by Anya Josephs
“What?”
“Do you think I’m a good person? Kind? Compassionate? Caring? Even just nice?”
“Of course. You’re my best friend, I like you more than anyone.”
“But do you—” Sisi cuts herself off. “Never mind. You don’t understand.”
The word “obviously” hangs off the end of her sentence, unspoken but present. I hate when she treats me like this, like I’m a stupid baby who can’t keep up with her. She never used to do it when we were little, and even though I’ve been four years younger than her every day of my whole life, suddenly when she got her breasts in and her monthly bleeding started, it became a divide between us, like there are some things I can’t understand just because my parents didn’t have the courtesy to bring me to this Earth half a decade sooner. “Try me.”
“I want to be…I want to be someone worth admiring. Not just someone you like, because, darling cousin, as much as I love you, I feel I must tell you, that’s not a very high bar.”
I feel as though I ought to be insulted, although I’m not entirely sure why. “What does that mean?”
“Well, you just don’t know all that many people. I’m not sure you would know if I really were the kind of selfish, heinous monster who would…” Falling silent, she seems possessed by some feeling I don’t understand. Too upset to go on speaking, she covers her face with her hands. “Jena, what am I going to do?”
I’ve gotten what I asked for. She is talking to me, about this, whatever it is. But I still can’t really understand what she’s saying. Our life was so simple, so ordinary, so much the same every day, and now this letter has changed everything. It has changed Sisi, which is what really shakes me. My cousin, confident and brilliant Sisi, seems so torn now, asking questions I can’t answer nor understand. Nonetheless, I try my best to respond. “The right thing. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
She composes herself. “Thank you, Jena.” She leans over, kisses my forehead, and smiles a strange half-smile. “Thank you, little bird.”
I stick my tongue out. “Don’t call me that. I wish you’d call me Jeni, like everyone else.”
Her odd look turns into a grin. “I know, cousin. That’s why I do it.”
It’s nice to see her smile, so I don’t object, as much as I don’t like being called by my True Name. “I thought it was because you’re a true believer. You know, Old Ways, True Names, Blood Magic, the Will of the Goddess—”
“Shut up!” Sisi hisses. At first I think it’s just because she hates being teased, but then I see the expression on her face, all the more frightening for the shadow that is cast over her features.
Either she’s not in a mood to be joked with tonight, or she takes all this far more seriously than I would have suspected. Whichever it is, I decide it’s wise not to poke the angry ziz, as the old expression goes, and that the most prudent course of action is just to go to sleep, where no one can be annoyed by me. I turn over onto my side, away from Sisi. I hear her sigh, but she says nothing. Some time passes, and then she blows the candle out.
In the morning, my father tells me that we’re going to the City.
Chapter Four
It seems like those words should reshape my life the instant they are spoken by mere virtue of their existence, the way a witch is supposed to be able to speak the Old Tongue to change the Earth. However, we don’t set off at once, or even soon, after Sisi has made her decision to accept the Prince’s invitation. There are still weeks of planning and preparation ahead.
The Golden Soldiers leave the inn at last, off to bring Sisi’s answer to the Prince, and give us another fat purse of golden shekin to pay for the voyage. Aunt Mae and my father carefully portion them out, splitting out the smallest possible sum that can get us safely to the Capital and leaving the rest to restore the farm. I’m not sure exactly how much money it is—I’ve never seen a coin larger than a milar until this began—but I get the sense that it’s a small fortune. Certainly, we seem to have given up on this year’s harvest and the whole family have turned their attention and their working hours toward preparing for the journey to the City. A donkey is purchased, some repairs are made to the old apple cart, and Sisi and I are set to endless sewing as we try to turn our shabby wardrobes into something fit for the royal court.
Merri keeps us company on this task, her advanced pregnancy preventing her from taking on any other work around the farm. She’s good with her hands, though, and much better at sewing than I am, so we’re more than grateful for her help. She’s almost finished turning one of Sisi’s old dresses into something that fits me. I usually end up wearing Sisi’s hand-me-downs, as the other women in the family are slender like most Third Quarter folk. No amount of skill will ever make one of my aunts’ old dresses fit Sisi or me, and Merri has been comfortably wearing my clothes for the duration of her pregnancy, much to my embarrassment.
Sisi and I are much closer in proportions. Still, I am flat where Sisi has womanly curves, and the dress needs to be pinned around my chest and hips to make up the difference. She’s also a good half-foot taller than me, and no one wants me to show up to the City in a dress spattered with mud from trailing on the ground. Hemming the straight bottom of a dress takes less skill, so I can work on that while Merri cleverly tucks the garment’s bosom so I won’t be swimming in it.
And so, it is Merri and I who are alone in the kitchen one rainy afternoon while Sisi and Jorj are in town gathering supplies and everyone else is in the orchard, when Merri suddenly doubles over.
I drop to my knees next to her, barely noticing as the pins in the dress we were both working on jab into me. “Merri?”
“Ah. Goddess, have mercy,” she gasps, and her face is pale, her breathing strained and heavy.
I know what’s happening, of course. I was barely old enough to remember little Will being born, but I’ve been called to help with other Leasane women as they labor. Her pains mean that her baby is coming. I scream for Aunt Mae, for anyone.
Merri grabs my hand. Her fingers clasp painfully around mine. “Help me, Jeni.”
I don’t know what to do. I was too young to remember much of what happened when the boys were born, though I do remember trying to follow Kariana into the birthing chamber. I know Merri is going to have her baby, but not how to help her, how to protect her from any of the dangers that may be coming. I know they are many. I know women die while bearing children, and often, if they must do so without expert help. I know I am the wrong person to be with her, that she ought to have a witch, like Kariana, or at least a more experienced woman who has helped with other births, by her side.
But Merri is grabbing at me, her eyes wide, wild, and desperate, and the fact is that I am the only one here. So, I do what seems right, the only thing I can think to do—I try to soothe her.
“Why don’t you try to take a breath with me? Go on then. In, and out.” I count her through several long breaths, and her pain at first seems to be easing, until another sharp contraction ripples through her body and she screams again.
Goddess, where is everyone? They shouldn’t be out of earshot—the farm is hardly so large as to require them to be far away enough that they can’t even hear Merri shrieking at the top of her lungs. I can’t do this on my own. I need someone who actually knows what they’re doing to help Merri. Someone like Aunt Mae, or Aunt Sarie, who is Merri’s mother and would no doubt bring her comfort, or even Sisi, who at least has confidence to get her through this ordeal.
But the only person here is me.
“Um. I think you should…we should get you into your bedroom. See if you can lie down.”
Merri nods at me and takes my offered arm. She leans heavily on me as we make our way into the small room she and Jorj share. Despite her slight frame, it’s difficult to walk with her leaning on me. I manage, with difficulty, to get her settled onto the bed, and help her strip off her day dress so it won’t get ruined. She still has a chemise on underneath for a bit of privacy, though that mi
ght have to go too at some point. It’s hardly worth worrying about.
I shed my outer gown as well, lest it get dirty and ruin our hard work in tailoring it to fit. I have only the slightest idea of what childbirth actually entails, but I don’t think it’s the tidiest of activities.
“Thank you, Jeni,” Merri says, looking a bit clearer-headed. That lasts only a moment before another wave of pain overtakes her. Then she’s doubled over again, as though she’s going to be sick. I take her hand back in mine, letting her squeeze till my bones ache. It seems to give her some small measure of comfort, at least, and that may be all I can do for her.
I talk her through another set of deep breaths, and a few more agonizing contractions, before someone finally comes to see what’s going on. It’s Aunt Sarie, looking frazzled. “I heard screaming. What’s wrong?”
“I think Merri’s going to have her baby soon,” I reply, letting my own nerves show now. “I tried to get her in here, I don’t know if I did right…”
Aunt Sarie looks over both of us. I see her take a slow breath, trying to steady herself, as she looks at her daughter, gasping and sobbing on the bed. It’s a long moment before she finds the words, and she doesn’t have to say anything for me to read the truth plainly on her face.
Something is wrong with Merri. She shouldn’t be in so much pain, so quickly.
“You did well enough, Jeni. Now, I want you to run for your Aunt Mae, who I reckon is on her way back from doing washing by the stream, and then to the neighbors, for Lilane and Kari to come help.” She names the owner of the adjacent farm and her adult daughter. “We’re going to need more hands, I think, and Lilane is the closest we’ve got to a midwife since…”
She doesn’t have to remind me what we lost when we lost Kariana. Now more than ever, I am painfully aware of the fact that, without someone wise in such matters who can help guide mother and babe alike through the ordeal, birth and death are much too close together.
Obedient to her commands, and grateful that I need no longer be the one to decide happens next, I run off. I find Aunt Mae in the woods, trooping back home with a heavy basket of wet clothes, and gasp the basic details at her. She drops the laundry and takes off running as fast as she can.
It’s a good half a league’s travel to the next farm, so I need the better part of an hour to run it, even with desperation spurring me on, and I know I must be red-faced and scant of breath by the time I knock on Lilane’s door.
She answers at once. “Little Jeni? Whatever is the matter?”
“My cousin Merri is having her baby. Aunt Sarie sent me for help.” Though Aunt Sarie hadn’t said anything to confirm it, I saw her terror on her face, so I add, “I think something is wrong.”
Lilane spits on the ground. “Aye, sure enough something is wrong. Nothing can go right, not with the Goddess angry with the whole Quarter. With all the Earth, for all I know.”
I want to ask what she means, but I know there’s no time to indulge my curiosity, not when Merri’s life might be in danger.
“Well, I’ll do what I can, though I’m no Kariana—and neither is my daughter, for all she’s named for her.” She bellows for Kari, who comes running. “Saddle up the mule. We need to ride for Prinnsfarm, and fast. Jeni, you’ll walk back?”
“Aye. I don’t think I’ll be much good in the birthing chamber, and the mule’ll go a bit faster with only two on its back.”
Lilane lays a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good lass, Jeni. Your cousin is lucky to have you in her hour of need. Rest here if need be, have a cool drink of cider before you start back. My man Taric is out in the field, if you need anything. You look like you’ve run yourself half to death.”
With those words, she and Kari are off. I’m not inclined to rest, seeing as how there’s an emergency going on back home and I may be of some use there, but I recognize wisdom when I hear it. I help myself to a cup of cider from the clay jug over Lilane’s hearth and force myself to draw in a dozen deep, careful breaths, waiting for my racing heart to go back to normal, before I set off once again toward home.
I didn’t even notice the rain on my way here, such a panic was I in. Now I feel it, soaking through my dress and into the thin soles of my shoes as I trudge my way home. I half expect that I’ll have missed the excitement and be greeted with a red-faced new baby cousin as soon as I arrive. Another smaller part of me dreads that Merri will slip away from life before I return.
What did Lilane mean, though, about the Goddess being angry with the whole Quarter?
My father isn’t a particularly religiously inclined man, and the rest of the family tends to follow his lead. Sure, my aunts leave out little pahyat-shrines and so on, but since Kariana’s death, there’s been nothing to mark the great festivals for the change of seasons. We haven’t much time nor inclination, if I’m to be honest—we’re too busy trying to grow enough food to keep body and soul together.
If I were an all-powerful Goddess, might I not be angry if it seemed my children had forgotten about me? I imagine I wouldn’t like it too much. Then again, I wouldn’t think I’d feel the need to take it out on them. Especially not on an innocent babe who didn’t even ask to be born, nor her frightened mother.
These thoughts consume my half-hour walk home in the steady downpour. When I make it back, Jorj, my father, and Uncle Willem are all gathered in the main room of the farmhouse. Jorj is sitting at the table, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of a tankard of ale. My father is sitting across from him, looking grim, and Uncle Willem is pacing so intently I’m afraid he might wear holes in the floor.
“Jeni,” Jorj says, his voice hollow, “What’s amiss with my Merri? What’s happening in there?”
“The girl knows no more than we do, son,” Uncle Willem points out. “She’s just returned from fetching help and looks half-chilled to her own death. Dry out by the fire a moment,” he suggests to me.
I shake my head. “I’ll go see how Merri and the rest are getting along, if it’s all right with you.”
“Bring word back out to us men if there’s time,” Uncle Willem says, just a note of pleading in his voice. It would be forbidden, of course, for any of the men to set so much as one toe in the same room as a laboring woman. The Goddess intended such things to be the work of her daughters only.
I knock on Merri’s bedroom door. “It’s Jeni. Can I come in?”
“Aye.”
The scene inside the bedroom is nothing like the relatively peaceful one I’d left. Merri is lying flat on her back, her knees in the air and her legs spread wide. Her shift is hiked up around her waist, stained with sweat and, to my horror, no small amount of blood. Her mother and Lilane are on either side of her, each holding one of her hands. Sisi is back too, helping Kari use wet cloths to dab at Merri’s forehead. The whole room is a flurry of activity, with Aunt Mae barking commands and Merri’s rapid, rough breathing filling the air.
“Something is wrong,” Aunt Sarie is saying. “The babe should’ve come by now.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Merri says. “Jeni is back.” Then she leans her head against the pillow and, apparently, faints.
This is Aunt Mae’s cue to begin issuing orders anew. “Kari, Sisi, more cold water. We need to keep her going, and that means waking her up. Jeni, I don’t know what she’s talking about, but if you can bring her any comfort, you’d better do it.”
I don’t know what she means either, unless the fact that I was here when her labor began brings Merri some measure of peace since I’ve returned. Nonetheless, I do as my aunt has indicated and switch spots with Lilane, who settles between Merri’s spread legs. Whatever she does there must not be too comfortable, as it provokes a sharp cry from Merri, who is suddenly entirely awake.
“What’s the matter?” I ask her, and then feel immediately stupid. Clearly, the problem is that she’s trying to push a human baby out of her body.
“The pains stopped just after you left. The big ones, the cramps that help bea
r the child out. I’m trying to push anyway, but I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”
Neither do I, but it seems I can’t tell her that, not her wide eyes on me. “It’s going to be okay. We’re all here with you.”
It strikes me suddenly that this is not so different from what I remember of the dances Kariana used to lead us in at the turning of the seasons. True, things are not exactly celebratory now, but this—all the women of the household gathered together, working together, in the hopes of bringing new life to the Earth—this is familiar.
And with that, I remember the song that Kariana used to lead us all in, back in those days. Almost subconsciously, I begin to hum it, thinking that maybe a little music might bring Merri some comfort.
Lilane freezes and turns her head slowly toward me. “What are you doing, Jeni?”
“Just…it’s just a song I remember, from…” I fall silent, embarrassed.
“Don’t stop,” Merri says, or really, pleads. “I like it.”
“You would,” Lilane adds, matter-of-factly. “It’s a song for spring. Growth, and new beginnings—and birth, of course.”
“How do you know that song?” Aunt Mae asks, and I shrug.
“I just remember it, is all. Not the words or anything, but the tune.”
It seems to be enough. The other women start to hum too, as we go about our tasks. I stay by Merri’s side, holding her hand. She strains and cries out, but she smiles through her tears. “The—ah—the pain—”
It’s started again, as it should.
She struggles for hours more, but the fear in the room has started to ease. The child is taking its time about things, but it is surely coming. And, so, in the early hours of that morning, after a day and a night’s hard labor, it’s done. Lilane clips the cord and places the scrawny, squalling newborn in Merri’s arms.
Wan and worn, Merri looks up at me. “Look how beautiful she is.”