A Creature of War, Book 5, CH03

The blizzard hit without warning.

El had been traveling for a week since destroying the bandit camp, making good time south. The sky had been clear, the pressure high moments before things changed. Under a minute, the pressure dropped. The sky was covered by clouds so thick it felt like dusk as the temperature dropped. Then snow fell, and the winds picked up.

He hunkered down, figuring such a storm couldn’t last, but after two days, he realized this wasn’t natural. It might be a precursor to the insane weather that had come with the end of the old world, or possibly a Powered or Wizzard, as the Crazies were now called, flexing their powers.

He casts his sense as far as he could and, at the edge, felt fires and people. A camp, at the very least some place he could gain protection from the elements. There was only so much his ability could do against this kind of weather and ever less as he became tired. Even a powerful elementalist like him could die of exposure, if there was too much of it.

He didn’t know how long he walked. Day and night lost all meaning in the darkness the whiteout caused. He hung on to the sense of the distant fires, realizing there were too many of them to be a simple encampment. He was making his way to a town.

When he finally made it, he was famished and thin, burning all his energy stoking his inner fire to survive the cold. He found the tavern by the size of the fire and the volume of people there. He dumped the content of his bag on the counter and demanded food, before dropping before the fire, soaking in the heat and fighting the need to pull all of it into him. As deep as the cold now ran, to give away he had powers would get him thrown back into the storm.

He heard voices around him, the sound of alarm. Then he was shaken awake, a bowl of something warm pressed to his lips. The heat of the broth, more than the flavors pulled him out, reignited his hunger. He fought whoever held him to drink it all in one go.

When he regained consciousness, he was on a ratty bed, in a small room. He was still thin, no more than bones, but he could move. He didn’t need his senses to know the storm was still going; the wind howled, and the roof rattled.

His pack was by his bed, and the contents were back in it, missing only a coin, the price of the little he ate and the room he figured. At the counter, he paid for a heartier meal of porridge, vegetables, and thick bread. Asked who he was he said he was a traveler, caught in the storm, and gave his name as Lars.

After two days, the storm still raged, and El, now Lars, couldn’t tell when it would end. It stretched as far as he could sense and lacked the motion in the air that was normal. It was as if someone had put up the forcefield the Dutch had created so many centuries ago over the region to keep the weather still.

By then he felt strong enough to consider going back on the road, and when he discussed purchasing supplies with the tavern owner, a human, with a liking for white shirt and pants, he learned there was little to be bought. The storm hit before the harvest could be collected, and they needed what was left to feel the town.

Inquiring about options for lodging, Lars learned about a few of the widows, and one, a lynx like him, who had lost her husband two summers before, offered to share her home with him. He slept on the cold floor the initials days, but soon enough she convinced him to share her bed, and it wasn’t long after that he was sharing the passions of the bed with Valedine.

The next morning, the storm finally broke, and Lars helped with repairing the damages. By what the local Keeper, a surly jackal, called a blessing from the Celeste, most of the harvest was saved. The plants had been buried in the snow, but also preserved.

Lars could have explained to them about the insulating properties of snow, but the Keeper already disliked him for arriving in the middle of the storm. He tried to have Lars expelled, claiming he was the demon who had brought the storm to cover his arrival, but the jackal was at a loss to explain why Lars had done that. And an extra able body was more important after the storm than the Keeper’s dislike, so the townsfolk ignored him.

The snow never fully went away, but enough melted that near-flooding was its own trouble before winter settled in early and fully. Lars considering leaving more than once, but braving the cold without knowing when the next fire would be held no appeal, so he stayed and helped.

Most of the harvest was saved, but the early winter still meant less food than was ideal, so Lars joined the hunting parties, using his skill with the bow, and his ability, to bring in his fair share.

The Keeper kept eying Lars suspiciously, pointing to how quickly his health returned as a sign he wasn’t natural, but the people asked what wrong was Lars doing, since by the Keeper’s own sermon, demons were incapable of doing good, or helping. They were beings of corruption and destruction. Lars had helped rebuild the town. He was helping ensure they survived the winter. What demon could do such a thing?

Lars kept out of the discussions. He didn’t like Keepers, reminding him of religious extremists he’d fought when he’d had a country to protect. Some had hated Anthros simply for them being Anthros, and now Keepers hated Furrians with powers, simply because they had powers.

He didn’t quite understand why Wizards didn’t fall under that same category and he had no interest in engaging the Keeper into such conversation. Lars did all he could to avoid the Jackal.

Even as he worked, he made plans. Once spring returned he’d leave, continue on his travels. Lars had never been one to stay in one place long. In his time in the army, the days between wars found him restless and only the presence of his brothers and sisters helped him spend that energy and make those time bearable. With the end of the world and Vee’s army, staying in motion became needed for survival and finding the next battle. Now he just wanted to keep moving.

His plans came to a halt by early spring, when Valedine took his hand and placed it on her belly. She’d grown rounder throughout the winter, but Lars hadn’t brought it up. She’d been happy, and that was enough.

When he felt the movement under the skin, he pulled his hand away in fear, for an instant not understanding what it meant. When he did understand, he couldn’t believe it.

It couldn’t be. Not to him. He wasn’t like the others. Whatever had been done to them, when the world changed, had passed him by.

He placed his hand back on her stomach and worried when he didn’t feel anything. The kick happened and his heart skipped a beat.

He was a father.

And he wondered if this was his first child. It felt like his first, but he had never stayed before. Valedine wasn’t the first female lynx he’d had sex with. He hadn’t looked to sleep with them in his long life, but he hadn’t excluded them either. Did he have children he didn’t know about out in the world?

But that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was this woman, and the child she carried, his child. The realization he couldn’t leave didn’t even bother him. She would need him, they would need him. He would have to make himself useful to the town beyond hunting for food.

The one thing the town didn’t have was a woodcutter and carpenter. A few could manage it, but none had the training at it Lars gained in the early years of Vee’s army, when rebuilding was more important than destroying. Back when Vee still saw their job as protecting, rather than fighting.

When he and Valedine announces she was pregnant to the town, he informed then he would be staying, much to the Keeper’s annoyance, and that once the snow melted enough for him to travel to the woods, he would be supplying lumber for the town.

This worked out well for everyone, especially Lars and the Keeper, since it meant they didn’t have to deal with one another. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out for the birth.

Lars had been frantic in the hours leading to it, doing everything he knew of to ensure his child would be born in a welcoming environment. He washed every surface, boiled linens and hung them to dry and cool. Valedine laughed at his antics, when she wasn’t in pain.

When the birthing woman arrived, Lars set to explain how she was to use the clean linens, discarding them as they became dirty. He was rattling off information that hadn’t been heard of for centuries. So of course, that was when the Keeper entered.

“What is this?” he asked in his high pitched voice, sounding like the hanging linens were horrific.

“They’re to protect Valedine and our child,” Lars answered before going back to explaining how he wanted the birthing woman to wrap the child in a different cloth than the one used to clean it.

“What sort of sorcery is this! I will not allow any of your demon ways to taint this house!”

Lars sighed and stood. “There is no sorcery involved. I just soaked them in scalding water.”

The jackal looked at the hearth with the cauldron hanging over the fire. “Demon,” he seethed, “no one can take something out of scalding water.”

Lars had to think quickly. He couldn’t say he’d just pick them out of the hot water, as that didn’t bother him. Valedine had been too distracted to notice, and he hadn’t removed any since the birthing woman had arrived.

He grabbed the ax he kept by the door and used it to pull one out and lay it across one of the rope he strung in the room. It wasn’t as neat as the others, but it was there.

The Keeper eyed him suspiciously. “Why do that? Why soak them in scalding water?”

“To clean them.”

The jackal smiles viciously. “You wash cloth in a washbasin with soap. This is sorcery.”

“That’s just hot water,” Lars said in exasperation. He had plenty of things he wanted to add, but kept those insults to himself. Alienating the Keeper even more than he already was, would only lead to problems. He couldn’t explain to anyone here the value of sterilizing cloth in hot water as a way of avoiding infections. That knowledge had vanished with all the computers and digital media it was kept on.

“It’s how things are done where I’m from.”

There had been some groups who’s kept books, archaists mostly ridiculed by modern people. But many of those had been destroyed in the chaos that followed the world ending. The knowledge had survived, and even spread for a while, but without a way to explain it properly to a society that was becoming more and more primitive, it became relegated to the realm of superstitions. Until now, when he wasn’t aware anyone did it.

“And exactly where are you from?” the jackal asked, pleased with himself. “I have never heard of this thing being done anywhere.”

Lars cursed silently. He should have known this wouldn’t be accepted a the blank explanation by this man. He’d heard how he’d come here from the west. From the Celeste’s cathedral itself, some said.

“Arsetok,” he said, naming the furthest city he could think of.

The jackal narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never heard of it.” The Keeper didn’t believe him, but then, they’d reach the point where, if Lars claimed the sky was blue, the man would ask for someone else to look and confirm it.

“It’s in the south. You ever been there?”

The Keeper shook his head. “And because that is done there, we should use such odd ways?”

“They’re only odd to you because you’ve never seen them used. That’s how every /birth is done there.”

“And you feel they know better than us?”

Lars threw his hands in the air. “Just what’s your problem? It’s water, over a fire. It isn’t like I added anything to that.”

The jackal walked past Lars and knelt by Valedine’s bed. “Tell me, good woman, is what this man says true? Is it only water? Do not fear him, the Celeste will protect you from any threats he might have made.”

Valedine threw him an angry glare. “He’s the father of our child he wouldn’t—” she screamed and bent over.

“The child is coming,” the birthing woman said. “You must breath.”

“I’m breathing!” Valedine yelled. “He didn’t do anything to the cauldron but put water in it. And spend his time cleaning and hanging them.”

The Keeper stood, smoothing his black robe. He looked at the birthing woman.

“I didn’t see him do anything to it while I was here. Until you came, he was at Valedine side.”

The jackal sniffed. “You could have done something to the water while returning from the well.”

“Your nose doesn’t work? Are then any scents in the water?”

The jackal glared at Lars, but stepped close to the cauldron, breathing in the steam. “Possibly what you used doesn’t leave a scent.”

“That’s enough,” Lars snapped. “Get out of my house!”

The jackal stiffened. “I am the Keeper of the Celeste’s Words. I am required to be present to bless the child in the Celeste’s name. Your attempt at removing me, clearly indicates you have no good intention toward the child or their mother.”

“Oh, you haven’t even seen me try to remove you.”

“Threats will not—”

“I want to look after my child and his mother! Can you get it through that thick skull of yours that’s why I don’t want to deal with you? I’ve never understood what you problem is with me, but now is not the time!”

The jackal leaned forward and said in a low growl, “my problem with you is how you simply appeared within our midst.”

“I didn’t appear. I traveled.”

The Keeper snorted. “You expect me to believe that you walked through a tempest sent by the Celeste for the purpose of keeping us safe from creatures such as you?”

Lars rubbed his face. There was so much wrong with that statement he wouldn’t know where to start if he intended on explaining them. But it would be a waste of time with this fanatic. Not that his claim the storm had been sent was incorrect. The storm hadn’t been natural, of that Lars had no doubt.

“Look, maybe you didn’t ask around, but I was near death when I made it into the tavern. It took two days before I was in good enough of a state to do more than rest and eat.”

“And how did you find the tavern? No one could have known where it was there, not during the storm. I could not see my extended arm.”

“How should I know? Luck?” Lars swallowed his pride. “Maybe the Celeste guided my steps.”

“You speak of the Celeste?” the man said with disdain, “when I have not seen you at even one ceremony?”

That’s because I’m not interested in hearing over and over how people with powers are monsters, Lars thought. What he said was: “Just because I don’t prostrate myself before you, doesn’t mean I don’t follow the Celeste.” He hated having to play into being a believer, but he needed to end this so he could make sure his child came safely. Valedine’s pain was coming faster, and he thought that meant something about how close this was to happening.

“I am the—”

“Just because someone wears black robes and goes around claiming to speak for the one watching over us, doesn’t make it so. Do you have any idea how many charlatans I’ve seen making such a claim in my years of travels?”

“Are you accusing me of being such a man?” the Keeper growled darkly.

Lars realized he’d let his anger take him too far. He raised his hands. “No, I’m sorry. I might not like you, but I’ve seen how you live. You work just as hard as anyone else in the town. I had no right to imply that. I just wish you’d leave me alone, at least for today. My child is coming. Can you at least respect that? We can go back to bickering tomorrow if you want, but I need to be by his mother’s side.

And Lars saw the jackal’s face soften. “I will watch and bless the child. If you try anything, I will stop you.”

Lars took linens off the lines and brought them to the birthing woman. He felt the Keeper’s eyes on him, but ignored it. He took Valedine’s hand in his and did as both woman ordered, speaking only to remind the woman to use a new cloth.

This wasn’t the first birth Lars assisted with, but even the first time he saw the miracle happen didn’t compare with today. Back then, he’d understood them for the special event they were. A new life was entering the world, from being that had been designed to be sterile.

But this was his child who was entering the world. The demonstration that he too had been changed, that he could leave a legacy beyond his actions.

His breath caught as the head appeared. It was so small. Had any of the other child been this small? Hadn’t they been bigger, stronger? Was his child going to be slight? Deformed? No, he wouldn’t believe that. His child would be perfect.

And then the child was in the birthing woman’s hands, crying. He handed her a clean linen. She washed her.

He had a daughter.

Then he held his daughter, this small bundle of perfection who grabbed on his little finger and wouldn’t let it go.

When the Keeper cleared his throat, Lars stood without protest and let the man perform the blessing, but he never looked away from her face. He would never get enough of looking at her, at his daughter.

The blessing ended and his daughter settled in his arms, then stopped crying. The Keeper said something that sounded smug, but Lars was bringing her to Valedine and once she held their daughter, he held on to both tightly.

*

Her name was Alaine, after Valedine’s grandmother, and Lars couldn’t stop smiling anytime he looked at her. Every day, when he returned from the woods, he held her, spoke to her, basked in her beauty. He wasn’t there for her first steps, but heard her first word: mama.

Two years later, almost to the day, Valedine gave him a son which they named Leo. He said it was from an ancestor of his, but he simply liked the sound of the name.

The Keeper was there again, but by that time, their animosity had settled into something quiet. Glares exchanged when their path crossed, gestures of protection from the jackal, and eye rolls from Lars. The blessing went without problems, even Alaine fell in love with Leo, holding him and looking after him.

A year later, Valedine would have given him another child, but for all their preparation, something went wrong and she bled out, his second daughter stillborn.

He discovered something else on that day. Somehow, over the years, he’d grown to love Valedine beyond being the mother to his children. He’d liked her from the start, and enjoyed her company, but he’d never noticed the quiet ways in which she’d settled into his heart.

Before her, his experience with love was Vee, and their love was something loud and big. When they were together, when they loved so much no one could ignore it, least of all Lars.

There had been nothing like that with Valedine to tell him he loved her, so he only knew once he found the hole where she had been in his heart.

Picking himself up was hard.

All he wanted to do was crawl into a dark hole and wait to be taken to her. His children saved him from that, not that they knew. They were simply there, and because of that, he had to. He considered alcohol, a balm used by so many soldiers to deal with grief and pain, but he needed to be there in his entirety for Alaine and Leo.

The town helped. Even the Keeper let him be, while he dealt with his grief. He loved the town for taking care of his children when he went to the forest to work. Or to let his grief overwhelm him. That year, the region knew many tremors as Lars cracked the earth in rage at the injustice of losing sweet Valedine. Storms came from nowhere, sending the townsfolk running for their homes. Distant lightnings and thunder led to tales of the Celeste coming down to battle demons directly.

None of that was ever attributed to the father, grieving the loss of the woman he loved.

*

Over the years, other widows offered him company, but he turned them down. At first the offer was enough to make his emotions burst through as he felt he was betraying Valedine. But even once her death was no longer such a sharp pain, he remained alone. After experiencing his time with Valedine, he felt anything else would be lacking.

Alaine and Leo grew.

By the time she was six, Alaine could charm all the boys in the town. All it took was a smile, and she had them doing her chores. Even Lars fell victim to it. Anytime he caught her misbehaving, as he promised punishment, she smiled at him, and he saw Valedine in her eyes and couldn’t bring himself to carry through.

Leo was more trouble than his sister. He loved water and as soon as he could crawl he had a knack for finding the nearest puddle and falling into it. On the first dry day of Leo’s mobility, without a puddle in sight, the crawling lynx had discovered that claws could be used to climb wood, and he made his way into a rain barrel.

Every evening, when he returned from the forest, Leo would be by the door, his fur soaked, with whichever of the townsfolk had looked after him at a loss to explain how the young lynx had managed to slip their watch and get wet. He’d gone to the extent of removing a cover the town had become in the habit of putting over the rain barrels when it was dry to keep him from getting into them. The only place in the town that held no interest for his son, was the well, much to everyone’s relief.

The evening Lars returned home to find the Keeper sitting by the door, his black robes clinging to his body and smelling of lake water, he thought their quiet animosity would become loud again. Instead, the jackal thrust Leo into Lars’s arms.

“Teach that little monster to stay dry,” the Jackal said as he rushed away.

Lars couldn’t believe that was all he’d received, nor could he believe that just before the Keeper noticed him, he’d been making faces at his boy.

*

Leo was six, when Lars rediscovered fear.

By then, no one bothered supervising the young lynx. There was no keeping him out of water, and while he no longer threw himself in every puddle he came across, Leo still spent most of his time wet, swimming in the lake. No one taught Leo how to swim. He simply stepped into the water and knew. More than once, Lars would find his son swimming to the shore of the lake by the path he walked, and they would walk the rest of the way together.

That afternoon, he’d felt for Leo, as was his habit, and what he felt made him run. Leo was there, but he was not alone; something of water was with him. A form Lars didn’t know.

When he could see his son, he stood by the lake. A blob of water in the air before him. Leo raised a hand, and the blob stretched up. He moved his hands apart and the blob slip in two.

Leo wasn’t being threatened.

This was worse, so much worse.

Lars felt around for anyone else who could see and sighed in relief when he knew it was only the two of them.

When he reached the lake, his son was waving his hands in the air and the blob danced along to the motions. The water did float. It wasn’t connected to the lake in any way.

“Papa, look!” Leo called.

Lars wanted to shush him. He wanted to push the water into the lake, tell his son to never do this again. He didn’t. He wouldn’t let his fear of what the Keeper would do if he discovered Leo had power rule him. He would not allow his son to grow up fearing what he was. He wanted Leo to keep the joy that shone in his face as he made the water fly around him.

Lars sat by his son and watched for a time, watch his son revel in the water, in his ability to manipulate it. Lars had felt such joy, a very long time ago. When had he allowed himself to use his abilities out of pleasure? Long before the church of the Celeste had branded people like him as demons.

He extended a hand and called water to it, a tongue rose from the lake and formed into a ball in his hand. Leo looked at him in amazement and for a few minutes the two of them shaped water, moved it about, Lars having to keep it connected to the lake while his son had no such restrictions.

“That’s enough,” Lars said as he released the water.

“No, no. I can continue, I’m not tired!” Leo exclaimed, and the water exploded over them, to reform into ever-growing spheres.

Lars place a hand on his son’s arms. “It’s enough,” he said softly, but firmly. The water flew over the lake and splashed down.

Lars watched the lake, knowing his son watched him. When he glanced down, he saw concern on Leo’s face, and a little fear.

“You’re not in trouble.” He pulled Leo to him. “How long have you been able to do this?”

The young lynx shrugged. “A few days. I was coming out of the water after a swim. The wind was cold, and I didn’t have anything to dry with. It hadn’t been cold before. As I shivered, I thought it would be better if I was dry, and the water fell off me. Not like when water drips off. It fell off. I was wet, then I was dry, and the sand was wet. After that swimming was different, I could use the water to help me move. Then now.” He motioned to the lake.

Lars didn’t ask if anyone had seen Leo do that. He didn’t have to. If one person had, Leo wouldn’t be alive. Fire was the only solution for demons, Keepers preached. The jackal wouldn’t care Leo was six. He would throw him to the pyre without hesitation. Lars didn’t want to think what his response would be to such an act.

“You have to be careful,” Lars said, keeping his voice even. “You can’t let anyone see you do this.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve been to the Keeper’s sermons.” Lars hated it, but Leo and Alaine were part of the town, so they went. He made sure to go to the forest work so he wouldn’t tell the Keeper what he thought about what he preached.

Realization registered on Leo’s face and Lars took his son’s hands in his.

“No, you are not a demon, Leo. What you can do is special, but it is normal. We can do this, other people can do other things.”

“Can Alaine?” he asked, his worry for his sister overshadowing his.

“I don’t think so.” He’d wondered at the way she could charm boys, and he’s watched, but he hadn’t seen anything that couldn’t be explained with a girls’ wiles and boys over-inflated estimation of what girls thought of them. He knew the day would come when he’d have to explain about taking a boy to bed and how she needed to be careful with other lynxes, but that was not until a few years from now.

“If I’m not a demon, why does Keeper Gearard say that people who do things like we can are?”

How did he go about explaining to his six-year-old son fear and intolerance for those who were different? “A very long time ago, the worlds was different. One day it broke and became this world. Because no one understood how it happened, and because there were people like us in the world, and they also didn’t understand how we can do what we do, they decided we had caused it. Now I think those who follow the Celeste took those stories and gave those people a name, demons, so they’d have something to rally behind.”

“Does that mean the Celeste is bad?”

Lars shook his head. “It just means that sometime, when people are afraid, they prefer making monsters of that, instead of trying to understand.”

Leo was silent. “If it isn’t because I’m a demon, why can we do it?”

Something else Lars had no idea how to explain. He knew it had something to do with genetic engineering, but how had his power over water passed on to Leo, and how could he do something that Lars himself couldn’t with it?

“I don’t know.”

“So maybe the Celeste made us this way?”

Lars wanted to explain the Celeste wasn’t real, that at best the person behind all this was like them, Powered, at worse? He had no idea what might be worse than that. “I don’t know.” The Celeste might be the most widespread now, but it wasn’t the first claim of godhood to surface since the world had changed. The unknown seemed to lead to people claiming to be things they were not.

Leo nodded. “Yes, the Celeste made us this way,” he stated.

“Alright,” Lars answered. He had no better answer. “But you can’t tell the Keeper, or anyone.”

“Alaine?”

“Not even her.”

“But she wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Lars smiled, this one being easy to handle. “What happened when you got her doll wet?”

“She got angry and told old lady Gorthan about the cookies I stole from her window.”

Lars nodded. “When someone is angry, they don’t always think about the impact of what they say to get back at you. Alaine didn’t mean to get you in trouble, but she still did.”

“She’d tell Keeper Gearard I’m a demon?”

“You are not a demon, Leo.” He made his voice firm, but kept the anger out of it. It wasn’t his son’s fault that word kept being bandied about. “But yes, while she’s angry, she might say something that would lead the others to be afraid.”

Leo nodded.

“Alright. Close your eyes. I want you to try something.”

Leo did as instructed.

“Can you feel the lake?”

“Yes, it’s quiet.”

“How about the water in town? Can you feel that?”

Leo shook his head.

“How about when you’re there? Can you feel it then?”

Leo nodded. “The water in the barrel is sad. Water wants to flow, but it can’t.”

Lars wondered if his son imagined water had emotions, or if he was connected with it on a level where it did. “Can you feel me?”

Leo giggled. “Of course I can, silly. You’re holding my hands.”

“How about the water inside me?”

“You have water inside you?”

“Just try it,” Lars said, doing his best not to laugh at his son’s expression.

Leo scrunched up his face in concentration, then his eyes opened in surprise. “I can feel it!” He frowned. “There is a lot of water in you.”

“Inside everyone.”

“Really? Why aren’t we wet then?”

“Because your skin keeps it inside.”

“Can you feel it too?” Leo asked.

“I can. It’s how I always know where you are.”

“You can’t do than when we play hide and seek,” Leo said sternly. “That’s cheating.”

Lars tried not to smile. “I don’t do it then.”

Leo looked at him dubiously.

“When we are back in town, I want you to practice feeling the people around you. Not just those you see, but also those you can’t see, inside their homes. Don’t say anything about it, just practice, okay?”

“Why?”

Lars tightened his hand around his son’s. “Because when you want to play with the lake, you have to first make sure there’s no one around who can see you.” He looked into his son’s eyes. “You need to be careful, Leo. I know it isn’t fair that you have to be the one who’s careful when you do nothing wrong, but people won’t understand. They’re going to tell the Keeper.” Then would come the fire. “I want you to promise me you will be careful.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Lars kissed his son’s forehead. “Good boy.” He stood and helped Leo to his feet. “Come on, let’s get back and have dinner before Miss Forlam gives it away.”