Chapter 27
Maylie
A DEEP TWIST in her stomach, followed by burning pain.
Maylie sat up into darkness, blankets sliding down her chest. The warm, heavy form of her husband lay close beside her and ahead she saw the familiar, dark shapes of home: the wooden table littered with pots, the heap of furs before the fire and the teetering mound of boots by the door.
On the far wall, faint light glowed at the edges of the scrappy curtains. It was almost morning.
Maylie waited.
The pain throbbed again. Unmistakable.
She slipped a hand beneath the blanket and reached down, her fingers catching on the slack, wrinkled skin of her stomach. As her fingertips brushed against coarse hair, the pain came again.
Clenching her teeth, she pushed her hand lower, between her legs.
It was wet and slick.
Maylie fumbled out of the bed, holding her smeared hand high. She shuffled to the window and edged aside the curtain. Her fingers were sticky and stained red and brown. With a wince, she felt another grip of pain, sharper this time.
In their bed, Chrisanie stirred. His sandy-brown hair fanned across the faded patchwork sheets and he snorted into a pillow. Then stilled.
Maylie wiped her hand on her chemise and let the curtain fall back into place.
In the darkness, she staggered to the corner of the room where bunched forms hung bat-like from the ceiling.
Reaching up, she tugged at one. A bitter scent stung her nose, but when she held the kaloria before her she saw that there were only two sprigs of the pale green herb left. Not enough.
Another spasm hit.
She lurched towards the front door, snatching at a cloak and fur as she passed, throwing them over her shoulders.
Pushing her feet into the nearest pair of battered boots, she slid open the bolts at the door.
Before stepping outside, she glanced over her shoulder at the peaceful form of her husband, and then off to the left towards the lean-to on the side of the cottage.
In the shadowy darkness, she could make out the gangly limbs of her three boys, sleeping in a nest of cot beds. She turned away.
Outside, the chill dawn air cooled the flush of her skin.
Weak sunlight slid down the mountainside, pooling into the cup of the valley below as the sun rose.
All was quiet except for the distant, low clang of a goat bell and the steady gush of the nearby stream that coiled past, flowing into the centre of the village.
Maylie pressed a hand against the rough stone wall of the cottage and leant against it as she stumbled to the back garden. Their nanny goat woke when she approached, tossing a black head and stamping one socked hoof.
‘Hush!’ Maylie wheezed.
The goat calmed, but the chickens had been roused and feathers ruffled in the nearby henhouse.
The sound would soon wake Rozowie, Maylie’s youngest son, who would rush to collect the eggs before his brothers started grumbling for breakfast. She did not want Rozowie to see her like this.
She did not want anyone to see her like this.
As Maylie bent between the rows of herbs, her lower stomach cramped and burned with a pain so acute she gasped. In front of her was the kaloria plant, with green leaves fresh and abundant, but Maylie knew now that it would not do. She needed something stronger.
She pressed her nose into the kaloria and breathed deeply, dragging the strong, tart scent into her chest. It bit her throat and made her cough, but it numbed the edges of her pain enough for her to heave herself up again and hurry away.
The boots she had pulled on were too big – they must belong to Gredie, her eldest son – and she stumbled as she crossed the nearby stream, soaking the hem of her cloak.
Their cottage, which she had inherited from her aunt, stood at the very top edge of Silicia, the highest of the villages that stretched up the side of the mountains before they ascended into wilderness – the domain of snaggle-toothed wolves, horned hares and dragons.
The people of Silicia did not often venture into the forest that wrapped around the belly of the mountain, except when searching for wandering livestock or if desperate enough to hunt game in its fringes.
Only Maylie regularly plunged into the dense trees, seeking out the herbs and vegetation that grew in its depths.
She tried to keep such wanderings to dawn and dusk, keen not to be seen roaming the wild areas of the mountains, but the people of Silicia knew all the same.
Maylie followed her usual trodden path into the cool shadows beneath the trees.
She clutched at a nearby trunk, her nails digging into the soft, gnarled bark as another wave of pain shot through her stomach.
With a guttural moan, she clamoured on. She did not keep darque in her stocks – it was too potent, too dangerous.
It had been some time since she last collected it, but she thought she could remember where it grew.
Staggering into a clearing, she dropped to her knees.
Wet soil oozed around her legs as she bent towards the darque plant.
Another rumble of pain struck her stomach and Maylie found herself snatching up the large yellowed leaves and cramming them into her mouth whole.
Almost gagging, she forced herself to chew, ignoring the muddy, sour taste.
After two more hurried mouthfuls, she felt the darque taking effect.
Maylie rocked back on her heels, suddenly dizzy. The trees around her began to shift and quiver. Perhaps in her haste she had taken too much.
She collapsed on to her side, cheek pressed to soil, dark hair mashed into the mud. Beneath her, the ground lilted and spun. She wheezed, surrendering to the effects of the darque. Her stomach was still cramping and contracting, but now she was numb to the pain.
Maylie lay, waiting for it to be over.
Above her, dawn light brightened the crosshatch of leaves and branches. Around the clearing, long reeds rustled and twigs snapped as creatures scurried and slithered past.
Daybreak had become morning.
At the very edge of her vision, Maylie saw something glint. A silvery shadow.
She groaned in surprise and moved her head, but the shadow moved too. It remained only just visible, a soft haze.
She thought she had lost the Sight some time ago, but she knew she was not mistaken: a few paces away stood a tall, lithe figure.
It had been so long.
Maylie had not seen these shadows since her girlhood, before everything had changed. Sometimes, if she was foraging late in the evening, eyelids drooping with tiredness, she might think she saw a flicker over her shoulder and, suddenly awake and alert, she would turn quickly – only to see nothing.
She did not know if this sighting was due to the darque or her condition, but she was comforted by its presence. The Hidden People of the mountain were not known for their kindness, but Maylie felt she was being watched over. Guarded.
She sighed and closed her eyes.
Sometime later, when she woke, the ground had stopped spinning.
She hauled herself upright, wiping smudges of dirt from her cheeks and pulling twigs from her hair. The spasms of pain in her abdomen had lessened and what remained was a dull ache, a sense of emptiness.
Around her, the clearing was bright and quiet.
The shadow was gone.
Maylie shrugged off her fur and cloak; then she peeled off her chemise, now drenched and soiled.
Crouching naked in the mud, tears slid from her eyes.
She carefully folded the chemise and pressed it into the earth over the blood and remains she must leave behind.
Snatching up leaves and handfuls of grass, Maylie covered the spot, her lips muttering a prayer to the Great Creator.
It had been such a wonderful surprise two moons ago to realize her blood was late.
They had not been trying for a baby, but another addition to their family of five was welcome.
Chrisanie had been delighted. Everything had been going so well.
Maylie had all the usual nausea and tiredness, and she had assumed the new baby would arrive by midwinter.
Perhaps it would be a girl. The thought was both painful and wonderful.
She had been full of such excitement, but now that was gone.
Shivering, she pulled the cloak and fur around her shoulders with numb, trembling fingers. The ties slipped twice before catching. Then she hesitated, glancing at the ground behind her; at what she was leaving there.
After a moment, she tore herself away.
As Maylie walked slowly back through the trees, she sensed eyes upon her. Though she could no longer see the silver shadow, she could feel its searing, charged presence close by. It was following her.
When she finally reached the edge of the forest, she stepped out of the cover of the trees into the bright mountainside.
The weak, watery sunshine took her by surprise and she staggered.
Winter had receded, almost overnight, and the first spring dawn was just five days away.
The thought brought a familiar, heavy dread to her chest.
‘May?’ called a deep voice.
Blinking, Maylie saw a tall, wiry figure hurrying towards her. His shirt was only half buttoned and his lips were pulled back in a panicked grimace.
‘We’ve been looking all over for you!’ Chrisanie panted.
Maylie felt her husband’s steady grip on her shoulders and her knees began to buckle.
‘Chrisanie …’ she whispered. ‘I’ve lost the baby.’