AN: Keeping it brief here, the premise is very mildly AU, and the narrator is kind of obnoxious but it works best this way. I don't own Fire Emblem and am not making a profit off this, other than possible endorphin profits. I also like comments, critical or not. Now go read.
Father
The father plants a seed in the mother, he told me. That then becomes the child.
His explanation had been wrong somehow. I thought babies were half of their mother and half of their father. The way he made it sound, they were all their father's fault. I hadn't said that, because he'd be mad and wouldn't explain it any other way.
But you, he muttered humorlessly, were brought by a stork.
I didn't say anything to this, either. When he talked, he was talking and not arguing with me. But, you know, I was five. We had just moved to Melior. When he talked like this again, like my mother had no part in it and I have no place in it, I started crying. I didn't want to cry, but that didn't matter to him once I started.
He didn't honestly believe I was brought by a stork. My father doesn't believe in things like that. He just had to go out of the way to have nothing to do with me. That's what he's always been like. That's what I hate. I should've just finished supper and left the table, but I sat there and cried – dumb, I know. He ignored me for all of five minutes. Then he seized me by the elbows and pulled me into my room.
The next morning I met Calill. And after that, Amy. I'll always remember that things changed from there. I didn't think it would be. The days you remember like that are hard to predict half of the time. This is from the other half of times. Eventually, I'll always remember today.
When I walked out of the door this morning, I took a deep breath of Crimean air. Humid and too hot. It was almost fall, which meant that it was the hottest day of the year. I wasn't expecting anything when I went out. It was just another day in my life. In the mornings, I did my studies with my father. He taught me math, magic, and history every morning. He never wanted me to leave the house, but I did anyway.
I didn't see the point of anything he did. I thought his idea of life was really dumb: you sit around and study. Even when everything in the world was outside. Well, it didn't matter. I didn't want anything to do with him. He could have his miserable house all to himself.
Most afternoons, I spent my time at Calill's. Largo is the one who owns the pub, but it's called Calill's. She fronts the store, too, so I talk to her more. She was a friend of father's, although she's a lot older. She says he'll dry up in his study someday like a worm after the rain is gone and the sun comes out. It's easy to imagine him as a worm. Anyway, she lets me stay and eat at her pub if I help with the cleaning and customers. That's no problem since Amy's there. She's about my age, though a lot smarter.... Not quite smart. The other word. Wise. You could say she's my best friend, but she's always been more like an older sister. She's Calill's daughter. I thought she didn't look anything like Calill, but she told me once that she was adopted. It's weird, because she doesn't think it's awful. It's funny. Well, I know it's not supposed to be.
If there isn't any business and we're done helping, Amy and I go out to the market. To browse through the merchants' fruits and baubles. Sometimes Calill lets us take a copper penny for a lump of candy. Then we'd stop by there for caramel or taffy or whatever the shopkeeper had. Usually, we'd each buy something different and share. Amy was one of those people who got other people. Really got people, even without talking much to them. She said it was a smell that hung around people. I never smelled anything like that.
The way it happened this afternoon was that Amy and I went to see the traveling circus that came to town. They came all the way from Gallia as part of some sort of exchange. Something political, but who cares? It was a circus, and one that wasn't traditionally Crimean. Crimean circuses aren't that exciting. The ones you hear about are usually from Begnion. In a Crimean circus, they bring in a few pegasus riders and funny-looking people. It's neat the first time, but it's always the same riders and funny-looking people. So – the circus – the customers at the pub said it was the best show since the acting troupe from Begnion came six years ago. The fare was five copper pieces a child, and we begged and begged Calill. She looked at me for a moment. I think she was going to ask me if I'd asked my father for it first. But we already had that conversation tons of times. She knew he wouldn't have given it to me. What do you need to go to a circus for? I already brought you to two before. Something like that, with a look like I was a lost cause for asking.
Anyway, Calill did give me enough copper coins for my fare. Even a few extra if we wanted the fried treats they sold in the stands around it! As we left, she snapped, "Amy." They shared a few looks. Amy said she would be careful, and that was that. I asked her on the way what she meant. What she should be careful of? Amy said that she didn't know, herself. Now, I know that was a lie. But I'll tell you about it later.
Amy and I left for the circus together teasing each other. She has this annoying habit of threading things into my ponytail and laughing when I find it there. She says that it's pointless to have so much hair, especially when there's so much that you can't tell when stuff is stuck in it. It means you won't be growing anything but hair. Then you'll starve to death because your hair is sucking out everything you eat. I thought it was funny and told father that. He didn't laugh, just told me that we were cutting my hair the next day. He cut my hair so short it hardly went to my ears, and it looked like there was a patch of grass covering our kitchen floor. Every time I thought about my hair, I hated him. It just got long enough to put it into a ponytail again. It's short, so it's really more of a bunnytail. And she's already back to threading flowers into it! I notice now because I'm not eight anymore. I know her hands aren't just back there to "fix my hair-tie."
This time, though, she didn't say a thing about starving, just started talking about how cute it is to have a flower in my hair. So I took the flower, and tried to put it in her hair, but she batted it away, saying she was too mature to have flowers in her hair, so I just took it and left it on someone's windowsill as we passed. She took the flower back, saying, "I thought it looked nice." I felt bad about it afterward, but I didn't have the guts to say I wanted it back after all that. She ended up giving it to a little girl.
The circus was at the edge of town, and Calill's was close to the palace and the center. It was a long trip. The circus was supposed to start in the late afternoon, so at the time we were walking, it was the hottest part of the day. We stopped by too many wells, in the marketplaces, to splash our faces with water. I've never liked going through the market. There are all those little kids who scream Daddy, he hit me, or Daddy, daddy, look at this. I want all of them to shut up. They make it so noisy. I told that to Amy. "That's not fair. I'm noisy," she said.
"No you aren't. You're loud. That's different."
She said oh-whatever-you-know-what-I-mean (I didn't), ending the conversation. Not that I was done with it. But if she didn't want to talk about it, then I wouldn't.
When I think about it, I'm not sure if I've ever said the word daddy. I have a father, but he's my father, not my dad, and definitely not my daddy. Some people have fathers who are daddies. Mine is just a father. I've always called him father, even when I was a baby. I think I used to say faddur, because I couldn't say ther. But never, ever daddy. Once someone asked me, "Where's your dad?" I told her I didn't have one, and we were both confused until she told me that dad was another word for father. They're still different, though. My father is only a father, not a daddy.
What about mother, mom, mommy? I don't know. I guess there'd be the same difference, but I never had one. Well, I must've had one, since babies don't come from storks. She was probably a mother. Mothers do things like leaving.
My father talked a lot about my mother. Your mother was just as prone to crying pointlessly. Your mother was just as weak. Your mother was just as petty. I don't look like him at all, so I must've taken after her. Mommy's little girl? Then why don't you ditch me like my mother did? He never answered that, always saying, Be grateful. I wondered if she wanted me even less. It was hard to imagine. He bothered with me only in the cold, dutiful way he did everything.
But I went out that morning to forget about him. So I told myself to stop thinking about him. You know how that goes, though. I didn't until I was finally distracted by the look of the circus tent. Because we stopped by all those wells, most of the crowd was already inside by the time we got there. We ran to the two laguz watching over the entrance.
I can't say I understood what was going on at the time. They said Amy would distract the performers, and told her to go away. I didn't want to go in without her, so we walked away together, with me feeling dazed. Now that I know more, this is what I think happened: the circus fare-collectors and guards didn't want to let Amy in. They knew they couldn't just say it, because that might make Gallia look bad, since the performance was supposed to show how tolerant both nations had become. Well, and I guess... she really could've distracted the performers.
I asked her why they turned us away, and she kept saying, "I'll tell you in a moment, just a bit." 'Just a bit' lasted until we had walked all the way to the city gates and across the wooden drawbridge. I had no idea what we were doing. But I trusted what she was doing. I was sure she knew what she was doing.
When we crossed the city gates, she started to wander next to the city wall, and I followed her again. She stopped after a minute or two and sighed, turning back to me.
"I should tell you."
"Tell me what?"
She considered me (father's word – it means thinking hard about something, unless you're considering someone, and then it usually means the considered person might be too dumb to get it) for a moment before saying, simply, "I'm mixed."
"You're a ... Branded?" She gave me an annoyed look, and I quickly apologized, "Sorry – you know I didn't mean...."
"Well, it's right here," she said, boldly lifting her shirt up right there and then. A little purple mark on one side of her stomach contorted slightly as she breathed. It was about the size of my palm and shaped like a bluebell. "That's all there is to it."
"Amy – we're out in the open –"
"You're the only other person here." We both looked behind me, as if someone slimy were about to strike. My attention returned to her, and the look of a budding breast.
That reminded me. "So... Amy... how old are you?" It was something I had asked her before. I realized I never got a clear answer. About your age, she had said. I thought she never gave me a number because she was sore thinking about her adoption.
"About seventeen." She put her shirt back down and glanced at me shyly.
"Seventeen?! You're not..."
"About your age at all," she finished. "Sorry."
This revelation made me think about her: She wasn't a child sage. She was so much older than me. She could be an older sister to me. That bothered me. I don't know why. "It's all right," I lied.
I thought – if I were mixed, I wouldn't want to tell anyone. But I thought some more and realized that I would be okay telling Amy. So if I were orphaned and mixed, I would still tell Amy. So it wasn't that weird, right? We were close. That was all there was to it.
"You're sure?"
Amy was amazing. I was pretty sure no one else I knew would be so confident. Was it something she had because she was seventeen? Seventeen was when most people became "of age" and fell in love ... so....
Amy picked at the ridges of the stone wall nonchalantly. (Father's word. Nonchalant. Not careless.) "Laguz," she said. "They can tell. They get really nervous around us." She sighed. "Oh, well. I can wait for a Begnion circus." The most shocking part was that she didn't look like she cared. That she could forget that they just turned her out because of something that wasn't her fault.
"Amy...."
She quit etching at the rock and looked at me.
"You're not... nervous about it?"
"Sometimes, but not with you. ... Should I be?" Not nervous with me. I wasn't used to hearing that. It made sense, though. I could tell her things, even though I usually didn't.
There are lots of things I could talk about. Things like how I felt at home at the pub, and how much I hated going back. How gross the mornings smelled from candle smoke. How I despised him, even though people insist on old tenets of things like "filial piety" (even though I am a girl). Then seeing hungry orphans, thinking I couldn't be right.... Be grateful. Then why don't you ditch me like my mother did? Then, how much I loved Calill and Amy. How different that was. You know, things no one ever talks about. I don't know why no one talks about it. Just that I never wanted to, either.
I keep remembering the same things. They bother me every time I think of him. Once, shortly after we moved to Melior, I woke up from a nightmare. I don't remember what it was about. I went to my father's room. The hall had no windows, and I knew he wouldn't want to see me. But I wanted to see him. So I went down the strange pitch-black hall to his study, where a little bit of light showed under the door. Father, I had a bad dream –
It's the middle of the night. Go back to bed. He didn't even look up from his table.
Father. I went across the room and reached at his arm. Father....
He seized my arm with his fingers. He held on very tight, so tight that I could feel each of his fingers clamping down on my arm. Father, I sobbed. He pulled me down the hall and back into my room. Father, father, father...
Go back to sleep. He shut the door and I heard him walk back to his study. He didn't even follow me back to my bed. I felt my way back to it myself, even as I was afraid that there was something crawling on the floor.
I fell asleep eventually. The next morning, I clung to his robes. The material was thick, even though it was summer. I held only the cloth, and didn't feel his leg at all. He placed a hand on my hair, so light I hardly felt it, and sighed. I knew what he meant. I can't put it into words, but I knew. He does these things a lot to get his meanings across – he doesn't say it. It's like he's from a different world. Well, I know what he means, so I'd be from another world, too. It would make sense.
I think about that night over and over. It's embarrassing, though. Between the crying and grabbing and stuff.
Then, I tried to talk about it. It didn't come out right. I said, "Amy, what's wrong with me?" something like that, I can't really remember. I don't remember any of the things we said too well:
"What's wrong with you? ... Nothing's wrong with you."
"I don't even know why. I – just hate him. I hate him."
"Who? Hate who?"
"Him. I shouldn't... I should..." (love was what I was trying to say)
"Who? You're not making sense...
...
"Alicia?"
Then her hands were in my hair, weaving. I let her this time. The last time she had tried, it was with a city flower from a vendor. There aren't real flowers in a city. There are only big overflowing flowers with more petals than it can handle. This one was a wildflower, growing from the base of the city wall. I could smell it as she weaved. It smelled hazy and sweet, yet grassy.
"You don't mind?" she asked me cheerily. There was a stubby braid down to a ring of flowers. They were woven to mimic a hair-tie. She held the length of elastic string around three fingers, pulling at it rhythmically.
"Does it look nice?" I asked.
"It looks beautiful on you."
She settled down, sitting against the wall and plucking more of the short wildflowers that grew by it. She motioned for me to join her. When I didn't, she said, "Come here," patting the ground beside her. Older sister mode again. I wondered if, from now on, she always be my older sister. If I would ever see my friend again. I don't know what that would be like. I sat by her and poked through the patch of grass in front of me. Most of it was just grass. I think there was some clover, plus one of those very leafy weeds father says are edible. No flowers. I might've sat on some. Amy plucked a handful of them, little teeny bluebell-like flowers, and gave them to me. "I always thought," she said, "that you really look one-of-a-kind."
"I don't have a twin."
"You know how there are a lot of people who... you pass by, and you don't remember what they look like two minutes later?" I nodded. Going along with it. "I think... you have these clear features, that are really yours."
"Thanks? I guess...."
"Like a hero's face," she suggested irrelevantly (Father's word. Things that have nothing to do with what you think is going on.).
"I don't think anyone's face makes her a hero...ine."
"I was just saying... well." She turned her eyes down to her hands. She was making a chain of white flowers. I moved my hands around the mini-bluebells I was holding. The stems were warm and limp from holding them too long. I figured it only made them better when it came to flower chains.
Heroes. Why did she pick them? The first hero that came to mind was Ike. Amy first told me of his legend when I was seven. There are songs about Queens Micaiah and Elincia, Empress Sanaki, Kings Sothe, Tibarn, Skrimir ... even some about the warriors, like Edward the Swordsman. But what you hear about them is nothing compared to Ike. Who didn't talk about him?
My father never did. I tried to tell my father once, thinking he didn't know. He cut me off halfway saying he didn't believe in myths. Calill swore up and down he was real, though. She said she even fought alongside him. That she knew him all right, and he was an even greater man than they say he was. Not that I knew Ike. Everyone talks about Ike, so of course I heard all about him anyway. Half the stories about him are so amazing that they're unreal. I don't know what he looks like. Some paintings show him as tall and handsome, dressed like a lord. Others have him hunched and rugged, practically a bandit. No one seems to completely agree on what he really was. That's why I almost believed my father when he said Ike was a myth.
At least his hair and eyes are always blue, so I guess my eyes match up. Still, it's a weird thing to say just because of eye color.
"It's..." she started, then abruptly, "no, I shouldn't."
"What? Tell me."
"It'll just bother you."
"You not telling me is bothering me."
"You don't want to know."
"Amy, I want to know!"
She shook her head, tying the chain of flowers into a bracelet. "If it's true, you'll find out someday. It's just a rumor, all right? I don't want to bother you over a rumor." You could just say you don't want to tell me, I thought. I didn't say it, because right then, the last thing in the world I should be was mean to Amy.
After some time, she said, "Think we should go back?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Well... all right." She stood, flower bracelet dangling from her wrist, and stretched. "Want to go for a walk, then? My legs are getting numb."
"Mmm."
"Alicia." Her shadow passed over me and the wall. I looked up. "You're sure you don't mind? You've been acting strange ever since I told you."
"No... it's not you."
"You can tell me if it does. It can be a lot to take in."
"It's not that! It really isn't." I stood and followed her slow pace, walking alongside the wall away from the city gates. "I was... thinking. About things."
"Things," she repeated.
We followed the wall away from the entrance. The further we got, the shabbier it was. The sky grew dark. The grass grew longer, too. The fuzzy tips of long stalks made our knees itchy. It reminded me of where I used to live, in this old stone building out in the middle of the forest. I don't remember much from there. Not anything I can put together, anyway.... I remember a lady and a man, who I think were married, and they had a baby. Alicia, this is ... what was his name? I saw the lady most, but there were other people, too. An older woman with lots of red hair, and a man with a bow, and a priest.
I moved a long time ago, when I was about five or so, to where I live now in Melior. I don't know why we moved. I asked father a few years ago why we moved. He said it was for your sake. I remember liking it a lot back there, so I don't see how it was for my sake.
There aren't many wild things in the middle of Melior. The closest you get to anything wild are pigeons and rats. Walking in the tall grass, I forgot Amy and the wall. I wondered with a pulsing heart if we would come across a fox or a snake today. In the smell of wild grass that dusk, I occasionally heard scuttling. But we never did come across anything extraordinary on that walk.
"It's getting late," she finally said, peering up at the wall. There was only a faint glow left of the sun, and the moon and stars were starting to come out. "We should head back." Pause. "Or," she said with a hint of naughtiness, "we could just climb over this. It's too late for the gates to be open." The wall was maybe twelve feet high. I looked at her, and then the wall, and considered that.
"I used to climb trees."
"A wall's not a tree. You climb them differently."
"I thought that if there was a tree next to it...." I glanced around. No trees.
"We could pole vault over it," she suggested. "You know, where you have a big stick... You run at it, then you use the stick to jump all the way over it."
I looked up at the wall again. "That would be a really big stick. Umm... what would we land on?" We both looked up at the great stone wall and what was on the other side.
"A roof?"
"Make it a high one."
"Make it a flat one."
I imagined falling onto one of those pointed church roofs and shuddered. "Yes, make it a high and flat one."
"What if the circus is over there?"
This made me think for a moment before I said, "No, if it were the circus, there would be a lot more noise."
"Maybe it's over. I bet the circus tent isn't bad to land on." I imagined falling through the circus roof and onto the net. The roar of the crowd and the scent of treats and fur. What could've happened if we got into the circus?
It's probably presumptuous (father's word, for ever thinking that he had a favorite flower), but I think Amy was thinking about the circus, too. I wondered if things like this circus happened to her often. I wondered if I had ever made a bad joke or a comment that made her remember. She never said anything if I did. I wondered if she would remember this. She told me, after all. That made the day monumental.
"We would probably fall through," she said, breaking through my thoughts.
"Yeah. I guess you're right."
So we stopped talking about the circus.
We guessed a few other things, none of them very interesting to me. We were running out of steam, and it was starting to get hard to see. It's very dark outside of the city. If we didn't get back, we would have to feel our way back to the gate by the moon. It would've been cool, but we didn't do that. Besides, our parents would be furious. I tried not to think about that.
Back through the tall grass we went. Nightfall cooled us down. I thought to myself that we might end up with sunburn on the backs of our necks tomorrow. As we brushed through the grass, a light stirred -- "Fireflies," I said in surprise. Slowly, I remembered chasing them, a long time ago. Living in the city, I hadn't seen them in years.
"Fireflies?" Amy replied questioningly.
"Watch, right there, and don't move."
Crickets chirping. We stayed motionless and watched. And then, a lone flash.
"Huh! What is that?"
"A firefly. It's a bug. That's weird, though. They usually aren't around any more this late in the year...." Firefly. Not fireflies. Just one. I crept to the grass and cupped it in my hands with a swift motion – too easy. It didn't even stir. "See? Here...."
Amy peered curiously at the firefly on my palm, which sat so still it could've been dead. "It looks gross."
"It's just a bug. Well, I guess they're better when they're more alive...." I gently prodded it over onto its back. "Here's the part that lights up." Weakly, its legs clung to my finger.
"How does it light up?"
"I don't know. They just do. Maybe some kind of magic." The firefly still didn't light. "You can make them, sometimes, if you press at them...." I prodded at the end of the bug, and it glowed faintly.
"That's kind of cool. Stupid, though."
"Stupid?"
"Animals are brown so they can hide. These bugs go and light up."
"It's for mating, I think. They – the guys – flash around looking for a mate. Every time they mate they get a little weaker, so most of them died a few weeks ago. Maybe this one never found one."
"Oh. Poor bug."
"That's life. It's like that," I said, putting the firefly back down. It failed to grab the grass blade, tumbling deep into the field, where I lost sight of it. We stood in uncomfortable silence.
"Don't sound so accepting of that," she said, soft and measured. "Not when people went through so much to fix what they can."
"And then people mess it up."
"Not as many. What do you think it was like in Dheginsea's world? I don't know you're so dour."
I didn't know why I was so dour, either. I always felt something wrong with it, but at once, it was just how I... was. So I, Alicia, age eleven, am dour, and no one can do anything about it. So I answered, "I am dour." She sighed, as if she had just about run out of patience with me. Not as if – she was just about out of patience. I couldn't blame her. "Let's just go back home." That much, we both agreed on.
Being quiet and walking steadily towards the gate, we got there before too long. I guess we walked away from it much slower than we walked back. The gate guard did some hollering at us, since it was so late and dangerous and all those other warnings. But we pleaded with him and he let us both in with a grumble.
Walking through Melior after curfew was weird. Nothing looked the same in the dark. Row after row of dark buildings, with only the occasional watchman with a torch walking by. (They scolded us, too.) I didn't recognize anything, but Amy found the way. Down past gaping empty windows and shadowed alleys, I followed her, her back only the size of mine. Appearances don't mean anything, I know, but she was so much wiser. Yet she looked like me. That bothered me. Amy's back was small. Amy's back was small....
After awhile, we saw torchlight spilling onto the road outside of Calill's. With tired feet, we started up that road. As we got close, we started to hear people talking.
"... in this hovel. Melior was a poor decision. I admit that readily." My father.
("We shouldn't interrupt them," I whispered to Amy.
"You mean you want to eavesdrop," she whispered back with a wicked grin. She easily pressed herself against the wall alongside me.)
And Calill, "The poor decision was his, entrusting you with Alicia."
"Don't talk about him."
"No, it didn't seem poor at the time! Whoever would've thought that you could fall so far?"
"Calill," said Largo, "let's not start a fight at this hour. -- A drink?"
"No."
A collective silence.
("What are they talking about?" I asked Amy. She shook her head at me, holding a finger to her lips.)
Then a small clatter, like a mug on a counter. When there was talking again, it was once more my father, with more anger than I'd ever heard from him.
"I will not have his child recklessly endangered."
"Ike." One of Calill's mocking laughs. "Is that all you see in her? You've raised her for eleven years! And she's still nothing more to you?"
"Don't pretend to understand. She is everything."
(I couldn't move. My father's words suffocated me. Not that it hurt me – something else.) Silence here. (I felt it was a long one, but it was probably just me. Thinking too fast for time.)
"I don't doubt that." It was Calill who finally spoke. "You were always like that. Tsk. And to think, I dared compare you with Amy."
(Amy stirred and looked confused.)
"If you don't know where she is, I'm done here."
"Oh, I agree! You've long overstayed your welcome. But if you mean to hurt Alicia by it, that's something I won't allow."
("Calill," I whispered.
"We should go in," Amy said. She reached tensely for the doorknob, as if the door would be slammed open any moment.
"You're right....")
As Amy slowly opened the door, we saw my father standing in the doorway, looking stunned. Calill and Largo – she scowling, he embarrassed – glanced over at us. I nervously turned my eyes to Amy. But Amy... she stared my father straight in the eyes, like something was finally dawning on her.
Now that I think about it, Amy had never met my father before. He had brought me to the pub once, while it was busy and Amy was nowhere to be seen. Almost every other time after that, I had gone alone. Yes, I talked about him. Too much. But after awhile both of us got sick of that, and I stopped. Then, for the first time, she saw him. Her eyes shifted for a moment to gaze at the marking upon his forehead. It's a birthmark. Then her eyes gazed back into his.
He should've looked familiar to me. I guess I never really looked at him. I remembered how sharp and condescending as he looked, especially with his eyes. But this time, I noticed that his jaw was slender, his eyebrows thin and high. How old are you? About seventeen. I straightened my back bit by bit. He stiffened as I rose to his height. Amy's back was small.
"Alicia," the name raw and odd in his voice. I don't hear it from him. Father.
He turned his head just a bit, so that he stared at me. And I stared back at him. It's a birthmark.
It's a birthmark. A tense day after a long winter....
He led me to the pub for the first time. It was early in the morning. All that night, he had been cross with me. I reasoned that he wanted to be finally rid of me, and I wailed all the way that I wouldn't stay, wouldn't stand for it. Calill, he said, watch her.
Don't you need my skills?
I alerted the Queen. They're sending in the Royal Guard. My ear on his stomach, I felt his words against my face.
You can stay here. They won't be looking here.
They won't be looking at all if I'm there. He tore me from his side, still wailing, and shoved me toward Calill. Before I stumbled, her soft clothes and perfume were there. She put her moist hands on my back, rubbing firmly. She did not scold him for shoving me. Look after her.
Just for the afternoon, she said. He was silent behind me.
He repeated, Just for the afternoon.
I didn't know what was going on, but I heard that, that I would only be there for an afternoon, so I relaxed. Calill's clothes dark against my eyes.
It'll be simple. Tell them. They won't lay a finger on a hero.
I was a crude mercenary. The war sustained my financial situation. The general never spoke to me.
Her fingers tightened on my back. You insist on that? History will remember the tactician behind the Crimean Restoration, the crossing of the Ribahn....
I am not a tactician. That wasn't me.
Silence. Rubbing softly, soothing like a mommy.
I agree. He wasn't such a fool. ... Come back alive. Alicia needs you. Then, to me, Do you like root beer? I didn't know. It would be my first. My father left. I was too sure that I'd see him again. Liking Calill, I even thought of his return with dread. She handed me a glass. I would end up liking root beer.
He brought me home while I was asleep. The next morning, he looked like he hadn't slept at all. He smelled like metal and fresh paint. Don't touch the walls outside. You'll get paint stuck to your hands.
I thought I had solved an old mystery. Father, did you get paint on your forehead when you were little?
He stared at me. Frighteningly. I looked down at my hands. No. It's a birthmark. Since then, our house has been colored black.
"We're going home."
He seized my hand and turned me away from Calill's door. I let him, looking back. In the near distance, Amy gave a slow wave, stepping into the pub. She closed the door. It was dark on the street.
Although he gripped my hand, he led, and I followed, always a few steps behind him. He walked swiftly, all business, even though we must have been both thinking about the same thing.
"We're moving." Sudden, like a clap of thunder.
"What?! Why?"
"I said we are. Be quiet."
"But – father – this is where home is –"
"I can find a new house."
"You can't just –"
He whirled on me, grabbing me with both hands. I made some squeak at how sudden and forceful it was. I couldn't see his face, not with his hair in the way of the dim light, but I knew he was glaring at me anyway. And he must've seen me. He saw that I was scared – he tightened his grip, even though his hands trembled – he said, "Shut up," quiet and restrained – his voice shaking – afraid but sounding like a singer. As he turned away, I think I saw a flash of wetness on his cheeks. It would've been cliché – something that happened just like in the stories, so much that it was stupid – if it weren't so real and ... impossible. It's impossible. I probably mixed it in with a play I'd seen.
He was my father. He told you to shut up, and he never cared.
The house looked like a hole in the city when we returned. Entering, the first thing he did was light a candle. I noticed then that he hadn't brought a lantern with him to the pub. He must've set out before dark. The candle's light washed over the barren table, where a bowl of cold soup laid stale in a stone bowl. He told me, "Go to bed." I didn't dare argue.
... Past the hollow stairway and down the vacant unlit corridor. It had been lived in for years, but it was still vacant. It would be easy to move out. There was no sign we had settled to begin with. I went into my bedroom. Its window faced away from the moon, so I felt my way into bed. I laid spread out and belly-up. I don't sleep like that, I never could. But I never fell asleep quickly. Not usually, and definitely not this night.
I heard his shifting in the night. Not his normal shifting, of a quill and a chair in his study. I heard the scraping of a spoon in a bowl as he finished my cold porridge. And then up the stairs... pausing, not going into any room... and down the stairs. I knew that if I asked, he wouldn't give me an answer. He'd give me some lie like "I'm packing." So I guessed. Maybe my guess was presumptuous. But the lines all match up.
He must've been more than just a father. It seems silly, now, to think that that's all he is and has ever done. Of course, I can't really imagine what he was like. That never works. I'd get it all wrong. Something keeps coming up, though. I feel like... I know part of what happened.
Somewhere out there is a hero named Ike, exploring a distant land. Most people don't wonder why he left. Heroes do things like setting off, never to be seen again. They're too amazing to live with the rest of us. Heroes are mythical creatures, who save us all without having known anyone, who disappear just like they came, their actions filled with reasons known only to the Goddess. Heroes ... heroes must have been people once, before they became myths.
Heroes had mothers and fathers (moms and dads?) like the rest of us flesh-born creatures. Heroes were eleven once, had best friends, did things they knew they shouldn't have. Ike is a myth to me. I can't imagine him ever being small. But there are other people who must've known him. And I should know him. I would, if he gave me the chance.
In some way that I don't know, the war was real – the goddesses are real – and Ike is real, too. But not to someone who knew him once, someone entrusted with his child. That man, maybe great once, maybe in the legend – I've never learned it well. Whoever would've thought that you could fall so far? I know him. He's only a man like the rest of us, even if he is my father. I think... Ike's just a man, too.
But daddy, won't you come back to us?