Hallowed Ground

child again, there is work to be done.  So, Mariah, are you ready to work?'

'What must I do?'

'First, I need you to remember,' Balthazar said.

Mariah’s shivered.  She had no idea why.  It was though ravens had walked over her grave.  'Remember what?' she asked.

'Everything,' Balthazar said simply.  'You must remember the journey that brought you to me.  You must remember what came before.  First, you must remember your name.'

'My name is Mariah.'

'Yes,' he said with a smile.  'That is the name they have given you.  Names are easily given, but trust me it was not always your name.  I believe that men and women deserve one name for each of their lives.  In this life, you are Mariah.  In your last life you were not.'

'You aren’t making any sense,' she said.

'It does, if you think about it, but that is by the by, nothing needs to make sense,' Balthazar replied.

He turned back to face her, and she saw he was smiling again.  There was no more warmth in his expression than before, but she saw a spark of – something.

'Tell me, what is your earliest memory?' he asked.

It was a simple enough question.  Mariah turned her thoughts inward.  She frowned.

'There were tents,' she said at last.  I was alone in one, and there were men – strange men – in the others.  I remember thinking that they walked oddly.  Their eyes were…cold.'

She almost said like yours but bit the words back.

'They wouldn’t talk to me.  They brought me food three times a day.  One of them was always by the fire.  I don’t think we were always in the same place . . .'

'What makes you think that?'

'The trees were different, but…' She fell silent.  Then started again, haltingly.  'I know we moved from campsite to campsite… but I don’t remember a wagon, or horses.  Near the end I couldn’t have ridden – I was so heavy – but…'

'You traveled,' Balthazar finished.  'You remember nothing before that?  Tell me, who is the father of this child of yours?  If that is too difficult, tell me where you were born.  If you cannot find the place, tell me the names of your parents.  Tell me something that didn’t happen yesterday or last week or last month.  Go back and tell me about kicking up leaves as a little girl and making angels in the mud.'

Mariah felt an icy claw of doubt grip her heart.  She had thought of none of these things since waking.  Her mind had been full with the singular thought: her child.  And then, as the needs of hunger had become overpowering, she had thought about food.

'I escaped them,' she said at last, ignoring his questions.  'I remember lying on my bedroll in that tent and thinking I would go crazy if I stayed another minute.  Something was wrong with the child, and they wouldn’t talk to me.

'It was late afternoon.  They mostly came out of their tents at night.  One of them was watching the fire,' she closed her eyes, remembering.  'I walked past him.  He didn’t look up until I had passed.  I kept walking, right to the edge of the camp.  I remember thinking that it was strange that the camp seemed to have an edge.  There was a point where you were inside…and another where you were not.

'I stood right at that edge, as I’d done I don’t know how many times before.  I felt his eyes on my back, but pretended I didn’t know he was watching.  I don’t know how I knew when he turned away,' she shrugged.  'I just knew.'

She turned her face up to meet Balthazar’s gaze.  'I don’t even know who they were!' she said.

'It isn’t important,' Balthazar replied.

She turned away.  He was wrong.  It was important to her, but she kept that to herself.  She didn’t need to tell him.  He could reach into her head and pluck the damned thought out.  He almost certainly knew the story she was telling – and probably better than she ever would.

'The baby kicked.  It hurt, and I knew it wasn’t normal.  I mean I’d felt him moving before, but this was different.  Before, it had always made me smile.  Alone in that tent, I knew – at least – that he was with me.  I don’t even know how I knew it was a boy.

'But then he kicked and it hurt.  I staggered, and that step was like walking through – I don’t know – a wall of ice?  It was cold.  I felt it shatter – and that doesn’t make any sense, but the baby kicked again and I fell forward.  I was in agony.  I heard a scream behind me, but it wasn’t like any scream I’d ever heard.  It was high-pitched, shrill, and incredibly loud.  I crawled forward, away from the sound – and away from the camp.  When I finally looked back I saw the tents, and the fire.  None of the men who had watched me were in sight.

'I had things in that tent.  I had a pack, and a bedroll.  I turned to go back for my belongings, but the baby kicked again, and I screamed.  The pain was like having a knife dragged through my belly.  I didn’t know what to do.  It hurt and I didn’t know how to make it stop.

'When I crawled away from the camp again – the pain eased.  It still hurt, but the further I went, the easier it was to move, and eventually I didn’t have to crawl.  I was able to walk.'

Mariah fell silent again.  The next part of her memory was so hazy she wasn’t certain she trusted it to words.

'I walked for a very long time,' she said, looking at Balthazar to see if he would help her focus the memories into something coherent.  He met her gaze and nodded for her to continue.  'I remember that I almost fell into a gulch.  It was dry and rocky. I slid partway down, tore my pants.  I was afraid for the baby.  When I climbed up the other side, I saw firelight.  I saw a fire.  I heard something, but I wasn’t sure what.  I was so hungry, and so very, very tired.  I remember thinking that if I could just make it to those voices, to that fire, that I might find help.'

Balthazar listened in silence.  His gaze was invasive.  It penetrated her in ways she hadn’t known possible.  It felt as though her life drained into his hungry eyes.  It wasn’t merely parasitic.  As her life slipped away she found herself able to grasp more of the tendrils of her past, as though one had been weighing down the other, and now she was free to remember at least a little more.

'By the time I saw the wagons, and the tents, I could barely walk,' she said at last.  She rubbed a hand down her jaw, pressing in her cheeks as she grasped the memory.  'One tall tent stood in the center of a clearing.  I remember!  Lights were flickering inside it, and I saw shadows swaying back and forth.  People!  I heard a voice, and I wanted very badly to know what it was saying – and who it was.'

'Of course you did,' Balthazar soothed.

'Something happened.  The doors of the tent opened, and people spilled out into the night.  I tried to call out to them, but before I could scream….'

'The baby kicked again,' Balthazar said, taking up her words as she let them drop away.

She gazed at him evenly for a long moment, and then nodded.

'I fell to my knees.  I remember that I started to crawl, but I was too far away.  I heard horses in the distance.  The creak of a wagon, as well.  I heard footsteps, but now I think about it there weren’t many voices.  I was so tired…I crawled on my hands and knees, and the pain eased a little, but the closer I got to the tent, the quieter the night became, until I thought I had found my way to one more fire with men who didn’t speak – a fire that would never keep me warm.  I felt eyes on my back.  I remember that.  I remember how frightened I was that that they must have followed me after all, that they were going to carry me away, back to the woods and the trees and that cold fire pit.  I was so frightened that they would kill my baby,' she shook her head, fingers reaching into her dirty hair to massage her scalp as she teased the memories out.

'I managed to get to my feet and stagger into the camp.  I tried to reach the tent, but I was too weak.  I fell to my knees, and the rocks cut me.  I cried out then, I’m sure of it.  Whatever had gone wrong had worsened.  It felt as though I was being torn apart from the inside.  There was no one to help, no one to see, but I couldn’t go on.  I lay there and…'

'Yes?' Balthazar asked softly.

'I don’t’ know,' she said softly.  'The next thing I remember was waking and finding you staring down at me.  My baby…'