Day 23 of Spring of 491 AV
A pregnant woman lies on a bare mattress, stripped of its cloth. Maid-women bustle around her, and a tall man, standing at six feet, holds her right hand, whispering to her. The woman screams in the pains of childbirth, screams bloody murder and screams cries of agonizing pain. The man tightens his grip, feeling her blood rushing through her hand. Suddenly, a woman, about 30, hustles into the room, pushing her way past the busy nurses. She takes the man’s other hand, and whispers in his ear.
“Time to go…” She says, pulling gently.
“W-What? You expect me to- to- to just leave her?” Replied the man, shocked and bewildered.
“You must. This is not a matter for men. Go boil a pot of water, it will do us good.” The man slinks away dejectedly, giving one small squeeze to the woman lying down before letting go of her hand and leaving, to their private kitchen.
The woman approaches the pregnant one, rubbing her arm, trying to bring some sort of comfort. For now, the screams have subsided, but soon they would continue.
“Shh…” Cajoles the woman, whispering. “It will be over soon, and you will have beautiful babies.” The pregnant woman smiles, looking up at the woman, before cringing once more.
“Shh… Breathe… Breathe… In and out… That’s it…” The woman was breathing deeply, her rasping throat audible. She suddenly screams once more, as she pushes, the pain of her birth canal expanding to accommodate the size of the baby’s head. One of the maids lifts the sheet draped over her propped-up legs, and says, “I can see the head! The top of the head!”
“Just a little bit more…” The woman says, gripping the mother’s hand. “A little bit more, and you will bring new life into this world…”
More screams. The head comes out a bit more, the eyes visible now. The screams don’t stop, as the mother pushes with all of her strength. The head comes out, rotating as the shoulders find their way through. The woman lets go of her hand, rushing to the bedpost, placing her hands on the bare mattress to catch the baby. Out comes the baby, falling neatly into her hands. But something is wrong. The Umbilical cord has wrapped itself around the baby’s neck, strangling it, turning its skin an eerie blue. The woman cuts the cord with a dagger she retrieved from her belt, and blinks away a single tear. There was more. Maybe there would be more. There had to be more, there were no single births in Wind Reach.
“Damn you, woman, and push!” She could push no more, strained and exhausted. She stressed her neck forward, trying to see the baby. “Is it… Is it a boy?” She asks, unknowing.
“Yes, it is a boy,” She said, not looking the mother in the eye. “It is a boy… Was a boy…”
“W-… Was?” Asks the mother, her eyes widening. “W-… W-… WAS?” The pain is visible in her eyes, as she screams. “NO!” Her screaming and her rage gave her new strength, and as she pushed, the second baby following smoothly after the first. This one was almost strangled as well, the cord twined around its’ entire body, yet its cries pierced the room, causing everyone to catch their breath. The father peers into the room, carrying a bowl of boiling water. One of the maids sees him, and smiles kindly, instructing him to place the bowl on the table. “What… I heard a scream…” He said, inquiring what happened.
The mother quieted, her breath shallow, her pupils dilated, and her eyes wide open. The size of her stomach lessened considerably, with the release of the two human fetuses within. The older woman quickly cut the umbilical cord of the second child, tying it, and checked the sex of the baby. “A girl,” She said, quietly, looking not at the crying child, but at the dead one laying on the bed next to her. The father’s smile is wide, and he goes to hold the child. Then, he glances down, and sees his lost son. His mouth drops open, his eyes tear. “It’s… It’s dead, isn’t it…” He says, not asking, but stating.
“Yes… You have a daughter,” Said the woman, smiling, “And you had a son… And a wife…” The woman lying on the bed stopped breathing, a slight smile on her face, her eyes closed, and her body still warm. The man, at this revelation, tears up, his cries spilling over his lids, falling on his hands and on his daughter. The daughter cries as well, but for different reasons. The man’s knees cave and he drops to the ground, the baby being caught by the midwife, had her nostrils cleared with a soft cloth, and was handed off to another maid to clean, and to find a wet nurse to breastfeed the child.
“Why…” Whispered the man, to nobody in particular, yet anyone who was listening. “Why did this happen… Inartan women…. They’re supposed to be strong… What does this mean…? Am I cursed?” He looks up to the ceiling, crying. “WHY?” He bellows, tears flowing down his cheeks and off his chin, falling into the heavy carpeting of the room. The midwife puts her hand on his back, consoling him.
“It is not our business to know the will of the Gods, Johnathan. You know that as well as I do.” He sits crying for a few minutes, not taking his face off of the mattress, his tears now sinking into the fabric. Then, suddenly, he stands up. “Where is my daughter?” He asks, looking strongly at the midwife.
“She is being fed. Babies tend to be hungry after birth.”
“I- I know that…” He said, feeling he was being mocked in this time of sorrow. “Take me to her. Now.” She leads him out of the room, and down the stairs, into a living room with a large, extravagant couch. There, a woman, a stranger to him, sits with his daughter pressed to her breast. The child is quiet now, happily suckling away.
“What will you name her?” Asks the midwife, staring fondly at the baby.
“Maya… It was the name we agreed…” He answers, his emotions threatening to cave again.
“A good name. She will do well.”
“Of that I am certain…”
