Michael Manning - The God-Stone War

Matt and Moira both began trying to explain at once, but it came out in a confusing rush. I interrupted, “Gram broke his arm. Let me fix this and we can sort out the rest afterward.”

Penelope had always been quick on her feet, and she took in the situation without batting an eye. Turning, she led the twins toward the doorway. “Let’s go to the kitchen while your father takes care of Gram. I think you’ve both seen enough.” Conall toddled after them.

As they left I could hear the children asking whether Gram might die, and I worried that he might have heard them. Sure enough, he began crying as soon as they were out of earshot. “It’s alright. You’re not going to die. I promise,” I said, stroking his hair.

“Please don’t take my arm,” he sobbed.

Oh hell! I thought. He’s been listening to Dorian’s battlefield stories. The pain hadn’t made him cry, but the fear of losing his arm had done the trick. “No, no, no… Gram, I don’t have to do that. It’s just a break and I can fix that very easily. No one is going to take your arm,” I said, trying to soothe him. “Let’s move over there, so we don’t get any more of this glass on you, and I’ll have your arm back in working order before you know it.” As I spoke, I eased my arms under the six year old and began to lift him. He was heavy for a boy his age. Heavier than Matthew despite a year’s difference between them. He’ll have his father’s build someday.

I put him down carefully on the divan. Thankfully, the nerve block still seemed to be doing the trick. If Gram felt anything from the jostling, he gave no indication of it. Reaching under his shirt I drew out the pendant he wore to protect his mind from magical influences. Over the past eight years, I had put considerable effort in to making sure that every man, woman, and child had one of the enchanted necklaces. They would enable them to continue fighting, or running, if they came into contact with the shiggreth. “I’m going to put you to sleep Gram, and when you wake up your arm will be all better.”

“You won’t tell my dad I cried will you?” he asked plaintively.

I gave him an odd look. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“My dad’s the bravest knight in the world. If he knew I was a crybaby…,” he let the words trail off and he looked as though he might start crying again.

“Gram Thornbear!” I exclaimed dismissively. “Do you think your father never cried?”

He shook his head negatively.

“Well, let me tell you something. Your father cried plenty when we were little, and even a few times after we were grown. Tears are part of life, and they don’t make any difference to a brave man. It’s what you do that’s important, whether you cry over it or not. Do you understand?”

Gram shook his head negatively before replying, “Dad never cries when he gets hurt. I’ve seen it.”

I took a deep breath. “That gets easier as you get older. When your dad was little, he did cry when he got hurt. Now that he’s older and tougher he just makes faces and cusses.” I twisted my face into a comical grimace and crossed my eyes.

Dorian’s son almost smiled but then his curiosity got the better of him, “He cried after he was grown?”

“Yes, but not over an injury,” I replied.

“Then why?”

I sighed and tried to compose my thoughts. Obviously Gram needed a full explanation. “Listen,” I said slowly, “People cry over two sorts of pain. Physical pain, like the kind you just experienced when you broke your arm, and pain inside, when you are sad… emotional pain. As men get older, they often learn not to cry over physical pain, but everyone cries when their heart hurts, especially good men.”

“Why ‘especially good men’?”

I hadn’t expected this to lead to a deep philosophical discussion, but Dorian’s son had always had a somber and serious nature. “Because they care,” I told him.

“But why did Dad cry… after he was grown?” Deep blue eyes bored into my own.

It wasn’t my place to talk of such things, but Dorian was as much my family as anyone could be, and so was his son. “You know who you’re named after, right?” I asked suddenly.

Gram nodded, “Grandfather.”

“Well, your grandfather was your father’s dad, and your dad loved him just as much as you love your dad. Do you understand?” The memory of Dorian’s father brought made my own eyes grow misty.

Dorian’s son nodded in understanding and a thoughtful look passed over his face.

“Good,” I said, “Now let me put you to sleep so I can fix that arm.”

A short while later I sought out Penny in our bedroom. She had calmed the children and set the twins the task of watching over Conall. I had left Gram sleeping after repairing his arm, and by a fortuitous stroke of luck, little Irene had fallen asleep after her feeding. My wife and I were completely alone for the first time in several days.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, and as Penny glanced in my direction, I noted her red rimmed eyes. That was rarely a good sign. Crossing the room, I set my hands on her shoulders and began to knead the muscles there, in an effort to relieve her tension. I waited for her to speak first. The years had taught me that a little patience was often much more productive than fishing for answers.

“Is Gram alright?” she asked.

I leaned forward and set my chin on her head, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair. “He’s fine,” I started, “It looked bad, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t fix easily.”

“Thank goodness. I don’t know what I would say to Rose if I had to explain that our son had broken his arm,” she replied.

I snorted, “Children, particularly boys, do lots of stupid things.”

“Some never grow out of it.” There was a bit of humor in her voice.

“What did Matthew do?”

Penelope took a deep breath. “Apparently they were playing hide and seek and Moira spotted him up on the fireplace mantle. When he refused to come down, your son decided to leap up and grab his leg. You saw the result. Of course, it wasn’t all Matthew’s fault… Gram should never have climbed up there.”

“It did seem like a bad idea,” I agreed with her.

She turned, frowning up at me. “Did seem?”

“He was up there when I came home.”

“And you left him there?” she said incredulously.

“The twins were excited to see me and I didn’t want to spoil their game.” Hide and seek was serious business after all.

“You left a six year old up there? Didn’t you think something might happen? What if it had been worse?” The intensity in Penny’s voice had gone up several notches. I began to suspect I had missed out on some important point.

I studied her carefully, watching her face and body language, while my mind raced to understand my mistake. Over the years, my skill at this crucial marital skill had increased dramatically, but today I came up blank. I returned to my old standby, rationalization, even though my instincts and past experience told me it was a mistake. “We can’t protect them from everything, and I don’t really think it was that dangerous. They’re in more danger climbing that scrawny holly tree outside than they are on a six foot mantle. It was a freak accident.”

Over the years Penelope had changed as well. In particular, her temper had softened; or rather she had learned to suppress it better. That wasn’t always a good thing though, for sometimes it meant that our problems got swept under the rug instead of being dealt with directly. Her mouth closed and she pressed her lips firmly together before opening again as she replied, with just a hint of sarcasm, “It must be nice to be able to put your fears in a box and examine them so plainly.”