Beneath her, the earth was quaking, and high above her head, the sky was being torn apart by deafening thunder.
She was alone, in their tiny mud-and-rock hut that was hardly furnished and no bigger than a noble woman's closet, but the space around her felt immense and never ending. Grabbing her swollen belly, she ran across the threshold to find a space, any space, that may protect her. The puddle at her feet splashed dully as she tore through the house like a desperate, lumbering thief, trying to find some place, any place, that would give her relief.
Finally too weak to look further, she yanked open the tiny closet door and collapsed inside. The walls were hardly wider than her shoulders and there was nothing in it but some dry hay and sacks of grain, but they braced her in ways her bed could not; the walls held her back in place; the sacks let her legs rest on them and elevated her without effort. Above her, her wooden deities lined the shelf, but they were overturned and mortal in the wave of such pain.
Pain electrified through her suddenly and she gave a scream when she felt her flesh between her legs slowly stretch open. She had no midwife to see how far she was dilated and if it was alright to begin pushing, but she needed to push. If not, it felt as though they would both die from the exhaustion of it all.
Blood spurted forth and its warmth oozed along her thighs, and her screams continue to pierce the night, nearly shaking the heavens with a comparable force. In her loneliness it felt as though she was at the end of the world, at the last door between life and death; who would find them and help them now, in the tiny womb of a closet, where both she and her child may die? What gods would be watching them now, hidden in this tiny crevice, as they both struggled to breathe and draw life into their lungs? Certainly not the wooden idols, although one remained standing. Its stone eyes were an eerily faint red, nearly a pink, as it looked passed her grieving in labor.
Her skin was glistening with sweat and her body was shaking with each push. As this birth was new, each inch of flesh felt foreign and excruciatingly unexpected and painful. With each squeeze of her muscles she let out a bellow that could rival the thunder above, and while her blood rose in adrenaline, so did the night sky with its terrible orchestra of clashing swords and earth-shaking rumbles.
Just when she thought she could take no more, at its peak, she gave one final scream, one final push, and the heavens crescendoed along with her. The flash of lightning blinded the hut white but she did not notice it, concentrating on the last remaining flesh that slowly slipped free from her grasp.
When all was done, she collapsed back in exhaustion, panting heavily. The world above receded humbly, and for a while, nothing could be heard but the sound of her breaths and the pitter-patter of the falling rain.
After a few seconds, the silence turned foreboding. There was no sound. Instantly she sat upright, and reached forward in the darkness to grope at her child. Finding it, she carefully picked it up and found the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. With tears springing into her eyes and her heart nearly stopping, she quickly undid the fleshy strand and held the baby fast to her.
"No…" she whispered. "Please…" She could not hear the baby breathing, nor feel its tiny chest twitch or rise. As reality sank in, her face cracked with agony and she slowly bowed her head forward, pressing her forehead to the sticky mess on its smooth belly. Her tears slipped free and fell like rain on its flesh.
Suddenly, there was the smallest of coughs, and she felt a twitch beneath her forehead. Lifting her head, she felt the smallest of tremors, the tiniest of jerky movement; ..., another cough, an inhale of life, and finally, the softest coo she had ever heard.
Very slowly, as though she would break him, she pulled the child close and wrapped it tightly in her warm, blood-stained apron. He was not crying, only making the softest of mewls and gurgles as she slowly brushed his soft, new head. Although it was dark, she could see him so clearly, her moonlight eyes having adjusted to see through blackness as well as in daylight...and she could see his soft, tiny face, his serene expression, his contentment in her arms. He had no inkling of how close to death he had been...or if he had, he bore the news like a hero returning to the trembling common folk.
"My child," she whispered, a smile finally cracking across her lips as tears sprung into her eyes. In her arms she felt the strangest of tingles, as though he were touched with a halo of magic she could not understand. "My precious boy…"
Even as she undid her linen and slipped her swollen nipple in between his lips, he did not cry or fuss. He latched on without education, and he suckled so softly and serenely, she wondered if he was drinking at all. But he was, and he was enjoying it, so at peace in his mother's arms that he had no need for crying in the new world. He already understood the universe in which he had been delivered.
Tears welled back up as she held him tightly, loving the smell of his new head and the tenderness of his brand new flesh. As she began to rock back and forth to the quiet hum of an ancient lullaby, she knew what she was holding was special. Of course, every mother thought their firstborn special, but she knew she was holding so much more. An incarnate, a physical being of power itself, and it was here, a lit and alive, trembling and mewling in her arms, destined for things she could not imagine. She just knew .
She did not know how long time had passed when the door to the closet was thrown open, and her husband stood before her, panting in relief. She hardly noticed him when he rushed to her side and lifted the cord for cutting. When she felt the snip of the blade she thought she'd be devastated; instead, she sensed a different kind of bond between her and her child, one that could never be broken so simply. He was hers, and she would do whatever she could to protect him forever.
As she was lifted onto her feet and her husband carefully helped back back onto the bed, she didn't dare release her child. Even when he came back with fresh linens and offered to take the baby, she would not let go. Instead her husband had to settle with gazing at his firstborn from the sidelines with pride.
"Name?" he asked her, as he placed is one good arm around her.
As she gazed down at the baby, with his dusty skin and the faintest glimmer of silver hair glowing around his skull, she was reminded of the faint pink stones that had watched through her.
" ...Kunzite," she finally answered.