by Lori Martin
Nice and fat, please, Lilli prayed. The next moment there was an inarticulate cry, followed by a loud splash. Someone stirred in the shelter, but she was already running past it, kicking her legs free of the double cloak wrapped around her. She caught herself on the embankment just before the spot where he had fallen in; a slick of ice had been responsible.
“Baili!” she screamed, not seeing him at first.
His head bobbed up, face red and dripping. He choked and thrashed out, and was dragged down again by his flooded clothes.
Lilli looked wildly around. A tree near her hung over the water. She grabbed a thick lower branch in her left hand and leaned out off-balance over the brook. Baili surfaced again, and she clutched at his hair and collar. She hauled him half out, her shoulder muscles screaming in protest. Her hand slipped on the bark and she almost crashed down, but caught herself. Baili was jolted face first into the embankment, still in the water up to his waist. His hands scrambled at the ground. Lilli still had a hold above his neck. She jerked again and landed him.
He was freezing to the touch. She picked him up bodily and ran for the shelter, skidding in the snow.
“What’s happened?” Dalleena demanded, but she could see it. Together they brought him to the fire. “Get more wood,” she ordered, and Lilli ran back out, to the pile Baili had just built up. Dalleena’s fingers worked in haste to strip off his soaking clothes. She grabbed one of Pillyn’s blankets from a corner to use as a towel and wrapped more warm blankets around him. Logs crashed onto the fire; Lilli was back. The flames leaped up.
Baili coughed and spluttered, water running out of his mouth. ‘You’re a mess,” Dalleena told him cheerfully, but she rubbed his hair vigorously. Lilli handed her a bit of cloth and she dabbed at his nose, wiping away the blood. He looked ready to cry, and trying not to.
“Anything numb? Can you feel your feet? Move them. Good. Kick your legs. Good. Arms, fingers? Can you wiggle them?”
“Yes, but they’re so cold,” he said, and coughed up more water.
“Did you go in with your mouth wide open?” Lilli asked, trying to tease him. They helped him sit up. He put his hands out to the fire.
“I guess I lost the fish,” he said mournfully.
“I’m sure he’s still running,“ Dalleena agreed. “Feel better now? Warmer?” Baili tried to imagine a fish with feet, running on the bottom of the brook. “Lilli, you’d better take off your boots and leggings. You’re wet yourself, to the knees.”
Lilli looked down in surprise at her feet, realizing she could no longer feel them. She sat on the ground and began to peel off the layers. “There’s no room to hang all these things to dry.”
Dalleena was also sitting. There was barely enough room in the shelter for Baili to stand. The rest of them continually crouched.
“We’ll do them a little at a time.”
Pillyn’s head appeared in the entrance. She had her bow, and something gray-white in one hand. The other held out Lilli’s forgotten cloak. “Who’s so warm she can leave her clothes lying in the snow?”
Lilli took it. Baili said with importance, “I fell in the brook! And it was so cold!”
Pillyn handed her bundle to Dalleena and knelt in quick concern by the boy. He embarked on a vigorous explanation, breaking off on occasion to cough up more water.
“Another rabbit!” Dalleena said. “Good for you! That’s two days in a row.”
“It’s small,” Pillyn said, not looking at it. She took off her boots to put them by the fire, listening to Baili.
Dalleena looked about for a knife. She had mangled the last one, not knowing how to clean it properly, and was determined to do better this time. As she neared the end of her pregnancy she was incapable of the more strenuous tasks, and insisted on doing whatever could be done inside the shelter. This included all the cooking and skinning of their catches, feeding the fire, keeping account of their provisions, and mending all their garments. They had brought just one basic outfit each, packing as many outer cloaks and blankets as possible. Lilli for one was tired of looking at the same robes; Pillyn said ruefully that she never could have believed she would ever wear the same one day in and day out, and without being able to bathe at that. “Wait until it’s warmer,” Dalleena said. “We’ll all be rank.” When she mended their torn cloaks they had to laugh; her stitches were fine and elegant, as if she still did needlepoint.
Lilli watched her as she attacked the rabbit. She was very bulky, close to her time. Lilli worried whenever Dalleena even stepped outside the shelter and tried to wade through the snow. As the days wore on she was giving up such attempts and sat doing her chores by the fire. Like all of them, she was continually cold and continually hungry. A fine state for a mother-to-be, Lilli thought. The familiar panic clawed at her. The shelter was a better place for a delivery than the snow bank outside, but that was the most that could be said of it.
Eventually the welcome smell of cooking filled the shelter. Dalleena stirred the pot with a long spoon. My stews are getting better, she thought with satisfaction, and then tried to smile at herself. She could not help reflecting on occasion just what the former relas of Lindahne had come to. It was astonishing and infuriating to find out how many basic things she did not know how to do. Far from being waited on, she took on as heavy a share of their burdens as possible. And one particular burden, even weightier than the rest: the burden of decision. She had no rank, she had no title, but she had a lifetime’s experience of command and responsibility. It never even occurred to any of them that she should not be a kind of leader and ruler still. Only inside herself did she sometimes quail, plagued by self-doubts that had never bothered her before in the security of the palace – but to outward appearances she was calm and confident. During the day, alone, she pored over their scrolls, making plans to cross the Valtah. She would stop sometimes and gaze into the fire, waiting. But Nialia never came to her. The goddess did not answer the mortal, it was always the reverse; but there was no call. She was abandoned. She thought in bitterness of Rendell, dying alone and in unimaginable pain.
In one thing she felt herself lucky: in the company she was keeping. The struggle for life and their complete dependence on one another had broken down all shyness and even Pillyn’s lingering resistance. They were becoming a tightly knit unit. As the lone boy among three women Baili still managed to be cheerful and was always willing to work. He lived as a child does, for the moment, without worry of the future. And Pillyn, now sixteen, seemed a different person – the person Rendell had described, not the sullen and moody girl they had found in Boessus’s house. Soon after the construction of the shelter, Pillyn had brought out a surprise: she had carefully packed some small, light items of drawing equipment. She had also packed two of her portraits. One was Boessus, the other her favorite of Rendell. The likeness was excellent. (“I’ll have to show you her work,” he had said.) Pillyn sketched all of them busy at their new tasks. When she ran out of paper, Dalleena spent five days learning to make dyes, so that she could paint pictures on the leather-skin walls.
Pillyn went out for more firewood, and returned with a drawn face. Dalleena took the pot from the fire and asked, “What’s the matter?”
Lilli handed out the bowls. Pillyn said, “There are carrion birds flying in the distance.” She looked in distaste at the stew, despite her ravenous hunger. “Over by the First and Second, I think, but it’s hard to tell from here.”
They dipped into their food. Dalleena said, “War. It’s the war. The birds are feeding on it.”
Pillyn nodded, feeling sick. “Bai, do you want my share?”
The boy’s head, deep in his bowl, came up quickly, but all he said was, “Shouldn’t you eat it?”
“Yes,” Dalleena put in. “Eat and don’t think about it.”
Pillyn forced in a spoonful. After a few minutes her hunger won over her nicer feelings, and she ate as greedily as the rest. They ate like hunting dogs, too fast and always intent. As usual, the meal was
over too soon.
“Is there enough for seconds, Dalleena?”
“No, but you and Baili can scrape the pot. Give Pillyn a drop more wine.” She meted out their supplies as carefully and fairly as she could. She did not take anything else herself – her original portion had been a little larger than theirs, because Lilli always insisted on it. The unborn child could not go without.
Pillyn took another sip. The wine flasks, heavy and ungainly, had still been carried along. Life was not possible without wine.
Afterward Baili hauled out the dinner pot and drew fresh water, so Dalleena could wash the plates. Pillyn worked on a painting she had begun a few days earlier, depicting Lilli in a glorious moment: when she had actually caught one of the lingees. Laughing, Lilli insisted the fish had been twice that size at least. Baili demanded a song from Dalleena and got it, while she combed out the knots in his tangled hair. When the stars rose they prepared to sleep. They kept early hours, to save their precious candles and because they were generally exhausted. Worn out from his misadventures, Baili rolled himself into his blankets and fell asleep immediately with the covers over his head. Pillyn stretched out beside him. On the other side of the fire was Dalleena, with Lilli curled up against her for warmth, and to be near if Dalleena needed her.
But before sleeping, they waited. Each night one of them would quote a passage or story from the Book of the Gods into the darkness, to bless them in their dreams. It was usually done by Lilli or Pillyn; Baili didn’t know much by heart. Dalleena always stayed silent. The goddess did not come. She had sinned inside herself, if not in her actions. Prayer came too hard.
Tonight Pillyn’s sleepy voice took its turn. Thinking of their endless work, and the new life they waited for, she began, “Though they were mortal, their lives were peaceful and happy, and ended without pain. Children came into the world without sorrow, and the sun was gold upon them –” Her memory faltered slightly. “... the lands were thick with them. All that they planted grew; all that they wished for was permitted them. Soon they ceased to honor the gods, saying that they themselves were more numerous, and able to provide their young with all things, refusing immortal help.” What came next?
With sudden horror she realized she had begun the tale of Sanlin, the daughter of Death. The taker of Rendell.
Lilli rustled deeper into her bedclothes. They were falling asleep, thinking she had finished. Pillyn let her breath out. She turned onto her side. As she drifted off she heard Dalleena’s murmur from the other side of the fire: “Who is born cannot be unborn.”
Dalleena fell into a dream.
Marlos-An stood in blackness. Behind it the First Hill rose to the sky, higher than a thousand mountains, higher than the heavens. The top could never be reached. The temple could not even be seen. But something in the far-off heights glowed.
Below it the palace glowed in response. It glimmered, sparkled, flashed into brilliance. She was alone in the courtyard. She could not move to the doors. As she watched, the walls suddenly leaped gold and red, the colors of burning, and curled into a glassy black of ash. The ground beneath her feet shook. The high gates behind her crashed open and fell. Marlos-An tottered; the marble cracked and tore away from itself; everything came down. Pieces of stone whistled by her head, but she could not scream. It was a black and hollow shell, full only of silence.
The glow from the unseen hilltop shone down, a beacon of light flying straight into the heart of the destruction. Something within the marble stirred and grew. She stretched out her arms. Come, come! Let me see you! The form rose, quivering, in the shape of a man, in the shape of a woman. Come to me!
She came to consciousness with a stifled cry. The pain shot through her again. She waited. Yes, it had to be. But no need to wake them yet. The next stabbed.
“Lilli?” she whispered. “Lilli?”
Her friend tossed over on to her back, her voice heavy. “What’s the matter?”
“It seems to be happening quickly,” Dalleena said. She took in a deep gulp of air as the next wave hit her.
Lilli sat up. “It’s time?”
“Yes.”
Lilli crept out of the bedclothes, trying to find a candle. The fire was dying down. She called to Pillyn.
“Don’t wake them.”
“Dalleena, do you think you’re just going to quietly deliver a baby by the flames of an old fire? Pillyn! Pillyn!” She shook her. From a deep sound sleep she sat straight up, wide-eyed and frightened.
“Get the fire built up again and light some candles,” Lilli ordered.
She arranged the bedclothes out on the ground for Dalleena, putting a bundle beneath her head and another under the small of her back. Dalleena took slow, heavy breaths, trying not to think of the pangs. The shelter was very cold, but sweat broke out on her forehead.
Snowflakes came down through the roof hole, hissing into the fire. Baili, awake now, stuck his head outside and reported the fall as heavy. Pillyn wrapped herself up and went out to clear the roof.
Dalleena managed a smile at the boy. He had lived all his life on an estate that kept horses, and knew the breeding habits of the cattle and sheep on his Hill. Her condition was no mystery to him, but she felt it was a shame that he was caught in the middle of it. There was nowhere to send him. He bundled himself up into a corner and was silent.
She found she had been wrong. For all of the pain’s intensity, it was not going quickly. Pillyn stayed at her side, wiping her forehead and following Lilli’s instructions. She urged a mouthful of wine down Dalleena’s throat, and tried to sound cheerful and brave.
Lilli was even more frightened, but hiding it better. None of her preparations had been of any help. She was as shocked and uncertain as a stranger would have been, walking in off guard. They waited.
The dawn came. Nothing had changed.
For Dalleena time was measured by the rise and fall of the flames beside her. Sometimes they were high. Sometimes low. The logs fell. Hands put on fresh wood. Red ran across bark, slicing it open. A shiver of light fell to the ground. Sometimes there were voices, pushing at her.
“Dalla, can you hear me? Please try –”
Later she heard howling outside. The cloth around her shook with it. Wind. Blowing wind.
“–if it collapses –” someone said, high-pitched.
It’s all right, she thought, dreaming. Another light will come. From the ashes.
Then the pain took her again, and she knew nothing else. The sounds that came to her were distorted, from a nightmare, incomprehensible. “She can’t take this,” and from far away the noise of a small boy crying, and trying to suppress it. Who could it be?
Screaming. The wind screaming. A voice screaming.
“Did I cry out?” her lips asked.
Someone said, ”Yes, dearest. But it doesn’t matter. Hold on to me. I’m with you.”
She did not know who it was. Darkness crawled out of the corners and shut off all sight, enveloping her. Another night. She was floating. Beyond feeling, unseeing, alone.
Agony. Intense, constant, killing. The walls were splitting open.
“What is it?” someone shouted. “Nialia, Nialia, what is it?”
She opened her eyes. It was daylight again. Her head was capable of moving. Her eyes focused. Pillyn and Lilli were bent over something, talking in low voices. Baili was not in sight. She put her hand to her stomach. It was over.
“Lilli?”
They turned quickly.
“How do you feel?” Pillyn asked.
Lilli kissed her. “How’s the proud mother?”
She closed her eyes in relief. After a time she asked, “Girl or boy?”
The two exchanged glances. “Dalla, it’s well, it’s both.”
She stared. For one instantaneous flash of horror she believed in the predictions, in the birth of a demon. But no. Lilli was smiling. She was bewildered.
“I don’t know how you did it,” Lilli said. “But you had two children. A girl and a boy.
The boy came first.”
“And they’re both beautiful,” Pillyn put in.
Dalleena struggled to a sitting position. Pillyn braced her back. “I don’t understand!”
“Look for yourself.”
Lilli handed her two bundles. She cradled one in each arm, staring down. Two tiny faces peeked out of the blankets. One was sleeping peacefully, its little fist curled up to its mouth. The other stared back, showing milky gray eyes.
“That’s the girl. She’s hardly slept at all, if you can believe it. The boy’s barely opened his eyes.”
“Lilli,” Dalleena protested, as if someone were telling her a particularly absurd kind of lie. “This isn’t possible.”
“No, it certainly isn’t,” she agreed cheerfully. “But they’re here all the same. You should have seen us when they arrived! But Pillyn and I have been talking about it. I keep thinking of that passage in the Book, about the Twain. You know, how the lesser animals have many births and the fish have hundreds, or thousands, or whatever it is. But mortal women have ‘the One.’ ”
“’For never do they carry more,’ ” Pillyn quoted.
“Until now. Until now only the goddess has done it. Two is the divine number.’ ”
“I’m not an immortal,” Dalleena said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Look at their shoulders.”
Pillyn helped her pull back the wraps. On the back of the boychild’s left shoulder, down where the curve of the miniature arm began, was a small round mark. It was blue, the shade of royalty, etched like a seal. An identical mark was on the girl-child’s right shoulder.
“The sign of their joining,” Dalleena said in wonder. Again it was like the Twain. “They’re not really mine at all, Lilli. They’re the Mother’s.”
She went on examining them. Tiny little hands, tiny curling fingers, tinier tender nails. Round pick ears. A spray of pure silk on each head. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
With hesitation Pillyn said, “Do you think it has anything to do with you being a Nialian and – and Rendell –”