Because you all want to see Cal being a good daddy.
Excerpts from The Ghosts of Blood and Innocence. I'll probably be adding to this as I come across it. Also, I'll just add the bits that have Cal in them.
(...) His father Calanthe took him everywhere with him, whenever it was possible. His hostling -well- that was another matter, but then Pellaz was always busy. "Don't worry," Cal said once. "I was just like that when I hosted Tyson. Maybe some of us are just cut out to be better fathers than hostlings. He'll be fine when you grow up."
Adults, of course, did not say such enlightening things to harlings, but Cal was different to all other adults Loki knew. He loved Cal so passionately, it sometimes made him hurt inside. He had nightmares about Cal disappearing, or flying away on a great bird, or being smothered by strange shadowy monsters. Loki would wake weeping from these dreams and run to his father's rooms. He could always climb into bed beside Cal and whisper his fears, and Cal would sling an arm around him and say, "No chance. I've had my lot of disappearing."
It was Cal who had given Loki his name, and also who told him what it meant. "Isn't that a... bad name?" Loki asked, polite but slightly alarmed.
"No," Cal replied. "It's a very strong name. I chose it on purpose. It comes from a country where the gods of the north live."
"Can we go there?"
Cal grinned. "I think one day we might, yes." (...)
--------
(...) He [Loki] was always extremely curteous, and the only thing he didn't like was disrespect -not that many other harlings would dare to show it to him. This rather prim attribute might have originated from Cal's influence, who often told him he should never "take shit" off anyhar (a delicious secret Loki never told a living soul, because the language was bad), or it might simply have been because it was in his blood, the particular corpuscles that had come from Pellaz, his hostling. Pellaz could wither hara with a glance, and on several occasions Loki had slunk from his hostling's presence feeling utterly wilted. He noticed very early in life that Pellaz rarely apologized, even when he was wrong about something, and Loki took this to be the way a son of the Tigron should also behave. Howeverm in his view, one should never do anything that requires an apology. Really, it was very simple. Thus it followed that by the age of nearly seven, Loki had never said the words "I'm sorry" and had had no cause to.
The early years of Loki's life had been full of adventures, of only the safest kind, but devoid of more significant events. He had traveled the otherlanes at only two years of age, held by his father on the front of his saddle. He had visited his relatives in Megalithica, and in Roselane, in Jaddayoth. In fact, one summer, he and Cal had spent three weeks in Jaddayoth. Cal had taken him to wonderful places, like the underground city of of Sahen, and the cliff city of Shappa where the narrow streets where nearly vertical. Like all privileged individuals, Loki grew up thinking life was grand, or perhaps he didn't even consider that. He simply took it all for granted.
-----
(...) Cal got up from his seat and went to Pell's side. He gripped Pell's shoulder. "Loki enjoyed himself. He was in his element. He'll make a fine hegemon one day."
Pellaz reached up to touch Cal's arm, then turned his head to kiss it. "You are very good to him. It's like he really is your son. That means a lot."
"He is my son," Cal said. He sat down again, this time on Pell's side of the desk. "I raised him."
"Doesn't his parentage ever bother you?" Pellaz asked.
"Why ask me this, after all these years? Isn't it obvious the answer is no?"
Pellaz nodded. "I know. I don't know why I asked that."
Cal leaned over to kiss Pell's forehead. "I do. Don't worry." (...)
-----
Suddenly, Darq's flesh prickled; he was being observed. He thought it must be Zu, or somehar from Nezreka, or even Lurlei, but when he opened his eyes, he saw a stranger standing among the shadows at the edge of the glade. It was a tall har, dressed in a gray traveling cloak, with the hood thrown back. His hair wasn't very long, which was unusual to Darq, but it was pale as moonlight.
Darq lowered his arms. The har was watching him with a faint expression of amusement. "Who are you?" Darq demanded.
The har came forward. He was one of the most beautiful creatures that Darq had ever seen, and most of that beauty, he realized in a moment, was beneath the skin. The har radiated an air of great experience and strength, and also of sensuality. He must be Gelaming, Darq thought.
"Do you know me?" the har asked him. "Look closer."
Darq approached this har. He could smell the stranger's personal scent, an intoxicating blend of freshly mown hay and warm animal fur. Darq stared into his eyes, unafraid. Yes, he did know this har, but he had no idea of how or when. Perhaps they had met only in dreams, because Darq was sure they had never encountered one another in reality. "I know you," he said, "but not. Tell me who you are."
"I am your father," said the har. He smiled. "One of them."
Darq took a step back. He was surprised at how shocked he felt. He could barely draw breath. Tomorrow had just stepped into today. Had he wished for this? "How did you find me?" he asked.
The har folded his arms. His posture was easy, as if he met lost sons every day. "Thiede communicated with me. I am Calanthe... Cal. And you are Darquiel, I'm told. You've no idea how glad I am to see you well. The circumstances of losing you were... traumatic."
"I don't know what to say to you," Darq said, which was the bare truth. He felt hot.
Cal gestured languidly with one arm. "Then say nothing. Or at least, let's just talk together generally, as if we were strangers meeting for the first time." He sat down on the plinth of the statue and gestured for Darq to sit beside him. "Tell me of Anakhai." Cal said, "for this is one place I've not really explored. Tell me of your childhood."
"I lived in Samway," Darq said. "West of here. That is where it began."
"I know of that place," Cal said. "Your father, Pellaz, went there once, although it was a long time ago. He's not spoken to Phade har Olopade since."
Darq sighed. "Phade was my guardian. We didn't always get on. I've always been different." He glanced at Cal. "I think you made me that way."
"Then tell me about it," Cal said.
Darq told his story, all of it that he could remember. Cal listened, his eyes half-hooded. He crossed his legs and clasped the upper knee, in exactly the same way Divozenky had earlier. He stared at the trees while Darquiel talked. On one level, Darq delivered an eloquent narrative, but on the other he felt dazed and disorientated. The pieces of his puzzle were all falling into place; so quickly now. This magnificent har beside him was one of the mysteries that had haunted his childhood. Cal had not come as a haughty Tigron, but simply as an ordinary har who had discovered the whereabouts of his lost harling. He did not hide his feelings; Darq could sense them. Some of Darq's story upset Cal, other parts surprised and delighted him. He did not interrupt or even ask questions. He simply listened, with full attention.
(...) His father Calanthe took him everywhere with him, whenever it was possible. His hostling -well- that was another matter, but then Pellaz was always busy. "Don't worry," Cal said once. "I was just like that when I hosted Tyson. Maybe some of us are just cut out to be better fathers than hostlings. He'll be fine when you grow up."
Adults, of course, did not say such enlightening things to harlings, but Cal was different to all other adults Loki knew. He loved Cal so passionately, it sometimes made him hurt inside. He had nightmares about Cal disappearing, or flying away on a great bird, or being smothered by strange shadowy monsters. Loki would wake weeping from these dreams and run to his father's rooms. He could always climb into bed beside Cal and whisper his fears, and Cal would sling an arm around him and say, "No chance. I've had my lot of disappearing."
It was Cal who had given Loki his name, and also who told him what it meant. "Isn't that a... bad name?" Loki asked, polite but slightly alarmed.
"No," Cal replied. "It's a very strong name. I chose it on purpose. It comes from a country where the gods of the north live."
"Can we go there?"
Cal grinned. "I think one day we might, yes." (...)
--------
(...) He [Loki] was always extremely curteous, and the only thing he didn't like was disrespect -not that many other harlings would dare to show it to him. This rather prim attribute might have originated from Cal's influence, who often told him he should never "take shit" off anyhar (a delicious secret Loki never told a living soul, because the language was bad), or it might simply have been because it was in his blood, the particular corpuscles that had come from Pellaz, his hostling. Pellaz could wither hara with a glance, and on several occasions Loki had slunk from his hostling's presence feeling utterly wilted. He noticed very early in life that Pellaz rarely apologized, even when he was wrong about something, and Loki took this to be the way a son of the Tigron should also behave. Howeverm in his view, one should never do anything that requires an apology. Really, it was very simple. Thus it followed that by the age of nearly seven, Loki had never said the words "I'm sorry" and had had no cause to.
The early years of Loki's life had been full of adventures, of only the safest kind, but devoid of more significant events. He had traveled the otherlanes at only two years of age, held by his father on the front of his saddle. He had visited his relatives in Megalithica, and in Roselane, in Jaddayoth. In fact, one summer, he and Cal had spent three weeks in Jaddayoth. Cal had taken him to wonderful places, like the underground city of of Sahen, and the cliff city of Shappa where the narrow streets where nearly vertical. Like all privileged individuals, Loki grew up thinking life was grand, or perhaps he didn't even consider that. He simply took it all for granted.
-----
(...) Cal got up from his seat and went to Pell's side. He gripped Pell's shoulder. "Loki enjoyed himself. He was in his element. He'll make a fine hegemon one day."
Pellaz reached up to touch Cal's arm, then turned his head to kiss it. "You are very good to him. It's like he really is your son. That means a lot."
"He is my son," Cal said. He sat down again, this time on Pell's side of the desk. "I raised him."
"Doesn't his parentage ever bother you?" Pellaz asked.
"Why ask me this, after all these years? Isn't it obvious the answer is no?"
Pellaz nodded. "I know. I don't know why I asked that."
Cal leaned over to kiss Pell's forehead. "I do. Don't worry." (...)
-----
Suddenly, Darq's flesh prickled; he was being observed. He thought it must be Zu, or somehar from Nezreka, or even Lurlei, but when he opened his eyes, he saw a stranger standing among the shadows at the edge of the glade. It was a tall har, dressed in a gray traveling cloak, with the hood thrown back. His hair wasn't very long, which was unusual to Darq, but it was pale as moonlight.
Darq lowered his arms. The har was watching him with a faint expression of amusement. "Who are you?" Darq demanded.
The har came forward. He was one of the most beautiful creatures that Darq had ever seen, and most of that beauty, he realized in a moment, was beneath the skin. The har radiated an air of great experience and strength, and also of sensuality. He must be Gelaming, Darq thought.
"Do you know me?" the har asked him. "Look closer."
Darq approached this har. He could smell the stranger's personal scent, an intoxicating blend of freshly mown hay and warm animal fur. Darq stared into his eyes, unafraid. Yes, he did know this har, but he had no idea of how or when. Perhaps they had met only in dreams, because Darq was sure they had never encountered one another in reality. "I know you," he said, "but not. Tell me who you are."
"I am your father," said the har. He smiled. "One of them."
Darq took a step back. He was surprised at how shocked he felt. He could barely draw breath. Tomorrow had just stepped into today. Had he wished for this? "How did you find me?" he asked.
The har folded his arms. His posture was easy, as if he met lost sons every day. "Thiede communicated with me. I am Calanthe... Cal. And you are Darquiel, I'm told. You've no idea how glad I am to see you well. The circumstances of losing you were... traumatic."
"I don't know what to say to you," Darq said, which was the bare truth. He felt hot.
Cal gestured languidly with one arm. "Then say nothing. Or at least, let's just talk together generally, as if we were strangers meeting for the first time." He sat down on the plinth of the statue and gestured for Darq to sit beside him. "Tell me of Anakhai." Cal said, "for this is one place I've not really explored. Tell me of your childhood."
"I lived in Samway," Darq said. "West of here. That is where it began."
"I know of that place," Cal said. "Your father, Pellaz, went there once, although it was a long time ago. He's not spoken to Phade har Olopade since."
Darq sighed. "Phade was my guardian. We didn't always get on. I've always been different." He glanced at Cal. "I think you made me that way."
"Then tell me about it," Cal said.
Darq told his story, all of it that he could remember. Cal listened, his eyes half-hooded. He crossed his legs and clasped the upper knee, in exactly the same way Divozenky had earlier. He stared at the trees while Darquiel talked. On one level, Darq delivered an eloquent narrative, but on the other he felt dazed and disorientated. The pieces of his puzzle were all falling into place; so quickly now. This magnificent har beside him was one of the mysteries that had haunted his childhood. Cal had not come as a haughty Tigron, but simply as an ordinary har who had discovered the whereabouts of his lost harling. He did not hide his feelings; Darq could sense them. Some of Darq's story upset Cal, other parts surprised and delighted him. He did not interrupt or even ask questions. He simply listened, with full attention.