Lar cannot bear

Lar slipped the strap off his shoulder and dropped his bag on the floor just in time to prevent dinner from being crushed against his body.

“Lar!” Omur squealed. “What did you bring? Fish again?”

Lar laughed and squeezed him. “The first boy who complains about ‘fish again’ is going to get spanked with a dead trout!”

“That’s better than a live one,” Mash said.

“Look, Lar!” Omur cried in a wicked delight. “We have a baby!”

Llam was already clinging to Lar’s leg, but it was clear from Omur’s tone that he was not speaking of his little brother. Lar looked up, and only then did he see Surr in the corner, holding a tiny baby.

Surr was looking sullen. Lar thought he understood.

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

“It is not mine!” Surr snapped.

“Oh!” Lar laughed. “Don’t be offended, pip. Unless it’s an ugly little kid, of course. Whose is it?”

“Its father is a man!” Omur said in a voice hushed by awe.

Lar ceased his attempts to free his leg from Llam’s clutches and only stared.

“Don’t you recognize him, Lar?” Surr’s voice was as savage as Lar as ever heard it. “My father died because he saved this baby from the elf Dre and you. And my mother died because the elf Dre and you wanted another one. So. You still want him?”

Even Llam was stunned enough by the tone of this speech to let go of Lar’s leg and sit on the floor.

Lar turned and carefully shut the door. He then carefully crossed the room, moving silently, moving slowly, but when he reached Surr and the baby he only sat on the couch, slowly, carefully, as if the slightest sudden movement would bring about a catastrophe.

“What have you done, Surr?” he whispered.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘revenge’.”

Revenge. It was a word Lar had put out of his mind for the moment. Imin had recently reminded him that revenge was a luxury. Revenge was for elves who had nothing more important to do. Lar’s pursuit of “his own private vengeance” had imperiled the future of his people. He had put revenge aside.

But it was no longer his own; it was no longer private. Lar had cast the first stone, but the ripples were spreading outward.

“What are you going to do now?” Lar asked.

“Maybe blind him and give him back to the elf Paul,” Omur said. “That would be a good one! Wouldn’t it? ‘Cause he was blind.”

Lar had not cried since Dartesas had died, but he felt close to it now. That, or nausea. He could not bear to believe that these four boys had come up with such an idea on their own.

He had failed Dartesas after all. Only months after his death Lar had already turned his sons into four little Lars. And there would be no Dartesas to save them from themselves.

Lar could not take his eyes from the baby. Hours after its birth he had tried to pry it from its mother’s arms, as if it had been nothing more than an animal – as if it had not even been alive. Now it seemed just like any other baby. Now it seemed soft and alive and very fragile.

Lar reached up and gently squeezed one of the dangling feet, with its tiny, curled toes. “Poor little fellow,” he murmured.

“Oh, do you think?” Surr snapped. “Because maybe the elf Dre only wanted this baby to cuddle and love. Maybe blinding it and giving it back will seem like a nice thing to do, compared to what he had planned.”

“Listen, pip,” Lar said softly.

Surr stood tall and stared down at him. “What do you think, Lar? What does Lar think I should do with him?

“That’s not what you should ask yourself. Your father died because he wanted to save this baby. What do you think your father would say?”

“He wouldn’t have done it if he knew my mother would be killed later!”

“That had nothing to do with this baby. They didn’t even know it was your father who did it.”

“I know that,” Surr muttered. “That had everything to do with you.”

“Then you should be taking your revenge against me. Not against this baby or against the Scot-​​man.”

“Maybe I will.”