Sharon Green - To Battle The Gods

“I make no claims,” said Mehrayn with more than a shade of diffidence, then did he force a partial return of his usual calm. “Merely do I state my love, for the fact that it is. Should you see this as the doing of less than a man, I will face even you in defense of it.”

“And I,” said Ceralt, as disturbed as Mehrayn, yet also as calm. “There is naught more precious to me than the wench of my heart, and I will face any man who attempts to say other than that.”

“Men in love are damned fools,” said S’Heernoh bluntly to the two, looking upon each of them in turn, his palms pressed to his knees. It came to me then to wonder for what reason he alone seemed able to move somewhat in the cross-legged seated position we all had been given, yet did his continuing words make the thought a fleeting one.

“Men in love are damned fools,” said he, “but that doesn’t mean they have to abuse the privilege. If you spent half the effort thinking things through that you put into challenging each other and everyone else in reach, you would have had this all straightened out long ago. You’ve both been avoiding the most pertinent questions involved here; I can understand why, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you continue avoiding them. Once they’re answered, you should see the truth as easily as I do.”

Both Belsayah and Sigurri seemed unsure as to what their response might be, yet were they given no time for a response. S’Heernoh shifted in place yet again, and this time no more than his glance touched me.

“Before we go any further, I think I’d better admit that a good part of the trouble you’ve had is my fault,” said he, the words an admission not easily brought forth, his gaze now avoiding those he addressed. “I’ve told you that I watched over my daughter, but there were times that was all I could do—watch. While she was being put through—things no father should allow to be done to his daughter. If I had been an ordinary man I wouldn’t have had to allow them, but because of who and what I am, my daughter had to pay a certain price. It made her stronger, I know, and also know it was necessary, but part of me doesn’t want to know those things. Part of me wants to apologize for something that can’t ever be excused—in the sort of lame way I’m doing right now—for letting her be hurt so badly that she’ll likely see reflections of that pain in every man she looks at for as long as she lives. Some day you may understand, I hope you do, but until then—”

The words of the male ended abruptly, falling into the silence of confusion which we others felt, then did he straighten himself where he sat and turned brisk once again.

“All right, enough of that,” said he, giving his gaze to the others again. “No need to go on about what caused the problem; what we need are some answers for it. Now, both of you want my daughter so badly you can’t bring yourselves to allow her to have her choice in the matter, isn’t that true?”

“Most certainly not,” said Mehrayn, his sudden stiffness a clear indication of insult. “The wench has been coaxed and invited any number of times to choose between Ceralt and myself, yet does she continue to refuse.”

“Even has she vowed that she shall speak no choice,” said Ceralt, somewhat less offended than the Sigurri. “Were we to accept such a dictum?”

“Perhaps not,” said S’Heernoh with a faint smile, continuing to look between them. “But I’d like you both to keep in mind what you just said, while we go on to the next point. When you discussed why she started that fight with Galiose, you both said you were willing to give her up so that she might live. Despite the words exchanged between you just a short while ago, do you still feel the same?”

“For her life, yes,” said Ceralt heavily, Mehrayn silently anod to show agreement with the words. “We neither of us would consider turning from her for a lesser reason, yet for her life—yes.”

“Good,” said S’Heernoh with a nod to match Mehrayn’s, his tone now encouraging. “You don’t want to give her up, but you will if that’s what’s needed to save her life. Now comes an even more important question: would you both refuse to give her up, if that was what was needed to save her life?”

“Your words hold no meaning,” protested Mehrayn, the bewildered look upon Ceralt saying the same. I, too, felt bewildered, yet was S’Heernoh amused.

“Let me put it another way,” said he, again with smoothness. “You said she refused to make a choice. If she makes one now, will you both abide by it?”

Again were the two males silent, this time as they looked upon one another with less full agreement than there had been, yet did they both at last nod their heads.

“Should the wench make a choice, we shall abide by it,” allowed Mehrayn for the both, no lightness to be heard in his tone. “It is certain Ceralt feels as I do, yet shall we abide by the decision for her sake.”

“Excellent,” said S’Heernoh, beaming upon the two as though he saw naught of their grimness. “In that case, as my daughter’s father, I’ll announce her decision for her.”

Perhaps the male believed there would again be silence at his pronouncement; was such the case, he surely felt unexpected disappointment. Both Mehrayn and Ceralt began shouting at once, outrage clearly in the fore, the clamor so great that the words I, myself, meant to speak were buried beneath it. S’Heernoh held up both hands for silence.

“You object?” he asked, looking from one to the other. “Hasn’t a father the right to make such a choice for his daughter?”

“When you have already allowed him to claim her in his village?” demanded Mehrayn in a growl, looking coldly upon S’Heernoh.

“When you have already given her to him in a cavern in the woods?” asked Ceralt in the chill, soft way he had.

“Then it seems I’ve already made a choice,” said S’Heernoh, continuing to divide his look between them. “One, I might add, my daughter agrees with. Do we have your agreement as well?”

Mehrayn looked upon S’Heernoh narrow-eyed, Ceralt stared in a manner which suggested S’Heernoh had lost his wits, and I silently watched them all, wondering upon what the gray-haired Walker this time attempted. His dark eyes strove to mask the usual amusement he showed with easy questioning, yet was the amusement still clearly there.

“Well?” said S’Heernoh after a brief time of waiting his tone indicating expected agreement. “Do you approve of my choice?”

“Perhaps my wits are not quite as swift as I had thought,” said Ceralt slowly, leaning somewhat back where he sat. “Although you claim to have chosen, I am able to see naught save that you have indicated . . .”

“The both of us!” said Mehrayn in great upset, also straightening where he sat. “You cannot mean . . . .”

“Why not?” pounced S’Heernoh gently yet implacably, while I merely stared. “My daughter has refused to choose between you because she cannot choose; it isn’t possible for her to turn her back on either one of you. You both said you would give her up if that would save her life, and I asked if you would refuse to give her up for the same reason. She would rather die than go on without the two of you. Will you let her die?”

The eyes of the two males came to me then, both silently demanding to know what truth had been in S’Heernoh’s words. Never would I have found it possible to say the thing of my own self, yet with it already spoken I could not deny it. Indeed did I desire them both, more than life itself, and naught of goddess-demand stood between us. No more than the views of the males themselves stood between us, a far greater barrier than any goddess-made.

“You can see just by looking at her that I’ve told you the truth,” said S’Heernoh, sobriety returned to his voice. “You can also see that she doesn’t expect you two to agree. She expects you to hold fast to your prejudices—and let her die.”