Once upon a time, in the center of the deep forest, there lived a poor wood-cutter. He was a good man, but terribly lonely. All he wanted was a wife.
Well. That is how the tale starts. And it is true as far as it goes. But it isn't so simple, is it? If life is a meal, pain our the bread and meat.
Zeva came to us in the middle of the night. A dark and stormy night, as they say. The worst night, of the worst winter in 15 years. The wind was roaring down the chimney, driving smoke back into the room. And the sleet shook the windows until they seemed ready to break. If that slattern Arlie had not been cuffed out into the cold to empty the piss-pots, we would have found one frozen elf on our door-step come morning.
We did find her in time. She had a deep ugly cough, her hands were rough and dirty, and she was soaked and frozen to the skin. But, she was small, dark and slender. When she smiled her teeth were good. No need to throw her back into the night, I said to myself. After all taking strays in is what we do here. (Bit of a joke there, hope you catch it...) Given time, I said to myself, this little stray might do.
We fed her up for a week or so, and let her get used to us. The more I considered her, the better I felt. She was Dalish, and that brings extra money. Men think Dalish girls are --- exotic. Don't know why. Dalish girls don't have any skills that the rest of my girls don't. And this girl had no skills at all. She knew how to lie still for a ten breath tup with a sweaty wood-cutter. That was the sum of her womanly experience.
Still, after a week of tea and cosseting, she didn't fuss too much when I told her that she owed us. She was willing to learn, willing to – work. She got tips, right from the start. Turned them over willingly too.
Zeva. Poor thing. I did come to like her. She was quiet. Didn't start fights. The other girls liked her. Of course, had I known she was pregnant already I would not have kept her. All us here use lemons. A bit of lemon up inside, keeps a man's seed from sticking, and it imparts to things a lovely... flavor. Lemons grow everywhere here in Antiva.
We've had babies here before. Lemons are not fool-proof. And we are never short of fools, believe me. The girls we usually keep. Boys, are more trouble. We get them weaned, and sell them. That brings in a little coin, and really it works best in the end.
I was not angry with Zeva. She was so happy, floated around the place singing. She wanted to be a mother, the poor daft twit. I had hoped she would be able to keep working as she got bigger. Some men do like that. You know, a woman all round and placid and full of milk, has an appeal, I suppose. Like going home again.
But, in the end she got sick. She spent all her time puking and swooning. Her feet swelled. Not much use to me like that, was she? She was making me no money. But, as I say, I liked her.
The baby came in mid-summer. Tried to come. We had been expecting it for some time. I came down that morning for my tea and found her scrubbing the hearth. I hustled her right off to bed – alone. Needless cleaning is a sure sign that a woman's time is on her.
I set Arlie to watch her. Arlie has an ugly face, and she's stupid. We only put her to work when we are really short handed. (So to speak.) But Arlie is not unkind. She's seen babies into the world before. This should have gone easy as kittens.
Zeva wasn't hurting too much at first. And she was so excited. She had two names picked out. Ready either way. But she wouldn't tell us what they were. That is a Dalish thing. They believe it unlucky.
Midmorning, her pain started. She didn't make a sound, she just seemed to turn inward somehow. She seemed to be setting to her work. I thought we'd have a baby by sun-down. But it was not to be.
She started bleeding heavy. Not birth-blood either, which is like a womans monthly blood. This was bright red. Soaked the bed. Soaked the floor. I think what happened is that the afterbirth tore loose inside. It happens sometimes. She went white. She stopped breathing. That was the end for Zeva.
Arlie and I cut the baby out with a pair of snips. A boy. It figures.
The dead cart came and took Zeva away. I was sorry. I really did like her.
He's a nice little baby. Doesn't fuss much, just likes to look around. He has her dark eyes. We never did find out what she had wanted to name him. I named him Zevran, after her. I've gotten to like him too. I'll keep him on until he's big enough to bring us some coin. He reminds me of his mother.