Chapter Thirteen
N ews travels fast.
Bad news?
Faster yet.
We had no sooner had time to digest the information that the Creatori–a monster that until a few minutes ago, I had assumed was a mere myth–was reborn when the village erupted into chaos.
It would seem that evil monsters travel a whole fuckton faster than bad news.
At first, Olive and I are confused by the sounds coming from the more congested portion of the village. But soon the screams and crashes make sense. Not to mention the wretched smells. Burning homes–and flesh–engulf the area. I swallow the bile that rises. There is absolutely no time for that sort of weakness.
As we feel the strange tenor of magick getting closer, Aunt Olive looks at my stomach, and then my eyes. She gives me a nod, which I return. We won’t be running. We will fight. We have too much at stake now.
I bite my tongue hard as a strange sharp pain pierces my side. Glancing quickly I see nothing that should have caused it.
Then the pressure starts and I use every ounce of control I possess to keep my calm facade.
Because I may not know that pain well, but there is only one thing it could possibly mean.
My baby is coming.
But so is the monster.
My aunt and I grab our ceremonial daggers–the only weapons we possess–and take a readying stance to defend our home. As the monster bursts into our line of sight, we manage to remain steadfast. We see others moving about behind the creature, but for some reason, its eyes latch directly onto mine.
And just like that, everything else ceases to exist.
There is only me and this monster. There is no village of death and destruction. There is no aunt screaming in pain just a few feet to my right. There is no amniotic fluid leaking down my legs.
There is only me... and the Creatori.
It rushes in my direction and I crouch. When it reaches a point, my body works on instinct and I throw my hand out. Tossing magick I did not know I possessed. It’s ice blue with a golden hue. It smacks the creature on the forehead, sending it stumbling back. It shakes the confusion away and snarls.
Another round of pressure squeezes my middle and I take a deep breath. Letting it out just as calm.
The Creature rushes at me again and is on top of me before I can make a move. I hit the ground with a thump as the monster’s large clawed hands grip into my tiny arms and pin them over my head. It leans down, opening its maw and I feel something being tugged away from me. My brain works fast and the cogs slip quickly into place as the realization of what is happening hits me.
No!
The Creatori is an essence eater. And right now, it’s trying to make me its next meal.
Unable to move my arms or the dagger I still clutch in my right hand, I look the beast straight in the eyes and scream.
The sound is unlike anything I have heard come from my own mouth before and I know as the monster releases me that it was laced with magick. I don’t know what game the Gods are playing here, but for once something is moving in my favor.
The creature swipes to the right and I hear a terrible smack. I refuse to look. I can’t. Not if I am going to go down swinging.
I manage to stand and face the beast, but pain clutches me hard as more and more liquid flows from my womb. I scream out and drop my dagger. The monster mistakes it as a sign of weakness and lunges at me. At the last possible moment, I clap my hands together. The sound is extraordinary, but the magick released from it knocks both me and my foe to the ground.
Panting heavily I glance up in time to see the elders of the village surround the unconscious beast. Using their combined magicks to create some sort of containment spell.
Trusting them to have the matter in hand, I spare a glance to my right and choke on a sob.
The only woman I ever knew as a mother lay in a bloody heap at the front door of our home.
Pain and anger war with my sorrow as the pressure in my abdomen reaches new heights.
Using the adrenaline I still have pumping through my system, I make my way to standing and slowly travel the short distance to my favorite spot.
I’m not sure if I crave the privacy to die, mourn, or give birth. Maybe all three.
But at least I will do so in a place full of subtle beauty and not one surrounded by death and destruction.
I manage to reach the field in a daze and collapse near its center.
My body is sore and exhaustion pulls me under once my head hits a pillow of wildflowers.
A fat elk is lying on my stomach.
That has to be the explanation for the immense pain and pressure I am feeling.
I carefully peel my eyes open and discover that I am completely alone in a field of wildflowers.
Only instead of the smell of the beautiful flowers around me, I smell blood. Panic grips me as I bring myself to my elbows and glance down. There between my legs is a pool of blood.
So much fucking blood.
Horror fills me but the pressure takes hold again. Sweat beads on my forehead before the sudden urge to squeeze against the compression overwhelms me. I sit up and clutch my knees. Bringing them closer to my chest and opening them wide. Just like the healer taught me.
I steady my breathing and when the next contraction hits, I bear down. Screaming in pain and anger and frustration. This process continues for a few more rounds.
I scream at the Gods, Orobas, and Aunt Olive for making me go through this alone. I scream at the sleeping monster for taking my Olive from me. I scream at the oddly large raven that is watching me from a distance. And I scream at myself.
I scream until my throat aches and suddenly, the pressure is gone. Escaping me in a sudden whoosh. I dare let myself peek down between my legs and see the most precious sight I could possibly behold.
The silent moment is quickly broken by the sound of running feet.
“Oh, you darling girl! Look at what you’ve managed to do without me.” The healer rushes to me and removes her shawl. She reaches down, picks up the now screaming baby, and uses the corner to clean her face.
Unable to speak, I watch in awe as the healer cleans her a little, before plucking the ribbon from her hair and tying it around the cord of my baby’s stomach.
However, I do look away when she pulls out a small knife and cuts the cord.
The healer then quickly cuts away the meager remains of my dress before pressing the tiny baby against my skin. Her little mouth stops wailing and instantly begins searching for my breast. I oblige and help direct her, but the sensation of her feeding is...
Well, there really is no way at all to prepare for this kind of feeling.
It’s weird, to say the least.
Not painful, but certainly not comfortable.
It’s very... warm. And a bit tuggy?
But also, a kind of bonding moment that I know I will cherish later on.
“She is precious. And very healthy. Have you settled on a name since we last spoke?”
The wind blows a sweet smell in my direction and I look up into the yellow bushes of her father’s favorite flower.
“Forsythia,” I whisper.
The healer continues to shuffle about, cleaning and taking care of things. But I can’t be bothered by any of that.
Nor do I pay much attention to the other people of the village who come and help me. Carrying us to the house and getting us cleaned. They put us in bed and I curl my body around hers protectively.
I caress her soft brown hair, as she yawns and blinks up at me.
As I look down into her tiny bright golden eyes, a rightness settles within me.
Half of me will never again be whole. It will never know love like I feel for him and because of that, I fear that my life is destined to be mateless.
But the other half of me?
She will live on.
She will live fully and wholly, in such an immense joy.
This tiny babe— my daughter—is the raw happiness I never knew I could possibly feel amidst my ache.
Orobas Blackwell stole half of my soul.
And gave me all of my heart.