Turtle
A bloodcurdling cry sounded through the Great Holt.
“Puckernuts,” Pike exclaimed, rising from the patch of soft moss where he had been sleepily digesting his midday meal. Jogging across the width of the Holt, he soon found the source of the scream. A small child dressed in rags howled plaintively while the elves surrounding him struggled to calm him without the benefit of touch. Eyes High and Moonsbreath winced at the periphery of the mob. Weatherbird pleaded for the boy to meet her gaze. Swift and Rayek were already in the process of descending from the trees, their expressions grimly set. Pike spotted Vaya pushing her way through the crowd to reach her son. And immediately identifiable as the perpetrator of this lastest incident was young Sust, inching towards his little brother, one hand extended in friendship.
Vaya dropped to the ground and held out her arms. Littlefire ran for her, and she scooped up the bundle of rags. Littlefire pressed his face against her shoulder and wrapped his limbs tightly around her torso. At five years old, Littlefire was as tall as a Wolfrider twice his age, but his thin Glider bones meant he scarcely weighed more than a treewee.
“What happened?” Vaya addressed her elder son harshly.
Sust looked away. “Nothing... I... I don’t know...”
“Sust?”
“It’s... it was nothing. I... he was sitting off by himself looking at the ants climbing their little hill. He didn’t even hear me coming up. And I... I thought–”
“You thought you’d scare him.”
“I just touched him... I didn’t mean – I thought all cubs loved to be tickled!” he shot back defiantly.
“Poke it, Sust,” Pike sighed in exasperation. “Littlefire’s not like other cubs.”
“I was just trying to be friendly – like you and Mother are always telling me to! Poke it, it’s not my fault you can’t play anything with him!”
“Too loud!” Littlefire wailed, tearing away from his mother. He stumbled away from the bewildered elves, half-walking, half-floating in a clumsy hopping motion. Vaya called out for her youngest, but he would not look back at her.
Furious, she rounded on her second-born. “This is all on your head!”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t play with him. Can’t talk to him. Can’t do anything with him. You’re always chittering at me to be his brother. What am I supposed to do?”
“Just be there for him. Let him come to you if he wants to. Don’t go around putting these frights in his head. Poke it, Cheipar knows how to–”
“I’m not Cheipar!” Sust raged. “Cheipar, Cheipar! Poke Cheipar! You and Cheipar and Aurek and that cub go hang yourselves from a tree for all I care!”
“Selfish spoiled fawn–” Vaya advanced on him.
“Vaya!” Pike cautioned. “This isn’t helping.”
Relunctantly Vaya turned away from her son. “Littlefire... where did he–”
“I’ll find him,” Pike said. “Wager I know just where he went.”
**Pike...** Sust sent as Pike set off in pursuit of his stepson. **Pike... you know I didn’t mean–**
**I know, son. You meant well. But that doesn’t make a difference to him. You have to learn that.**
Pike found Littlefire just where he had expected: sitting by the little pool that was a vast lake in the rainy season and a sand bar in the hot summers. The cub was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, tearing fistfuls of grass out of bank.
“Littlefire...” Pike prompted gently.
Littlefire didn’t seem to hear him.
**Wesh?**
Littlefire winced, tilting his head as if an insect had buzzed him. Pike took it as an acknowledgement and slowly approached him.
He sat down next to the boy and began to pluck at the grass himself. It was simply a matter of time before Littlefire would relax enough to speak. Until then Pike contented himself to wait.
He thought back to Vaya and Aurek’s Recognition, nearly eight years past. It had been a long time in coming. The two had been lifemates for over five-eights before eyes finally met eyes. Of course, Skot had always sworn it was only a matter of time before the two went their separate ways, but Pike knew better.
He knew the story well; he had retold it enough times.
Vaya was sitting on the outskirts of the Great Holt, sharpening her spearpoint in preparation for a twilight hunt. She thought she heard an insect buzzing about her head, and she scowled. She had felt on edge for the last three days. She had Aurek had quarreled about her moods only a few hours before. Or to be exact, she had quarreled, while Aurek stood by calmly, agreeing with everything she said. Yes, he was being unreasonable. Of course, he would leave her be until she was feeling more pleasantly disposed. No, he would not dream of denying her her space.
“Fine!” she had shouted at him as she stalked out of the cave they shared. “Then you’ll be more than happy to give me all the space in this pokin’ forest!”
Aurek only smiled placidly as always. He never rose to the bait. He knew Vaya would come back. No apologies, no explanations. None were needed. And they would resume their life together, with nothing more than a particularly heated night of joining marking their latest quarrel.
She hated that about him. He would never give the satisfaction of the brawl she craved.
She didn’t know why she put up with him.
But the more she tried to push him from her mind, the more he lingered in her thoughts, tormenting her with his presence. She sharpened her spearpoint, savouring the fantasy of skewering him on it. Not that it would help. He would just die with the same beneficent expression.
She could not shake him from her mind. He had dug himself in deep. Even after she picked up her newly-sharpened spear and took to the hunt, he was never out of her thoughts. She missed two perfectly good targets, once narrowly missing a small pig, then rashly throwing her spear at a bird and getting it lodged in creepers.
She was falling apart. She would never manage a good hunt with a head buzzing with thoughts of him.
She ought to stalk right back to their cave and have it out with him once and for all.
Before she knew it, she was on her feet, making her way back to the hill where the Palace sat concealed under its magical cloak. She bounded over the rocks to their cave. Pushing back the curtain of heavy creepers that served as a door, she marched down the tunnel Aurek himself had shaped when he first came over to the New Land from Blue Mountain. She stormed through the outer chambers of their cave and into Aurek’s private meditation room where she found him looking over the Egg.
He must have sensed the sheer rage that crackled around her head like a crown of skyfire. But he kept his eyes on the Egg, and only the faintest tremor in his voice revealed he was just as affected as she.
“Ah, Vaya... come here. I’ve just seen something quite astounding here.”
“What?” she growled, balling her fists as she stalked towards him.
Obligingly, the Egg enlarged to three times its size. “Here I am...” Aurek said, pointing the glyph representing himself. “And here you are... and...” – a new symbol shaped itself out of the living stone to appear between the two glyphs – “and here is our son.”
Vaya felt as if she had been struck in the gut. “Son?” she stammered.
“Vaya...” Aurek turned to gaze up at her with awestruck eyes.
And the rest, Pike liked to say, went as anyone would expect.
Vaya bore her third son after another two turns of the seasons, a delicate infant as small as a Go-Back babe, but with the long limbs of a Glider. They gave him the tribe name of Littlefire, and for the first few months the new parents knew only joy with their infant. But as Littlefire grew older it became clear that something was not quite right. His grey-blue eyes would not focus on family members, and he was very slow to speak. He never learned to crawl – instead he floated, but poorly. He began to send at a very young age, preferring it to spoken words. But the sendings made little sense, and were often laced with sensations that pained other elves.
Vaya had hoped Littlefire would eventually outgrow this painful awkwardness, and it was only with great reluctance that she allowed Rain to attempt a healing on the child. But Rain could find nothing wrong with Littlefire. It seemed he was perfectly healthy in head, hand, and heart – but head, hand, and heart were not communicating with each other as they did in other elves.
“He has the body of any elf child,” Rain said. “But his mind.... it reminds me of trying to send to Timmain. He does not see the world as we do. It is all different to him – as different as the world must have seemed to the Firstcomers.”
“But... he will grow to become used to it,” Vaya insisted. “When he is a little older...”
“I do not know,” Rain said. “I only know... it is how he is.”
Littlefire was almost two before he could stand up and walk. He did not speak until he was three years old, and he developed a nervous stammer. He seldom laughed, and when he did it was too loudly, and at the strangest things. He cried for no apparent reason. His senses were sharper than the best of their wolves. He could not stand bright light and never emerged into clearings during the day. He heard even the faintest whisper, yet he seemed to go deaf at the drop of a leaf. The scent of blood made him nauseous, and he hid himself whenever the hunt returned with fresh meat for a feast.
And he could not stand to be touched by any but his closest family. He could not stand to be too close to another elf. Even eye contact was too overwhelming for him, an intimacy his senses could not tolerate. When he was overwhelmed, he would often cling to his mother or one of his fathers. But the passing affection between tribemates was denied him. Sust’s impulsive tickling must have seemed like an assault to the child.
Pike could not blame Sust. He had barely spent any time in the Great Holt since Littlefire was born. He was usually away with the Wild Hunt; he did not know just how painstakingly precise the codes of conduct around Littlefire had to be.
And yet a part of Pike wondered if there had not been a hint of maliciousness in Sust’s actions. He was Skot’s son, after all. And he made little secret that he resented how his mother lavished attention on her youngest. Sust had grown up the child of the family, the spoiled little brat. Now he was displaced, and he was handling it with all his typical grace and dignity.
Pike could hardly fault him for that, either. He was who he was.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Pike asked Littlefire finally.
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about something else?”
“No.”
Pike nodded and sat back. He could wait.
Littlefire continued to pull grass out of the riverbank. But his pace had slowed. The panic was gradually ebbing.
“Why does he hate me?” he finally asked in his mumbling lisp.
“Sust? He doesn’t hate you, cub. He loves you – you’re his baby brother.”
“Hurt me.”
“He didn’t mean to. He... he just forgets. Other cubs would love what he did.”
“J-jumps up behind me, grabs... hurts... didn’t even tell me... it hurt!”
“I know, cub. He’s sorry for it. He just forgets.”
“Sorry doesn’t change it! Still hurt.”
“I know. But sorry means he’ll try to remember next time.”
“‘Fraid.”
“Of Sust? Aww... don’t be. He’s your brother. Just like Cheipar.”
“Not like Cheipar. Loud.”
“Well... aye, he’s got a mouth on him. But so does your Papa Skot. You’re not afraid of him, are you?”
“Sometimes.”
Pike smiled ruefully. “But not all the time, I hope.”
“No.”
“Good.”
The silence dragged on. Pike waited patiently. Still Littlefire continued to brood. Pike watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye. Littlefire’s silence could be a sign that he was retreating within himself to escape the frightening stimuli of the world at large. Or it could be the typical sulky silence of a child wanting to be drawn out.
“Hey... did I ever tell you the story of the turtle and the wildcat?” Pike asked cheerfully.
Littlefire regarded them skeptically. “True story?”
“Well... not exactly–”
“A lie.”
“No... no, not exactly, cub.”
“It’s true or it’s not,” Littlefire told him. “If it’s not, it’s a lie.”
“It’s only a lie if you’re trying to trick someone,” Pike explained patiently. “But a story can be made up and still have truth in it.”
Littlefire did not look convinced. Pike could not help but chuckle at his deadpan expression. Sometimes, the boy looked as old and world-wise as his father.
“Do you want to hear it?”
Littlefire shrugged, and began to tug at a lock of hair that fell over his forehead.
“There was once a little turtle who lived on the edge of a forest pool... not too far from here. He was a quiet turtle – didn’t bother anyone... didn’t liked to be bothered. Just... liked to sit by the water and watch the fish swim by.”
Littlefire tugged at his hair thoughtfully, visibly calmed by Pike’s soothing tone.
“But there was also a little wildcat who liked to come and drink from the same pool. And this wildcat was full of mischief. He was the sort of cat who’d go around plucking the feathers off birds and nipping at the toes of bagfrogs. Oh, he wasn’t a bad cat. Just... a little too wicked for his own good. And he liked to tease all the animals who lived around the pool. He’d laugh at the parrots and chase the ducks. And he loved to tease that little turtle. He’d growl deep in his little furry chest and snap his sharp little teeth at the turtle, and he’d cackle like a monkey everytime he scared that turtle back inside his shell.”
Littlefire started to pick loose threads off his pant cuffs.
“And that poor little turtle cried inside his shell, because he didn’t know what to do. And that wildcat didn’t know just how much hurt he caused, because he couldn’t see the turtle’s tears. And this went on... oh, for days and days. And one day that little turtle wondered ‘Maybe I should leave this pool... go somewhere else. Maybe it’s too much trouble to stay here.’”
He paused and waited for some response. Littlefire gave little indication he had heard him. But after a few minutes of patient waiting, the child asked, “What happened?”
“Well... that little turtle decided he loved his pool too much to let some mangy wildcat chase him away. He decided he had better do something. So the next time that wildcat came around the pool, the little turtle didn’t stick his head out. He stayed tight inside that shell. And he waited.
“The wildcat waited for the turtle to come out. And then he snuck a little closer. And he waited. And snuck even closer. And waited. But that little turtle just waited longer. Until finally that little wildcat stuck his nose right inside that turtle’s shell to see what was happening. And do you know what happened then?”
“What?”
“That little turtle bit the wildcat square on the nose. Snap!”
Littlefire looked shocked.
“And you can be sure that wildcat never tried to tease the turtle again.”
Littlefire nodded thoughtfully.
“You see?”
“No.”
“Well... you’re just like that turtle.”
“Don’t have a shell.”
“Sure you do. It’s the way you pull away from everyone. And Sust... he’s just doesn’t know any better. He thinks he’ll tease you out of your shell by snapping his teeth. You see?”
“So...” Littlefire said at length. “I should... bite Sust.”
Pike winced, struggling not the laugh. “No, Littlefire. You should tell him right to his face to stop bothering you.”
“Not like the story at all, then.”
Pike sighed affectionately. “No... I guess not, cub.”
Pike and Littlefire stayed by the pool, plucking grass together and collecting pebbles that were exactly the right shade of gray. When Pike finally coaxed Littlefire back to the Holt, a penitent Sust was waiting to apologize.
“I’m sorry, Littlefire,” he said, kneeling down to look the cub in the eyes. “I’m always forgetting – I’m just a fool Go-Back, you know. Other fawns really love that kind of play – I just forget you’re not like the others.”
Littlefire looked at Sust, then looked up at Pike for guidance.
“Go on,” Pike mouthed.
Littlefire blinked, looking at the ground as he tried to remember his words. “I’m a turtle. And you’re... a cat. And... stick your nose in my shell again... and I’ll bite it. Right?” he looked up at Pike again.
Pike smothered a smile behind his hand. “Something like that, cub.”
Littlefire looked back at Sust. “Don’t do it again.”
Sust too was struggling not to laugh. “I won’t,” he promised lamely. “I won’t.”
Littlefire nodded gravely, then walked away in his stumbling half-hopping gait.
“He sure is a funny little turtle,” Sust remarked, straightening.
“That is he,” Pike agreed. “But he’s our turtle.”
They watched as Littlefire climbed back onto a large root and resumed his inspection of several small white flowers.
“You pull that again and I’ll bite your nose off,” Pike warned his son.
Sust nodded. “I believe you.”
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts