Chapter 4
Raye nearly choked on her breath, the shock and disbelief charging into her throat.
No. Gaelfr wasn’t Svein’s father. He wasn’t.
But before she could find her voice again, Gaelfr took a breath, and kept speaking. “For you have two fathers, my son. I am not the orc who begot you upon your mother, but I am his ástvinur. And thus, you are my son, also.”
It was still a preposterous, appalling claim, and Raye was still going to start shouting, she was — but gods, the way Svein was looking at Gaelfr. With such excitement and awe flickering through his eyes, and such… relief.
“What’s an ástvinur?” Svein asked, speaking the word with shy, pronounced care. “And what’s your name?”
Raye didn’t miss the slight sway in Gaelfr’s kneeling body, the flex of his big hand over his heart.
“I am Gaelfr, of Clan Bautul,” he said, quiet, with a bow of his head.
“And an ástvinur… this is called a bond-brother, in your common-tongue. We are not bound by blood, but by a deep vow before our goddess. Many summers past, I swore this vow to your other father. To — Kalfr.”
His voice faltered on Kalfr’s name, as if he feared Svein might not know it, either. But Svein was already nodding, quick and eager, and aiming a brief, hopeful smile up toward Raye’s face.
“Mama has told me all about Kalfr,” he said toward Gaelfr. “He’s a great warrior, tall and strong and helpful and clever and fun. Just like me.”
His slim chest puffed out, while Gaelfr’s mouth twisted, and he jerked a nod. “Ach, this is truth, son,” he replied, with a hitch in his voice. “You are the very image of him, you ken. And near the same scent, also.”
Svein beamed back at Gaelfr, the sight of it gripping tight in Raye’s chest. “Really?” he asked, his voice pitching higher. “Then do you think… do you think I might be good enough for him to come see me, too? And help us?”
Oh, gods. Svein wasn’t saying this to this awful interfering orc, he wasn’t asking this, he didn’t truly believe his own behaviour had anything to do with Kalfr coming back… did he?
“I’ve been trying really hard,” Svein continued, every earnest word another sickening thud in Raye’s chest. “I always hide when Mama says, I’ve been practicing my reading and my letters every day. And Mama says I’m a great help and comfort to her, and my claws are very good with weaving, see?”
He splayed out his hand between them, showing Gaelfr his sharp black claws, while Raye’s frantic brain fought to find a way to stop this, to speak without breaking into sobs.
But it was still happening, Gaelfr solemnly nodding and admiring Svein’s claws, while more eager, innocent hope shone in Svein’s eyes.
“So you think Papa Kalfr might come help us?” Svein asked, hesitant again.
“Because the bad men keep coming, and they might kill us, or set fire to the cottage while we sleep. Mama always smells afraid, and she always feels cold, and she has to work late every day to weave for the people who hate us. But they don’t give us enough money, and Papa doesn’t send enough either, so Mama’s always hungry, and sometimes I am too, even though I pretend I’m not. ”
There was no way Raye could speak now, not through the shame and the anguish, the overpowering urge to run, or to break into sobs. And gods destroy her, both Gaelfr and Svein were looking at her now, Gaelfr with something strange in his dark eyes, Svein with sudden, wide-eyed regret.
“Sorry, Mama,” he whispered. “Please don’t be sad.”
But the tears were spilling over now, streaking stark and shameful down Raye’s face.
Betraying her, destroying her, while this awful orc watched, and judged.
And though she tried to wipe at her face, to thrust it all away, it wasn’t helping, nothing was helping.
Her sweet, irreplaceable son had gone hungry, because of her.
Svein’s eyes glimmered with brightness too, and with a lurch, he threw himself into Raye’s arms, and buried his face in her shoulder. “Sorry, Mama,” he said again, choked. “I can smell you’re hungry, too. I just wanted to help.”
But it was too late, it was all too late, Raye now fully weeping into her son’s hair, drowning in the misery and the shame.
The horrible, crushing truth that she had failed.
That Gaelfr had been right, after all, and she’d risked her son’s life for her anger and her jealousy and her pride.
And as the last bitter blow, now Kalfr had finally, fully forgotten them, and found someone else. Worse than you. Worse than you…
Raye couldn’t have said how long she stood there and sobbed, but Svein kept patting her back, and sniffling, too.
And once she’d collected herself again, wiping at her wet face with her sleeve, Svein carefully pulled away, and turned back to Gaelfr.
Who’d been kneeling there and watching this, still with that strange look in his eyes.
“So if you’re really my father too,” Svein asked, quiet now, “why didn’t you come?”
There was an instant’s stillness, broken only by Gaelfr’s slow, heavy exhale. His bulky shoulders squaring, his jaw clenching, his eyes glinting on Svein’s watching face.
“I am so sorry I failed you, my son,” he said, hoarse. “I cannot tell you the depth of my shame, and my regret. I ought to have come long ago, and helped you.”
Svein didn’t reply, just studying Gaelfr’s face, his nostrils flaring. While Gaelfr took a deep breath, and bowed his head, and put his hand back to his heart.
“But I am here now,” he added, purpose thudding deep in his voice. “And until Kalfr comes back to you, I shall stay.”