by CJ Brightley
Hot anger tightened Larine’s throat. “Don’t you dare insult my husband. Shiar wouldn’t dream of hurting me.”
“I hope you’re right. But I’m scared you’re not.” Dabiel chewed on her lip. “Please, Larine, if he ever crosses the line, ask for help. From Master Tasha or Master Idan or any other wizard, if you can’t come to me. You know the Law doesn’t let us look for proof if you don’t ask.”
“Thank the Mother for that!” Larine shoved the bench back and stood up. “She made that Law to protect people. She knew wizards would pry into things that are none of their concern if she didn’t forbid it. Nobody has any right to spy on what goes on between Shiar and me, especially not you! You’ve always been jealous of him. Because right from the first he liked me better than you. And because I like him better than you.”
Dabiel scrambled to her feet. “Believe that if you want to. And if he told you to stay away from me, you don’t have to worry about him getting angry. Because as far as I’m concerned, our friendship is over.” She glared at Larine.
Larine glared back. “Good.” She turned her back and walked away.
She managed to maintain a dignified pace until she passed through the doors into the main Hall. As soon as they swung shut behind her she broke into a run. Even so, she barely made it outside to the midden before the nausea overcame her and she vomited until nothing was left to come up.
Master Jaina wiped Larine’s forehead with a cool, damp cloth. “You’re doing beautifully, dear. Not much longer now. A few more pushes like that and he’ll be out.”
Larine nodded, too tired to speak. As soon as Jaina finished her ministrations, Larine dropped her head onto her arms and closed her eyes, waiting for the next contraction to seize control of her body. Her knees hurt from kneeling so long. Maybe she should ask the midwife to help her move to a new position. But before she could, the pressure in her belly began to build, and she braced herself against the bed.
Pushing felt far better than the earlier contractions had. She released control of her body to the instinctive, overpowering urge. For long minutes it forced her muscles to strain, pressing the baby a few inches farther through the gap in her bones. Finally it relented, and she panted for breath.
Are you sure you’re all right? Flutter huddled on the bed by her head, preening stray strands of hair out of her face. Are you sure you don’t need me to use the Mother’s power to help you?
Master Jaina says it’s better if we don’t, as long as things are going well. The Mother made my body to do this. Larine tried to believe it. She’d observed normal births as part of her training, and assisted many women when midwives brought them to the Hall with various problems, but it was different doing it herself.
Flutter pressed his cheek against hers. I’m right here if you need me.
Deep gratitude for her familiar’s supportive presence carried her through the next contraction. Master Jaina sounded pleased. “He crowned that time. Shiar, do you want to see?”
His deep voice rumbled from across the room. “I’ll wait.”
Larine wished he was better at helping her, but it wasn’t in his nature. Earlier he’d walked one circuit of the corridors with her, letting her lean on him during contractions, but when they arrived back at their door he’d turned her over to Master Jaina and excused himself, claiming a need to visit the privy. Later he’d rubbed her lower back for a while, his strong hands easing her pain, but before long he’d pled hunger and escaped to the dining hall. Master Jaina was a constant solid support, her confident patience seemingly inexhaustible, but Larine wanted her husband.
She consoled herself with the thought of his joy when his son was placed in his arms. She’d been pleased when the Mother’s power had revealed the child’s sex. Larine didn’t care either way, but she was sure Shiar would relate better to a boy than a girl. Maybe their next child would be a daughter. It would be easier for him after he had some experience as a father.
Another contraction gripped her, long and hard. Something stretched, and something popped. Jaina’s voice was warm and calm. “His head’s out. Would you like to feel?”
Larine nodded and reached between her legs. Her fingers met a hard curve. She rubbed its rough wet texture, wondering amazement filling her, as bright and golden as the Mother’s power. “He’s got hair.”
“Lots of it,” Master Jaina confirmed. “Are you all right there, or do you want to move?”
The midwife had told Larine that kneeling was a good position for pushing. Other than her knees, she felt fine. She shook her head.
“Shiar, are you sure you don’t want to catch? This is your last chance to change your mind.”
Shiar’s reply was lost in the rush of Larine’s pulse as the contraction gathered. She put both hands on the bed and tucked her chin into her chest, pushing with all her strength, deep in the grip of her body’s relentless demand. An aching, burning stretch and a long slither, and suddenly it was over.
“Shiar, help her turn around.” Larine dropped her head onto the bed and waited the long seconds until his hands and arms eased her around to sit on the floor. Jaina pressed something heavy and warm and wet into her arms. “Your son.”
Larine gazed into wide dark eyes in a red-streaked face. She stared, wonderstruck. The baby blinked and stared back. When Jaina wiped his mouth with a cloth, he squirmed and protested with a loud cry, but when she withdrew he went back to earnest contemplation of his mother’s face.
Shiar reached one big finger to stroke their child’s cheek. “He’s so small.”
“Rather large for a newborn, actually,” Jaina said. Her skilled gaze studied the baby, then moved to rake Larine. “He’s breathing well, and his color is good. Take as long as you like to get acquainted.” She tucked a blanket around the two of them.
The next hour passed in a happy daze. Larine couldn’t get enough of looking at her son, touching him, smelling him. Shiar stayed at their side, displaying all the pleasure and pride Larine had hoped for. The baby turned his head, and waved his arms, and kicked his feet, each movement unbearably endearing. His head bobbed, his lips opening and closing, so Larine offered him her breast. He seized it eagerly, sucking with a single-minded vigor that made Shiar laugh. Larine winced at first, but the initial discomfort soon passed. Jaina assured her that meant he was latching well. Larine felt drunk on emotion and sensation, every sense heightened, every word and gesture imbued with profound significance.
Flutter hopped to her shoulder and peered at the child. A big, strong chick.
He is. Larine leaned her head against her familiar, sharing her joy and savoring his sturdy protective approval. You’ll help me take care of him and keep him safe, won’t you?
Of course. Flutter sent her an image of him with a worm in his beak, stuffing it into the child’s eagerly gaping mouth.
She laughed. Nothing had ever seemed so funny. Don’t you dare.
Flutter’s silent laughter joined hers. Shiar frowned at her, and Jaina looked puzzled, so she tried to explain the joke, but neither of them seemed terribly amused. Larine didn’t care. Everything was right with the world, and nothing could spoil her delight.
At length the midwife brought string to bind the cord and a knife to cut it. A few dark drops of blood splashed the blanket. The baby didn’t even notice, continuing to nurse without a pause. Eventually his eyes closed, his mouth went slack, and his body relaxed.
Master Jaina nodded at him. “Shiar, why don’t you take him for a while so Larine can get cleaned up.”
Larine swallowed and glanced at Shiar, but he climbed to his feet and reached for the baby eagerly. With odd reluctance she passed him to his father. Shiar gazed down at the baby, his posture awkward but his grip secure. He crossed the room and settled into a chair. Larine felt strangely bereft, as if miles yawned between them, not a mere few yards. The life she’d nurtured for the past nine months was now a separate being. Never again would they share quite the same closeness.
Jaina hel
ped her up and encouraged her to give a few more pushes until the afterbirth emerged. She massaged Larine’s belly until her womb was tight and hard, wiped her clean with a soft sponge, then tucked her into bed with cloths to catch the continuing flow of blood. She showed Larine the afterbirth, demonstrating how she checked to make sure it was complete, with no fragments left in Larine’s womb that might cause an infection. Then she bundled it with the soiled towels from the floor and cleaned up the few splatters of blood and fluid they hadn’t contained.
The midwife regarded the falcon snuggled against Larine’s side. “It’s up to you whether you want to speed your healing. I noticed a small tear you’ll probably want to take care of. It would heal on its own, but the Mother’s power can save you some discomfort. Other than that, as long as things proceed normally I’d advise you to let nature take its course. The Mother designed us the way we are for a reason. If you do speed things up, though, be careful to get sufficient rest. You’ll feel better, so it will be easy to overdo, but your body’s been through a major transformation and that takes time and rest and nourishment to recover from, the same way using her power does.”
“I understand.” She probably would have Flutter accelerate her recovery eventually, but for now she was content to relax and enjoy a few quiet days in bed. She looked anxiously at Shiar and their son. Jaina grinned and beckoned them over.
As Shiar settled the baby in her arms and she gathered him close, a knock sounded on the door. A muffled voice called, “Are you ready for visitors yet?”
“Yes, come in.” Larine was eager to show off her new son.
The door swung open and Master Tasha entered, Master Idan right behind her, their familiars at their feet. Larine’s master beamed at her. “Good work, journeyman.” Tasha seated herself on the edge of the bed and admired the baby. She and Idan had two grown children and several grandchildren. Larine planned to take full advantage of her experienced support and advice in the coming days.
Honk and Oak gave the baby cursory inspections before withdrawing. Master Idan stood with his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “It’s always good to have young ones around the Hall. He may not be Wizardkin, but we’ll welcome him as much as if he were.”
“Thank you.” Larine’s eyes filled and she blinked. “I promise I won’t let him distract me from my work.”
Tasha patted her hand. “The Mother has called you to this task, too. You’ll be a wizard your whole life, but he’ll only be tiny a little while. He’s your priority for now. Your work as a wizard can fit around his needs until he outgrows them.”
Master Idan nodded. “The guild has plenty of wizards to serve the people of Tevenar. Your son has the two of you.” He nodded to Larine and Shiar. At Flutter’s outraged screech, he grinned, inclined his head to the falcon, and amended his statement. “The three of you.”
All the wizards laughed. The familiars joined in with barks and squawks. Even Shiar smiled. Larine basked in the warmth of their love.
Jaina laughed, too, but when they quieted she made shooing motions. “Go on, now. Larine needs to rest. Shiar, you can bring some food up from the kitchen for her.”
Larine appreciated her efforts. She was ready for some quiet time snuggling with her son. And she was ravenous. “Bring plenty, Shiar, please.”
Everyone chuckled and moved toward the door. Master Idan paused on the threshold and frowned at her. “I invited Dabiel to come up with us, but she said you probably didn’t want to see her. Is there some problem between you that I can help with?”
Larine swallowed and glanced at Shiar. His face stayed carefully blank, but his eyes bored into hers.
She turned away. “No. We’re just not as close as we used to be. And I think I’ve had enough visitors for now. You can tell her about him, though.”
Master Idan’s expression remained clouded, but he nodded. “I will. And I’ll send a message to the Sailors’ Guild so they can add him to their rolls. Have you chosen a name yet?”
Shiar didn’t look at Larine for confirmation, but she didn’t mind. The name they’d discussed fit their son perfectly. She stroked the thick shock of hair that had dried into downy softness as Shiar answered the Guildmaster. “His name is Ozor. Ozor Sailorkin.”
7
Firstday, 27 Growing, 976, 6th hour
Larine pulled the hood of her wizard’s cloak around her face. Only a few fine drops of rain fell from the bands of grey clouds stretching from horizon to horizon, but they stung her cheeks like needles. The wizards and familiars walking from the Mother’s Hall to the docks leaned into the wind and trudged downhill.
Choppy waves filled the river. The handful of ships still moored at the three long piers rocked violently, slamming into the thick felt pads that cushioned the wood. Most of the fleet had fled upriver as far as their drafts would let them. The rest had sought the open water of the ocean, hoping to evade the storm or ride it out.
Larine squinted into the mist as they approached, trying to make out the ship at the seaward dock. Sailors swarmed its deck and rigging. When she recognized it, her heart plummeted. It was the big trader that made the regular run to Gemgeda, the one she’d sailed on every time she’d traveled to her hometown.
Shiar’s ship.
Of course Dabiel had chosen her former husband’s vessel. Shiar was widely acclaimed as the best captain in the Sailors’ Guild. He’d brought his ship safely through storms that could have sunk it dozens of times. Dabiel wouldn’t let their troubled personal history prevent her from choosing the ship and captain that would give their mission the greatest chance of success.
Hanion’s arms went around her shoulders. She leaned into his strength. It didn’t matter. She and Shiar had long since arrived at a carefully civil truce. They interacted only the minimum amount necessary to deal with their son, otherwise avoiding each other. This would be the same. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t even have to talk with him. She’d only be aboard his vessel for a few hours, after all.
If she went. Dabiel still hadn’t told any of them who she’d chosen. Sometime during the night, while Larine slept sandwiched between Hanion and Daisy, it had ceased to matter. If she was alive at sunset she would accept it as an unlooked-for gift. But she didn’t expect that to happen. This day was the entirety of her life, one way or the other, and she would live each moment accordingly.
A grim, silent crowd packed the streets around the docks. They knew. Larine could see it in their faces as they drew aside to let the wizards through. Word must have gotten out despite Dabiel’s admonishment. The people of Elathir had come to honor the ones who would make the ultimate sacrifice for their sakes.
Dabiel stopped at the beginning of the dock. Wizards and familiars gathered around her. The whole Hall had come. Buttons leaned against Dabiel’s leg, his black eyes surveying the crowd with wise, ancient grief.
Dabiel looked at them with almost the same expression. “Thank you,” she said simply. “Each one of you has listened to the Mother and done what she asked. I’ve never been more proud of my guild.” She lifted her head to look beyond them at the rest of the crowd. “Those who board this ship will buy our lives with their own. The approaching storm will destroy Elathir if they don’t push it away. The task will demand all their strength. All the life their bodies hold. I honor them for their courage.”
A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. Dabiel waited until it died away, then stepped forward. Larine tensed as she walked to one of the wizards, a woman a few years older than she, and laid her hands on her shoulders. The wizard took a deep breath and bowed her head. Dabiel embraced her fiercely, then stepped aside. The woman strode onto the dock, her chin high, her bobcat familiar pacing at her side.
One by one Dabiel went to each of the chosen wizards. They were all between forty and sixty years of age, master wizards who’d served the Mother faithfully for many years. Their familiars ranged from a tiny songbird to a massive ox. Each of them looked Dabiel in the eye for a long moment before signaling
their assent and returning her hug. Each of them walked past her to join the growing cluster on the dock.
Larine clung to Hanion’s hand. It crushed hers tighter with each wizard chosen. A number of times he flinched or drew in his breath. Larine couldn’t spare a glance for him. She kept her eyes fixed on Dabiel and counted, each number ringing in her head like a tolling bell. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…
Thirty. Larine’s stomach knotted and her heart thundered as Dabiel released the wizard, stepped back, and watched him pass. Then she turned, slowly and reluctantly but with the ponderous weight of inevitability, and walked to face Larine.
She couldn’t bear the anguish in Hanion’s strangled sound of protest, so she blocked it out. She met her friend’s warm brown eyes. Fear drained away and her racing heart slowed. Of course. This was how it had to be. She bowed her head in silent acceptance of her fate.
Dabiel’s arms went around her, crushingly tight. She spoke in Larine’s ear. “Exactly thirty-one people volunteered. I didn’t have to choose. But I couldn’t spare you.”
Larine returned her embrace, trying to communicate everything she felt with the pressure of her arms. “I understand.”
“I need you to lead them for me.” Dabiel pressed a folded piece of paper into Larine’s hand. “This explains what to do. Shiar knows where to take you.” She lowered her voice. “If anyone loses heart, help them find their courage. None of you can falter. The Mother asked for the bare minimum. If even one person doesn’t complete the sacrifice, it won’t be enough.”
“I understand,” Larine repeated.
“I know it’s a terrible thing to ask of you, but—someone has to be last. Will you wait, and make sure everyone else does what they must, before—” Dabiel shook her head against Larine’s shoulder, her whole body trembling.
“I will.” Larine refused to picture what that would mean. No matter how horrible, she could face it for Dabiel’s sake. “We won’t let you down. I promise.”