Dalan gurgled and grabbed Orval’s ear, tugging on it.
Orval winced, trying to pull away. “Those little nails are sharp, Dalan.”
Dalan chortled.
“Have it your way,” Orval said. “Our goal is back here,” he headed into the stacks, where Amari’s touch had not yet quite reached. The familiar scent of old paper and dust filled his lungs.
Dalan sneezed.
“You know something?” Orval said softly. “I have my old picture books from when I was a babe. Maybe I should find them for you. You’d like the stories and colors, I am sure.”
Dalen reached for Orval’s mouth.
“Ah,” Orval pulled his head back. “Maybe we should wait until you are a little older. So you don’t rip the pages, eh?”
Dalan chuckled and shoved his fists in his mouth.
Orval knew he had at least one history of Uyole and certainly something on customs.
Ordinarily he could have spent hours on research, but they’d be back soon. He wanted to surprise Amari, impress her with his knowledge. “Yes, here,” he struggled to bend down while holding the child securely. Dalan grabbed his hair, tugging hard.
He had two, no, three books, but they were mostly history and records of treaties with Xy, fairly old. He rifled through them quickly, looking for anything on babes or wells.
Nothing.
Orval paused, thinking. Dalan patted his cheek.
“I’m sure,” he said to the boy. “Sure I have a reference…” Where had he read about Uyole…? He crammed the books in his hand back into the shelves. It had been a more general reference, and it was…he switched Dalan to the other shoulder. “Let’s try over here,” he murmured.
Dalan yawned and babbled.
A book on birth traditions around the Old Empire. Orval moved to a different shelf and had it in hand in a minute. Standing between the shelves, turning so Dalan couldn’t reach the other books, he flipped though the old, yellowed pages carefully.
Interesting. Bracelets carried meaning. Signifying the passage into adulthood, marriage contracts, wealth, status, and births. There. That was what he was looking for.
‘The Hearth Mother is honored with bracelets upon the birth of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. The first birth is celebrated with a bracelet of braided leather. If the Hearth Mother has birthed twins, beads of red jasper are intertwined. Upon the second birth—’
Dalan shrieked and yanked on his hair. “Hey,” Orval pulled his head back. “That hurts, young man.”
Dalan looked at him, and then crammed his fist into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed.
Bracelets are presented during the Walk to the Well, by the Hearth Father. If no Hearth Father has been chosen, the father of the child presents the bracelet.
Wait. Hearth Father? Orval frowned. What reference was that?
The Walk to the Well also signals the renewal of physical relations with the male of the Hearth Mother’s choosing.
Elements above. Orval felt heat rise in his face at the very idea. But Hearth Father…he paged forward, looking for—
Each Hearth Mother chooses the sires of her children, as she wills. But the requirements for a Hearth Father are stricter, according to custom. Preference is given to the warrior who triumphs in battle, who exceeds in swordsmanship and riding, who embodies the—
Orval’s gut rolled, with oh-so-well-remembered pain. He snapped the book shut.
Dalan protested softly, his face now firmly pressed against Orval’s neck.
Orval put the book back on the shelf. He had the information he needed and he didn’t want to read more, didn’t want to know more. Wasn’t that always the way of things?
He shifted Dalan gently and sighed. “Let’s get you to your basket, shall we?”
