Imin brings blood too good to spill
“Murhi, quit your jumping,” Surr muttered.
Since the death of his mother, he had not bothered scolding his younger brothers for any but the worst mischief, so futile did it seem. But the bouncing was particularly annoying, and he wanted to take a nap.
“I’m not!” Omur cried between bounces, and then laughed at the baldness of his lie.
“Aren’t you supposed to be watching, anyway?”
“I am watching! Every time I spin around I look out! Like this!”
Omur launched himself into a mid-air pirouette, but he stopped himself halfway, nearly dragging the tattered curtains down upon him.
“Oh! Someone’s coming!”
“Who?” Surr growled. “You were supposed to be watching.”
“Oh, it’s only Imin.”
Surr stopped short with one foot still on the bottom rung of the ladder. He heard Omur begin bouncing again.
“Alone?” he asked.
“Yes, I guess so.”
“What do you mean — I guess so?”
“Yes! Alone!”
“Quit jumping, I said!” Surr barked.
This time Omur listened, and with his last bounce he let himself fall to sit on the edge of the couch.
When Surr spoke again his voice was so soft as to be nearly inaudible outside the room. “Murhi, you take the baby up in the loft and keep him quiet. And stay quiet yourself.”
“Aww!” Omur whined. “Why? I want to see Imin!”
Surr tried to silence him with a furious gesture, but it only caused Omur to whine a little less loudly.
“Why do I always have to take the baby? It’s Mash’s turn to take the baby.”
“We don’t take turns,” Mash protested.
“I know! ‘Cause if we did, I wouldn’t have to take him all the time!”
Surr could hear that Imin had already left the stone steps carved into the base of the rock and was even then climbing the wooden staircase that twisted up its side. However, he did not seem to be moving with his usual spring.
Surr pointed at the ladder and glared at Omur, but Mash was already picking Llam up off the floor.
“I’ll take him,” he muttered.
Surr tried to catch his eyes, but Mash was determinedly looking away. Surr supposed he did not care to meet Imin, but the result was that their eight-year-old brother would be seeing him instead. Surr was not pleased with Mash’s selfishness — not to say his cowardice.
Imin knocked with his usual flamboyance.
“Who goes there?” Omur cried with a gravity that would have been comical if it had only been Lar behind the door.
“A hungry bear!”
“Oh! I knew it!” Omur twisted himself up with laughter. “Not again!”
Surr opened the door himself.
“If it isn’t my young friends Glee and Gloom!” Imin laughed.
“What do you got in there?” Omur asked at once.
Surr looked away from Imin’s glittering eyes to notice the bundle he carried beneath his coat.
“Is it something to eat?” Omur asked eagerly.
Imin threw back his white head and laughed. “That would be a bit too much, even for me! I only brought another baby for you, since you seem to have lost the one you had.” He winked at Surr.
“He’s only in the loft,” Omur explained. “Let me see! Is it yours?”
Imin gently extracted the baby from his coat and held it out for Omur’s inspection.
“Does it really look anything like any of mine?” Imin chuckled.
“Depends who the mother is. Or maybe even she doesn’t know if you’re the father.”
Imin laughed. “You’re one clever kid.”
Omur grinned proudly.
The baby, who had been sleeping in the dark shelter of Imin’s coat, at first seemed merely unhappy to be awoken. But then his arms and legs stiffened, he reared back his head, and he began a horrifying screeching.
“What are you doing to it?” Surr cried, panicking. “Why is it making those sounds?”
Imin laughed and settled the baby on his shoulder, which quieted the shrieking somewhat. “Your father never let you out of the house or what? Men’s babies make those sounds when they want something.”
“Why?” Omur asked.
“Because the men are so deaf, I suppose. If the babies don’t scream, no one notices when they want something.”
But Surr was not paying attention to this little lesson. His mind had come to a halt on the words “men’s babies”.
“Are you telling me that’s a baby man?” Surr asked.
“Better than that,” Imin chuckled. “Or worse, depending on your point of view. Its father is a man. Its mother is a kisór half-blood.”
“Oh!” Omur gasped. “Can I touch it?”
“Aren’t you afraid it will bite? Anyway, last time it had a look at you, it started to scream. I think we better let your brother have a try.”
“What are you doing with this baby?” Surr asked.
“Here you are,” Imin cooed. “Let’s go visit Uncle Surr.”
“I don’t want it!” Surr protested. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
But Imin had a way of silently imposing his will, and before Surr knew what was happening he was holding the baby.
“He’s all yours,” Imin said. “Can’t you guess who he is?”
“No.”
“Why, that’s the little mongrel your own father died to save,” Imin purred. “And to thank him, they killed your mother.”
“And now what am I supposed to do with him?” Surr was trying to make his voice gruff and angry, but it was coming out shaky and childish.
“Murhi,” Imin said sweetly, “what do we say when someone says ‘Thank you?’”
“You’re very welcome!” Omur laughed.
Surr had imagined many horrific sorts of revenge against the elf who had killed his mother, but he never could have dreamt of this. He felt sick. He feared the baby would simply slip out of his trembling arms.
But he was more afraid of showing his fear before Imin.
“This baby didn’t do anything,” he muttered.
“Neither did your mother,” Imin said coldly.
“Does the elf Lar know about this?”
“Lar!” The corner of Imin’s mouth lifted in a nearly-suppressed sneer. “This is not Lar’s affair. This is your family’s affair.”
“I know, but something like this…”
“Forget about Lar. Lar wouldn’t let you do it, but do you know why? Not because it’s wrong. Because this mongrel’s blood is too good for dogs like us to spill, that’s why.”
“What do you — ”
“There’s something you need to know about Lar, my young friend. It may amuse him to toy with our destiny, but you can be sure the only thing he truly cares about is his own, and his precious blood.”
“That’s not true!” Omur protested.
“He is one of us,” Surr said. “He grew up with us.”
“You might raise a bear cub in your household,” Imin said, “but when he gets big he’ll still claw your face off one day. He’s still a bear. And Lar’s still khírrón.”
“Elves are not like bears,” Surr muttered. “And we are all elves. Just elves. Us and Lar and even those lords there on their hill. Lar always says so. Lar always says that — ”
“Forget about what Lar says,” Imin interrupted. “Watch what he does. That’s what counts. Why do you think he never had any children with the elf Zevadra?”
“Because they were waiting until it was safer…”
“No! Because your aunt’s blood wasn’t good enough to be mixed with his, that’s why! Why do you think he killed your cousin?”
Surr stared sullenly at the wall behind him, but only because he did not want to supply Imin with an argument against Lar.
Imin answered his own question. “Because he didn’t want any more of these half-elf mongrels, that’s why! But what do you suppose Lar does when faced with a half-Lar mongrel, eh?”
Surr looked up in spite of himself. He did not know. He did not even understand.
“Didn’t know that, did you, boy?” Imin crowed. “Your pal Lar doesn’t tell you everything, does he? The elf Sela had two babies with her that night. One was hers — and one was Lar’s!”
“Lar doesn’t have any babies,” Omur said.
“Sure he does! He has a son from a woman! And your cousin Sela was raising it with her half-elf son. You get it, boy?” he asked Surr. “He killed the elf Sela because her blood wasn’t good enough to redeem a man’s, but when he had his own half-blood son in his hands — Ah! That was different. Half a Lar is better than a whole Sela. Even half a Lar deserves to live. You get it now?”
“He didn’t kill Sela’s half-elf baby either,” Omur interrupted. “My brothers saw him,” he said proudly.
Imin ruffled the little elf’s hair. “That’s thanks to your father. A lot of gratitude it won him! From Lar and from the men!”
Surr lifted his head and looked down at Imin. “Do you really expect me to believe all this?”
Imin laughed. “Ask him, if you don’t believe me. Go across the lake and have a look at the boy if you don’t believe me. He looks just like Lar, with darker hair. He’s probably five or six by now.”
Surr shifted the fussing baby on his arm. The baby was already a great burden, and now he had this information to deal with as well. His first instinct when faced with a dilemma was always to ask Lar. Now he did not know what to do.
“What am I supposed to do with this kid?” he muttered.
“Ah, now, that’s up to you,” Imin said. “But do not forget that the pleasure of revenge is halved if the target is not aware of it. Right now they only know I took him, so you have to make sure they know it was you who killed him.”
Omur’s eyes were wide. “Are you going to kill him, Surr?” he breathed.
“Well, not necessarily,” Imin said thoughtfully. “Sometimes there’s better revenge in leaving someone alive. Say you blinded him, for example. Oh, that’s not a bad idea! See if the Paul-elf’s church-magic can make these blind eyes see again!”
Imin laughed, and Omur laughed with him.
