Pathways - Jeri Taylor [220]
Her eyes flickered to Tuvok’s, who remained impassive, waiting for her to make her point. “It’s a pleasant fantasy,” she continued, “but no more than that—a fantasy. You cannot deny them their own struggle, Tuvok. They need their own life experiences, their own obstacles to overcome. You cannot lecture them into maturity.”
“But at their ages I was not so unruly—” He was cut off from the sentence as M’Fau rose abruptly and gestured to the boys. “The kitchen undoubtedly has some leftover honey cakes. Tell Cook that I want you to have some.”
Sek and Varith rose with more than obedience and hurried to the door. When they had exited, M’Fau turned back to Tuvok.
“I knew you at their ages, Tuvok, so don’t tell me what you were like. You were exactly as they are, and your mother was as concerned about you as you are about them.”
Tuvok was stunned. How could this be? He had never been unruly, or undisciplined, and he had always obeyed both his parents instantly and completely.
Hadn’t he?
“Had I remained on Vulcan,” he began, “I would have experienced no difficulty in my upbringing. It was my interaction with humans that provided a hindrance in my growth toward self-control.”
“You are possessed of an even greater proclivity to fantasy than I had realized,” said M’Fau, her voice granite. “But perhaps no greater than many parents who wish to believe they were paragons of good behavior when they were the ages of their children.” She moved to her table and removed one of the kal-toh sticks and replaced it, seemingly idly, but the construction shimmered and achieved its ordered state. “I will not absolve you of the responsibility of raising your children. You will have to struggle with it as does everyone else.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? I don’t think so, not yet. But eventually, you will.”
She nodded dismissal and he went to the kitchen, where he found his sons gulping hunks of fragrant honey cakes. “Would you like a piece, Father?” said Varith, his mouth still full of sticky crumbs. Tuvok almost remonstrated him for his manners, but rethought the matter and accepted a square of cake.
It was sweet on his tongue.
“What are you doing, Father?”
Tuvok turned to see the round face of his daughter Asil looking up at him. A chubby hand grabbed at his robe, clenching its plush purple folds possessively. Tuvok brushed away the thought that if it had been one of his sons who had done so, he would have chastised him. He readily acknowledged that he treated this fourth child somewhat differently from the others, but believed it was because of his experiences with the first three, rather than because of the child’s gender.
She was gazing imperturbably at him now, her eyes a near duplicate of her mother’s, almond-shaped, tilting slightly upward at the outer edges, ringed with lashes that were black and lacy. Her bones were delicate, almost elfin, and her neck was as long as a winter swan’s. She seemed to him far older than her four years.
“I am looking at the desert,” he replied.
“Is there something out there?”
“There are many things there, but not that we can see from here.”
“Have you ever seen those things?”
“No.”
“Would you like to?”
Tuvok drew three breaths and then sat down in the padded window seat and drew Asil into his lap. She had a disconcerting ability, for such a young child, to discern what he was contemplating. He had not felt her search his mind, but he had no other explanation for her insights.
“Yes, Asil, I would. For many years I have dreamed of making a pilgrimage into the desert, and of seeing Seleya, the sacred mountain.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
Tuvok hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much Asil could understand about familial obligation, nor did he want to burden her unfairly with the suspicion that children might prevent their parents from fulfilling long-cherished goals.
“There is a time for everything,” he replied simply.
Asil turned her small head away from him and gazed out upon