Disclaimer: Oh yeah, in the last 30 second, I managed to gain the rights to Dragonlance.
Prologue
Nedov gasped and gripped the midwife's hand still harder, knuckles white and face pinched and flushed with the agonizing effort of birthing. Her contractions had started late noon, yet here they were, under the pale light of a waning Solinari, and the full garish glow of Lunitari. Nedov was oblivious to the world around her, had long since grown deaf to the midwife's calm coaching – well, calm at first. Bedryl had never overseen such a long labor, although she had been witness to one many, many years ago, when she had still been in training. Neither mother nor babe had survived, and she still remembered the incident vividly, long hours of pain and energy and hope – all wasted, drowned in blood and sorrow.
She had thought she might escape from experiencing such a thing again. Now though, the imprinted memory of her youth returned to her as she felt fear, fear such as she had not felt in years, since knowledge and experience relaxed her into a state of complacency.
"Push," she cried, hoarsely, continuing the seemingly endless chant and wincing as Nedov's fingernails dug deeper into her palm. "Push!"
Nedov didn't hear through the mental haze of pain and exhaustion, but she didn't need to. She had long since settled into a rhythm – exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push….She hardly knew what she did anymore, only that she must relieve herself of this terrible pressure, then it would be fine, all fine, then she might rest, free of pain…inhale, exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push….sweet oblivion, sweet darkness, but no she must deliver….she must….she must…
"AGGGHHHHHH!" she screamed suddenly into the cool night air, breaking the long strained silence only intermittently interrupted by gasps and gently, coaching words. Her vocal cords were cracked from long hours of disuse, and if she was able to think coherently, she might have regretted this small addition to the already overwhelming pain. The midwife, startled by Nedov's sudden change in posture and disposition, quickly glanced down, saw the crowning head of a small body coated in slime and blood, and nearly breathed a sigh of relief. But they were not done yet…
Wrestling with the fingers clasping her own in a death grip, Bedryl finally managed to unpeel the hand that trapped her own and replaced it quickly on the bed, where it immediately balled up in the sheets.
Bedryl hurried to the end of the bed, seeing that the babe's face was gradually emerging, and dove her hands in to help pull the body forth, long since desensitized to the natural grossness of the entire situation. Another scream rent its way from Nedov's lips and she and Bedryl strained in tandem to bring the child into the world.
Several minutes went by, the silence punctured by labored breaths and muted cursing.
Then, suddenly, anticlimactically, the rest of the body wetly slipped out into the midwife's unprepared arms. Bedryl quickly got a better grip on the child, then passed it over to her young apprentice who had been dozing in a chair off to the side, clearly resenting her necessitated presence at this late hour. Usually, Bedryl would have called on one of her more experienced trainees for such a long and difficult birthing, but she had not guessed that Nedov's labor was would be so strenuous, as the woman was of good age and health to bear children. Yet, by the time she had realized the error in her assumption, and sent out a messenger to call Morgan or Ekeria to her side, it was already long into the evening, and the girls were still young, selfish, and sensible enough to claim unavailability. Bedryl knew better of course, what could the girls have going on that was so important at 7 past moonrise in the middle of November? Nothing, that's what – unless they had managed a midnight rendezvous with one of the village boys (but then her messenger most likely wouldn't have been able to find them at all) - but Bedryl had been too preoccupied to argue. She could reprimand the girls later for shirking their duties, right now, she had a child to deliver, and a new mother to attend.
Now the girl jumped to attention, as if she was a newly enlisted soldier who had suddenly, and unexpectedly, been shoved a battleax and shield and was now being thrusted forward onto the battlefield. Her pupils were wide, blown with fear, and she looked as vulnerable as doe caught in the middle of a clearing. Bedryl, not for the first time, felt a stab of concern that the silly girl might be too petrified to be of any use at all – indeed, she might end up bungling the situation altogether. But it couldn't be helped now, and no use worrying over things that can't be avoided, especially with Nedov still needing attention….
Carefully, she handed the babe over to the girl (she was NOT going to drop the fruit of more than 10 hours labor!), then, after checking to make sure that the girl had things under control, turned back to the woman spread on the bed, almost dreading the sight that would await her.
Nedov had fallen back among the pillows as soon as the child had been freed and now rested there looking more than half dead – wet strings of hair dripping onto her cheeks, forehead bathed in sweat, eyes lidded in sunken and shadowed sockets, skin sallow and sickly. Bedryl grabbed a rag, wet it in the basin of cool water reserved precisely for the purpose, and gently dabbed at the other woman's forehead, surreptitiously bringing a hand to her neck to check for a pulse.
As soon as Bedryl's fingers made contact with Nedov's fever-hot skin, the woman's eyes flew open, filled with terrible lucidity. Her eyes found Bedryl's and held them, wordlessly.
Her lips parted, and she coughed raggedly, staining her chapped lips scarlet with blood. "The child?" she gasped, barely able to keep her eyelids open, but needing to know…
"Alive," answered Bedryl gently, with another concerned scan of the ill woman's haggard face. Then, anticipating the new mother's next question, she looked over to the girl holding the babe and shot her a questioning glance.
"Girl," she mouthed silently, apparently too intimidated to speak aloud in the tense atmosphere. Honestly, Bedryl had no idea why she had agreed to take on this child as an apprentice, or even why the girl had come to her in the first place- she had neither the determination nor the nerve to become even a modestly competent midwife.
Still, there were other thigs to worry about. Bedryl turned back to Nedov and carried on the news of the infant's gender.
Nedov's lips curved ever so slightly in a small smile, then shuddered and fell more deeply into the supporting pillows, rapidly losing her remaining strength. The pain hit her more consciously, and she gasped aloud.
Bedryl grabbed the cold compress again began frantically dabbing at Nedov's cheeks and forehead. "Stay with me, dear, you have your child to look after, it's not your time…." But even as these arguments left her mouth she recognized the futility of it all – for anyone could plainly see that Nedov's time had come.
The woman's eyes darted around uncomprehendingly, delirious, then focused once more, long enough for her to gasp out wearily, "Saoirse. Name her Saoirse."
Then her eyes drifted shut for the last time, as Nedov welcomed death for the painless respite it offered. Below her probing fingers, Bedryl felt her pulse quicken with the intensity of the new mother's demand, then steadily slow until it faded entirely, leaving Bedryl frozen above a still, sweat-slicked, still-warm corpse.
"At least she died in battle," Bedryl muttered, almost comically, then immediately chastised herself for being so callous, inwardly shocked at her own cynicism. Yet, giving birth was a battle, and not in any metaphoric sense….
Allowing herself a few moments to recover from the shock, Bedryl turned away to oversee her apprentice, seeing that the girl had successfully wiped of the blood and slime and cleared the mucus from the babe's mouth and nose so it could breathe clearly. Yet, Bedryl realized belatedly, the child – Saoirse? – had yet to make a sound since entering the world. The girl-apprentice was growing increasingly frantic, jostling the body in her arms to try and provoke a response.
Bedryl rushed over to still the silly girl's movements, inwardly cursing that none of her more experienced students had been on hand this night, for this was not a task that she particularly enjoyed, usually relegating it to her subordinates. But this one seemed unable to carry out even the most basic of tasks without an inordinate amount of fretfulness, and she didn't even bother trying to lead the girl through the steps. Better to get it done right, and get it done quickly, so that this whole messy affair could be over and done.
Quickly, she took the child, noticing as she did that it was indeed female, and opened the tiny mouth slightly so as to breathe into it. The child suddenly twitched as its tiny lungs expanded with foreign air, and Bedryl, a grizzled veteran with 30+ years' experience of dealing with newborn children, quickly drew back as the child hacked up a mouthful of repressed phlegm and mucus onto her bloodstained shift. Then the crying began, loud bawls of confusion and fear, as the child expressed its dismay at entering this cold, bleak world, reaching out with tiny arms to seek the warmth and comfort of its dead-mothers embrace.
"Welcome to the world," Bedryl said, looking down appraisingly at the shriven, bald head, "Saoirse."
Author's Note: I'm in the middle of writing the next chapter...damn this is going to be a long story...(but I shall complete it!) :D :D
