Lady of the Star Wind

by Veronica Scott

  “Welcome to the Palace of Irilkon, my king and ruler of the Exalted Ones.” Haatrin walked toward them, toying with a musical instrument of some kind. She blinked, lush sable eye lashes sweeping to her cheeks. “You present a most unusual puzzle, Daughter of Queens. But we have watched, and it is now clear to us that this man is indeed your chosen and loyal consort, suitable for safeguarding the one who wields the Mirror of the Mother.”

  “I’d give my life for her,” Mark said.

  “In a sense, you did,” Haatrin answered. “Sacrificing all those years as a result of your love, yet fearlessly stepping up to repeat the sacrifice, even in what you thought of as a dream. We understand now much about both of you that was unknown to us. As to the mirror,” she said solemnly, “it sees above and below. It also remembers the totality of anything it has ever seen, Lady of the Star Wind, and can call upon those memories. But you must ask.”

  “Ask?” Sandy said.

  Haatrin laughed merrily and said no more, shaking her head.

  “Sometimes a thing may be granted.” The disembodied, booming voice came for the last time.

  A light shot from above, enveloping Sandy and spreading to Mark beside her. She felt as if she’d been hit by lightning, all the nerve endings in her body sparking and twitching uncontrollably. She fell to the sands, Mark falling across her as she shut her eyes against the burning glare.

  All the bones in his body ached. Mark forced his eyes to open, finding himself facedown on the bed, Sandy curled next to him, moaning. Woozy, off-balance, he sat up. Smoothing her tousled hair off her face, he said her name, alarmed at how pale she looked. Shaking her by the shoulders, he called her name more insistently.

  As if her eyelids had been glued shut, Sandy opened her eyes in slow motion. “We’re back here?” Struggling to sit, she stared wildly around the room in the predawn light.

  “So you—you had the same dream I did?” he asked, putting one arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “Haatrin, Throne—”

  “Giant snakes, black desert, yes, I was there with you. Where’s the mirror?”

  “Here.” Getting a cramp where the handle dug into his leg, he pulled it out from beneath him, disappointed to find that while the artifact was in one piece, it was coated in dust, the surface dull. “Guess we wanted this crazy idea to work so much we dreamed the whole thing.”

  As he handed it to Sandy, the dust floated away in motes on the air until the flat surface gleamed in the flickering light from the oil lamp on the table next to the bed.

  She studied it for a moment, turning the mirror over and over. “Haatrin said I had to ask the mirror, right?”

  “As best I recall. My memories are a bit jumbled. But how it works here in the real world—”

  “Her cryptic comment is all the guidance we’re going to get, I think. At least she was friendlier about it than old Babsuket. I wonder…” Sandy rubbed her forehead as she contemplated the mirror.

  “You wonder what?”

  “Maybe I have to ask the right goddess.”

  “Or the warrior,” he said, nudging her in the ribs.

  She gave him a smile. “As a last resort. I never paid any attention to the alignment before when I was trying to make the mirror work for me.”

  He gazed into the mirror, catching a brief glimpse of their faces, and then the surface clouded over again. “Now what?” he said. “Was all of it real? Any of it? Did we succeed?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do you feel any different?” he asked.

  “Not really.” She stretched. “Just sleepy. Not a restful night.”

  “It’s not dawn yet. We can get a few more hours of sleep,” he said, pulling her lower on the heaped pillows and drawing the sheets up. “I just hope we don’t dream again. Being on Throne again as an untried young man was an unsettling experience, one I hope never to repeat.”

  He drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened a short time later by pounding on the bedroom door. Groggy, he reached for his blaster and swung out of the bed, pausing for a moment as his feet crunched on a dusting of glittering black sand sprinkled on the floor. Hoping there weren’t going to be any more uncanny dreams in their future, he hastened to open the portal.

  A disheveled Rothan stood in the hall, accompanied by a servant with a torch. Two guards stood at attention behind them.

  Yawning, Mark set the safety on the weapon. “What’s wrong? Is Tia okay?”

  “Is she ill?” Sandy asked from behind Mark, leaning her chin on his shoulder as she circled his waist with one arm. “Should I get my medical bag?”

  “She’s gone into labor, and there’s been so much blood,” the king said. “The women are worried, and I would take it as a great personal favor if you would attend her, my lady.”

  “Of course. Let me get my robe and my bag.” Sandy raced across the room to shrug into a more concealing garment and grab her supplies.

  Mark joined her, hastily donning a shirt. He leaned close. “Isn’t this too soon? She’s hardly been showing at all – how many weeks along is she, do you think?”

  Sandy frowned. “Not all women gain huge amounts of weight, you know, especially those who have nausea the entire pregnancy. Based on what Tia told me about when she believes she conceived, this would be somewhat early for her to give birth, but that’s not necessarily an emergency. The bleeding could be worrisome, but let me see what the situation is.”

  “My mother felt we shouldn’t bother you,” Rothan said as the three of them hurried through the halls, the soldiers and servants trailing. “But she wasn’t there when you saved my life when we first met at the oasis. I know of your magic firsthand. If anything happens to Tia—or to my unborn child—”

  Sandy patted his shoulder. “Let’s don’t get too worked up yet. I’ll do my best, I promise, if I’m even needed.”

  Rothan squeezed her hand and stood aside to let her enter the birthing chambers. He took Mark by the elbow and said, “We wait outside at these moments, drink beer, and pray.”

  “Happy to keep you company.” Mark breathed a silent prayer to the Lords of Space to watch over Tia and her unborn child and set himself the task of trying to keep Rothan distracted from the worst of his thoughts. Not that he knew a thing about childbirth either, but he had confidence in Sandy.

  A full day and a night passed, and Tia continued to labor in the birthing pavilion. Dawn was coming again. Walking through the billowing curtains, Sandy stretched and inhaled the cool morning air before walking to where Mark sat half drowsing next to Rothan on the bench right outside the pavilion entrance.

  Tapping him on the shoulder, she said, “I need to talk to you. Now. In the garden.”

  He cleared the sleep from his eyes and staggered to his feet, peering past her. “Is the baby—?”

  Glancing at the throng of courtiers, guards, and servants hovering a few feet removed from the king, she shook her head. “We can’t talk in here.”

  She walked ahead of him to the edge of the gardens, checking left and right in the predawn gloom to be sure she and Mark were alone. Once they reached the small pond, Sandy paused, taking a deep breath, fighting tears, but she gave herself a mental shake. No time for sentiment if she was going to save Tia’s life.

  “The baby and Tia are both in danger of dying.” She stopped, struggling for control.

  Mark pulled her into his arms and held her shaking body. “I’m sorry, Sandy. I’m so sorry. What’s happening?”

  She drew back but kept her hands on his forearms, as if maintaining contact with him grounded her. “The labor isn’t progressing, and Tia’s losing strength. I’m thinking there was much more blood loss yesterday than what I was told when I got here. If only I’d—” She broke off again, tears of misery swimming her eyes.

  “You had no way of knowing her distress was so serious.”

  Sandy allowed herself to relax into the hug Mark offered for a moment, resting her head on his shoulder. The backrub he gave her felt heavenl
y, but she couldn’t stop the chorus of worries in her head.

  “What exactly is happening? What can you do to help? You’ve got medical skills that physicians on this planet haven’t even dreamed of.”

  Aware Mark sought to be reassuring, she hated to disillusion him. “The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck. I don’t think it was that way during the whole time she’s been in labor. It may have happened when we tried to shift him from the breech position last night. He can’t be born the normal way.”

  “How do you know? I didn’t think you brought any large scanners in your bag.”

  She gestured toward her belt. “I used the mirror, and I could see as clearly as if I did have a scanner. The cord is tight around his neck.”

  He frowned. “Used the mirror? How?”

  “I don’t know. I wished for a scanner, for a fetal monitor, for—oh, for a modern hospital! I was frustrated and helpless. The mirror started glowing, and when I took it out of the pouch, the reflection was clearly the baby in the womb. I only caught a glimpse, scarcely long enough to diagnose the problem.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I have to operate. If we were on Throne, I could deliver her baby in two to four minutes, depending on whether there were complications. Minimal risk to mother and child.” She sank onto the bench. “But we’re not on Throne.”

  “Can you perform the surgery here?” Mark gestured at the empty sands.

  “I know how to deliver a baby surgically. I’ve done it many times at home, where I specialized in obstetrics.” She tried to give him a smile, which she knew was halfhearted. “But I need help. You’re going to have to scrub in and assist me.” She wasn’t going to leave any room for argument. As a soldier, he should be able to handle the sight of blood.

  “But how will you do it? You don’t have what you need—how much did you bring in that medical kit of yours anyway?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Since I thought I was leaving Throne never to return, I packed a hell of a lot, including things I wouldn’t normally carry. Why do you think the damn satchel is so big and so heavy? I can dilute one of the drugs to create a mild anesthesia that won’t endanger the baby. I have a small traveling kit of laser scalpels, force clamps, cauterizers. I can do it, but I need at least one more pair of hands. We can get clean linens, boiling water…we’ll make the operating field as sterile as we can. Technical issues don’t concern me.”

  “What does?”

  “How these people will handle the idea of surgery. Do you think we can talk Rothan into giving permission? And fast?”

  Mark rubbed his chin, clearly considering her worries. “Maybe if we tell them it’s a form of magic and we make sure he sees as little as possible of the actual procedure. Nakhtiaar medicine includes crude surgery, I know. I’ve heard Djed and the other soldiers talk about amputations for battle injuries and the like. But medicine for them is all tied up in their superstitions.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never done anything like this, but I’ll try to help.”

  “I can tell you what to do. You’ve seen wounded men in the field, surely?”

  He held out his hands, palms up, as if baffled. “Of course, but I never learned anything beyond the basics of first aid. Officers don’t do battlefield medicine in the Sectors. The duty is left to the sergeants.”

  “Stay focused on the exact task I give you and listen to my voice. You’ll do fine. I’ve talked many a new intern through their first surgery, and you’re tougher than most of them were.”

  “All right.” Mark swallowed hard, but his voice rang with resolve. “We need to brief Rothan, and probably his mother as well, since the women are in charge of anything to do with giving birth. They both have to give permission.”

  “I agree.” Sandy was so impatient she could barely stand still. “Now.”

  She held out her hand. Mark folded his fingers over hers and walked across the garden and into the corridor leading to the birthing pavilion. Sandy drew strength from Mark’s touch, the idea that she and her man were a team, working together in this medical emergency. She’d no doubt about her ability to perform what would be a routine procedure on Throne, but it was going to be much more tricky here in the primitive conditions of Nakhtiaar.

  A small crowd of courtiers and priests hovered outside Tia’s room. Rothan and his mother stood off to the side, conferring, but broke off their conversation as Mark and Sandy arrived.

  “Tia and your son are going to die this morning unless I perform some of my own magic and save them.” Sandy launched right into the heart of the matter. No more pussyfooting around the issues, which she’d done for far too long the day before, she now realized. Despite the cold knot in her gut, Sandy refused to stand by and lose Tia.

  Rothan didn’t seem surprised by her blunt pronouncement, although his face was a study in grief. He looked as if he’d aged ten years overnight. “We were just talking about how hard this labor goes for her and how she’s losing strength.” Passing his hand over his eyes, he said, “I fear for her. I think her difficulties must be because the cursed Maiskhan priest laid hands on her when we were taken before Farahna. I should have had a purification ritual performed for her once we reached home, but I never thought about it. Nor did she. So much happened.”

  “And I was unaware,” Sharesi said, worrying the fringe of her blue-and-gold shawl. “We’d have performed the usual blessing at the Temple of Haatrin closer to the time the babe was due, but the Maiskhan curse brings the child disastrously early.”

  Impatient to initiate preparations for surgery, worried about her patient, Sandy opened her mouth to speak. Mark forestalled her with a subtle squeeze of her hand.

  “That’s what we believe as well,” he said, apparently accepting for now the superstitious explanation. “My lady has a solution, a ritual she can perform. But it must be done at once, and without a large audience in order to work.”

  Princess Sharesi looked her age this morning, frail and hesitant. Even her voice sounded weak to Sandy’s ears. “I fear there’s more to this ritual than you want to share with us.” She glanced at Rothan. “Yet what other choice is there? In all my years of experience, when a woman labors this long and hard with no result, the counters are cast and the loss of mother and child is recorded. We’ve nothing more we can do for her or for my grandchild except to pray, and I know the entire city is engaged in private and public supplication.”

  “I used the mirror,” Sandy said, hoping that might give her listeners some reassurance. “The cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck, and he’s in distress. I have to get him out soon if I’m going to save either of them.”

  Rothan looked to his mother, but she tucked the loose ends of her cloak into her waistband and said nothing further. Taking Sandy’s hand in his, the king said, “I give my permission for you to do this.” He raised his voice, and the nearby courtiers and servants straightened to receive his commands. “Let all here be witness to my decree. There shall be no blame if this attempt fails and mother and child perish. Their lives are in the hands of the gods now.”

  Princess Sharesi inclined her head. “As His Majesty wills it, so shall it be done. I’ll go clear the chamber of the midwives and the attendants.”

  “I need all clean linens on the bed and a fresh set to drape over Tia as well. Get me two pots of boiling water. I need Mark in there to assist.” She laid her hand on Rothan’s arm. Speaking for his ears alone, she said, “Let me prepare Tia, and then you can come and stand by her head, hold her hand. I think you should be there.”

  He raised his eyebrows, his expression one of confusion. “The husband isn’t in the room during birth, according to our custom.”

  “Well, he is where I come from.” Sandy was unyielding. “I think she’d want you there, don’t you?”

  He swallowed hard. “Your words carry force. Tia is a warrior in this battle, and I’ll be her shieldmate, stand by her side for whatever comfort I can provide.”

  “Good.” San
dy walked into the pavilion after the princess.

  In a moment, all the many women who’d been gathered inside were streaming out, carrying damp and bloody linens, bowls, and other items. Several of the women were crying, and Sandy stared after them for a moment, glad to clear grief and defeatism from the room. Positive attitude was important in emergencies, which this situation had become.

  “You can come in now,” Sandy said to Mark, lingering on the threshold.

  They both washed their hands in the hot water brought by the servants, using a cleansing solution from her supplies. She took Tia’s pulse and then listened to her heart, shaking her head as she did so. “Come on, come on, where are the things I asked for? She’s sinking fast. I wish I could give her some intravenous fluids, but there’s no more time.”

  Clean linens were brought, and Rothan held his semiconscious wife while Sandy, Mark, and Sharesi remade the bed with fresh bedding. Tia’s moans during each fresh contraction were heart-rending. “Lay her in the middle, right here.” Sandy indicated the spot to Rothan. “Mark, help me rig the sheet to cover her and obscure the operating field.” A bit clumsily, he followed her instructions, getting the desired arrangement in place a moment later.

  The king laid his wife on the bed gently. “What next?” he asked Sandy.

  “I want you to stand there, by her head, and hold her hand for me. I’m going to put her un—to sleep for a few moments.”