Thuha dei Antanum
A S.P.I.T Ficlet

Rating: R
Warnings: Sap, angst, dubious child care techniques.
Summary: It is the Time of the Dead, and things are found in the winter snow.
Notes: Before I sent SPIT off to Torquere, I changed the name of the student who shows up at the end of the last chapter to Wesselik, he having been named after the Court Historian. It just seemed less confusing that way.

Meadbunny Rating: 5

Naurring wanted a fic with Wess and Monshikka, or possibly a baby Sly, but she didn’t see how I could combine the two. She should know me better.

This story follows after 'According to Doctrine'

This story has an accompanying illustration by Animama.

Thuha dei Antanum, the Time of the Dead. Winter, in Dargothian terms. The sacred time of rest before the rebirth of the world through spring. The Court of Hercandoloff had opted to spend it in the Mountain Cabin, away from politics and policy and petty matters. The cabin was the best place for winter, at least in Monshikka’s opinion. Here, there were trees, and winter silence, broken only by the sound of Misty and Blue playing the drum and mandolin, singing in the warmth of the bathing chamber. Outside the large multi-paned kitchen window, Monshikka could see Ashadira galloping through the snow, chasing squirrels, kicking up her hooves and spraying white in all directions. Baby Simon bounded through the snow after her, eyes bright, trying to grab her silvery silken tail. She had made friends, Monshikka had noticed, with one of the strange and fey Faery Unicorns, a leggy black beast with flaming red eyes. He bounded after her, lean and glossy black, lacking her frills and feathers and shaggy mane. Monshikka dreaded finding out what the foal would look like. He rather fancied it would look like a cross between a demon and one of those dewy-eyed pink things little girls collected.

He heard Infamous’ voice join in with Misty and Blue. It was lower and rougher than those of his friends, but that did not make it unpleasant or disharmonious. Monshikka grinned broadly as Arrowsmith joined next, a smooth, clear tenor. It was so lovely to have this time of peace. There was so much he wished to catch up on, so much he wished to do…

Monshikka’s attention was drawn by a figure entering the kitchen, walking over to the hearth to see if there was tea. There wasn’t, so the young man set about making a pot. Monshikka watched the youth, dressed in the manner of most of Two-Fifty-Mile-House’s university students; saggy sweater, breeches, boots, his long brown hair tied back in an untidy ponytail. It was an outfit Monshikka had seen Wess in a thousand times before, and to watch this younger version clad in the same manner, pipe in his mouth, smelling of dust and history, made his heart strain nearly to breaking. Monshikka narrowed his eyes, and found himself thinking; “Recall, damn you.”

The young man glanced at him. “Tea, your Majesty?”

“Wesselik, I really do wish you would stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, your Majesty.”

Monshikka rolled his eyes. Niri came running in just then, looking like an animated round bundle of cloth, followed by his little brother Kari; a slightly smaller round bundle of cloth. Niri caught hold of Monshikka’s sleeve and tugged.

“What is it, child?” asked Monshikka.

“I found something!”

“Delightful. What is it?”

“I dunno! I think it’s a baby but I can’t see, I need an adult.”

“A baby what?”

“A baby baby.”

Monshikka snapped his attention to the child. “Out in the snow?”

Niri nodded. “Uh-huh. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Monshikka grabbed his cloak and, followed by Wesselik, permitted Niri and Kari to lead them down the wandering path that led to the summer grazing pastures. It was a steep path, and narrow, carved onto the side of a cliff. To their immediate left was a grey stone wall, shot through with roots and trailing vines. To their right, tall trees grew up from the ground twenty feet below. In the summer the path was safe enough, but in winter, wet and slick with ice, it was treacherous indeed.

“Niri you should not be on this path, it’s dangerous, you could have slipped.”

“I know but I heard something!”

They followed the winding path carefully, hanging on to roots and vines, finally coming to a wide area beneath an overhang. They found Ashadira and her suitor standing there, looking up, and there was the distinct sound of a baby whimpering, though it was quite weak. Monshikka looked at Ashadira.

“My lady with your permission..?”

The unicorn tossed her head, but permitted Monshikka to climb onto her back, and then stand up. He could see over the ledge, and the moment he did, he winced in disgust.

“Wesselik! Go get Arrowsmith and Misty and anyone else you can find, some poacher has made a bloody mess up here. Niri go with him, take Kari with you, and stay in the cabin. There is no need for you to see this. By the hand of the Creator there is no punishment harsh enough. Ashadira, would you ask your gentleman friend if I may stand on his back? I need someone with a pair of hands.”

The wild Faery Unicorn was, of course, not delighted about being used as a step ladder, but permitted Monshikka to move onto him as Ashadira shifted into her human form, pushing her long black hair out of her face.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“A storehouse of death.” He tossed her his white cloak, then reached forward, gently catching hold of a white Mycinocroft pup. The tiny creature was terrified, and his sharp baby-teeth punctured holes in Monshikka’s flesh.

“Now, child, that is no way to thank your rescuer.” He passed the pup down to Ashadira, who took it, wrapping it in the cloak and holding it close.

“How many more are up there?” she asked.

“Three that I can see, and an adult that may or may not be alive.” He reached for a red puppy with black tips on his ears, and a black tip on his tail. “Whoever this is has picked all the rarest and most valuable pelts. White, Fox, and… yes we have black. Ever wonder what those delightful and charming ladies’ gloves you see in the shops in Kirianna look like before they are bought for sixty thousand pieces of gold and put into a box to be worn once at the next ball?”

Monshikka handed her down the fox-coloured pup, shaking, covered in her own urine, her nose bloodied. He glanced up as he heard Arrowsmith come skidding down the path, clad in his leather jacket, his Luger in his thigh holster.

“I hear we have a poacher.”

“You hear right.” Monshikka picked up a third pup. “Here, take this little black fellow, Arrowsmith, Ashadira already has two. Put him in your coat, he’s half-frozen.”

Arrowsmith took the Mycinocroft pup, bundling him into his coat and zipping it up so only the tip of a nose poked out. He was startled to hear Monshikka utter a brief laugh of surprise.

“Well well well! Fancy meeting you here! I think I know you.” Monshikka drew the small child close, noting the pale grey eyes, and the ridge of grey fur down the back. He showed the baby to Arrowsmith. “I think we have found our errant Lord Sly.”

“Took him long enough,” said Arrowsmith, grinning. “Hey Sly! Welcome home! What kept you?”

“Considering that Mycinocroft and Humans rarely interbreed, it probably took him this long to find parents. He’s lucky Niri discovered him; freezing on this ledge would have been a horrible death indeed.”

The Moonhound arrived just then, followed by Misty and Blue, Wesselik bringing up the rear. Monshikka passed Blue the child he held, and Blue wrapped him into his cloak.

“Am I seeing things or does this child look familiar?” said Blue.

“Definitely familiar,” said Misty. “Hey Sly! You’re cute at this age, aren’t you?” He touched the baby’s face with the back of one finger, then glanced up at Monshikka. “Anything else up there?”

“An adult male, black. He’s alive but he won’t be if we don’t get him someplace warm.” He caught hold of the creature and slowly dragged him forward, easing him off the ledge and down to Misty and The Moonhound. The Mycinocroft was a large one, a mature male, with an impressive ruff, and a full, thick tail.

“Hey he’s got both his ears,” said Misty. “I thought the females ripped the ears off.” He glanced at Arrowsmith. “Trade you my black for yours.”

Arrowsmith grinned an took the large male, slinging him over his shoulder, as Misty took the puppy.

“Only their husband’s ears. So we may deduce two things. He prefers the company of other males, which only makes sense if you are a Mycinocroft, or he has taken up with a female of another race. He may be that child’s father. Now, is that everyone? No, we have a silver. Come along, child, I won’t… hurt… you… dammit that was not an invitation to hurt me!”

He brought down the last pup, which had her teeth deep in his hand. He held her close, allowing The Moonhound to help him down from the unicorn’s back.

“We have to track this menace down,” said The Moonhound. “Hunting Mycinocroft is a crime, and hunting their infants is a worse one. Why go after the babies? Look at these little fellows, barely enough for one glove!”

“The leather is extraordinarily fine when taken at this age,” said Monshikka. “The wealthy pay enormous sums for Mycinocroft pup leather. Likely our poacher would have caught as many as he could, taken them home, fed them on fish oil and left them in the cold to ensure a full, thick coat, and just before spring he’d have killed them all. Personally I am in favour of doing to him what he would have done to these…”

There was a soft snap further down the path, and heads abruptly turned in the direction of the sound. They spied a man standing there, clad in the garb of a woodsman, holding a bag in one hand and a club in the other. He stared at the group with wide eyes.

“Is this your handiwork?” asked Monshikka. “You are aware that poaching Mycinocroft infants carries the death penalty.”

The man stared at the group, clearly trying to think what to say. Arrowsmith drew his gun and pointed it at him.

“Please,” he said, “by all means, do something stupid.”

The man was covered in blood, clutching a bag in which something was wiggling and squeaking. Suddenly he turned and ran, taking his bag with him, and Arrowsmith raised his gun to avoid accidentally shooting anyone as The Moonhound took off after the poacher. Infamous followed after her, the three vanishing down the path. Not long afterwards Infamous returned, holding a white Mycinocroft puppy.

“You do not want to go down there,” he said.

Monshikka sighed. “No I am quite sure I don’t.”

He gazed at the white pup Infamous held. The ears on the wolfish head were flattened, the eyes wide, the extremely long tail wrapped protectively around the small child’s body. He was shaking visibly, and not from the cold, though a ridge of fur down the back that joined the wolf’s head to the lengthy tail was hardly adequate winter protection.

“Let’s get them to the bathing chamber,” said Monshikka.

They carried the adult male, five babies, and one half-breed child to the bathing chamber, the creatures perking up immediately at the sight of heated water in the large, warm room. Fear and trauma seemed almost instantly forgotten as the fuzzy babies, little more than toddlers, slipped easily into the enormous stone-lined pit cut into the earthen floor. Soon all six children were scooting and banking and flying near the bottom of the pond’s deep end, quite content under seven feet of water. The half-breed was not as fast as his kin, and lacked the long furry tail that enabled the others to turn sharply as they did victory rolls in the clear, warm water, but he certainly seemed to possess their ability to remain submerged for very long periods of time.

“We’re going to need fish,” said Misty. “Lots and lots and LOTS of fish.”

“We can buy fish in Twin Lakes,” said Blue, “or even go north to the villages. Live would be best.”

Arrowsmith carried the adult to a patch of flowering clover and gently laid him down, stroking his hand over the black fur that was both a blessing and a bane. The fur of the Mycinocroft was dense, thick and luxuriantly soft, trapping air and lending buoyancy. The tail, as long as the creature was tall, was used to change direction abruptly underwater, and to increase speed over short distances. Out of the water, it could be wrapped around the body for warmth. There was nothing quite like Mycinocroft fur, and the thick, sensual softness almost acted as a spell on some people, driving them to commit hellish deeds in order to possess it by any means necessary. Most Mycinocroft were grey, or silver. White was less common, and the red with black points was even less so. Black was the rarest of all colours, and the winter pelt of an adult male could fetch well over two hundred and fifty to three hundred and fifty thousand pieces of gold.

The thing that infuriated Arrowsmith was that the Mycinocroft did not have to die for others to enjoy the fur; they shed veritable tumbleweeds of the stuff twice a year, and a Mycinocroft in the spring and fall was always looking for a friend with a lot of time and a good brush. The fur could be spun into yarn, and Arrowsmith knew four women in Two-Fifty-Mile-House who lived quite well selling Mycinocroft yarn. He even had a grey sweater made of the stuff.

“There is no damned need to kill them,” he said. “None.”

Monshikka walked over to kneel down by Arrowsmith’s side, reaching out a white hand to stroke the Mycinocroft’s broad skull. “The most ancient and intelligent of all the civilized races, and people skin them. Clearly we are going to have to come up with a worse punishment to deter poaching.”

“Worse than death?”

“Oh there are many things worse than death. I was thinking of having the poachers skinned alive so that they may appreciate what their victims endured.”

Arrowsmith grinned. “Now you know Blackbird is never going to go for that.”

“I’ll run it by him after he’s gone senile, he can yell at me in the next life.” Monshikka used his thumb to raise the creature’s eyelid, studying the golden eye. “I think he’s fine, just drugged. We’ll let him sleep it off and warm up.”

Arrowsmith nudged Monshikka. “Speaking of next lifetimes, how go things with Wess? Any sign of Recalling?”

“No, not a one, but as a priest of Shallougha that’s hardly shocking. He’ll recall by the time I’m too old to remember why I married him in the first place. I want to be violated, dammit!”

Arrowsmith laughed, and hugged him. “Someday soon.”

“Not soon enough.” Monshikka rose to his feet and walked over to the pond, a tall, regal figure dressed in pale blue trimmed with grey. He looked down into the bathing pool, the enormous pit filled with the run-off from a hot spring, which heated the chamber, permitting the rare and tropical flowers planted in the arboretum-like room to flourish. Five black noses poked out of the water, golden eyes watching just beneath the surface. The half-breed child was out of the water and on the edge of the bath, looking at him with eerie grey eyes. Arrowsmith walked up to stand beside Monshikka, gazing back at the chubby baby who would one day be the third most powerful member of the Court.

“Can we keep him?” asked Arrowsmith.

“I don’t see why not,” said Monshikka. “There is nothing that I am aware of that prevents us from raising one of our own, though clearly the same rules apply; no discussion of Recalling.”

Arrowsmith nodded, then looked down at the noses. “Cute little goobers, aren’t they?”

“Arrowsmith, one does not refer to children of the Noble Evil as goobers.”

“No, you don’t call them goobers. I do. C’mere, goober.”

As Monshikka watched with complete horror and shock, Arrowsmith hauled the silver pup out by her tail and tossed her into the air.

“Don’t pick the child up by her tail!!”

“Why? Their parents do.” Arrowsmith showed Monshikka the dangling Mycinocroft, rolled tightly into a ball, suspended by her tail. She certainly didn’t seem terribly distressed. He tossed her into the air, watching as she twisted, long tail whipping for balance as she instinctively went into a diving pose, hitting the water and shooting down to the bottom of the bathing pool.

“JOHN ARROWSMITH YOU WILL CEASE THROWING CHILDREN RIGHT NOW!”

“Monshikka, relax! Silver and I watch the ones down at the lake do this with their kids all the time! Ya grab a tail…” Arrowsmith reached down and caught a black tail, “…ya roll it into a ball…” He showed him the child, rolled into a compact knot, “…and ya toss it!”

Monshikka watched as the baby Mycinocroft rose up, twisting into a diving pose and streaking down to the water. There was a terrific splash, and the baby was down at the bottom of the pool.

“JOHN ARROWSMITH THIS THROWING OF INFANTS MUST STOP IMMEDIATELY!”

“Yeah yeah, in a minute.” He watched as the silver pup popped to the surface, and held her tail up to be grabbed. “Just go make tea or a birdfeeder or something, I have kids to traumatize.”

Muttering, Monshikka picked up the half-breed baby, holding him close. “Well, let’s get you into some clothes, how about that? I think you are living with me, clearly we can’t trust you with Arrowsmith. He would likely roll you down the mountain.” He smiled at the chubby baby, which stared at him with a familiar intensity. “What say we just call you Lord Sylvannamyth now, and thus avoid confusion later?”

Monshikka stepped into the kitchen, watching as Misty and Blue moved past him and into the bathing chamber. He sighed as he heard Arrowsmith speak.

“Hey guys, grab a tail and watch this!”

“Cool!” enthused Misty.

Monshikka shook his head. “Honestly there are times I wonder why I bother.”

Wesselik walked into the kitchen just then. Monshikka watched him approach, and once more found himself thinking; “Recall, damn you.”

“How about if I take the baby,” Wesselik said, reaching for the youngster. “I started a bottle for him; cream with fish oil. It’s not very appetizing, but half-bred offspring do really well on it, apparently.”

Monshikka let him take the baby. “And where did you learn so much about Mycinocroft children?”

“Studying in Two-Fifty-Mile-House. One of the guys in my class was a Mycinocroft. He and I talked a lot about all sorts of things. Truth to tell I was… sort of in love with him. He was phenomenally intelligent, it was really disconcerting, and the non-linear directions his mind took… I was in awe of him.”

“Did you ever tell him how you felt?”

“No, I… I really wanted to but… something kept telling me that he wasn’t for me. Then he started seeing an alchemy major. Mages get all the best guys.”

Monshikka laughed quietly, watching the young man hold the small child, feeding him the bottle. Cream and fish oil was not Monshikka’s idea of fine dining, but clearly the baby enjoyed it. The winter day was drawing to a close, and a soft snow was beginning to fall. Ashadira came into the kitchen, wrapped in Monshikka’s cloak, accompanied by Niri and Kari, who, despite being told not to, had left the cabin to play in the yard. Infamous was right behind them, and made his way to the bedroom, where the little girl Maradith would be waking up from her nap.

“Who’s night is it to cook?” Infamous asked in passing.

“Your husband’s, the baby-thrower.”

“Throwing baby Mycinocroft is perfectly acceptable; their parents do it all the time.”

“Surely you jest.”

“As the Master Thief and thus entrusted with the world’s orphans, surely I do not. And research shows babies who are not tossed regularly suffer from an inability to tell up from down while under water, do not swim as well, and have a harder time performing the acrobatics necessary for catching fish. Tossing is vital to their development, and my lovely husband knows that.”

Monshikka blinked in surprise. “You’re making that up!”

“Am not. Ask the University student, the one standing by the fire feeding a baby.”

“My friend actually did tell me that,” admitted Wesselik.

“Be that as it may, you will never convince me it is a wise idea to grab a toddler and fling it towards the ceiling.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t do it with a human baby.”

Monshikka smiled, gazing at Wesselik, studying the lines of his face, the way he carried himself, the lean frame…

‘Recall, damn you.’

“Well, I will start dinner,” said Monshikka.

Wesselik nodded. “I’ll just get this little guy fed and into some sleepwear and… what will we use for a bed?”

“Ask Infamous, I believe he has a cradle.”

Wesselik nodded, and Monshikka set about making supper. He quickly realized, however, most of the household seemed to have made plans to go to White Palace for the night. Misty, Blue and Ashadira were the first to vanish, then once the baby Mycinocroft were worn out and sound asleep, piled around the adult in the bathing chamber, Infamous, Arrowsmith, and their children left as well. The Moonhound was out hunting poachers, Blackbird was asleep, and that left just the two of them, baby Sly having now fallen asleep and was bundled into the cradle in Monshikka’s room.

Monshikka and Wesselik ate together, drinking wine, talking. Then, after the meal was over, Wesselik leaned back in his chair and began filling his pipe. Monshikka rose to clear away the dishes, unable to watch him perform this simple task, too sharply reminded of the husband he was still awaiting. But once Wess did Recall, would he want him at all? Monshikka glanced at his reflection in the glass window as he washed the dishes. Wess was twenty-one. He was now forty. Did a twenty-one-year-old student want a forty-year-old prince? Monshikka fought an urge to throw a plate, wishing Wess would just hurry up and get that whole damned thing over and done with. This waiting was agony.

“So what was he like?” Wesselik asked quietly.

“What was who like?”

“Wess Silverbird. The man my father named me after.”

‘Oh Creator I really do NOT wish to discuss this.’ “He was beautiful and wise and intelligent and elegant and I loved him with a passion. And one night a giant snake-god bit him in half.”

“Oh. My. The Night Serpent, I presume?”

“That would be the one.” Monshikka shook his head. “I saw it happen. I felt as if… as if every single rule I lived my life by was just a colossal joke, as if trying to live up to my own standards had cost me what I held most dear, and denied myself what I had longed for most of all. I was sick.”

“That must have been very hard for you,” said Wesselik.

“It was. Very hard indeed. I love him.”

“You speak in the present tense. So… do the Court really return after death?”

“I must go check the baby.”

Monshikka dried his hands on a small towel and left the room. He went to his own bedchamber, finding Sly as he knew he would, bundled up in his tiny cradle, a blanket over his small body. The room was a little cool, so Monshikka added a single piece of wood to the coals in the hearth and put the screen up to stop any errant sparks. He returned to the cradle, and ran his hand over the small head.

“I shall take care of you, you poor little werewolf,” he said softly. “I will take you for many trips into the Palaklais. Perhaps this lifetime you will have a happier existence.”

He stroked the small head again, then pulled the blanket up a little higher. Finally he straightened, and was startled to feel a pair of hands upon his shoulders, and a warm body pressing close against his back. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Wesselik behind him, smelling of pipe tobacco.

“It was not your standards that cost you our wedding night. It was my haste. I should have realized a tea ceremony would seem somehow inadequate to you. But we did not have five days.”

Monshikka turned, his pink crystal eyes wide, staring into warm and serene brown orbs.

“Wess?” he dared to ask, feeling himself begin to tremble.

The young man nodded, suddenly not so young anymore, his barriers down, revealed as one of the Court. “I asked the others to leave us alone this night, so I could tell you. I Recalled the night before last. I wanted to have you all to myself when I told you. I just… hadn’t counted on the poacher.”

Monshikka touched his face, and Wess wondered if he had heard a word he said. “Wess?”

“Yes my love. It’s Wess. Sorry I took so long coming home.”

Monshikka began to shake, and his knees gave out beneath him. Wess caught him, picking him up and carrying him over to the bed. He placed him down on it, then lay beside him, letting Monshikka roll into his arms, holding him close as he began to weep.

“I missed you so badly! There were times when I would look at you and it was all I could do not to scream out to you to Recall.”

“It’s all right,” Wess whispered gently. “I’m here now. I’m so sorry for putting you through this.”

“It was hardly your fault.”

Wess smiled. “Yet I am sorry just the same that you had to shed so much as one tear on my behalf. And are shedding more.”

“I’m just so glad you have you back once more.”

They gazed at each other, touching one another’s faces, assuring themselves they truly were together. Then, slowly, Wess began inclining his head forward, and Monshikka closed his eyes, parting his lips, anticipating the kiss…

Sly sat up in his cradle and looked around, utterly voiceless but still able to make his presence known. Monshikka sighed, as Wess grinned.

“I’m doomed to an eternity of being a married virgin, aren’t I?” said Monshikka.

Wess kissed him gently, running the tips of his fingers over Monshikka’s white flesh. “At least until The Moonhound comes home, and we ask her to babysit.”

Disclaimer:

All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings.

(C) 2008 Alyx Shaw