by J. J. Dean
The last puff of air leaves me in a thicker cloud, and suddenly... my vision goes white.
Chapter 21
Novia
I blink repeatedly until the blinding whiteness fades from my vision. I look around, and a frown etches itself onto my face. I'm not in my room anymore, no longer surrounded by the four Naturals I've grown to care for. The bed I'm sitting on, or was sitting on, isn't anywhere to be seen. Where the hell am I?
Around me is a large expanse of nothingness. There's not a thing anywhere around me, only a dark grey mist that eerily floats along the ground in slow crawling movements. Other than the ghostly mist, there's only a gaping void of emptiness.
"Hello?" I call out. My voice echoes ominously, fading slowly until only the sound of my footsteps ring out as I move further into the bleak abyss before me. I keep walking, the mist curling around my legs as I walk through it slowly while my body chills until goosebumps rise on my skin.
Walking further brings me nothing more than darkness and even more nothingness. There's no light, but I can see well enough. I can see the endless expanse of empty space that surrounds me.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" My voice bounces back to me, once again echoing until it fades entirely.
I'm not sure how long I walk, searching for someone or something to guide me through the black void. It seems I walk for hours, though I don't grow tired, which has me realising I don't really feel much of anything other than the slow thumps of my heart in my chest. My heart is going at a pace I know is far too slow for any living being to be able to survive, but it's the only thing that I recognise in this place. The fullness of my belly after the food Ezra cooked is gone, and the headache that was beginning to build from trying to understand that damn paragraph in the book has disappeared. Everything inside me, other than my heart, has grown numb. The only thing I can seem to feel at all is the cold air that's wafting the mist in a creepy dance that I want no part in.
I check my emotions and realise they've dulled somewhat too. All the negative feelings I'd had before my hand touched the book are evaporating until all that's left is an unnatural calm that seeps through my body. If I think on certain positive emotions, I feel a flare before it's dulled, and I'm back to being calm. It's a strange feeling, but I find myself unafraid as I walk further through the fog. In fact, it’s almost as though the misty substance begins to call to me, drawing me further and further into the nothingness that lays before me.
More time passes, and I'm no closer to figuring out why I'm here or how I got here. "Anyone here? Hello?"
Nothing.
This time, not even an echo.
I pause when I don't hear my voice talking back to me. A spike of fear flares to life before it evaporates. With a chilling calm, I watch the mist swirl around me until it draws nearer. My entire lower half is barely visible through the fog, but panic doesn't come to me. There's an odd acceptance tickling my brain, though I haven't the faintest idea what that could be.
That is until I'm sucked under the fog before I can take a breath.
The mist suddenly grows thicker, and thicker still, until it begins to press down on my body heavily. It feels like a living entity that's suddenly crushing me where I've been yanked under. My breaths turn shallow and ragged while I struggle uselessly against the fog. But why am I struggling? I should just accept this. I need to accept this.
I shake my head, and another spike of fear takes hold of me before it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. What am I even thinking? Why the hell would I accept this creepy fog crushing me until it feels like there's an anvil pushing down on my lungs?
Just as the thought enters my brain, a faint whisper of a voice seeps into my mind. I can't make out what the voice is saying through my struggles, but I know it's soft and soothing. The more I struggle against the mist, the louder the voice grows in my head, until I can finally make out the whispered words. "Novia, calm down. Calm down. You need to relax and stop struggling, honey. That's it. Don't fight it."
The fight slowly leaves me as the stranger speaks into my mind. The voice is feminine and comforting, holding the faintest familiarity that surprises me. Where have I heard that voice before? And how does it know my name?
"Just relax. I'll help you understand everything," the voice whispers, sending a flood of warmth to my chest.
My body relaxes completely, and the heavy weight of the mist morphs into something else. My lungs are no longer struggling to take a breath, but the air catches in my chest when I inhale just as the mist surrounds my face. Slowly, I feel a small amount of the mist filter through my ears into my body with a feather-like touch, and I involuntarily shiver at the sensation it causes.
In a matter of seconds, my vision becomes blurry, and my ears begin to ring with a high octave that has me cringing. What remains of the mist retreats from my form with slow movements that remind me of an octopus Dahlia and I once saw when she snuck me to the beach early one morning.
As my eyesight begins to focus again, and the ringing in my ears begin to dull, the mist moves around until it floats all in one place five feet in front of me. With clear eyesight, I watch as the mist grows thicker again until it's in the shape of a large rectangle. It would pass as a movie theatre screen if the edges weren't wafting around like tendrils of smoke.
I watch silently as the darkness grows impossibly darker and the something within the mist flickers. It's like a dim light that stutters before a faint picture begins to appear as though a vintage projector is beginning to play an old movie.
The woman's soft voice enters my head again as I stare at the makeshift screen and says, "Pay attention to all you see next, Novia."
My eyebrows draw down in confusion, but the woman's voice fades, and the next thing I know, the picture in the mist begins to move. In the picture, there's a woman with light blonde hair that resembles mine. She has deep green eyes, a warm smile, and a face that I recognise so strongly. Mainly because mine shares a lot of the same features: high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, pointed chin, and a small nose.
"Mom?" I breathlessly ask the nothingness. I get no response, not that I expected one. I stare into the mist while my eyes tear and my heart beats faster as I see my mother’s face for the first time in years. Happiness and grief overtake me, the once stifling calm disappearing the moment I recognise my mom’s face. The battle to withhold my tears was over before it began, wet tracks left behind on my cheeks after every drop falls.
I startle when static sounds in my head before sound filters in. The sound follows the screen, and I fall into whatever it is I'm supposed to be watching.
Mom walks hastily towards Dad with a rounded belly, smoothing her hand lovingly over the protruding bump. "Francis, she's moving! Come feel her little feet kicking."
Dad rushes towards her, almost knocking over the chair he's been sitting in. He kneels in front of Mom, places his large hands over her belly, and waits. The moment he feels the baby move, his face lights up. His eyes crinkle in the corner, and his smile is so wide his teeth flashes in the daylight that streams through the kitchen.
Mom is grinning down at Dad, a look of adoration of her face for the man she married and the baby she carries. "The little mite is restless today. She's been moving since I opened my eyes this morning, but this is the most she's wriggled around in there."
"Our little girl just wants to meet her mama, papa, and big sister. Not long now, love. She'll be with us before you know it." Dad leans closer to the belly that I realise is carrying an unborn me and drops a sweet kiss onto the place where my foot kicks.
With a smile so soft, Mom says, "Four weeks. Four long weeks until Dahlia has a baby sister to spoil."
"The time will go by quicker than you know it." Dad rises from the floor and pulls Mom into an embrace that I'd be embarrassed to witness had my life been different. "For now, we have four weeks to finish the nursery, think of a name for our little lady, and get you comfortable until the time comes to pop that little nugget ou
t."
Mom's head tips back with her laughter, her bump jiggling with the force of it. She's beautiful, glowing with her pregnancy and radiating happiness. "If this little one is going to be anything like Dahlia, I'll need all the relaxation I can get before she arrives. Do you know what I caught madam doing earlier? I found her sitting in our closet trying to plant flowers in our shoes. Said she was trying to make them look prettier."
Dad does his best not to outright laugh, but his lips twitch, and he's forced to bite down the smile that tries to break through. Mom shakes her head at him and lifts her hands to squeeze his cheeks together until his mouth puckers like a fish. She drops a kiss on his lips while they chuckle before letting him go. "I'm going to go rest for the remainder of Dahlia's nap. I'll be up and ready to help with dinner."
"I'll take care of it, love. Get all the rest you can."
With one last kiss, Mom shuffles her way to the bedroom, leaving my smiling dad in the kitchen, watching after her with the strongest love I've ever seen before.
Quietly, Mom shuts her bedroom door, probably trying to make sure she doesn't prematurely wake Li-li from her nap. With a groan, she drops to the bed and shimmies until she's laying back and surrounded by pillows. She sighs with contentment as she rubs a hand over her belly. "Not long now, my baby girl. In just four weeks you'll be in my arms to smother with kisses and love with every star in the sky."
As she drifts off to sleep, hugging her bump in a way only someone completely besotted could do, the mist changes, and a new scene appears.
Mom is crying, gripping her still-rounded belly with little me inside her womb. She's being wheeled into a hospital, my father pushing her carefully but quickly through the halls while fat tears drop from Mom’s chin. There's blood on Mom’s hands and the grey leggings she wore to sleep, bloodied handprints left on the once white shirt she clutches under her palms.
With sickening comprehension, I realise I'm witnessing my mother going into labour too early.
Nurses surround her, and she's rushed into a room, the door slamming shut while I stand just outside of it. My face reflects off the shine of the window in the door, and I'm not surprised to see the stricken look I wear. My eyes are red-rimmed, and my cheeks are hollow. Pale-faced and sickly looking, I back away from the door shaking my head.
With a whisper that sounds ethereal in this place, I say, "I don't want to see this. Please don't make me see my mom-"
A choked cry passes through my lips, and I shake my head harder, bending over until my face is parallel to the floor as I clutch my stomach tightly.
When I lift my head again, the entire scene has changed. No longer am I standing outside of the door, more like looking at it from the inside. I make to turn my head, but I find that I can't. My movements aren't my own any longer, my vision and hearing belonging to someone inside the hospital room. I'm nothing but a bystander to someone else's mind, forced to hear thoughts that aren't mine and feelings that don't belong to me. Quickly, I realise it's my mom.
Exhausted, I look at the door, feeling something that draws my attention there. Like a swift familiar tug that commands my attention. After hours of trying to get my baby girl to leave the home she's built for herself over the last eight months, I can do nothing but loll my head to the side to look at the door that stands between me and something that feels like a part of me.
A sharp pain pulls my attention away, and Francis squeezes my hand tighter when I cry out, muttering soothing notions in my ear while he tenderly brushes my sweat-coated hair away from my face. The nurses have told me I've been in labour for going on thirty-seven hours now, and there's still no sign of my little babe. She's stubborn, I'll give her that. But that's okay because I know she'll be worth it. My girls are worth everything.
My energy is waning, and exhaustion seeps into me, burrowing deep under my skin until it reaches my bones. Once the pain dulls down again, my head drops to the pillow behind me. I'm breathing heavily, and my eyelashes flutter as if to close. Sounds begin to merge together, the beeping of machines dulling to an irritating buzz. I can hear Francis' voice talking beside me, but I can't make out his words. I can make out the slight urgency to his tone, but nothing beyond that. I'm just so tired now.
My eyes close and snap open again when I feel the familiar tug. My head moves towards the door, and my hand shakily lifts towards my belly, taking the last of my energy with the movement. The strength in the familiarity grows, but exhaustion begins to drag me under, and my hand slips from my belly.
Sounds fade, my vision grows fainter and fainter, and everything around me begins to numb. Maybe sleeping for only a minute won't hurt. I'll just close my eyes for a minute to rest, and then I'll get back to pushing.
Just a minute...
One... small... minute...
As hour thirty-seven comes around, my eyes close, and everything falls away into darkness.
When I open my eyes next, I'm surrounded by a large expanse of emptiness. In the middle of that emptiness is a woman cloaked in a sleek robe. She wears the hood over her head, shadowing her eyes and nose. I see strands of glossy black hair that pool from underneath her hood but are only noticeable on the extremely pale column of her throat.
"Excuse me? Who are you? Where am I?" I ask, lifting my hands to rub over my belly, something I've grown to doing a lot of over the last few months. Only, when I do, my hands meet my flat stomach. Panic rises, and I rub at my belly, hoping I'm delusional from drugs and exhaustion, and that my baby is still where I knew she'd been before falling asleep.
"Calm, child. You are in the Midway, a space between the living and the dead. Here is where you will be given a choice, one that will hold grave consequences no matter what you decide, yet one path will hold a greater meaning than the other. Who I am does not matter, but your choice does. What you decide next will alter the course of the life you are currently hovering within reach of."
What? What is she talking about? "I don't understand what you mean. Where's my baby? What have you done with my baby girl?"
"I've done nothing with your child. She lays in your womb suspended between life and death while you make your decision. Time is not on our side, Camelle. I must ask of you something great, but a choice must be made," the woman tells me, stepping closer until she's just an arms reach away from where I stand gripping my shirt.
I shake my head, looking down at my flattened stomach. What is happening right now? I was giving birth to my second daughter, and now I'm here? How? How did I get from the hospital room to here? I look back up to the stranger before me. "What decision? I don't understand what's happening right now. How did I get here? What choice do I have to make?"
The stranger before me lifts her hand and drops her hood. I suck in a lungful of air and lift my hand to cover my parted mouth. What would be considered a truly stunning woman stands in front of me, skin paler than the moon, flawless and unblemished. Her features are perfectly symmetrical, only adding to her beauty. However, her eyes are what have me gasping with shock. Where there should be eyes is nothing. Complete emptiness, dark and eerie. I fear that if I spend too much time looking, they'll suck me into their endless depths, and I'll be lost to roam the darkness alone for all of eternity.
"I am the Keeper of Sacrifice. You're here because you have an important decision to make that will impact the future greatly, a decision that must be made. I must ask you to choose between two evils. I'm truly sorry, Camelle."
What? Why is she apologising? And why does she look so troubled? Even with her eyes empty, they hold a great deal of a sorrow I don't understand. I need to understand!
Frustrated, I roughly run a hand through my hair. I look around and see no way out, only darkness. Facing the Keeper, I say, "What's the question? Ask me."
The Keeper nods her head and steps closer, raising her hands to reveal two items. In her left is a chalice filled with a dark liquid that resembles blood. In her other hand sits a small crystal bowl with clear liquid. She balances them per
fectly in her palms as she holds them before me.
With a voice tinged with sadness, she asks her question. "Your life or your unborn daughter’s?"
A startled noise leaves my mouth, and I look at the stranger like she's crazy. A hysterical laugh escapes me, but the Keeper doesn't flinch away. She looks morose, yet those empty eyes hold my gaze. "What kind of question is that?"
"A vital question. Your decision holds the future of all Naturals in existence, Camelle. Should you choose your life, it will be exchanged for your unborn child’s. Chaos will ensue, and there will be no way to prevent it. Should you to sacrifice yourself and spare your daughter, a saviour will be born. Naturals will have hope of a future where they will not live in hiding or fear. You must choose now, Camelle. Time is running short. I'm deeply sorry."
My life or my baby girl's. A sacrifice for a saviour. I knew what I'd choose even before hearing the ramifications of each choice. "A saviour for what?"
"The extinction of Supernaturals."
"Are you saying my unborn baby will be the Natural to prevent such a thing?" I ask with disbelief. How can that be possible? She hasn't been born yet. How could she possibly be a saviour of anything?!
The Keeper nods her head a fraction and says, "She's our only hope for a future void of carnage. I've seen it, many times over. This world will burn to ashes without a saviour."
I don't know what makes me believe her, but I know in my heart that she's telling me the truth. My hand goes to my mouth again, and a muffled sob leaves my throat. My decision becomes an easy one, though it rests heavily on my heart. Sacrificing my life so my little girl may live is the only choice I have.
My daughter will live.
I will die.
My daughters will grow up without their mother beside them.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I wipe away the tears I'd shed without realising and stand tall before the Keeper of Sacrifice. She offers me a sad smile and extends her hands further towards me. "Your life or the life of your unborn child?"