Chapter 4 #2
The man’s matter-of-fact tone regarding their lack of devotion grated against me.
Anger churned in my gut as I looked up from the child.
It was taking everything within me to keep my face neutral at that moment.
“Do you believe that’s the problem here?
That you didn’t throw enough of your coin at the Children?
Not that they did absolutely nothing to help your child? ”
The man stared back at me. The lack of response was an answer in itself. He was doing his best to be an obedient follower, while his wife had no interest in protecting the Cult of Children and their inaction.
Getting back to the task at hand, I unwrapped some of the blanket around the baby to gain access to her chest. Her breaths were short and wet.
Every one, a struggling exertion for life.
“Stay with us, little one,” I whispered as I gently kissed her forehead.
I closed my eyes and let the warmth of my healing magic rise within me.
I heard Forrest walk up briskly behind me. “I’ve got what you asked for, Aurelia.” The usual magic in his voice had been replaced by a dull sadness.
I grabbed the salve and tincture from Forrest and got to work.
I gently opened the baby’s mouth and administered a tiny drop of the peppermint tincture under her tongue.
My chest tightened as she barely made a face at the taste.
I then placed a generous slathering of the menthol salve onto her chest, rubbing it in circular motions with my fingertips.
I closed my eyes and let the rising warming sensation of my magic flow from my chest, down my arms, and into the small, dying child on the table.
Off in the distance, I could hear the father questioning what I was doing.
Forrest was asking him to remain calm and let me do my work.
The pulsing sensation of the tiny heart beneath my hand brought my focus back onto my task.
I willed my magic to flow through her, ignoring the icy darkness I could sense creeping in.
My eyes started to water, and my heart felt heavy.
My magic could do many wonderful things, and it had saved countless people, but I had yet to win a battle with the goddess of death.
I looked up at the father and wearily asked, “What do you think the purpose of this is? How does a baby dying play into the goddesses’ wonderful plan for us all?” I looked back down at the baby, tears welling in my eyes.
The father hesitated before responding, choosing his words carefully. “It is not for us to figure out what their plans are. I have to trust that they know something I don’t, and that good things will come from all of this.”
I snorted. I honestly couldn’t believe this man. Here he was, watching his daughter die. He couldn’t genuinely believe that something good might come from this.
I continued to massage the menthol salve into the baby’s chest. My magic flowed unfettered through me to the sick child.
It was like it understood how dire the situation was.
Despite my willingness, and my magic’s ability, I could feel the small baby’s life slipping through my fingers.
The chilled darkness I had felt earlier was becoming more and more pronounced.
A few seconds later, she took in one last shallow, agonizing little breath.
Then nothing but stillness. “No. Please, no,” I uttered, tears falling down my cheeks.
I was no stranger to death, but the loss of a child always twisted my insides up in unimaginable ways. I opened the baby’s mouth and blew air into her tiny, unmoving body. I then pressed two of my fingers into her chest, gently pumping it, willing her heart to resume beating.
The mother started sobbing uncontrollably, while the husband was as still as a statue, no emotions on display.
It felt like an eternity had passed before a large, warm hand settled on my back.
Turning away from the touch, I vaguely heard someone softly calling my name, but I was too far gone in my grief and building rage to respond.
Realizing the baby was still not breathing, I picked her up and rubbed her back vigorously, pressing my lips to her forehead.
“Mother of all, hear my plea. Wrap this child in your cosmic embrace, and hide her from death’s cruel chase.
By the moon’s soft glow and starlight’s grace, turn away fate’s shadowed face.
Let her breath not fade to night but rise again like morning’s light.
I call upon your sacred might. Nyxenia, I beg, shield this tiny soul tonight. ”
I restarted trying to resuscitate the baby, pleading for someone, anyone, to hear my call for help.
I hadn’t held any faith in the goddesses in years.
I’d seen too many awful things to believe that anyone was out there looking out for us.
Despite that, it was the only thing I could think of to do.
I was beyond desperate for any help, no matter where it came from.
If the goddesses did in fact exist, and chose any time to listen to our cries, I hoped it would be right now.
If anyone deserved their favour, it was the innocent little one I currently held in my arms.
I looked down at the small bundle, who had a peaceful look resting upon her tiny face. She was no longer of this realm. At that moment, everything collapsed around me. A single pained sob left my body as I stood in my living room, pressing the small, lifeless baby closer to me.
A few moments passed before I felt that warm hand on my back again, the voice a bit clearer. It was pleading with me calmly. “Aurelia, you’ve done all that you can.”
I looked up and found Willow’s mother standing in front of me.
The poor, frail woman was shaking and crying uncontrollably.
My voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.
“I couldn’t save her. I’m so sorry.” I gently passed the tiny bundle back to her.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, doing my best to fight off the wave of emotion threatening to break me.
Without a word, the woman slowly walked away and out the front door, clutching the precious bundle.
Several seconds passed before a gut-wrenching, heartbroken wail pierced the once silent night.
The sound was something I never wanted to hear again.
Unimaginable pain, grief, anger, and sadness were conveyed in one horrific sound.
I turned to see the husband standing frozen, staring at the floor, as if he were trying to figure out how to move his body.
A torrent of rage and sadness whipped through me at the sight of him.
All the feelings I had toward the Cult of Children raged inside me, and the only outlet I had for them was the innocent, broken man standing in front of me.
Why? Because he had followed their oppressive rules, and as a result, his daughter was now dead.
“Please leave,” I said, voice low.
He looked up at me, confused.
“Get—out!” The words boomed out of me louder than I had intended.
Before he had any time to respond, I walked toward him, fists clenched, but Forrest put himself between the man and me. My heart raged, and I wanted to share the hurt that was consuming me with the devoted follower of the Cult of Children.