See Chapter One (A) for Disclaimers
Chapter Seven
Dammit, she had done it again! But the baby's crying had worried her. What if something had happened to Dar and his clumsy friend while she was chattering with that girl? Curupira's imagination had gotten the better of her, and she had raced to the location of the crying.
She had been relieved to see Dar all right and unharmed, if a bit frazzled. So relieved that it had taken all of her self-control to keep from throwing her arms around him. She had fought that emotion, that desire, back, and replaced it with a far more familiar companion. Anger.
Why did she say these things to him? Why had she done that to any of them? To make them keep their distance? To make them hate her? Curupira was hating herself right now, and as she sang to little Aveta, she was miserably aware of Dar's tension. Gods, she had hurt him again. When would she start thinking and stop reacting? Perhaps that was why she decided to tell him a story.
As the baby fell asleep in her arms, Curupira asked Tao, "You have met the queen of the Varoni, the sister and the daughter of BeastMasters. But, scholar, have you ever heard how her name became part of the Sula heritage?" Tao shook his head, green eyes flickering with interest.
Dar was also looking interested, despite the tension in his shoulders, and Curupira continued, "As the BeastMaster can tell you, 'mira' is the Sula word for 'sacrifice.' And until sixty years ago, it had never been used as a proper name. The first Mira was originally from another tribe, and as a woman, became the mother of Etain and Aveta."
She closed her eyes, remembering it as if it were yesterday. And to a being more than ten thousand years old, it had been yesterday. Curupira said softly, "The Otrava were neighbors of the Sula. But where the Sula sought to protect the animals, the Otrava used them as sport. They didn't understand my rules. Didn't understand or didn't care, one of the two. I'm still not sure which is the case."
She opened her eyes and continued, "Their warriors often hunted my animals for sport, for trophies. And so I took their lives. The skins would be draped over the trees, as an object lesson . . . as I did with the Varoni. This must have continued for the better part of a season. Until one day, the Otrava did something differently."
Curupira paused, waiting for the inevitable question from the Eiron scholar, but when no question came, she continued, "It was decided that they would sacrifice a child to me. They built a shrine out in the woods, and they left the three year old daughter of the shaman out as a sacrifice. So I would stop killing their warriors."
That got a reaction, from both men. However, it was the scholar who blinked, then asked, "A sacrifice? But why? Why would they think something like that would appease you? As a neighbor of the Sula, surely they would know what they were doing wrong. I mean . . . the Sula did tell them about the rules of your forest, didn't they?"
"Of course they did! My BeastMaster at the time, the great-grandfather of Dar and Mira, saw to that. As did his two sons. But the Otrava were proud, and they wouldn't listen. And so, they placed a girl-child of three years upon an altar, and they left her there to die," Curupira remembered, a familiar rage building in her soul.
Again, she waited for the inevitable questions from the Eiron, but he was silent, and Curupira went on, "Her crying drew the attention of the animals, and that in turn, drew mine. I found her on that altar, her tiny wrists and ankles bound. I don't imagine what they thought I would do with her . . . I'm a demon, but I don't eat children. Usually."
Dar looked at her quickly, then his eyes fell to the baby in her arms. Curupira added, rolling her eyes, "No, BeastMaster. I wouldn't harm an innocent babe. It's what they do when they grow up which concerns me." She paused, trying to decide how to tell the next part of her story.
What had made her pick up that small child and hold her close? Why had she felt the need to stop the child's tears? To this day, Curupira didn't know the answer to that. Instead, she continued, "I cut her free, and carried her to the Sula village. I explained to my BeastMaster where I had found her . . . and what I wanted him to do about it."
More to the point, she had demanded that he find a good home for the little girl. And that he once more go to the Otrava village, and explain the rules to them. She had been extremely unpleasant about it, as well. Tao asked, "So what happened to the Otrava? Did they realize that sacrificing their children would do nothing but annoy you further?"
"No, scholar, they did not," Curupira sighed, "only two days later, another animal was killed for sport. I found the warrior responsible, and left his skin in a tree where it could be easily found. The next day, I found yet another child on the altar. This time . . . the child was dead."
It had been a little boy this time, no more than five years old. His throat had been slit, and his blue eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. He had been the older brother of the first child, Curupira learned quite by chance. Both children of the shaman and his wife. Curupira had seen to the shaman herself. Both Dar and Tao gasped in horror, their shock obvious in both pairs of eyes.
"And another animal was found dead, shortly after?" Tao asked, since it seemed her BeastMaster had not the breath to speak. Curupira nodded and Tao shook his head in disgust, then asked, "So, how much longer did they last? I would assume they kept sacrificing their children to appease you?"
"You would be correct, scholar," Curupira answered. She was starting to understand why her mother championed this young man. The demi-goddess went on, "Most of the Otrava warriors who remained died in a skirmish with the Sula. Those who remained were either adopted by the Sula or . . . they became slaves and prostitutes for the Terrons."
"A high price to pay for stupidity. I would imagine that you . . . dealt with all of the warriors? Those who hadn't been killed in the skirmish with the Sula, I mean?" Tao questioned. He glanced at Dar as he spoke, and Curupira looked at her BeastMaster as well.
Dar had been quiet through the narrative, but he wasn't brooding. Rather, Curupira had recognized the distant look in his eyes. He was thinking of the past. And rather than find herself trapped in the past as well, Curupira told the Eiron, "The remaining warriors were killed in the skirmish with the Sula. A tribe with a greater fighting force, whom the Otrava attacked. Yelling. Fools."
"My grandmother came from those people? Aunt Aveta often spoke of her mother . . . always with pride. It's hard to imagine my grandmother coming from . . . from . . ." Dar began, and shook his head. Curupira looked at him with an amused smile, waiting for him to continue.
When he didn't, she rolled her eyes and bit down on her lower lip for a moment to keep from blasting him again. That wasn't what she wanted to do. Instead, she looked at Tao and said, "There was one Otrava whom I took for myself. The shaman of the tribe, father of those two children. Oh yes. The second sacrifice was the older brother of the first."
The scholar blinked in surprise at this particular revelation, then it was Curupira's turn to be surprised as a cold smile crossed his face. She turned her attention to Dar and pointed out, "It's very simple, BeastMaster. Your grandmother was born into the Otrava, yes. But she was raised by the Sula. Your sister is a different matter." Dar frowned and Curupira sat forward.
She explained, her eyes intent on his face, "Like her grandmother, BeastMaster, your sister was born into one tribe and grew up in another. But unlike your grandmother, your sister was a product of both. While the Sula changed the first Mira, the second changed the Varoni. Yes, they changed her . . . but the change worked both ways."
Curupira looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms. She was younger than that first Mira, this little Aveta. But Curupira felt the same mixture of emotions . . . tenderness, sorrow. Perhaps even love? It was possible. Her mother would have certainly agreed.
She returned the infant to the BeastMaster, saying without mockery or contempt, "Well, she is quiet now, and I must go. I have animals I must see to." She smiled at both men, then disappeared. Not a dramatic exit, but a good one.
~*~*~*~
"Is she feeling all right? I've never seen Curupira like that before," Tao observed after the forest guardian disappeared into the night. He frowned, staring after her. Or, at least, in the direction she had taken. He couldn't be sure where she was.
"I was wondering that myself. She seemed . . . well . . . different this time. Not like she has before," Dar answered and Tao looked at his friend. What Dar meant was, every other word out of her mouth hadn't been an insult.
However, Tao didn't say that. Instead, he observed, "Well, it was interesting, hearing about your grandmother. Do you think your sister remembers her, since she was seven when your grandmother died?" That was another name to add to the list . . . Tao's curiosity was growing by leaps and bounds.
"Probably. Mira . . . I don't remember any stories she told about our grandmother. But . . . my memories from that time are so jumbled. The only clear memory is the night she was taken. Everything else . . . just jumbled pieces that I'm trying to put together," Dar answered.
"You were three, Dar. I'm surprised you remember as much as you do," Tao pointed out. He found himself yawning, and said, "I'm going to sleep. Don't stay up too late." Dar rolled his eyes, but Tao smiled. Dar was out of his distant silence. That was when Tao feared for Dar the most.
Those moments of intense quiet were also when Tao feared Dar the most. His friend had a cold anger, and the scholar had learned the hard way that was the anger which was the most dangerous. Zad was actually less dangerous in that respect, because Tao could predict his behavior to some degree. Dar, on the other hand . . . As Tao had observed on more than one occasion, Dar kept so much locked away. Too much. He feared for his friend.
The BeastMaster said now, "Ruh has already told me the same thing, since he's keeping watch." Tao nodded and went to his bedroll. But he was still worried for Dar.
~*~*~*~
It was an old man's failing . . . Zeuran's inability to stay away from his scrying bowl. He wanted to keep watch over his family, as strange as a family it seemed at times. While Sula was spending time with his descendents (including the lovely first Mira), Zeuran was watching over Curupira.
It still amazed Zeuran, when he thought about it. This lovely, mercurial child was his granddaughter. She was hot-tempered, impulsive, thoughtless, and sometimes cruel. She had none of her mother's tempering wisdom, and at times, she didn't even have Pelagia's immense compassion.
But she was his granddaughter, and Zeuran loved her, and her twin Maya, immensely despite her many faults. In truth, he blamed himself for some of those same faults, since he had spoiled her so terribly. The privilege of a grandparent sometimes translated into trouble for his other creations. Usually, but not limited to, his human creations.
However, at the moment, Zeuran could only be proud of his granddaughter. Proud of the courage which had forced her to sit at that campfire and not hide behind her anger. Proud of the courage which was necessary to love. Zeuran's heart ached for the child, for he knew the love was doomed. Even if there hadn't been Kyra, even if there hadn't been a thousand other factors, it would have been doomed.
Zeuran only wished that his son had that same courage. Cosmos help him, he hadn't meant to spoil the boy. He hadn't meant to do a lot of things, including turn against him after Adara's death. Zeuran was responsible for his son's attitude toward love, toward compassion, toward Math's belief that 'conscience makes cowards of us all.' And he knew it.
He had to act, somehow, to bring his son back under control. But how? What could he do that would get his son's attention? Zeuran knew that his first-born, his Pelagia, felt that he favored her younger brother. He supposed that was how it must appear to her. But . . . such discipline of children required special handling.
He couldn't just strip Math of his powers. If he did that, what would the consequences be? What would happen to those under his son's protection? What would happen to those whom his son had cursed, like that young Sorceress and her shape-shifter? What would happen to the poor child who now sought the death of someone she didn't know?
And then he thought of Kyra. What would happen to her, to that innocent, if he stripped Math of his powers? Zeuran didn't know, and that was what stayed his hand. He didn't know what would happen to Kyra, to so many others if Math was just an ordinary man.
His son did know the past, the present, and the future. But he didn't know everything. Zeuran didn't know everything, so his son couldn't know everything. But the difference between them lay in that Zeuran could admit that. There was knowledge . . . and then there was wisdom. While his son had a great deal of knowledge, and with it power, he had yet to learn true wisdom.
~*~*~*~
Pelagia appeared at the camp-site shortly after Dar drifted off to sleep. He was slumped against a tree truck, still cradling the sleeping baby. Pelagia shook her head disapprovingly. When would the boy stop doing such foolish things? He was so uncomfortable when he slept like that!
She gently pulled the babe from his arms and placed her on the ground beside Ruh. Then she gently shifted Dar's body until he was lying down properly. You behave as his mother would, Lady. I know, you are the goddess of mothers, but you behave as if you had given him life, or raised him. I know you were around the Sula camp often, but you did neither.
Pelagia lifted her head to look at the tiger and answered, "No, I did not. But I helped to give him life. When Etain faltered in her labor, and her poor body was near the end, I helped to push Dar out into the world. I also helped to end his mother's life. There were no winners, that day. If Dar had remained inside, he would have died."
The child remains, the mother lives and the child dies. And if the child exits, he lives and the mother dies. Someone would lose, no matter what the outcome. And while Dar was given life, his mother was taken from him, Ruh observed.
Pelagia nodded. She had recreated that day a thousand times in her head in the intervening twenty-two years. Had tried to find something she could have done differently, something that would have made a difference. Something which would have saved both mother and child.
"I suppose that's why I watch over him as I do. But you would understand about that, Ruh," Pelagia told the tiger. She sensed the voice of his mind tuning her out, but there were perks to being a goddess. Like keeping open the mind of an animal. She said quietly, "It wasn't your fault, Ruh. Dar doesn't blame you for the sins of Ketzwayo. Why do you persist in blaming yourself?"
For years, I have watched over that boy. The eagle, the ferrets, and myself. We have watched over him, watched him turn from a callow, naive child into a strong, mature man. A man that I would be proud to call a cub. And when that little monster returned to life, to destroy those whom I love, I should have fought harder, Ruh answered. There was a bitterness in his mind-voice that rarely appeared.
"But you did fight, Ruh! You didn't kill Dar, you stopped short! Ketzwayo makes the same mistake as my brother, he often underestimates love," Pelagia told the tiger. Her reward was an amused snort, and the goddess went on, "And even though my daughter killed Ketzwayo a second time, I much doubt that we've seen the last of him." And just how many times would it be necessary for that little toad to die before it was permanent?
I don't know, Lady, Ruh observed, voicing the same opinion which Zeuran had verbalized in the past, Red Eyes isn't as forgiving of failure as your father, or you, are. Since Ketzwayo failed to deliver what he had promised, it's likely that Red Eyes will see to it that he remains dead. What concerns me is what will come next
"Whatever comes next, Ruh, I know you will remember what Ketzwayo did . . . and that will give you the strength you need to fight," Pelagia said softly. She stroked the tiger's mane and gazed at the stars. She looked back at the sleeping children, adding, "I know it's unnecessary to tell you to take care of the children for me."
She paused, then added, "And would you please stop terrorizing poor Tao? Threatening to eat him, and whatever else you said to him after he solved the nymph's riddle."
Ruh 'laughed' yet again. The goddess knew the tiger took great pleasure in teasing Tao. Ruh was headstrong, as Dar had observed in the past, and he was also, for lack of a better word, mischievous. Pelagia added, "Besides, you know as well as I do that if you had planned to eat him, you would have done it the first time you two met!"
Oh, but Lady, it is my greatest source of amusement! I would never eat the scholar, but it amuses me that he would think otherwise. Besides. He can be annoying. But I made the mistake once of underestimating a god . . . never again shall I make that mistake, Ruh answered.
Technically, Ruh was incorrect . . . Ketzwayo hadn't been a god, but a demon. However, she took his meaning. She told him, "Well, just remember this. I know how you enjoy teasing Tao . . . and it is entertaining to tease him . . . but remember that he takes care of Dar in a way you can't." There were other reasons, of course, but for now, that would do.
I know that, Lady. As much entertainment as I derive from teasing the boy, I also know that he would give up his life for the BeastMaster. He thinks of himself as a coward, but I know the truth, Ruh assured her gravely. He paused, then added with a laugh in his mental voice, Besides. I would not be so foolish as to harm the chosen of a goddess.
Pelagia found herself blushing, the first time in almost five thousand years, but she responded, "And if you wish to travel at the BeastMaster's side, you'll keep that to yourself, Ruh." The tiger 'laughed' at her nonexistent threat . . . they both knew she would never do anything to separate Ruh from Dar.
It is most unworthy to make threats when you have no intention of carrying them out, Lady, Ruh told her and Pelagia chuckled. He continued almost wistfully, Perhaps one day, I shall see Ritona. She is a grown woman now, not a child. Perhaps there's something she can do. Privately, Pelagia doubted it, but she wouldn't say so to the tiger.
Istead, she slipped her arms around the tiger's neck, murmuring, "Take care, old friend. I shall return." Ruh's only answer was a mock-annoyed rumble that she had hugged him, then the goddess released the tiger and rose to her feet. She looked at the two sleeping boys once more and smiled . . . then vanished into the night.
~*~*~*~
(Continued)
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