Into the Raging Mountains Page 10

  After a slow and cautious transfer of the wounded man, Ilion lay down beside him exhausted under the cascading branches. Though somewhat protected from weather, they were only slightly hidden. Ilion did not doubt that the killers could easily overcome two wounded and worn men. Placing the staff with its various known and unknown protections between both of them, in direct contact with the skin on their arms, Ilion said a small prayer to Kira and sank into weary oblivion.

  *

  Contentment. The word aptly described her feelings. Life seems so ordered and simple when you walk along a gently sloping road toward a welcoming farmstead, past well-maintained fields of swaying leaves, ripe fruits, and glowing, golden grains. It was almost meditative, the endless repetition of one crop, until suddenly a different plant burst forth in heavy abundance. Everywhere, life was full and verdant. For a baker, this walk along the road to the Corded farmstead was the complete image of earthly plenty and visual richness.

  By definition, it was the perfect vacation for a heavily burdened woman: service and solitude. There would be varying quantities of both. Yet Alizarin was certain her stay and participation in the new birth would be renewing to her heart. Even in the flurry and bustle of a busy farmhouse, there will be moments of rejuvenating calm and quiet.

  At last, the end of the journey was in sight. They came to the boundary of Rethendrel’s holding. Alizarin hoped privately that Ver had been able to keep up and hadn’t reinjured himself on the long walk. Regardless, she wouldn’t know until eventide or later when she was able to unpack and walk alone in the generous front yard.

  Apple trees, laden with ripe yellow and red fruits, perfumed the air slightly with a potent vinegar odor. Squashed fruits already littered the ground. Gathering a few plump samples from an obliging low branch, she bit deep. Sweet, tangy, sharp, the juice dribbled down her lips so quickly she had to use her hand to save her outfit from stain. With her yellow apron edges gathered together, Alizarin couldn’t help picking up a few more satin-dappled beauties. Now, truly, this is richness.

  Upon their arrival, Gretsel was welcoming and grateful to have another woman her age around the large Corded farm. Equally pleased that his sister would be taken care of, Rethendrel carefully unloaded Alizarin’s bundles and the goods she had brought for his family. He went off toward the barn congratulating himself. He towed the partially-emptied cart and a plodding Samton, clearly eager for his stall.

  A slight bit smaller than Alizarin, Gretsel was as ripe and ready as the harvest. Walking everywhere belly first, she attempted to bustle through her tasks, frequently sitting to rest and drink sips of water. Happily, she showed Alizarin the various chores and locations of kitchen and linen goods, preparing for her assistance with Gretsel’s temporary convalescence. Full of love as well as cheer, Gretsel was instantly close to Alizarin’s heart.

  Since this was Gretsel’s first birthing, Alizarin’s experience helping her own mother would be invaluable. Rethendrel’s wife Theress would be assisting. It was altogether a competent, trustworthy team to put a new mother’s heart at ease.

  Dinner came and went in a flurry of activities in which Alizarin found herself, not only expected to participate in, but actually immersed within the tight family. Having met all the occupants of the household, Alizarin found herself part of a larger group for the first time in her life. The combined noise was almost overwhelming at times, but the sound wasn’t so much chaotic as cheerful and boisterous. There was so much joking around one dinner table that she couldn’t help feeling drawn within the verbal and jostling exchanges. Not only did she like it, for Alizarin this new experience was refreshing and invigorating to her mind and body. She hadn’t laughed so hard in any of her recent memories.

  As Alizarin settled in for the night, having sunken into an entirely different, complex but comfortable world, she did for a moment wonder where Ver was and what he was doing. Since the staff made him invisible, unless he chose to visit her and be seen, she would have to figure he was better off on his own. Certainly, she didn’t need the kind of trouble following him to attach itself to her little life. Hopefully he is resting in the barn with the animals, hidden but safe.

  Waiting, especially for a man to announce himself, was not the best mental state for any woman. She preferred action to passivity at this time in her life. Far too much occurred around her, without her consent. Watching on the edges while others lived vibrantly was no longer an option. Her last thoughts drifted off into slumber, becoming nonsensical and irrational as her conscious musings frayed and her body relaxed.

  In those moments before sleep took her completely, she saw a flickering image: Barely even recognizable, Ver lay dying on the ground, his body crushed and broken.

  A great monster spewing venom and the lies of darkness stood over him in triumph, maw gaping. Spittle dripping, eyes glaring, the beast seemed to be laughing although the sound was hollow and empty of mirth. The dark that dwelt in those eyes swallowed her, sucking her attention within them. Alizarin fell, fell, and fell within the bleakness.

  Almost all of her emotions, well-earned during her adventurous day of travel and getting settled into a new place, slipped from her heart’s grasp. Unspooling like raw thread from the spinning wheel to the bobbin, the strong emotions left almost single file, draining her slowly, dragging her awareness out and through the tenuous connection. Desperately, Alizarin searched for any edge to stop the unwinding of her inner life. She would act, if only she knew how. She needed something to plug the leak.

  I will not die this draining, leeching death!

  Reaching in her dream apron, her questing hand found the silky glossiness of ripe apple. She withdrew her hand, holding the fruit of yestereve’s harvest, the combined work of the earth, sky, and tree. Concentrating on the bright-yellow, brown-speckled, red-blotched skin of the plump fruit, Alizarin bit deep into the fat, glorious ripeness. The juice that dribbled down her lips was not wiped away. Rather, it became the drops in a steadily growing river of life that grabbed onto the ethereal string of her emotions and pulled hard.

  With a crisp snap, the flow of inner life reversed, hurtling back to her heart’s spool. Whole again, content again, Alizarin felt amazingly solid and impervious to the touch of sinister dark. Delivered out of the draining gaze of the malicious phantom, Alizarin held her hand in front of her, clutching the bitten apple. Speaking clearly, she challenged the slobbering, menacing darkness which stood over Ver, “You’ll not have him! No, you won’t! If you want to eat something, foul creature, eat this!”

  With a savage growl and a keening scream, the black monster backed away from the outstretched brightness in her hand, which glowed ever stronger with pure, yellow light. Then abruptly, the oppressive pitch fled.

  Alizarin stood holding her focus of harvest and life, and ran to Ver’s side. He was broken, certainly near death within moments. His eyes began to glaze and his breath rattled, desperate for air. Taking the yellow dream power, she put the apple to his mouth and commanded him, “Ver!” The sight of his bleeding wounds brought tears to her eyes. Although she felt a heavy despair, Alizarin quickly instructed, “Bite down hard.”

  Ver feebly clenched his jaw. The juice spilled into his mouth, instantly healing, and recharging him. Within the flicker of an eyelash, the healing spread. His trembling stopped and his breath steadied. He looked clearly into her eyes for a moment, only then registering her presence. A small smile began to form on his lips. The dream image of Ver gently faded away.

  Satisfied immeasurably, Alizarin sat on the imaginary ground and finished the crunchy dream apple.

  When she awoke the next sunrise, she stretched her cramped limbs. Alizarin found she held tight in her fist the little topaz stone from the well at the traveler’s waystation. She chuckled. Feeling lucky and strong, Alizarin pocketed the stone in her clean apron, deciding to keep as much of the strange dream’s power with her during the new day.

  *

  Gretsel’s birthpains began two days later. Co
ming on gradually, the cramps went from minor irritations to powerful urges that incapacitated her completely during their urgent onslaught.

  Alizarin was working next to her in the kitchen, boiling peaches for preserves, laughing and chatting about picnics in growing seasons past. When the first true pain hit Gretsel, Alizarin took her to the prepared bed, had the distraught woman lay down on her side, and brought the birthing stick. She called out to Theress, who was just coming in with an empty basket from hanging the sunrise clean clothes, and together they collected the needed sheets, knives, needle, and thread. Theress began kettles of hot water for sterilizing while Alizarin found candles for aromatics.

  Rethendrel’s wife Theress was very efficient and ordered, although her personality didn’t agree with Alizarin as Gretsel’s did. With her hair gathered in a stern pile on top of her head, Theress’s seriousness could even be a bit unnerving, until she broke the blankness of her face with a large and generous smile. That happened most often when Rethendrel appeared. Only then was it obvious why her husband was so devoted to her. Theress was the person Alizarin knew she could count on in a pinch, yet there wasn’t a great amount of friendliness exchanged between them, which somehow left Alizarin feeling emotionally excluded.

  Alizarin had always thought of herself as thoughtful and introverted, but apparently with the latest traumas and excitement of the last few cycles, her personality was fundamentally changing. Either that, or she had hidden strengths she’d never known.

  Alizarin found herself more outspoken of late and far more interested in the latest developments of Onnadir and its neighbors than she had ever been. Perhaps it was the relative lack of news that made it so riveting when Rethendrel or his brothers brought to the farm tales of the latest struggles in the surrounding cities. She was emerging from her self-imposed shelter to face a world she knew from recent personal experience was brimming with very good and exceedingly dark forces. She had felt the responsibility to act, now that she began to perceive the true struggle that went on around her.

  The call of friendship was what she answered now. Gretsel’s pain grew in surges, increasing in duration and depth of contraction. Alizarin offered her a bite of buttered bread and when she finished, the bite stick. Gretsel took it with both hands and held it fiercely between her teeth as the next wave of pain hit her.

  Alizarin and Theress offered her all their attention and worked to calm the mother’s ever-rising pains. It was a first birthing, known to be often longer than following ones and more brutal as a maiden’s body changed to a woman’s. Although both helpers had hoped for an easy birth, it quickly became apparent that suffering Gretsel would have to conserve every ounce of energy just to survive. The time passed slowly.

  The sun faded into eventide and dark of nightfall covered the land. Candles were lit, filling the room with a warm beeswax smell. Theress sat in the chair at the head of the bed, humming softly. Alizarin took Gretsel walking the hallway, moving into and through the crippling pain. Checking the baby’s position, massaging her belly, they determined the child was coming through head down. They took turns walking with the laboring woman, dozing on and off.

  The sun rose in the new sky. As the brilliant orb traveled across the early day to its summit, Gretsel grew ever weaker, her energy declining. Mighty pains wracked her body, the contortion of the muscles visible with each surging. Soon, it was apparent to both attendants that the mother required intervention to complete the birth.

  Time slipped past. As the declining sun faded again to dark, a chill filled the grounds and began to creep into the birthing room. Watching Gretsel panting with futile effort, almost spent, Alizarin suddenly remembered the tongs she had seen in the barn, a possible means of ending the blocked birth.

  She ran to her room, grabbing a cloak. Throwing it over her shoulders, Alizarin bolted to the front door, her footsteps accompanied by the faltering and fading moans of agony. Running headlong across the yard, she grabbed the latched door and quickly slipped into the waiting warmth of the barn.

  All the animals were sleeping. Trying not to wake them, she headed directly to the wall of tools, hanging in order of use. Spying the tongs, she grabbed them off the hook and sped out of the building. Turning to close the door securely against the dark of night, Alizarin’s eyesight lit upon Samton’s stall.

  She looked again, and her jaw dropped.

  Instead of a little donkey nodding in his rest, there stood another huge, blackened monster, oozing vapors of despair, rising, steaming off his humongous back. It was exactly like the one she had dreamt of her first night at the farmhouse. Easily filling up the entire stall, the beast did not move at all or seem to be aware of her presence. As Alizarin’s wide eyes stared, the worst embodiment of nightmare and terror appeared to be—peacefully slumbering?! Or maybe in some kind of trance?

  She dared not move. Reaching in the pocket of her overapron, her fingers closed around the now-familiar comfort of the hardness of the little topaz. Even though she was terrified of the sheer power of the dream beast, Alizarin also knew that, within the house, Gretsel’s strength was failing rapidly. The tongs she held limply in her free hand were the best hope for safe delivery.

  After her initial shock of recognition and rush of adrenaline for battle, the immediacy of Gretsel’s need started her from immobility. Steadying herself against the beast’s potential awareness and the perilous fight that would surely follow, Alizarin made a warrior’s decision. Calming her breath in and out, she used the hand holding the topaz to quickly swing the barn door closed. Did the great monster’s eye flicker?

  Once out of her view, the urge was almost irresistible to peek within the barn to see if the monster was a figment of her imagination. Then, a scream echoed through the household and across the yard: a hoarseness that was ragged—a tired and desperate cry. That dire need was so much the greater alarm. Her dear friend suffered.

  Alizarin flew back to the household, running to the kitchen. She threw off her mother’s cloak onto one of the waiting wall pegs and placed the tongs directly into one of the boiling pans of water.

  She called out to Theress, “How is she? Is there much time?”

  “Alizarin, come quickly!” Came the urgent reply. “I fear we will lose her soon unless you can change the baby’s position. Something is stuck, though I cannot tell what is wrong. The baby moves forward and then slips back. Hurry!”

  Alizarin was painfully aware of the stricken look on Rethendrel’s face as he attempted to comfort Gretsel’s husband Londer. They both sat at the kitchen table in a room that was the heart of the home and normally beat merrily with the pulse of the family’s life. Alizarin grabbed a thick piece of fresh bread slathered with butter and honey, and efficiently removed the tongs, now free of animal dirt, from the boiling water. She hurried with it to the birthing room.

  Gretsel’s breath was full but rattled at the end of each intake of breath. Her pale face turned toward Alizarin’s entrance, her eyes half-focused.

  “Quickly, Theress, raise her knees! Pillows under the shoulders.” Leaning down to Gretsel’s ear, she whispered reassuringly, “Gretsel, this is the last push. Your last effort. You must find all your energy and focus it for this remaining contraction.” Watching the suffering woman, Alizarin continued her counsel, “Gretsel, you can do this. This is for your baby. He is waiting for you. Gather your strength inward.”

  As the tired mother marshaled her remaining resources, Theress gathered her upper body in a mother’s embrace and Alizarin stood between her shaking legs.

  Whispering with urgency, Alizarin half-coached, half-sang Trellista’s birthing song to Gretsel, “This is the woman’s war. This is the last battle you must fight. Gather your courage. Gather your strength. Feel the tide pull within you.” Watching. Waiting.

  The moment of crisis surged through Gretsel’s body, contorting her face with immense pain and powerful need. Half-raised, supported by Theress’s arms, Gretsel tucked her head down, like a bull ready to cha
rge. Breath held, muscles straining, she pushed. Alizarin’s watchful eyes and quick hands acted.

  With the longed-for sight of the little head peeking through, she deftly placed the tongs around the precious child and began to pull gently. Theress murmured encouragement to Gretsel’s mighty efforts. Together pushing and pulling, gently insistent, the women crowned the baby’s head. Moments later, the tiny face emerged, body turning.

  Wiping the mucus and blood away, Alizarin cleared the minute nose and mouth. With one more easy pushing, the baby slipped out of his mother’s tired, shaking body and squalled lustily. Theress kissed her sister-in-marriage’s hair as Alizarin wrapped the baby warm within the fresh blankets and cleaned the signs of battle from Gretsel’s legs.

  Londer rushed into the room, grabbed his tired wife within his arms and wept.

  *

  Chapter Five

  What is Sown?

  There were no shortages of rats in the high mountains, not this harvest, not ever. Had there ever been? Whispers echoed, delicate and scratching as they scurried hither and thither, scampering past right on the edge of eyesight. The pitter patter of little feet and gnaw of hungry mouths were never welcome sounds. Farmers generally had a few mouser cats around to fight off the worst of the infestation, but during every harvest and throughout the long cold seasons there was a constant battle between scavenging mice and desperate men for stored grains and shelter.

  This cycle was no different than any other, typical in abundance and in fatness of larder, typical with the fullness of stored food. The decisive sound of traps snapping closed echoed continually in the still of nightfall. As the eternal cycle of burrowing continued, growing piles of furry bodies lay tossed outside of every house and most farms. The discarded, mostly headless, plump rodent corpses often caused a stink even with the coming cold of snowfall. It was not the prettiest sight, smell, or welcome even in the discard piles far from main houses.