She
thought of Luko’s first kiss. Then she thought of Luko’s last kiss. It had not
occurred the last time she saw him, but the time just before, when he had not
been wholly decided that he must go. He had kissed her as if to inhale her, to
absorb her breath and bone into his own body. He had consumed her. She had
reveled in his ardor, giving all to his passion. The next time—the last time—he
had not touched her at all. Not once. He had been as cold and remote as alpine
rock, killing her with words she could barely recall though their meaning yet
cut deep enough to bleed.
I must go.
She
remembered that, just as she remembered his distant manner and the wrenching
pain in her breast. Had it come from him, or had it been her own? She knew he
had ached. She knew he had bled from the same words he used to bleed her. The
bond was so new, so raw, so powerful; that he had successfully shut her away
was a testament to his stubbornness if not to his will. But she had known.
If you go, I will die.
If I go, I will die.
He
had gone anyway, taking her soul and leaving her husk behind. Poppi had sent
her cousin with him, but he went alone in Marko’s company, locking thought and
feeling well away though he moved and spoke and breathed like a living being.
Analise knew this of him. Analise had pretended the same, but every day, she
had died a little more.
Until
she missed her bleeding. She missed twice before Mami scented a change and
asked her directly if she was with child. Poor Mami. She had neither judged her
daughter nor accused Luko, but had enfolded Ana in her arms and promised that
all would be well if she must wrest it into submission with her bare hands.
Tero
had offered to tell Poppi, but Ana had refused. She had defied her father’s
wish that she spurn Luko, so she must tell him herself of the outcome.
She
could not say that he had been angered by her news; not at first. Not with her.
With her, he had been crushed but tender, cradling her as if she might break in
too strong a grip—and in truth she might have done had he been anything other
than sympathetic. Later, she had overheard him condemning his own foolishness
to Mami, recounting numberless incidents where he should have intervened. Mami,
as guilty of promoting the bond as he was of not discouraging it, had said only
that they must think of their daughter and no more of Luko. “I must think of
Luko!” Poppi had raged. “That boy meant the world to Irfeu!”
“And
nothing to you?” Mami had retorted, vexed by her own misgiving.
Poppi
had cried aloud. “That boy, that boy—!” Unable to finish, he had fallen to a
fury unlike any Analise had ever witnessed, a fury of love and grief such as no
father had ever felt for another man’s son. But for Analise, he kept a
steadfast face and promised, like her mother, that all would be well.
The
girls who had once envied her first pitied her, then turned on her, then
abandoned her. Talk of sending her to Retahla had frightened her into betraying
herself to her father and brother. She had never been away from Irfeu, and
Retahla was home to Irfe’s elemental adversary; why in the Fire Lord’s name
should she be sent there?
“There
are no unwanted children in Retahla,” Poppi had said.
Analise
had covered her belly with her hands. “This is not an unwanted child!”
“You’d
be safe in Retahla, sister mine.”
“Am
I not safe in Irfeu, with you and Poppi to protect me?”
The
two had traded dubious looks. Analise rarely resented Tero’s exclusive
relationship with her father—since he was the elder and the only boy, it made
sense that he be privy to matters of which she was happily ignorant—but she had
resented it then, while her future was discussed as if she played no part in
it.
“Very
well, little wolf,” Poppi had said, slowly. “Will you then wed a man of my
choosing?”
Tero
had winced, knowing her better than her father did. She might have shown no
mercy, but in her heart she knew Poppi’s intention was sincere. This had not
stopped her from asking why he wished to be rid of her.
The
hurt in his face still haunted her months later, but she did not regret putting
the question. It had seemed that she was to be shuffled from public sight or
“honourably” wed; either way cleared her family’s path of her disgrace.
Predictably,
Poppi had dropped the matter rather than answer, but a cooling rift had split
father from daughter, leaving Mami and Tero to founder between them. Life had
resumed as if harsh words had not been exchanged—which they had, in fact,
not—with no further reference to Ana’s condition on her sire’s part. They had
conversed politely and occasionally laughed, but as her belly swelled, Poppi
had behaved as oblivious. Neither Mami nor Tero had taken sides or attempted to
explain one to the other. They had coped by playing along, offering comfort
only when happening upon someone in tears.
Then,
the miracle. Six months into her term, Analise had come upon Luko’s animal
guardian in the yard. The huge, muscular mountain cat had spied her before she
spied it. She had known not to run—and even had she not known, she had been too
petrified to move—and had instead stood frozen with fear, certain that she and
her babe were about to be slain. Only when the cat approached with sleek,
measured steps had she recognized the beast who had attended her bonding with
Luko. It had walked straight to her, looked up to catch her eye, and rubbed its
face over her belly. Again and again, harder and harder, purring as it pressed,
the big cat had claimed her babe on Luko’s behalf then walked away, leaving her
weak and shaking in the snow.
“What
does it mean?” Mami had mused.
“Ye
gods, it means the babe is a cat,” Tero had lamented, clapping a hand to his
brow.
Mami
had swatted him. “You say the babe responded?”
Analise
had nodded. “It rolled right toward the jaws.”
“
‘He’,” Poppi had said, sitting removed at the table. “Your babe is a boy,
little wolf.”
His
children had gaped at him. His wife had quirked at the mouth. “How do you do that?” she had demanded, annoyed.
He
had smiled, rather sadly. “It is my
gift.”
No
more had been said of it. A few nights later, Analise had dreamed of her son’s
eyes, green and angled as Luko’s were green and angled, and had heard his
voice. Mami and Tero had begun referring to the babe as “he” and “him” and
“Ana’s boy”, which delighted her though they took care not to speak so freely
in Poppi’s presence. Surely he and Mami talked, but Ana heard nothing from her
mother except assurance that, eventually, Poppi would relent.
As
winter had worn into spring, she began to wonder how many days made up an
eventually.
*
* *
Spring
was in the air, but winter was reluctant to retreat. Analise woke to the pearly
light that always signals snow. She and her boy had passed their first quiet
night in some weeks; usually the babe protested when she found a comfy pose,
but last night had been almost peaceful. She had dreamed of Luko, a happy
enough dream to have her wake on fond reminiscence rather than miserable
longing. “Your passion will be my death,”
she grumbled, rubbing the ache in her lower back.
“Then you’ll die happy,” he
retorted. He gave her sly eyes. “And screaming.”
Her
gleefully scandalized gasp had ruptured the dream. Luko vanished with the
night, the fire, and the indolent joy she felt in being sated. But her back
still ached. When she strained to sit up, a warm wet gush drenched the furs
beneath her. She froze, at first fearing that her bladder had burst. Then, the
dawning.
It
was time.
Tero
arrived ahead of the snow to find his sister huddled in the window bay.
Smelling fear, he immediately demanded to know what was wrong.
“Fetch
Mami,” Ana said.
Though
more attuned to his father’s business, he was no stranger to his mother’s. A
brief glance at the soaked sleeping furs put him directly on the alert. “When?”
“Not
long past. The pains have yet to start, but my back aches like I’ve been kicked.”
“Those
are pains, dimwit.”
“As
if you’d know, dolt. Fetch Mami, will you? She said she’d come straightaway.”
He
paused. Analise almost screamed at him, but his hand on her head calmed the
impulse. He said nothing. He simply stroked her head, smiling bravely though
his eyes held the echo of her trepidation. She gripped his wrist and changed
her plea.
“Don’t
leave me.”
“I
must—but I’ll be back with the best midwife in Irfeu. Hold him at bay until
then. I won’t be long.”
She
nodded, shivering within her cloak. Tero swiftly kissed her crown and headed
for the door, still carrying the basket he had brought containing her
breakfast. She waited until he was gone, then laid her cheek on her knees and
burst into tears.
*
* *
She
had loved him from the first inkling, knowing he was all she had left of his
father. She had talked to him, sung to him, stroked him and soothed him through
the darkest winter of her existence. She had cradled him and cooed at him
through the fleshy barrier, content to cherish the moment rather than dreaming
of the future, of the instant when her eyes would meet his and she would see
his sire in his diminutive features. She had not thought once that she would
have to birth him.
Her
stupidity amazed her now. She, the daughter of a midwife, apprentice to her
mother and attendant at a dozen births in the past year, had been so in love
with the babe in her womb that she forgot all about delivering him and what
that might entail.
Of
course she knew the way. She had witnessed it often enough, and Mami had taught
her all she had learned from Granmami Ida in the years before Ida’s death.
Analise was a diligent student and showed signs of surpassing her own mother in
midwifery skills—but she forgot everything she had learned when her own labour began.
“It’s
different when the babe is yours,” Mami said, pragmatically. She smiled and
squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I’ll remind you when you need reminding. How do
you feel?”
“Heavy,”
Ana replied. Everything felt as if it had dropped overnight, but the grinding
backache was the worst. A light snow was falling and a cutting wind had located
a crack in the windowsill. It whistled and moaned while Ana remained implacably
mute.
Mami
glanced through the window. “You came with the first snowfall of autumn,” she
recalled. “I wonder if this will be the last snowfall of spring.”
The last snowfall of spring. She had survived the first
winter without Luko. Now she must survive the first spring. A wrenching pain
dragged itself through her belly and she tensed, gasping.
“The
first?” Mami asked.
Ana
nodded. “The first so strong.”
She
suddenly wondered, as she had wondered daily in the weeks following Luko’s
departure, if she would live to see the next morning.
Mami
smiled, reading her face. “All is well, little wolf.”
“How
can it be, when my Luko is gone?”
Tears
filled her mother’s eyes so quickly that Analise was startled. “I was there
when Luko was born. So were you, though you were nestled in my womb at the
time. His mother went into the wood and birthed her babes in a grove. Rikka was
first. Luko came after. It was easier on him, being the second, but he screamed
from his first breath. Poor little boy.” Mami shook her head, shaking out the
memories before she told too many. Analise had heard the story of her own birth,
and of Tero’s, but never of Luko’s though she knew her mother had been present.
“Why
did she go to the wood?” she asked.
“I
suppose because she was shamir,” Mami
answered.
“Is
that when she died?”
“No.
She died almost a year later, of a broken heart.”
A broken heart. A second pain rolled through
Ana’s belly. She felt her womb clamp hard on the babe, nudging him toward the
passage. He resisted—or she did—and everything relaxed.
Mami
cocked a brow. “Another, so soon?”
“Is
that odd?” Ana asked, forgetting that she knew the answer.
Mami
gave her the look and said nothing.
First
babes always took their time. It occurred to Ana that this babe would be her
only babe unless Luko returned—and Tero had been clear insisting that he would
not. “Not before Noni goes, at least,” he had added, dourly.
Morning
became afternoon. The snow continued. The pains came and went at sporadic
intervals. Tero brought his intended bride to help Mami and keep Ana company.
Plump and cheerful, and completely contrary to his preference if history was
any indication, Hari’s Dara was a welcome presence. Analise liked her
immensely, much more than the lean and leggy beauties her brother had toyed
with in the past; it was no stretch to imagine calling Dara “sister” where her
predecessors had gone by less flattering names when their backs were turned.
Even Mami liked Dara—the miracle that Tero claimed had decided him.
She
had driven Luko to tearing his hair with her dizzy giggle and fluffy
observations, but she was good-hearted and generous. She arrived laden with
shawls for the babe and supper for the midwife, “but not for you, Ana,” she
regretfully announced. “Labouring mothers mustn’t eat. I’ve heard that coupling
brings the babe on more quickly—is that so, Jaana?”
Mami
blanched. “If it is, how does it help my daughter?”
“Well,
one could say that coupling brought the babe on in the first place,” Dara
remarked.
Ana
laughed out loud. Mami tutted and muttered some comment about useless nonsense
as she poured a cup of wine. Dara winked at Analise, then leaned in to whisper.
“How goes it?”
“It’s
been hours with little change.”
“Is
it terrible?”
Analise
considered. “Not really,” she decided. She pondered a bit more, then added in
wonderment, “Dara, I’ll soon be able to hold my son!”
“And
Luko’s,” Dara reminded her, though she needed none. She was grateful for Dara’s
acceptance of what most folk adamantly denied. Confirmation of his paternity
would come with his naming. Noni would claim him for Irfe and present the Fire
Lord’s Children with their future king. On that day, the debate would end.
To be continued …
