The Stories We Tell

Hakon had brought down an empire, faced the gods of old, and lived for more years than he had any right to expect. He'd fought armies, shadow wolves, and some of the most fearsome warriors in all of recorded history. But it was his infant daughter who came closest to breaking him for good.

Her wails stirred him from a slumber that had just started, for the third time that night. He growled a curse. Beside him, Sera rolled over and brought her breast toward Cliona, who latched on as though she’d never eaten before. From how tired he felt, Hakon guessed it had been only a few hours since her last feeding.

Once, during the war, he and the band and run for nearly two straight days to circle around an approaching enemy. That had exhausted him less than this nightly barrage of feedings, even if it had been more physically demanding.

If the source of his discomfort had just been the wailing, it would have been a different story. If he could sleep in the middle of a bustling army camp, he should have been able to sleep through one crying child.

But it wasn’t just a crying child. It was his crying child, and that changed everything. All the armor he’d built around his heart over the decades disintegrated at her first sniffle. He’d fought against friends who were closer to him than blood, but he feared a single disapproving look from Cliona would have him turn his back without question on any of his most cherished beliefs.

Sometimes, he thought he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood.

It wasn’t just the crying and wailing that kept him up, though. It was the teho that twisted in his stomach whenever Cliona was upset.

Though it didn’t come as a surprise, it was still disappointing. Cliona was tehoin, and a strong one at that.

For the first years of Cliona’s life, her abilities mattered little. Her strength was unfocused, and only Hakon could tell she was tehoin. Of course, he told Sera, but the enormity of the revelation was buried under the hundreds of minor details they had to deal with as new parents. Food needed to be put on the table, clothes needed washing, and the house needed repairs.

Hakon thought about his daughter’s future and her abilities more than Sera did. It was no fault of his wife’s. By and large, Cliona seemed to be nothing more than a happy, normal baby. It was all too easy to forget the challenges that would someday face her. Challenges that Hakon had already faced.

Some days, he thought he’d do nearly anything if it meant she wouldn’t have to endure the same.

Sera, who had never had to face those particular challenges, didn’t understand.

And when there was so much else to do, it was all too easy to think the problem was one they had plenty of time to solve.

Cliona’s differences became more obvious after she turned four. One day, she fell down the stairs off their front porch and landed hard on her head. Hakon was only a few feet away, and his teho twisted as she fell, tying his stomach in knots. The incident was over before he could react.

She should have been cut, or at least bruised and dazed. But she simply shook her head, rubbed at it absently for a moment, then stood and went on her way. Hakon’s teho settled.

A few weeks later, Cliona threw a tantrum when Sera scolded her for making a mess in the kitchen. Hakon was outside. He heard the argument, but he and Sera tried not to interfere with the other’s parenting, so he went about weeding the garden.

That commitment only lasted until he felt a burst of teho from inside their house, followed a moment later by the splintering of wood. Hakon hurried in, only to interrupt a staring contest between Sera and Cliona. He held back a laugh as he saw his little girl standing in defiance of her mother.

Any humor he possessed disappeared when he saw the hole in the cabinet next to Cliona. It was on her left side, but he couldn’t see so much as a scratch on her hand.

His stomach knotted, but this time not because of the presence of teho.

Eventually, Sera and Cliona settled their argument, and Cliona went outside to play.

Hakon and Sera remained in the kitchen. Sera cleaned up the food while Hakon swept up the splinters of wood and took the cabinet door off its hinges. “She’s like you, you know,” Sera said.

“I don’t remember ever getting that angry about being yelled at.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. I mean she’s tehoin.”

“I’ve told you that since she was born.”

Sera put her hands on her hips and stared at him the same way she’d just stared at Cliona. “Stop, Hakon. You know what I mean. She’s a tehoin like you.”

“No one is a tehoin like me.”

Sera gestured to the broken cabinet. “The evidence is right there. No four-year-old can punch through wood like that. She didn’t even flinch in pain, and I know you noticed she didn’t even suffer a scratch.”

Hakon sighed and stood up. Suddenly, he felt every year of his long life deep in his bones. “I figured she might be tehoin. Never guessed she’d do what I do. Didn’t think it was possible.”

“And yet here we are.”

Hakon nodded. “I’ll start her training, then.”

They started the next day, but Hakon called it adventuring. They went out into the woods and he began the slow process of instruction that he hoped would one day allow her to control the teho in her body.

His instructors, all since long dead, would have laughed at his initial attempts, most of which resulted in her staring at him with a blank look. 

It wasn’t all his fault. Almost all tehoin manipulated teho outside their bodies. But after a few quick tests, they realized Cliona had no more ability to do so than Hakon.

Hakon didn’t know why his ability was so unique. Meshell had learned some of his techniques, but no one else had come close. But now here was his daughter, whose ability to manipulate teho within her body was as innate as his own. And he didn’t know how to instruct her, because no one had ever been able to instruct him.

At least they had fun, laughing as he tested her strength and her ability to focus her teho.

Both he and Sera had always considered Cliona a quick study. At four, she already knew a fair number of her letters, and thanks to Sera, could identify more plants than Hakon could. Her study under Hakon was only slowed thanks to Hakon’s inability to teach what had always come instinctively to him.

They squeezed their training sessions into their already full days, fitting them between chores and meals. Hakon looked forward to the moments alone with his daughter, sharing something about himself he never thought he’d be able to share.

Cliona, likewise, took great delight in their time together, mostly because her growing abilities allowed her to do more than she’d ever believed possible. They leaped from cliffs, stalked animals, and punched through trees.

It turned out that the less Hakon tried to teach Cliona, the faster she learned. He would demonstrate a technique, tell her how it felt in his body, and let her do the rest. Four times out of five, she figured it out on her own a few minutes later.

For a while, it was perfect.

They lived apart from the world, with only the thinnest connections between them and anything that could be considered civilization. Sera, a woman who preferred the company of trees and flowers to most humans, didn’t mind in the least. And Hakon had partaken in enough of civilization for multiple lifetimes.

Sometimes, though, it led Hakon to make mistakes. He forgot, at times, that there was a world out there beyond their home and their family.

He and Cliona were running through the woods, legs filled with teho. They danced between the trees with a grace that would make a deer jealous, and Cliona’s laughter rang out in the cloudless day. Her laughter was echoed in his heart, and he was reminded what it was like to be young again, with nothing but an empty day of possibility ahead of him.

She was six now, limbs long and strong, and Hakon wanted to push her. He pulled ahead in their race. “Think you can catch me before the waterfall?”

“Of course!”

Hakon took off without another word. It wasn’t as fast as he could run, but he wanted Cliona to fight for it, to dig deep and see how fast she could go. She was a natural competitor, who hated losing at anything if there was even a hint of contest. Her laughter faded as she fought to catch him.

After a quarter mile, he glanced back, pleased to see she was right behind him, looking for an opportunity to pull ahead. He put on more speed, but she matched his pace. He tore his eyes away, chest glowing as he thought of how strong she’d gotten in the last two years.

He heard the arrow a second too late to do anything about it. It cut through the air between him and Cliona, and missed her by less than a hand’s width.

Long-dormant instincts kicked in. Hakon grabbed Cliona and threw her on his back. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He found an old sturdy tree, and half-climbed, half-leaped up the trunk. Once he was maybe twenty feet in the air, he stopped.

Cliona crawled down nimbly from his back, balancing on the branch next to him. He gestured for her silence, and she nodded. She had to have seen the arrow, same as him, but he sensed no fear from her. If anything, she seemed curious.

A minute later, two hunters walked to where they'd been running. Hakon relaxed, having feared something much worse. They moved slowly and silently, and Hakon guessed they were a father and son. Hakon and Cliona watched them as they passed underneath. They were already hidden, and he had no desire to meet them now.

The older man whispered to the younger one. “You sure you saw something?”

“Swore it was a deer. It was moving fast. I only got a glimpse.”

In time, the hunters left, stymied. Hakon waited until he was sure they were long gone, then he and Cliona descended the tree.

There were questions on her face, but she didn’t know how to ask them. Hakon ran his hand through his hair, wondering where to begin. “There’s something I haven’t told you about being a tehoin,” he said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Never let anyone know you are one.”

That night, he and Sera lay curled together on the bed. Cliona snored away in the next room, unbothered by everything that had happened. Sera lay on her side, one leg draped over his, and she played with his hair. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I wasn’t careful enough.”

“The wilds are always dangerous.”

“They could have killed her.” The thought had haunted him all day, and it was a future too dreadful to contemplate. After all the horrors he had lived through, after all the evils he had done, that was one failure his mind refused to comprehend.

“Could they have?” Sera asked.

The question caused him to sputter. “What?”

“An arrow wouldn’t kill you, and the two of you were both filled with teho, right?”

Hakon hadn’t thought of that. “I haven’t tried anything like that with her. I don’t know.”

Sera’s eyebrow raised at that. “And if I hear you do, it’ll be me you’ll be running from. But she’s your daughter. She’s not as fragile as you think she is.”

Hakon broached the subject he’d been thinking about all day. “I think I should stop training her.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s little benefit to going further. I don’t want her to follow my path, and the world is only growing more hostile to tehoin. She knows enough to control her strength now, and if something else comes up as she grows, I can teach her a bit more, but I think she’ll be good enough. Our cabinets are safe.”

Sera sighed and rolled onto her back, away from him. The sudden departure opened a small pit in the center of Hakon. He wanted her back, even though she’d only moved a few inches away. “You’re going to have to tell her, eventually.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, you’re going to have to explain how she keeps getting older, and you stay the same age. I suspect she’ll notice that.” Sera paused as she sensed his attitude. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“I can’t lose her. And I fear that if she knows me, I’ll eventually lose her. Besides, there’s nothing to be gained by her knowing. She knows I’m tehoin, and that’s enough, at least for now.”

“You want to lie to her?”

Sera’s words were cold and sharp, as well they should be. Truth had always formed the bedrock of their unusual marriage, and they had expected it to be the same for Cliona. Hakon still hoped it would. Except for this. “I do.”

“It means that much to you?”

Hakon struggled to find the right words. “Things like this—happen more often to me than they should. Call it some sort of fate or balance, but my strength always brings trouble, eventually. If we hadn’t been running as fast as we were today, no one would have mistaken us for deer. I think it’s best.”

Sera didn’t answer for a long time, and Hakon let her have her space. Finally, she spoke. “I still think it’s best if you tell her, but I’ll respect your decision in this. You know best, and I believe you’ll choose well.”

He reached out, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

The question weighed on his mind for the next few days. Around him, life continued as it always did. Hakon wound down Cliona’s training, claiming she knew enough. Sera took the girl out on some longer foraging explorations, and Cliona’s young mind was quickly distracted.

Just as Hakon thought the issue could be decided later, it arose again from an unexpected corner.

It was getting toward evening, and the three of them were out on the porch. Cliona was trying to read to herself, struggling one word at a time through an enormous book of legends. Sera was writing notes to herself, and Hakon was somewhere between being awake and sleeping.

Suddenly, Cliona squealed in delight. “Dad, look, your name is in here!”

Hakon sat upright as though he’d been slapped. “What?”

“Look!” Cliona jumped onto his lap and pointed. And sure enough, there was his name. Hakon shot a glare at Sera, who had just bought the book a few weeks ago in the nearest town.

Sera shrugged. “Thought it was only stamfar myths. Sorry.”

“What does it say?” Cliona asked.

Hakon ran his eyes quickly down the page. “It says that a long time ago, there was an evil man named Hakon who destroyed the empire and then turned his back on the people.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

Cliona looked at him, then back at her book. Her quick mind was working, and Hakon feared what conclusion it would reach.

Her next question hit him so hard he lost his breath. “Is that you?”

Even though he’d been considering the question for days, this was still too soon. He wasn’t ready, and the silence that greeted her question sounded as though it stretched on forever.

She needed an answer. Beside them, Sera did, too.

Lying felt like an act of cowardice. But it was the only way he could think of to protect her. To keep what was most precious to him in the world safe.

“No, dear, it isn’t.”