paragus squinted across the plain. He could not see anything.
He knew what he would have to do if he wanted to know the truth, but he didn't like the idea at all. This would be his third act of insane taboo breaking in as many days. The desire to end the whole matter once and for all made him bold. He resolutely put a booted foot to the pale dust and marched across the field. For as second time, it seemed to grow much colder as he stepped off the bank.
It was no easier to cross the place in daylight. In fact, it was harder. Anyone could be watching him now. What would they think if they saw his lone figure stalking the field? Perhaps they'd think he was King Vegeta the First, returned from the dead. Paragus smirked at this thought, and then bit his tongue. He'd had enough blasphemy over the last few days to last him a lifetime.
As Paragus neared the centre of the field, he noticed a strange thing sticking out of the sand in the distance. It looked like a warped tree. But nothing could grow in this place… A mixture of fear and nausea rising in his gut, Paragus began to run.
He grew closer, and he realised it was a tree, a strange, stunted leafless black thing. He was sure this could not be anything good. Paragus neared the centre, and noticed something else about the tree. One of its spindly branches held a single fruit.
Paragus found himself standing next to this tree, staring at its bent branch. It was one of the ugliest things he'd seen in his life, barring his wife's decaying corpse. The trunk was leathery and twisted, and the branches short and pointy. It did not look like a living thing. The largest branch was weighed down with what he could only describe as a fruit, an enormous ball of reddish-orange. It was twice as big as Paragus' head and covered with thick veins. It emitted a pale glow.
Paragus shuddered at the site of the tree. What in the name of the Goddess was this monstrosity? Had he created it? And if he had, what was he supposed to do now?
A slow, sickening realisation stole over him. Whatever this was, it was not Cochise. His plan to bring his wife back from the dead had failed. Instead he had created a kind of demon tree, bearing a single revolting fruit. He stared at the tree, the blight on this place, hating it. How could he have done something like this? How could he have ripped Cochise's heart from her body? How could he have desecrated this most sacred of places, the Field of Ash and Bone?
Sickened, afraid and furious, Paragus gave the tree a vicious kick. It shook, and the red fruit fell to the ground. Instantly, the stubby tree twisted into itself and disappeared into the ground, vanishing utterly. Paragus watched this new marvel, uncertain whether he should be interested or terrified.
He bent down and examined the strange fruit. He dared not touch it, but only knelt with his face a few feet away from its tough, leathery surface. What was this thing? Had he created it? Was it the egg of a monster, about to destroy the world for his foolish mistake? Paragus shuddered at the thought. It could very well be true. Perhaps he should leave. But what of this fruit, or egg? He couldn't just leave it here. Loath as he was to admit it, it was his responsibility.
Without warning the red sphere moved, a sudden twitch to the right. Paragus stared, unwilling to believe. The sphere remained still. Paragus tried to rationalise what he had just seen. Perhaps it had been the wind. The sphere twitched again, and again. Paragus took a step back, afraid, not knowing what to do. The sphere was rolling around in small circles on the ground. Suddenly, Paragus knew what it looked like- an egg that was about to hatch. He didn't want to see what was going to come out.
In confirmation of this nightmarish thought, the surface of the sphere began to split. The split grew longer and wider, rending the red sphere in half, warping it out of shape. There was something inside, forcing its way into the world. A little hand poked through the circle. It was an ordinary, pale brown, five-fingered hand. Paragus watched this grotesque display, unable to turn away.
Whatever were inside the egg thing struggled some more, and finally a small, slimy creature pulled its way out onto the sand. Paragus, who had been expecting scales or horns, stared at it in wonder.
It was a Saiyan baby.
It lay on the dust, small, wet and helpless, staining the ground with the slime that covered its body. It was pale and naked, with a mop of dark spiky hair. Paragus just stood and stared at the creature, unable to believe what he was seeing. He had imagined unspeakable horrors, and in front of him was a tiny child. He felt massively relieved and slightly wrong-footed. At his feet, unnoticed, the remains of the red fruit shrivelled, turned black, and disappeared.
Paragus knelt over the baby, uncertain what to do now. Surely he should take this child to a safe place, give it food and clothes. But what kind of creature was it? It had hatched from the egg, or fruit, or whatever it was, right before his eyes. The manner of its birth suggested that the child was a plant rather than a person. Could this child be the monster he had seen in his darkest imaginings minutes ago? It couldn't be, he told himself. It was a baby, not a monster. And babies couldn't be monsters.
Paragus reached down and touched the baby's back. It was wet with slime, a kind of plant afterbirth. The baby let out a slight mewing noise at his touch. He turned it over, noticing two things as he did so; first it was sticky and dirty from the ashy ground. Second, it was a male child. Paragus dug his hands in his pockets until he found a leftover cloth from bandaging his wound last night. He wiped the sand and slime off the baby, who squirmed irritably. Then he picked the baby up, wrapped him in his over shirt, and held him to his chest. Like a sword, the child was heavier than he expected. Paragus took one last look around him, wondering at the absence of any trace of the tree or fruit, and then set off out of there. The baby nestled close to him, placing a tiny hand on his neck. It seemed to have a very strong grip for a newborn.
What was this child? He had come from the tree. And the tree had come from the ritual Paragus had performed last night. There could be no question of that- it was too much of a coincidence. If Paragus had created the tree, the child too must have been the result of the ritual he performed. His attempt to revive his wife from the dead had failed. But he had created life, in the form of this child.
Paragus held up the boy and examined him. In a way, he was his son. His and Cochise's son, that is. Her heart, and his blood, and the white flowers and the magic of the Field of Ash and Bones. The child was his son. He had a son.
'You're my son,' he said to the baby, who looked up at him with dark, bright eyes. Paragus felt both more confused than he had done at any point over the last week and more stable. He had a new baby. But the child had been borne as a result of a series of actions Paragus still could not believe he had carried out.
Paragus stepped out of the Field of Ash and bones, greatly relieved to be out of there. He would never break the taboo again, never even come by here. He didn't want to even hear the name of this place again.
He tried to distract himself from his sombre and fearful thoughts by turning to his son.
'You've got to have a name, you know,' he said to the child. 'I guess I'll be the one to name you.' The baby stared up at him with his bright eyes, fascinated. 'What could be the right name for a child like you? You're a very strange little boy. You don't have a mother. You weren't even born. You dropped off a tree! I bet there isn't another boy like you anywhere in the world. So you should have a special name.'
Ascending a low hill, Paragus checked the surrounding wilds. He had crossed the Field in a great hurry and he wasn't sure if anyone had seen him. But there was no one around now. He'd been lucky. He bit his lip. He would never take a chance like this again.
Paragus turned his attention back to his son.
'What shall I call you? How about Vegeta? You were found in the place the original King Vegeta returned to life, weren't you? But no, there are too many nasty men with that name. How about Peppa? No, it's too silly. Or Korn? No, I don't like that one either. I had a friend called Turles who went away. Maybe I should name you after him. But you're not a Turles. He was always angry about something, and you're so happy. Your little eyes look so bright and expectant. Why don't I call you Brolli? That means bright, you know. Yes, I think that fits. You're Brolli.'
Brolli squeaked in happiness and buried his spiky head in Paragus' neck. Paragus held him close and smiled as Pistopon loomed into sight. Whatever he had done wrong over the last few days, whatever judgement awaited him, he could not regret what he had done. The child, with his bright eyes and soft skin, destroyed the possibility of regret.