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(image created by the author using Daz3D Studio and Photoshop)
9 Eris ‘22
On Mothering the Troupe
I fell in love with Ryshard Baskara because I wanted to create life with him. I have never questioned this about myself. My instincts knew what they wanted in a mate, and I come from a line of highly pragmatic dwarves who don’t argue with their instincts, as a matter of survival.
My parents, on the other hand, argued, intensely, about thinning our dwarven bloodline with a short-lived and volatile race. They refused to believe our family should be matched with anyone more foreign than a hill dwarf. “Genasi live but a fraction of a dwarven span!” they warned. “Viv, you will watch your children die of old age before your hair has a single strand of silver.”
I put on my best persuasion game and told them that the gods allowed our blood to mix, thereby strengthening it. That I intended not to sacrifice my heritage, rather enrich it, giving my children quality of life over quantity. I spun whatever logical reasoning I could to cover for my infatuation. My parents were too many years removed from the spark of chemistry to understand where my head was at.
In hindsight, I wish I’d had the wisdom to argue against the heartache I’d feel in watching them die. I wish I’d said “I’m choosing to be a mother for their sake, not for my own.”
Their next protest targeted Ryshard’s career, or “lack thereof” in the performing arts. I didn’t have a retort because I honestly can’t blame them for that. Most artists can hardly feed themselves, let alone a family. Fortunately, I had a plan.
“Have you not shaped me into a master of carpentry?” I said. “These arms still swing the hammer, even as my belly grows. These hands work harder because they’re now working for two.”
“Three,” my mother corrected, referring to Ryshard. She wasn’t wrong.
Ryshard was technically out of work while we poured the foundation of our future home, and that was all part of the plan. The Oakensmith Playhouse was our dream and I needed his help, literally, to build it. I had enough money saved to get by, and my folks, against their better judgment, chipped in. They would even make weekend trips into the city to lend a hand. Ryshard hated every minute of their presence so I would often send him out to buy supplies. The last thing I needed was his temper torching the framework he’d just nailed together while my father lectured him about “real work.” It was a brutal time, more difficult than my rose-tinted blueprints had envisioned. But we made it through with minimal scars. My first child, Vix, my only daughter, was born merely days after the final nail was hammered in. It’s almost like I planned it that way.
Oh right, I did.
This was the first time in my life where everything felt perfect. My family name was now in the notable architecture journal of Allerton, our home city. Our grand opening even made the paper’s front page. Ryshard scrambled to perfect his first show in this new space, a two-person magic act, rich with music and comedy and dazzling costumes. I barely remember it, to be honest, too focused on my newborn. I do remember Ryshard’s glow when the good reviews spilled in and the admission sales netted a profit well beyond production costs. He was elated, and I was in love a second time. A love unique to new mothers.
Vix was small. Height was about the only trait she inherited from me. She had Ryshard’s carbon skin and his blazing hair, which ignited him with pride. Like so many men, he hoped for a strapping lad he could mold in his image, but upon seeing his reflection in a fiery potato, he put those biases on hold. We named her after Ryshard’s grandmother, who is still alive, likely still raising hell from her rocker. Vix was perfect in every way and nothing can ever compare to those first sleep deprived months when nothing else in the world mattered but the creature in my arms. I’d never seen Ryshard so tempered, even as the public demanded encores of his show, he always took time for his “little lava beetle”. We were truly happy.
Within a year I was pregnant again, which was all part of the plan. I wanted my children to be born close in age while the playhouse was still young enough to not require any major maintenance. It was important to me that my work not take away from my children’s early years.
Ryshard was keeping busy with his shows. I went into labor with Inigo during Ryshard’s opening night of a new act, which was a rough night for us. However, despite the misfires of his arrival, my first son was born healthy and vibrant. He was a luminous baby, with the bright orange skin from somewhere farther back in Ryshard’s line. My heart swelled again. The days that followed were just as blissful as Vix’s first days, only this time I had a curious toddler sharing my lap with her new brother. I expected Ryshard to be more excited about having a son, but the balance of being a successful showman and a father had begun wearing on him.
I became pregnant again, within a year as planned. Looking back, I wished I’d talked more with Ryshard before Geri was conceived, perhaps renegotiated our plan, made certain he was still alright with everything. But I could hardly attend to my own needs with a baby on each breast, let alone worry about my husband’s health. Ryshard’s shows continued to be a success and kept the money rolling in. At the time, I believed that was enough to keep him happy. I would come to learn it was the structure of our lives that unsettled him. I thrive on structure; he’s a free-thinking artist with a much shorter life span. I plan for the long game, see the strategy in prosperous routine. He comes from a people who burn out before they fade away.
My third child was born into chaos. As I gave birth to Geri, I recall cursing all genasi races for their long limbs. Thank the gods he did not get fiery hair because his size alone caused enough searing pain. Ryshard was juggling two toddlers whose favorite form of entertainment was bullying each other. He was stretched to his limit, yet he still found a moment to break away from the stress and wrap his arms around the strapping lad he’d always wanted.
Geri grew to be twice the size of Vix and Inigo at half their age. They quickly learned not to bully him. He was the apple of his father’s eye, and while it warmed me to see Ryshard glow with pride, my heart ached for the attention he diverted away from the other two. I did everything I could to make up for this imbalance but I couldn’t shield them from the obvious favoritism. Inigo felt it the worst.
Vix inherited her father’s easy stage presence. She practically learned to dance before learning to walk, and to sing before learning to talk. She was a mountain of enchantment wrapped in a petite frame. Geri had two very large left feet, so to speak, but a keen fascination with my work. I had to make him his own set of tools by the time he was coordinated enough to use them.
Inigo was split down the middle for everything. He could create on and off the stage. As he grew, I could tell he was going to be exactly the mid-size of a dwarf and genasi, a lovely broad build with his father’s long arms and my stout legs. He’s agile like a monkey, quick to react and adapt to the action around him. He’s also thoughtful like a raven, using his rare moments of stillness to process his experiences, as well as others’.
I witnessed his versatile gifts put to use every day. Ryshard did not. His praise was split between Vix for her stunning performances, and Geri for being crafty like me. Inigo received pats on the back. “They couldn’t have done it without your support, son.”
Vix was nearing the age of a young woman when I became pregnant again. This one was not planned. Ryshard assured me we could afford it, that the family acts continued to be a smash and we could rearrange as necessary to welcome a new baby. His breath smelled of ale as he said all this to me, so I wasn’t assured. Despite his success with the family act, Ryshard was still burdened by the structure of our lives and had unhealthy ways of coping. Genasi don’t have the constitution to weather years of the drink the way dwarves do. It affected his ability to perform. Vix and Inigo had mastered the art of covering for his mistakes.
I told Ryshard I didn’t want the baby out of fear for my health. I told him my body was done after delivering Geri and we would be taking a risk if the baby inherited too much genasi, be it size or fire, or gods forbid both. Ryshard believed me. It wasn’t entirely a lie, there was always a risk, but I’m a mountain dwarf. We’re tough as iron. Physically I could’ve handled it. Emotionally, I did not want to. Ryshard was sober for the early years of our three. We wouldn’t have that luxury for the fourth.
I turned to a trusted dwarf healer before my belly ever revealed the secret to my children. She ended my pregnancy safely, minimizing all possible physical risks. No one, however, can plan for the emotional wake of it. Even though I did everything right for my body’s health, there were still mornings I couldn’t get out of bed.
Ryshard rarely woke up next to me, having passed out in his favorite chair or at the pub. Inigo was the one to notice the change in me. He would bring me tea and fresh fruit on my most difficult mornings, so I eventually told him what happened. He was too young to truly understand my pain, but he was old enough to know I needed comfort and someone who would listen. We built a bond unique only to us and to this day, he has kept my secret.
The kids are grown now, old enough that all of their peers have gone off adventuring, left for college, or started their own families. My kids are still at home because of the nature of our work. I can tell they are getting restless and want to break away. I’m mentally preparing for the day we break up the act, literally, and Ryshard and I move on to our next dream. I don’t know what that dream is but it’ll be far less ambitious, less structured, and hopefully a means to healing. He’s still sick. The drink pushed him off of the stage and into the director’s chair where he regularly annoys the kids with his high standards and hypocrisy.
Our shows are still a success. Over the years they evolved from our family-centric circus tricks to full blown musicals with professionals hired from traveling troupes. Our sets have expanded from a simple matte painting to layered and animated structures, enhanced with pyrotechnics, most of which come directly from Geri’s imagination. His creativity with design has exceeded my own and I often wonder how the heck we’re going to build the sketches brings me.
Vix has mastered her song and dance to the point of taking a lead in every performance. She’s become a local celebrity! Geri, as I mentioned, is a master of set design. Inigo…remains on the fence. He still hasn’t chosen a focus and continues to support the rest of us with our specializations. We would be fractured without him and I appreciate everything he does, but I really wish he would commit. Otherwise he’ll spend the rest of his life in a supporting role and I know he wants more than that. He’s expressed an interesting in directing but I told him he’s still too young.
He’s got potential, of that I am certain. I just can’t, for the life of me, figure out what that is. How am I supposed to guide him if I’m blind to his intended path?
Perhaps I’m not the one meant to guide him. Which, as his mother, is a very difficult thing to put into writing.
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