“Silver From Gold (Conclusion)”

She and the babe remained in the sanctuary for a few days. Tero continued his regular visits, but Mami was committed to attend other labours and could not come to the citadel as often as she would have liked. Finally, Tero lost his temper.

“You know, Mami could see him every day if you brought him home.”

Analise said nothing. She drew her knees up tighter and settled the babe more securely at her breast. He had a hearty appetite, being blissfully unaware of the controversy in his existence. He slept peacefully, and yipped or mewled rather than squalled or wailed.

“You’re safely delivered,” Tero went on. “You can’t hide the babe in this little room forever, either.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“What do you call it? Waiting? I’ve told you: Luko isn’t coming back.”

“I’m not waiting for Luko,” she said.

He almost tore out a handful of curls in frustration. “Then who are you waiting for, dimwit?”

“She’s waiting for me—is that not so, little wolf?”

She and Tero both looked to the door. Poppi stood at the threshold, serious but not sheepish as his gaze met his daughter’s. His eyes were his most eloquent feature, large and dreamily blue in a face that, like Tero’s, was almost too beautiful to be male.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Analise nodded. He paused to banish Tero, adding that he shut the door when he left. This brought a smile to Ana’s lips. Her brother was notorious for listening at keyholes, but she had not suspected that Poppi knew of his habit. Tero merely looked affronted and made a great show of closing the door behind him. An odd silence descended, punctuated by the babe’s businesslike suckling and the occasional snap-crackle from the fire.

“Your mother tells me that you did very well.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” Analise asked, unable to bear the trifles.

“I was here on the night,” Poppi replied. “I was just outside the door, like your brother is now. Had anyone tried to interfere, they would have had to kill me first.” He stepped closer, a smile already forming as he observed the babe in his daughter’s arms. “How is he?”

“Very much like his father, Mami says.”

“Not so discontented, though. There’s a relief. His father was born raging. I wouldn’t wish a raging child on you for all the pearls in the ocean.” Without awaiting invitation, Poppi put out his hands and scooped the babe from Ana’s grasp. The little fellow protested at his breakfast being disturbed, but his grandfather stroked a finger over his cheek and quieted him. “Reijo,” he said, softly. He cocked a brow at Analise. “Do you object?”

She had no idea what to say. The name was wonderful as its previous owner had been wonderful. She felt somewhat shamed that the tribute had not occurred to her when her grandfather had been so kind an influence.

“I know,” Poppi said. “You were no doubt struggling to honour Luko’s family with a name, but you forget that we are Luko’s family. My father was particularly fond of him—or should I say, concerned for him. He would be delighted with this little pup.”

“Then it’s right that we name the babe for him,” Analise said.

“Thank you, my girl.”

She shrugged, unaccountably awkward in her father’s presence when she was completely capable in everyone else’s. Poppi seemed as discomfited, though he hid it better by doting on the babe. The irony in so much fuss being made over the child he had pretended to ignore before birth hung thick in the air.

“Do you plan to raise him in this little room?” Poppi finally inquired.

“This is the safest place in Irfeu,” Analise said.

“I agreed with you, until the other night. Now that the babe is born and you are well, it’s time to come home.”

Much as Analise longed to return to her father’s house, she remained unsure of her son’s safety beyond the sanctuary walls. In truth, very little was certain, except the scandal she and the child must endure before Noni claimed him for Irfe.

Poppi listened patiently, idly stroking Reijo’s cheek with his finger as Analise admitted her fear of what awaited between now and the naming. Once the babe’s gift was confirmed, he would be known as Irfe’s Reijo and due respect would be given. Until then, he must abide as Analise’s Reijo, and folk were less tolerant of children born to unwed mothers. No physical harm would befall him, of course, but Analise distrusted Noni for reasons even she could not identify. It was as if Luko’s blood had granted her a semblance of his ability to sense pending danger.

“No one can trust Noni,” Poppi said, flatly. “Many do, but they know no better. Analise, be prepared for her to deny that your pup is gifted. She must name him because she is shamir and no one else has the right, but she may very well ignore the presence of Fire until she has no other choice.”

Analise was appalled. “Poppi, she has no other choice! Luko sired this babe through a blood vow with me. I know that my son gifted. I know it!”

Poppi silenced her with a forefinger. “Because the ritual is a private matter, there is much public rumour to the contrary. Besides, I have it on good authority that Noni seeks a spark in Rikka. If she succeeds, then Luko’s sister will be named Irfe’s Heir and Luko himself might never have been born.”

Ana’s fiery spirit reared in a panic. “She cannot succeed!”

“Naturally,” Poppi said, calmly. “Noni, however, must discover this for herself. Until she does, we must be mindful of your pup’s gift and do our best to protect him from it. This child is the future of Irfe’s Children. His time will come, little wolf. When it does, I will be ready.”

A chilled hand caught Ana by the throat, squeezing her voice to a whisper. “What will you do?”

“I will handle Noni. You needn’t know more than that.”

When Poppi spoke so coldly, Analise knew she would get no further—nor did she want to. A greater relief than she had known in the wake of Reijo’s birth threatened to overwhelm her now. Poppi might have been difficult during her term, but she had relied on him her whole life for comfort and security, and he had never failed her. He had struggled for Luko, with Luko and thus with her, and her perception had been tainted because of it. She had grown up with Luko as a brother, all the while knowing he was not, that he was different, and that Poppi had been unable, in the end, to spare him the battle with Irfe’s Noni.

He smiled when she tearfully asked his forgiveness. “My precious girl,” he rumbled, his voice unnaturally hoarse. “There is nothing you can do that will require my forgiveness. It is I who must beg yours. I know how deeply you loved Luko. In truth, you were the best choice for him; had you not been my daughter, I would have done my all to seal the match. My fear was solely for your happiness, Analise. There is no pleasure in being proved right, believe me.”

Analise did. It was equally important that he understand what Luko had meant to her. “I was happy with him, Poppi. I was never happier, and if those few weeks were all the gods intended, then I regret nothing. They may have stolen Luko, but they left me with his son.”

A cheerful yap from within the shawl earned a wistful smile and a tender kiss from Ana’s father. He lingered at the babe’s brow, his eyes briefly closing as he breathed the scent of new life. Analise stayed silent in the window bay, watching him relive a memory. Which of the four babes he had raised came to mind when he nuzzled little Reijo? She could guess, but not know, for she would not ask. 

* * *

 Tero was summoned to help pack her things. There were not many, and what gifts had come for Reijo were easily tucked into the basket Mami had brought on the morning of Ana’s labour. The babe remained in his grandfather’s care, at his grandfather’s insistence and with his mother’s blessing.

Analise dressed in the same garb she had worn when she arrived, the skirt now loose about her middle and the blouse almost snug over her breasts. She hesitated by the clothes chest as her brother haphazardly stuffed gowns and nappies into the babe’s basket. When his back was turned, she grabbed the last of Luko’s shirts. She would have buried it amid Reijo’s things, but Tero, curse him, caught her at the last instant. “What’s this?” he teased, whipping it from her hand.

“Give it back! Tero!”

Poppi promptly intervened. “Leave her be, young pup. It’s nothing to you.”

And everything to me. She snatched it back from Tero, bundling it into her blouse rather than risk him “accidentally” losing it. “Thank you, Poppi.”

He gave his son the special hard look reserved solely for juvenile nonsense. Undaunted, Ana’s brother blithely finished packing the basket and gallantly proffered her cloak. “It’s time to go home, dimwit.”

Home. Analise surveyed the room where her life had been forever changed and wondered if she would ever return. She might, she thought, if he ever did. She might also bring Reijo to visit. Once his gift was confirmed and he was named Irfe’s Heir, he might choose to keep these rooms for himself. He would know their significance; she would see to that.

Noni waited in the outer room. Analise had neither seen nor spoken with her since the unpleasant exchange preceding Reijo’s birth, but it followed that Noni would be kept apprised of all that occurred beneath her roof, whether or not she approved. Spotting the old woman nearly sent her fleeing back to the sanctuary, but she would not go without her babe and Poppi was firmly in possession of him. Analise suddenly saw the wisdom in Poppi’s insistence. Tero saw it, too. He caught his sister’s elbow in one hand, staying her while the elders squared off.

“Come to claim your daughter’s bastard, Jarkko?”

“I’ve come to take him home, Noni. I know he’s unwanted here.”

The glittering green eyes lit briefly on Analise, who tipped her chin and met them. “I’ve done my part,” Noni said. “I shall have these rooms scrubbed clean by nightfall.”

“They could use it,” Poppi agreed. “My thanks for your hospitality toward my daughter.”

“I do not intend to set a precedent for other dishonoured women.”

“You mean whores,” Tero snapped, unable to curb his temper.

“If you insist. She is your sister, after all.”

“And Luko was my brother!”

“I know what Luko was, Antero. What he was not is the father of that child. Consent was neither requested nor granted, therefore the blood vow allegedly sworn between your sister and my grandson is null.”

Poppi put up a hand. “You have made that clear on countless occasions, Noni. We submit to Irfe’s judgement on the matter. However, the child must be named, and as his mother is a daughter of Irfe, Irfe must agree to protect and defend him.”

“So he will, to the best of his Children’s ability. May I ask what name you have chosen? Not ‘Luko’, I hope.”

“That’s reserved for Rikka’s son,” Analise spoke up, rashly.

Poppi heaved the sigh of a man cursed with obstinate children. “Ana has agreed to name him for my father.”

“ ‘Reijo’? That seems meet. Let me see him.”

Ana’s heart sprang into her throat as Noni stepped forward and Poppi did not retreat. Little Reijo had been dozing. On Noni’s approach, he woke as if sensing he was about to be put on display and must greet his visitor as good manners dictated. Tero’s hand tightened on Ana’s arm. She froze in place, her heart beating so wildly that she could barely breathe. Poppi tipped the bundle in his arms so Noni could better see the babe. To everyone’s amazement, Noni’s shoulders relaxed, revealing a tension that none had suspected until it was released.

“He’s silver,” she said.

“He’s a wolf,” Tero growled. Poppi frowned at him, but Ana’s brother remained on guard, practically snarling at Luko’s grandmother.

“Very much his mother’s son,” Noni observed. “The father is not obvious at all. Let me hold him, Jarkko. I assure you, I have held newborns before.”

Ana’s heart ceased its frenetic pulsing. Her breath died with it, but she called on the blood she shared with Luko to thwart the old woman’s intention and defend her child if need be. Her touch was inelegant but effective; Noni sensed enough to be distracted. Her eyes darted to Ana’s, and just as speedily dismissed her. Poppi had surrendered the babe.

Only a dolt would have done the child harm in his mother’s presence. Irfe’s Noni smiled and cooed, even chuckling when Reijo thrust a tiny hand from his wrapping as if in friendly salute. She offered a forefinger which the babe obligingly clasped. Analise stiffened. Luko had shown her how a Fire probe worked, teaching that physical contact took less effort and gleaned more accurate results. Noni sought something in the babe she cuddled; Analise felt a flooding warmth that narrowed like a tributary to a bright hot needle aimed at her son.

Reijo giggled, kicking gleefully. Whatever Noni’s gift revealed seemed to satisfy her, for her smile softened further. She nibbled the minute fingers clasping hers before she handed the babe to his mother. “I will name him at the new moon,” she declared grandly, bestowing a benevolent favour on this pitiful girl and her bastard child.

Analise remembered her manners. “Thank you, Noni.”

“He’ll no doubt be a worthy heir to the family business, Jarkko,” the old woman added, speaking as if Tero was absent or inconsequential—or both. Her meaning was plain on a deeper level: she had found no evidence to support Ana’s claim that Luko had fathered the child, therefore Reijo would be named neither shamir nor Irfe’s Heir, but would bear his mother’s name until … when?

Poppi was a master at playing the humble servant, though Noni was unlikely fooled. He tipped his head in gratitude, thanked the old woman once more for her kindness, then herded his family from her presence. 

* * *

The babe was named “Analise’s Reijo” on the new moon. As Poppi had predicted, the gift his mother knew he possessed went unaddressed by the one who should have recognized and embraced it on behalf of Irfe’s Children. The proud grandparents hosted the naming feast attended by friends, neighbours, associates and the like. None of Luko’s family came. Noni, who had stabbed his heel and tasted his blood and proclaimed him a Child of Light before invited guests, did not linger to celebrate the newcomer. When twilight dimmed and the last well-wisher had departed, Analise kissed her parents and her brother, then carried her pride and joy up to bed.

He had behaved beautifully throughout the day; she was sure his father had not been so congenial at his naming, but Reijo was a contented babe who showed every sign of being the most good-natured and accommodating member of the pack. Analise put him to her breast, but though he took her nipple in his mouth, he soon let it pop free.

She smiled into his eyes. Their colour had changed in the past few days, losing the milky sapphire hue to a sharper, clearer shade of blue-green. In a few weeks, they would lose the blue altogether and become eyes of the gifted, the green shamir eyes that spoke of elemental power granted for the betterment of all the tribe. He will be a good leader, she thought; a caring, compassionate ruler possessed of genuine warmth and deep loyalty to those in his charge. Noni’s plan to rouse Fire in Rikka was outrageous. A gift could not be planted in one born without it, and eventually Noni would be forced to accept what she presently refused to contemplate. In the meantime, little Reijo belonged solely to his adoring mother.

“What did she see when she looked behind your eyes?” she asked the child, who answered with a bored yawn.

“She did not see what she sought, little wolf. That may be what saved him.”

Analise glanced up, breaking into a grin. Poppi had made a habit of stopping by her room before retiring for the night—the man unable to grasp that his daughter was with child had fallen so deeply in love with that child that being parted from him was a trial. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Simply that Noni is not the paragon of elemental expertise she expects us to believe,” Poppi replied. He drew near the bed, his eyes misty on his grandson’s face. “Magic is a mysterious thing, my girl. This little pup guards a trove of secrets we mortals may only guess at. Your mother says all babes are gifted, and she may be right—I dare not contradict her in such matters—but the gods know how to preserve their own. Reijo is destined to rule Irfeu once Noni is gone. Our duty is to keep him safe and teach him what you and I know best: that love is the most powerful gift of all.”

Analise swallowed rather than shed tears. Reijo spied his grandfather’s face above him and uttered a squeal that demanded action. Smiling, Poppi gently plucked the babe from his wrapping and set him on a shoulder, cupping the silvery head in one hand.

“Luko was not my son,” he said, gravely, “but this child is my grandson. I will not fail Reijo as I failed his father, I swear.”

“Yes, Poppi,” Analise whispered.

“Have you heard anything from him since the babe arrived?”

“No, Poppi. Not before, either.”

Poppi gave her a narrow look, but she held fast under scrutiny. Her resilience earned a tilted smile as he acquiesced to the fact that she may be lying; that she would do so straight-faced without a ripple did him proud. He kissed the babe, then returned him to his mother and kissed her, as well.

“Sleep well, my cubs.”

“I love you, Poppi.”

He quietly shut the door when he left. Analise tried again to have Reijo suckle; this time, he obliged. While he fed, his mother drew up her knees and cuddled him, reflecting on her father’s talk. His regret over Luko was sincere, just as his promise to protect Luko’s son was sincere, but Analise had perceived the unspoken point that preserving Reijo’s birthright would be easier without Luko present to rile the old woman at the citadel. Now Poppi was free to campaign for Reijo. The babe himself would be an asset, being neither golden nor raging. Noni’s pretence of fawning was less a strain on her; perhaps in time she could be convinced to take and teach the pup to succeed her. And then …

Ana drove the incomplete thought from her mind. She gazed on her silver pup and glimpsed vague signs of Luko in his budding features, the slanted eyes and dimpled smile, the proud nose and firm jaw. He might be Irfe’s chosen. He might be Poppi’s grandson. He might be the future of Irfe’s Children and the peak of her family’s ambition—but to his mother, to Jarkko’s Analise, he was the son of Irfe’s Luko, and she would fight to preserve that truth if it cost her last breath.

Bracing the babe in one arm, she climbed out of bed and carried him to the chest beneath the window. One-handed, she raised the lid and dug about until she found the thing she sought. Reijo squeaked on losing her nipple and threatened to voice greater displeasure when she stripped him of his gown. She smiled. He promptly abandoned his argument. A remarkable babe, to be so responsive so young. A miracle child, she thought, wrapping him in his father’s shirt. She hefted him once more, smiling broadly into his eyes. “You are Luko’s son,” she said, firmly.

Reijo gazed serenely into her face, and smiled.

THE END

December 28, 2008

“Silver from Gold (Part III)”

Luko possessed none of the flirtatious charm that Tero wielded with such ease. His laugh was rare and his smile, though more frequent, was often touched by the darkness that plagued him. He won his way by force, whether with a look or a word depended on the circumstance. Analise had loved him from her earliest memory, and at the dawn of his eighteenth year, he admitted that he felt the same for her.

Analise would have taken him without the blood bond. Luko was the one to insist otherwise. He loved her. He would wed her. He would father her children. He would protect her. He would rule with her. He spoke so boldly, so surely, in their quiet moments that she believed him without question. Wedding before swearing the blood vow would be wiser, but his strategy was to make his choice impossible for Noni to dispute. There was the trouble, that Noni had neither been consulted nor consented. Ana took what care she could against conceiving, but in the weeks following the blood vow, concealing their bond became increasingly more difficult.

The final feast of that summer’s festival was moved indoors when an unseasonable cloudburst erupted over the green that afternoon. Events held in the citadel’s main hall were normally more formal; instead of picnicking with friends on the grass, folk were seated in family groups at long tables. Irfe’s Noni always presided from the high table, with her grandchildren flanking her. Luko had planned to eat with Ana and her family, and would have done so had the weather not conspired against him; recently thwarted in their attempts to find time together, he was as impatient to be with her as she was to be with him. From her seat on the main floor, she watched him behave as protocol demanded, but he was restless and barely able to hold his temper when it seemed Noni meant to prolong the festivities.

His grip on Fire was often tenuous; the element hissed and sparked when he was roused as it never did with his grandmother. Shamir senses were heightened by wild weather, however, and Noni herself appeared disturbed. She ignored Rikka and goaded Luko, whose mind was made clear to Analise when his eyes deliberately sought hers in the crowd. There was the look she dared not disobey, the simmering, savage look that pierced her vitals and drew her to her feet by no will of her own.

She took the back stairs to the second floor, darting along the gallery to his rooms. He was waiting in the sanctuary. Surprised, she blurted a stupid question. “How did you get here before me?”

“I took the main stairs,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. If his kiss was meant to reassure her, it foiled them both by devouring her, instead. She responded with equal fervour though her thoughts scrambled to reconcile his blatant disregard for their agreement.

“Noni saw me leave the hall,” she gasped.

He growled into her mouth. “Good.”

“Luko—”

“Analise, it’s time.”

His statement encompassed many things, the most obvious of which sent her fingers to his laces. He stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Swallowing fear, she nodded.

“Don’t be afraid, mi’scha.”

“I’m not.”

He smiled, pride momentarily overcoming purpose. “You cannot lie to me.”

“I can try,” she countered.

He brought her hand to his lips. “The crone can’t harm you, not while I am breathing. You are my blood-bound consort. We belong to each other. No one can break us apart. I’m tired of hiding. Aren’t you?”

She was ashamed to say not. In truth, the constant threat of discovery made each encounter more frantic and delicious—but she accepted Luko’s decision because discovery was inevitable. Better to reveal themselves than be revealed, especially since Ana’s parents were also ignorant of what their daughter had done. Tero and cousin Marko knew, but Poppi’s disapproval of anything more than kinship between Analise and Luko had made subterfuge imperative.

Reading her face, Luko kissed her fingers once more. “I will speak with Poppi Jarkko. I’ll beg his forgiveness, then swear on my life that his little she-wolf will not suffer for choosing me. When Noni is dead, you will be my queen. While she lives—while I live—you are my god.” He sank to his knees as he spoke, running his hands over her hips and down her legs. Ana stared at his crown, at the lustrous golden hair tumbling over his shoulders, and wanted to rip his shirt from his back.

He refused. He took his time, indulging himself with scent and taste and touch, but firmly deflecting her reciprocal attempts. He readied himself by readying her. At some point, Analise surrendered. She submitted to a desire she had not yet met in him; a slow, deliberate, sensuous and sacrosanct ascent that culminated in a glorious burst of sun and stars on the furs before the hearth. She shuddered once, twice. The third brought her up into his arms, mouthing a wordless cry for his ear alone. Only then did he spill, and when he did, Analise felt the heat in her throat.

Nine months later, she remembered.

That was the moment. 

* * *

 She lay on the sleeping furs once more, straining to bear the babe conceived on that stormy summer afternoon. The snow had ceased. Twilight cast a pale and luminous light through the sanctuary window, but the room was too hot. Sweat ran from her temples. Dara dabbed her brow with a cooling cloth while Mami checked the child’s progress.

“Soon,” she said.

Analise sagged back in Dara’s arms. Luko had taken her by the hand and led her down the main stairs to the feast hall that day, announcing by action his decision to everyone present. Analise was his, and judging by the tousled state of hair and clothing, he had laid claim once more during their notable absence. He had carried himself like a king, defying his subjects to find fault with his choice of queen. Few had, from what Ana could recall. His message had not been for the masses, or even for her family. His message had been for Noni—and Noni’s face was what Ana remembered most clearly.

Folk often remarked on the paradox in Irfe’s Daughter exuding such glacial reserve, but above the icy bones and snow-white skin, Analise had seen Fire smoking in Noni’s eyes.

Stupid boy, what have you done!

Within weeks afterward, everything Luko had sworn, all he had promised, and Luko himself, was gone. 

* * *

 Night fell. The intermittent pains became a single gripping, grinding pain that gave no respite except in the briefest pauses. Analise sucked in a quick sharp breath during these pauses, and inevitably released it in a wild rush when the pain resumed at greater strength. Mami bade her to control, without much success. She got Ana to her feet and made her circle the sanctuary perimeter, bracing her on one side while Dara supported the other. Mami was disinclined to idle talk at the best of times; anything more than a brusque command was beyond her now. Analise was similarly preoccupied, but managed a rueful laugh when Dara offered an encouraging remark.

“Just think, Ana. In a very short while, you’ll have a Son of Irfe.”

I once had a Son of Irfe—and he had me.

Mami abruptly left her in Dara’s care. She had not noticed, but voices were audible in the outer room. She looked a question at Dara, who shrugged and made her keep walking.

“Tero is out there, but I’ve no idea who might be with him.”

More than a few, from the muddled discourse she heard though the wood. Mami returned in time to help her daughter down before the hearth. Analise rested on her knees, panting, while the fire was fed and the kettle hung to heat above it. A sudden, clenching agony drove her to all fours. Her mind was just as suddenly calmed.

“Mami, I think—”

She was right. Between them, Mami and Dara eased her into position. She pulled in a deep breath and pushed, baring her teeth but making no sound. Blood roared in her ears and sparks flew before her closed eyes. Mami said something she could not hear. It did not matter. She felt the babe dislodge from her womb. The pain altered from grinding to tearing as the passage stretched to make way. Analise drew a final, quavering breath and heaved with all her might. The effort nearly brought her to her feet, but once the babe’s head was clear, she collapsed against Dara as the last vestiges of strength drained with him from her body. 

* * *

Bruised and misshapen, he was the most beautiful thing his mother had ever seen. Mami proudly pronounced him the image of his sire at birth, as lean as Luko had been, with the same manly promise of height and breadth in his chest and shoulders. But he was not golden. His fine baby hair gleamed silver in the firelight, wafting gently in the pulsing heat. And his eyes, like all newborn babes’, were a rich, midnight blue.

“His father’s were the same,” Mami assured her with a smile. She kissed Ana’s forehead with firm, cool lips. “Well done, my girl. Oh, well done.”

Analise smiled amid a rush of tears. The smile soon succumbed to sobs, and she held her babe as her mother held her, weeping for a future at once lost and regained.

 

* * *

 She slept. A night as starry as her infant son’s eyes spread wide overhead. Mixed smells of spruce and new grass tickled her senses. Cool wind breathed at her back and a warm breeze danced ahead, running thin with no mountains to contain it. The dulcet beauty was no comfort to one raised in rugged terrain; heartsick with longing, she stared into the unfamiliar sky and watched the stars splinter into shards.

Luko.

He blinked and the stars reassembled. Did he dare? To what end, for what good? To let her know he was living, if not alive? Why torment himself? Why torment her?

I love you.

Nothing more. 

* * *

 She toyed with names but nothing fit, and helpful suggestions from her few visitors were no help at all. Mami thought to name him for Poppi. Tero brashly suggested naming him for his uncle. Dara thought his sire’s name both more appropriate and a blow to the dissidents who agreed with Noni that her grandson could not have fathered Ana’s babe. After her dream on the night of his birth, Ana rejected that notion with unexpected vehemence.

Rikka surprised them all by stopping in despite Noni’s order that the rooms be avoided. Trembling near tears, she ventured over the threshold and abruptly balked. She would have fled had her intended husband not appeared at her back and encouraged her to stay; a quirky fellow with bushy brows and an owlish demeanour, Jere’s Osmo was the last man anyone would have picked to wed Luko’s imposing twin sister, but Rikka heeded him without habitual argument. She followed him into the sanctuary, remaining distant while he paid proper homage to the new arrival. He was so congenial that Analise offered to let him hold the babe.

He politely declined, claiming himself too clumsy with so fragile a treasure. “Have you a name for him?” he asked.

“Not ‘Luko’,” Rikka blurted from her corner.

Her adamant dismissal nearly changed Ana’s mind. A patient count to ten curbed the impulse. Glaring at Rikka, she agreed. “Not ‘Luko’.”

“It wouldn’t be right,” Rikka added, though further explanation was plainly unnecessary.

Osmo wagged his funny brows. “The tribute is reserved for our own son,” he confided to Analise. “Cousins bearing the same name would cause too much confusion.”

“Cousins!” Rikka exclaimed, overhearing.

“Of course, my dear. This little fellow is your nephew, after all.”

If Osmo believed it, Rikka could hardly disagree, yet Noni’s stance made acceptance impossible for anyone close to her. Analise was moved to pity; caught between opposing opinions, Rikka was immobilized. After a moment’s frenzied contemplation, she found a viable excuse for her behaviour.

“Osmo, to speak of a son is unseemly before the wedding.”

Analise disregarded the insult because Rikka was too wrought to have meant it. Instead, she attempted to put her son’s aunt at ease. “Come and say ho,” she suggested. “Is that not why you came?”

Rikka gulped, wringing her hands. She stayed in place by the door.

“You may tell Analise, my dear,” Osmo coaxed. “She, of all people, will understand.”

A single tear trickled over a brazen cheekbone. Rikka ignored it. She stepped forward, her eye drawn inexorably to the bundle in Ana’s arms. Her voice was so low that Ana had to lean in to hear it.

“I came … because I miss him.”

Osmo was right. Analise did understand. She smiled and put out a hand to Luko’s twin. Rikka hesitated, then gratefully accepted the gesture. 

To be continued …

"Silver From Gold (Part II)"

She thought of Luko’s first kiss. Then she thought of Luko’s last kiss. It had not occurred the last time she saw him, but the time just before, when he had not been wholly decided that he must go. He had kissed her as if to inhale her, to absorb her breath and bone into his own body. He had consumed her. She had reveled in his ardor, giving all to his passion. The next time—the last time—he had not touched her at all. Not once. He had been as cold and remote as alpine rock, killing her with words she could barely recall though their meaning yet cut deep enough to bleed.

I must go.

She remembered that, just as she remembered his distant manner and the wrenching pain in her breast. Had it come from him, or had it been her own? She knew he had ached. She knew he had bled from the same words he used to bleed her. The bond was so new, so raw, so powerful; that he had successfully shut her away was a testament to his stubbornness if not to his will. But she had known.

If you go, I will die.

If I go, I will die.

He had gone anyway, taking her soul and leaving her husk behind. Poppi had sent her cousin with him, but he went alone in Marko’s company, locking thought and feeling well away though he moved and spoke and breathed like a living being. Analise knew this of him. Analise had pretended the same, but every day, she had died a little more.

Until she missed her bleeding. She missed twice before Mami scented a change and asked her directly if she was with child. Poor Mami. She had neither judged her daughter nor accused Luko, but had enfolded Ana in her arms and promised that all would be well if she must wrest it into submission with her bare hands.

Tero had offered to tell Poppi, but Ana had refused. She had defied her father’s wish that she spurn Luko, so she must tell him herself of the outcome.

She could not say that he had been angered by her news; not at first. Not with her. With her, he had been crushed but tender, cradling her as if she might break in too strong a grip—and in truth she might have done had he been anything other than sympathetic. Later, she had overheard him condemning his own foolishness to Mami, recounting numberless incidents where he should have intervened. Mami, as guilty of promoting the bond as he was of not discouraging it, had said only that they must think of their daughter and no more of Luko. “I must think of Luko!” Poppi had raged. “That boy meant the world to Irfeu!”

“And nothing to you?” Mami had retorted, vexed by her own misgiving.

Poppi had cried aloud. “That boy, that boy—!” Unable to finish, he had fallen to a fury unlike any Analise had ever witnessed, a fury of love and grief such as no father had ever felt for another man’s son. But for Analise, he kept a steadfast face and promised, like her mother, that all would be well.

The girls who had once envied her first pitied her, then turned on her, then abandoned her. Talk of sending her to Retahla had frightened her into betraying herself to her father and brother. She had never been away from Irfeu, and Retahla was home to Irfe’s elemental adversary; why in the Fire Lord’s name should she be sent there?

“There are no unwanted children in Retahla,” Poppi had said.

Analise had covered her belly with her hands. “This is not an unwanted child!”

“You’d be safe in Retahla, sister mine.”

“Am I not safe in Irfeu, with you and Poppi to protect me?”

The two had traded dubious looks. Analise rarely resented Tero’s exclusive relationship with her father—since he was the elder and the only boy, it made sense that he be privy to matters of which she was happily ignorant—but she had resented it then, while her future was discussed as if she played no part in it.

“Very well, little wolf,” Poppi had said, slowly. “Will you then wed a man of my choosing?”

Tero had winced, knowing her better than her father did. She might have shown no mercy, but in her heart she knew Poppi’s intention was sincere. This had not stopped her from asking why he wished to be rid of her.

The hurt in his face still haunted her months later, but she did not regret putting the question. It had seemed that she was to be shuffled from public sight or “honourably” wed; either way cleared her family’s path of her disgrace.

Predictably, Poppi had dropped the matter rather than answer, but a cooling rift had split father from daughter, leaving Mami and Tero to founder between them. Life had resumed as if harsh words had not been exchanged—which they had, in fact, not—with no further reference to Ana’s condition on her sire’s part. They had conversed politely and occasionally laughed, but as her belly swelled, Poppi had behaved as oblivious. Neither Mami nor Tero had taken sides or attempted to explain one to the other. They had coped by playing along, offering comfort only when happening upon someone in tears.

Then, the miracle. Six months into her term, Analise had come upon Luko’s animal guardian in the yard. The huge, muscular mountain cat had spied her before she spied it. She had known not to run—and even had she not known, she had been too petrified to move—and had instead stood frozen with fear, certain that she and her babe were about to be slain. Only when the cat approached with sleek, measured steps had she recognized the beast who had attended her bonding with Luko. It had walked straight to her, looked up to catch her eye, and rubbed its face over her belly. Again and again, harder and harder, purring as it pressed, the big cat had claimed her babe on Luko’s behalf then walked away, leaving her weak and shaking in the snow.

“What does it mean?” Mami had mused.

“Ye gods, it means the babe is a cat,” Tero had lamented, clapping a hand to his brow.

Mami had swatted him. “You say the babe responded?”

Analise had nodded. “It rolled right toward the jaws.”

“ ‘He’,” Poppi had said, sitting removed at the table. “Your babe is a boy, little wolf.”

His children had gaped at him. His wife had quirked at the mouth. “How do you do that?” she had demanded, annoyed.

He had smiled, rather sadly. “It is my gift.”

No more had been said of it. A few nights later, Analise had dreamed of her son’s eyes, green and angled as Luko’s were green and angled, and had heard his voice. Mami and Tero had begun referring to the babe as “he” and “him” and “Ana’s boy”, which delighted her though they took care not to speak so freely in Poppi’s presence. Surely he and Mami talked, but Ana heard nothing from her mother except assurance that, eventually, Poppi would relent.

As winter had worn into spring, she began to wonder how many days made up an eventually. 

* * *

Spring was in the air, but winter was reluctant to retreat. Analise woke to the pearly light that always signals snow. She and her boy had passed their first quiet night in some weeks; usually the babe protested when she found a comfy pose, but last night had been almost peaceful. She had dreamed of Luko, a happy enough dream to have her wake on fond reminiscence rather than miserable longing. “Your passion will be my death,” she grumbled, rubbing the ache in her lower back.

“Then you’ll die happy,” he retorted. He gave her sly eyes. “And screaming.”

Her gleefully scandalized gasp had ruptured the dream. Luko vanished with the night, the fire, and the indolent joy she felt in being sated. But her back still ached. When she strained to sit up, a warm wet gush drenched the furs beneath her. She froze, at first fearing that her bladder had burst. Then, the dawning.

It was time.

Tero arrived ahead of the snow to find his sister huddled in the window bay. Smelling fear, he immediately demanded to know what was wrong.

“Fetch Mami,” Ana said.

Though more attuned to his father’s business, he was no stranger to his mother’s. A brief glance at the soaked sleeping furs put him directly on the alert. “When?”

“Not long past. The pains have yet to start, but my back aches like I’ve been kicked.”

“Those are pains, dimwit.”

“As if you’d know, dolt. Fetch Mami, will you? She said she’d come straightaway.”

He paused. Analise almost screamed at him, but his hand on her head calmed the impulse. He said nothing. He simply stroked her head, smiling bravely though his eyes held the echo of her trepidation. She gripped his wrist and changed her plea.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I must—but I’ll be back with the best midwife in Irfeu. Hold him at bay until then. I won’t be long.”

She nodded, shivering within her cloak. Tero swiftly kissed her crown and headed for the door, still carrying the basket he had brought containing her breakfast. She waited until he was gone, then laid her cheek on her knees and burst into tears. 

* * * 

She had loved him from the first inkling, knowing he was all she had left of his father. She had talked to him, sung to him, stroked him and soothed him through the darkest winter of her existence. She had cradled him and cooed at him through the fleshy barrier, content to cherish the moment rather than dreaming of the future, of the instant when her eyes would meet his and she would see his sire in his diminutive features. She had not thought once that she would have to birth him.

Her stupidity amazed her now. She, the daughter of a midwife, apprentice to her mother and attendant at a dozen births in the past year, had been so in love with the babe in her womb that she forgot all about delivering him and what that might entail.

Of course she knew the way. She had witnessed it often enough, and Mami had taught her all she had learned from Granmami Ida in the years before Ida’s death. Analise was a diligent student and showed signs of surpassing her own mother in midwifery skills—but she forgot everything she had learned when her own labour began.

“It’s different when the babe is yours,” Mami said, pragmatically. She smiled and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I’ll remind you when you need reminding. How do you feel?”

“Heavy,” Ana replied. Everything felt as if it had dropped overnight, but the grinding backache was the worst. A light snow was falling and a cutting wind had located a crack in the windowsill. It whistled and moaned while Ana remained implacably mute.

Mami glanced through the window. “You came with the first snowfall of autumn,” she recalled. “I wonder if this will be the last snowfall of spring.”

The last snowfall of spring. She had survived the first winter without Luko. Now she must survive the first spring. A wrenching pain dragged itself through her belly and she tensed, gasping.

“The first?” Mami asked.

Ana nodded. “The first so strong.”

She suddenly wondered, as she had wondered daily in the weeks following Luko’s departure, if she would live to see the next morning.

Mami smiled, reading her face. “All is well, little wolf.”

“How can it be, when my Luko is gone?”

Tears filled her mother’s eyes so quickly that Analise was startled. “I was there when Luko was born. So were you, though you were nestled in my womb at the time. His mother went into the wood and birthed her babes in a grove. Rikka was first. Luko came after. It was easier on him, being the second, but he screamed from his first breath. Poor little boy.” Mami shook her head, shaking out the memories before she told too many. Analise had heard the story of her own birth, and of Tero’s, but never of Luko’s though she knew her mother had been present.

“Why did she go to the wood?” she asked.

“I suppose because she was shamir,” Mami answered.

“Is that when she died?”

“No. She died almost a year later, of a broken heart.”

A broken heart. A second pain rolled through Ana’s belly. She felt her womb clamp hard on the babe, nudging him toward the passage. He resisted—or she did—and everything relaxed.

Mami cocked a brow. “Another, so soon?”

“Is that odd?” Ana asked, forgetting that she knew the answer.

Mami gave her the look and said nothing.

First babes always took their time. It occurred to Ana that this babe would be her only babe unless Luko returned—and Tero had been clear insisting that he would not. “Not before Noni goes, at least,” he had added, dourly.

Morning became afternoon. The snow continued. The pains came and went at sporadic intervals. Tero brought his intended bride to help Mami and keep Ana company. Plump and cheerful, and completely contrary to his preference if history was any indication, Hari’s Dara was a welcome presence. Analise liked her immensely, much more than the lean and leggy beauties her brother had toyed with in the past; it was no stretch to imagine calling Dara “sister” where her predecessors had gone by less flattering names when their backs were turned. Even Mami liked Dara—the miracle that Tero claimed had decided him.

She had driven Luko to tearing his hair with her dizzy giggle and fluffy observations, but she was good-hearted and generous. She arrived laden with shawls for the babe and supper for the midwife, “but not for you, Ana,” she regretfully announced. “Labouring mothers mustn’t eat. I’ve heard that coupling brings the babe on more quickly—is that so, Jaana?”

Mami blanched. “If it is, how does it help my daughter?”

“Well, one could say that coupling brought the babe on in the first place,” Dara remarked.

Ana laughed out loud. Mami tutted and muttered some comment about useless nonsense as she poured a cup of wine. Dara winked at Analise, then leaned in to whisper. “How goes it?”

“It’s been hours with little change.”

“Is it terrible?”

Analise considered. “Not really,” she decided. She pondered a bit more, then added in wonderment, “Dara, I’ll soon be able to hold my son!”

“And Luko’s,” Dara reminded her, though she needed none. She was grateful for Dara’s acceptance of what most folk adamantly denied. Confirmation of his paternity would come with his naming. Noni would claim him for Irfe and present the Fire Lord’s Children with their future king. On that day, the debate would end. 

To be continued …