Chương 8: Father Does Not Speak Baby

Bren caught Ren halfway to the door and looked delighted. That was the first failure. Ren had spent the morning crossing the main room by inches. The rug scratched his palms. His knees slid under him in untrustworthy jerks. Every breath came with effort because furious crawling apparently required advanced athletics, and his body preferred being carried like household bread. Door. Road. Bren. Tessa had whispered danger yesterday and had not laughed afterward. That one word lodged in Ren's chest.

She had a name for the warning his mouth could not carry, and she believed him enough to be afraid. But Tessa was six. Her fear could start a question. It could not bar a door, sharpen an axe, or make adults move before blood proved her right. Elna could see patterns now, but fear made her careful. Door, hatchet, window: she followed the sequence with her eyes. She worried. She watched. She did not yet know what danger meant. Bren was different.

A father could lift a table, swing an axe, bar a door, and stand between goblins and the cellar. Bren could protect them all! Ren reached the threshold, planted one hand down, and slapped it. Once. Bren looked down from the workbench where he was shaving a peg smooth. His face opened with pride.

"Look at you, little spark. Already thinking of going outside?" No! He was warning about the road! Ren lifted his hand toward the door. His arm shook. One finger extended. Then his shoulder tipped, and balance betrayed him. Bren crossed the room in two strides and scooped him up before Ren could fall face-first into strategic humiliation.

"You want to see outside?" Bren asked. Technically yes. Catastrophically no. The movement robbed him of the floor. His carefully chosen angle became Bren's sleeve, the smell of wood shavings, and a wide palm warm under his ribs. Baby transport had once again eaten the plan and smiled afterward. Bren carried him to the door and stepped into the backyard. Cool air touched Ren's cheeks. Sun caught wet grass near the chopping block. Water clung to the fence rails in clear beads.

Beyond the fence, the road curved toward the village green, then toward the forest lane.

"There," Bren said warmly.

"A walk with Papa." He praised him for wanting a walk while Ren tried to report mass murder. The difference nearly made him cry! Bren had excellent hands, a gentle voice, and the terrible confidence of a man solving the wrong problem. Ren pointed at the road again.

"Road," Bren said. Yes.

"Ro," Ren forced. Bren smiled.

"Good boy. Road." No. Danger. Goblins! Not a walk. Prepare for violence!

"Gob." Bren bounced him once.

"Hungry again?" …Betrayal had truly become a family skill. Ren slapped Bren's shoulder hard enough to sting his own palm. With the body of a baby and apparent Strength of two, it was still barely a tickle for an adult, much less a System-enhanced one. Bren's smile softened into concern.

"Tired?" Adults heard what already made sense to them! Ren would know, he made the same mistake in his old life. Probably more times than he could remember too– No, shoo, Memory! He wasn't trying to remember more. Still… After so many failures he was no longer despairing. He had time, it would be fine, it would be fine. It was just one more datapoint, and data could be used! …Ren just had to figure out the how.

Over the next four afternoons, Bren became Ren's project because Tessa had succeeded enough to prove the next problem. Ren needed the warning to move from Tessa to someone adults would follow. A child could name the danger. A father still had to believe it belonged in the room before the door broke. Bren returned from work each afternoon smelling of pine, mud, iron nails, and the creek.

He washed at the barrel, stretched his back, checked Elna's face, ruffled Tessa's hair, and lifted Ren whenever Ren reached for him. Ren watched the pattern. Reach brought arms. Point brought a glance. Sound brought a guess. Repetition sometimes made Bren pause, but it did not make him understand. So Ren switched gears. First target: road.

"Ro."

"Road," Bren said. Second target: axe. Ren stared at the wood axe by the chopping block and slapped Bren's chest.

"Axe?" Bren asked. Yes.

"Da," Ren said, because his mouth enjoyed sabotage. Bren chuckled.

"No, not for you." That Ren agreed with. It was not for him. It was for the raid day! Third target: fence. Fourth: forest. The forest changed Bren's face a little. His eyes tracked the tree line, then the road, then Ren's hand.

"Trees," Bren said. Ren hit his shoulder twice.

"Trees," Bren repeated, patient. No. Forest road. Goblins. Tracks. Fire!

"Gob." Bren leaned back and inspected him.

"Is that a new word or a complaint?" … Both. [Skill Level Increased: Expression Lv. 7 -> Lv. 8] The System once again rewarded failure with bright cruelty. Tessa stood near the back door with her wooden horse tucked under one arm. She watched Bren smile, watched Ren slap, and pressed her lips together until they almost disappeared. She knew the 'danger' word, but no details. And she did not know how to make Papa hear it either. Crawl drills came next.

If being carried changed the meaning, movement had to carry intent. Blanket to door. Door to yard. Yard blanket toward road fence. His palms toughened. His knees reddened. Stamina ran down fast, then returned faster after naps. Each push began with a target and ended with his body spread on the grass, cheek damp against earth, breath coming in hot little bursts. Bren watched with a smile from the chopping block.

"Determined little spark." Determined was close. He felt a little happy at the praise!

"Road again?" Bren asked on the second afternoon, when Ren turned from the cup, ignored the wooden horse, and crawled toward the gate leading out of their backyard. Ren slapped the ground. Bren walked over and blocked the gate with one boot.

"Not that determined." Gate. Road. Forest. Attackers. Ren pressed his forehead briefly to the grass. The grass was damp and smelled of soil, smoke from the kitchen, and the sour ghost of the cellar that lived only in his memory. His body wanted to cry from frustration. His adult mind wanted to scream at Bren until the man saw the well, the knives, the smoke, and Tessa's face in orange light. Neither option opened the gate. So Ren memorized the rule instead.

Forbidden places drew faster adult responses than strange sounds. Useful places required adults expecting play. … Kind of silly. Kind of obvious. And yet he was a baby now and every bit counted more! Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. On the next attempt, he did not crawl straight for the gate. He crawled toward the chopping block first, slapped it, looked at Bren, then turned toward the fence. Bren followed the first half.

"Block?" Ren slapped.

"Fence?" Slap. Bren crouched beside him.

"You want up?" No. Ren looked through the lower rails. Road mud. Cart rut. Chicken feather. Farther off, the lane marker leading toward the forest. He reached for the gap. Bren's hand caught him under the belly and lifted him away.

"No squeezing through fences either." … His father was too nice. Too responsible. Ren sighed. It just made him want to save his family harder. That night, Ren slept with his knees aching and woke before dawn when a branch dragged along the shutter. For half a breath, the scratches were back. Three. Pause. Two. Except this was one long scrape, wind-pushed and ordinary. His body did not care. Lungs locked. Hands clenched in the blanket. Smoke filled the safe room. Composure held him flat enough not to scream.

Discipline counted beams until the shutter became wood again instead of warning. One beam. Two. Three. Thumb knot. Charm. It worked, and it tired him out. He slept through the rest of the night.

The next afternoon, he tried moving quieter. The System had rewarded focus, discipline, listening, sleeping, appraisal, and even the ugly work of staying calm while death memory clawed at his throat. It noticed effort when the effort had shape. So maybe there was a skill for moving unseen too. Ren gave this his best effort. He lowered his hands instead of slapping them down. He paused when Bren turned his head. He waited when the grass brushed his blanket.

He swallowed sounds his body wanted to make and moved only when Bren's eyes shifted away. No message came. … Darn it. Ren tried again. If the System wanted practice, he would practice. If it wanted failure first, he could provide that too. He kept the grind on! Ren angled behind the chopping block, then around the water barrel. Bren lifted him by the back of his tunic.

"Where are you sneaking to?" To the scene of our future murder investigation!

"Ba," Ren said.

"Gate is not for babies." Ren hung in Bren's grip, feet kicking once in useless protest. [Skill Level Increased: Athletics Lv. 5 -> Lv. 6] …System had the worst timing.

By the third day, crawling improved from tragic dragging to deliberate lurching. [Strength +1] With that stat so low, the increase was very noticeable! When they went outside, Ren gripped the lower fence rung, hauled himself up, and held until he saw over the bottom gap. He noted the road mud, cart ruts, a chicken feather near the ditch, the lane marker, and the bend where the trees began to crowd the road. Then his arms trembled so hard his baby teeth clicked together. His grip failed.

The fall ended in Bren's palm. Bren had been hovering.

"There you are," Bren said.

"Getting strong, little spark! Soon you will be as strong as Papa." A happy giggle escaped him. His body betrayed him again! … It was hard to stay frustrated in the face of loving happiness at his own progress. But most importantly, he was improving! If slowly. Ren spent the rest of that afternoon in repetitions that no one else but another baby would have recognized as training. He crawled to the fence, pulled up, fell into Bren's hand, napped against Elna's shoulder, and woke with grass dried on one cheek.

He crawled toward the hatchet, got redirected, pointed at the road, lost the word halfway, and drank milk because the body had no respect for operational tempo. By sunset, his limbs felt packed with hot sand. His breath recovered faster than it had on the first day, but recovery was not comfort. It was only the body becoming better at enduring repeated insult. [Skill Unlocked: Body Conditioning] Ren stared at the message while lying face-down in the grass.

The System had decided repeated suffering deserved its own category. … And Ren would take anything that helps him progress faster. He kept at it. [Skill Level Increased: Body Conditioning Lv. 1 -> Lv. 2] He slept after that, because strategic improvement had collapsed into drooling on Elna's sleeve.

When Ren woke up, the world had edges again. His knees hurt. His arms hurt. Hunger gnawed at him, dull and mean, but it no longer swallowed every other signal. He could tell one ache from another. He could tell breathlessness from fear. And he could tell when the body was finished and when it was merely complaining. So he spent everything he had in him once more. The afternoons wore grooves into him. Fence, grass, Bren's hand. Hatchet, road, wrong guess. Milk, sleep, ceiling, review.

Again and again, until the shape of the work remained even when the details blurred. [Skill Level Increased: Athletics Lv. 6 -> Lv. 7] [Skill Level Increased: Body Conditioning Lv. 2 -> Lv. 3] The next time his arms trembled, his body did not fold with the first shake. His breath came back sooner. Hunger still ambushed him, but the crash waited longer before it took his legs. [Vitality +1] By dusk, his body had taken what it could from crawling and falling.

And when he could move no longer, Language training took over. Perfect timing too! Bren sat in the yard with him and carved pegs beside the fence. The yard had turned golden around them. Elna moved inside, her shadow passing the doorway whenever she crossed between stove and table. Tessa sat on the back step, pretending to repair the wooden horse's red string while listening to every word. Bren held Ren on one knee and pointed with the peg.

"Road."

"Ro."

"Tree."

"Te." The peg moved from the lane to the chopping block.

"Axe."

"Ah." Bren tapped the fence latch next.

"Gate."

"Gay." Bren laughed softly.

"Close enough." Ren bit down on the sound that wanted to follow. His father took it as a cue for more word games.

"Forest," Bren said, pointing toward the dark line beyond the houses. Ren fought the shape. Too many sounds sat in it. His mouth softened the edge and lost the middle.

"Fo."

"Forest," Bren said again. This time Bren looked toward the trees when he spoke, and Ren watched the glance stay there for a breath longer than the others. Ren tried again.

"Fo."

"Forest," Bren repeated.

"Fo!" [Skill Level Increased: Language Lv. 8 -> Lv. 9] The message came with saliva under Ren's tongue and smoke-memory behind his teeth. The sound still lacked half the word, but it had pulled Bren's eyes to the trees twice. That was worth keeping. Then Bren touched Ren's nose.

"Papa." Ren paused. Bren smiled.

"Come on. Say Papa." …Murder warning temporarily delayed by emotional sabotage!

"Pa," Ren said. Bren's face split in the happiest grin he saw his father make. Warmth struck Ren in the ribs. Old-life memory had words for father, grief, distance, and absence. This body had Bren's hand under his back, Bren's voice low in the yard, and Bren alive before death reached the house. Under it came the other memory: Bren in the doorway with mud and blood on him, axe in hand, hope entering the room for half a breath before door, window, and cellar all failed together. Discipline wavered. Ren held it.

"Pa," he said again. Then he looked at the road.

"Ro." Bren's smile softened into attention.

"Papa road?" Ren slapped Bren's chest once, the expectations rising within him–"Papa works on the road," Bren said slowly.

"Yes." –Right. Ren pointed at the forest line. Bren followed the gesture. The air cooled with evening. A crow called from the timber yard. Beyond the houses, a dog barked twice and stopped. Bren's arm tightened around him.

"You don't like the trees?" Ren slapped once. Bren frowned now. Tessa looked up from the step. Then Elna called from inside.

"Supper!" The moment broke, but it did not vanish. Bren kissed Ren's hair.

"No trees tonight, then." He had taken it as fear instead of warning, but he had taken it seriously enough to comfort him. That meant the shape could enter Bren's head. It only needed weight from more than one direction. [Skill Level Increased: Planning Lv. 2 -> Lv. 3] … He would take it. Bren accepted the pieces that fit inside his day. Baby wanted Papa. Baby named the road. Baby stared at the trees. Baby disliked the forest. Each piece stayed small by itself, but small pieces could stack. It's just that…

The warning needed more than one mouth. Tessa could carry danger, but danger without shape turned soft in adult hands. Elna could be made uneasy by patterns. Mara could make unease respectable. Nela could spread road talk without meaning to. Tovin could look at mud before the morning came. Bren might move if all of it reached him together. On the fourth day, Ren made one last direct attempt. Bren sat on the backyard stool mending the torn strap of a bucket. The axe leaned near the chopping block.

The road lay beyond the fence in a strip of brown, innocent mud. Tessa lingered near the wash barrel, silent and clearly listening too hard. Ren crawled to the axe. His knees hurt. His palms felt thick. Body Conditioning and Athletics kept him moving after ordinary exhaustion would have flattened him, but it did not make the movement graceful. He reached the haft, slapped it, looked at Bren, then turned toward the road.

"Axe," Bren said. Ren slapped.

"Road." Ren slapped again. Bren's eyes narrowed. Tessa's breath went quiet. Ren forced the word through every level Language had given him. Goblin. The first part scraped out.

"Gah." His tongue stuck. Breath spilled. Saliva gathered. He swallowed badly and tried again. Goblin.

"Gah-bin." Bren went still. For one breath, the yard held open. [Skill Level Increased: Language Lv. 9 -> Lv. 10] [Skill Milestone Reached - Initiate: Language Lv. 10] [Language Initiate Bonus: Improves sound formation, word retention, and intent-to-speech coordination. Does not bypass physical limits of the mouth, throat, or listener interpretation.] The word sat cleaner in Ren's mouth now. He could feel the path from intent to sound instead of losing it halfway through. And Bren had heard him!

Now came the harder part. Bren leaned forward and touched Ren's forehead.

"Is Nela teaching you nonsense words?" Ren stared at him. Bren smiled gently.

"I'll ask your mother." The word had landed, but it had landed in the wrong basket. Bren had heard a strange sound, remembered Nela's jokes, and put the problem somewhere harmless. …One baby step forward, two adult steps back. Tessa's face went pale with outrage.

"It's not nonsense!" Bren looked over.

"Tess." She clutched the wooden horse so tightly its red string dug into her fingers.

"It's danger." Bren's expression softened into care.

"What danger?" Tessa opened her mouth. Ren watched her gather what he had given her. Door. Window. Hatchet. Road. Trees. Gob. Danger. She had heard the pieces. She did not yet have the bridge between them.

"... I don't know," she whispered. Bren exhaled and held out a hand to her.

"Then we will not frighten ourselves with shadows." Tessa looked at Ren, hurt and angry and scared. She had tried to carry the warning, and now she knew where it broke. Ren slapped the axe once. Then the road. Then he looked at Tessa. Her mouth tightened. Bren watched them both now. [Skill Level Increased: Planning Lv. 3 -> Lv. 4] [Willpower +1] Each gain made his efforts a little better. He just yearned for the day when it would be enough.

Ren sat in the grass with dirt under his nails and massacre behind his teeth. Bren lifted him, practical and affectionate and still missing the shape.

"You are trying very hard, little spark" he said. Ren looked past Bren's shoulder to the road. Yes. And now he knew the next part. No more single-mouth warnings. He needed Tessa to speak, Elna to worry, Mara to confirm, Nela to spread the wrong piece in the right direction, Tovin to look at the road, and Bren to hear danger from more than a baby's mouth. He slapped Bren's shoulder once.

"Let's go, I'm sure you're hungry after all that." That was true too, but–! He pouted. Bren carried him inside.