Magic and Loss

like everything below my breastbone was in a giant clamp that was being gradually, but mercilessly, cranked shut. I gripped the armrests of the chair I was sitting in so hard I was surprised they didn’t splinter. Zena quickly stepped forward and knelt before me, so that she could look into my eyes, and placed her hands atop my own.

“Take a deep breath and then let it out, slowly,” she instructed in a calm voice.

I did as I was told, focusing on Zena’s scent, which smelled of almonds and violets. The priestess tilted back her head, and her eyelids fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. As I exhaled, she inhaled, and the pain I was experiencing abruptly diminished, as if someone had turned a dial.

“How do you feel?” Zena asked, her pale gray eyes seeming a little less focused than before.

“Much better,” I said gratefully. “Thank you.”

As Zena stepped away, Sister Tipi came forward and placed her hand on my stomach. “Premature birth is common with children such as yours,” she said matter-of-factly. “But your baby’s heartbeat is strong. All is going well.”

The attending Daughters of Nana helped me change out of my street clothes into a lightweight linen gown, and for the next few hours I lay propped up in the bed, riding out the contractions with the help of Zena. That’s not to say it was a walk in the park. Although the Pain-Taker was able to reduce my discomfort considerably, she did not erase it entirely. Hexe stayed with me the whole time, doing his best to try to make me comfortable by putting cold compresses on my forehead and coaching me on my breathing, or bringing me tea or ice chips whenever I got thirsty. Whenever the pain got to be too much, Zena would quickly step in and “take” it from me by placing her hands on me.

Throughout all this, Tipi monitored the progress of the delivery by her own laying on of hands. The light in the room was kept subdued, and hidden speakers piped in natural ambient noise, like the sound of rain, wind chimes, and birdsong. This, combined with the calm, self-assured manner of the attending priestesses and Hexe’s presence, helped prevent me from feeling stressed. Still, although I wasn’t in a lot of pain, I was exhausted by the start of my sixth hour of labor, and eager to get the whole thing over with.

“You’re dilated to six centimeters,” Tipi announced in her no-nonsense voice. “The child will be coming soon. It’s time to get in the water.” She and Zena lifted me off the bed, one to each arm, and guided me to the waiting tub, which was large enough to accommodate three people. As I eased into the warm water, I grasped the handholds molded into the tub to anchor myself.

“You, too, Serenity,” Tipi said, motioning to Hexe. “Your job is to catch your child as he shoots free, and bring him to the surface and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the stump where Hexe’s right hand should be.

“And do what?” Hexe prodded.

“...hand him to his mother.”

“Don’t worry, Sister,” Hexe said as he stripped down to his boxers. “I might be missing a hand, but I still have both arms. I’m perfectly capable of catching my son when he makes his appearance.”

As Hexe climbed into the water, Zena positioned herself behind the head of the birthing tub, within easy reach of me, while Tipi stood at its foot. The midwife-priestess held up her arms, her palms open and turned outward, and began chanting in Kymeran.

“What’s she saying?” I asked.

“It’s the Invocation of Nana,” Hexe explained. “I’ll translate; it won’t be exact, but it’s close enough:

When racked with labor pangs, and sore distressed,

We, your Daughters, invoke thee as the soul’s sure rest;

For thou, Nana, alone, canst give relief to pain,

Which the healer attempts to ease, but tries in vain.

Nana, Protector of the Child-Bed, venerable power;

Who bringest relief in labor’s direst hour;

We beseech thee: Deliver this woman.”

“What good is that supposed to do me—? Ahhhhh!” I cried out in agony and alarm as my entire body from the shoulders down suddenly pushed of its own accord. Zena leaned forward and placed her hands on my temples, pulling the pain from me as it crashed down like a wave from an angry sea. Tipi’s chanting became louder and more urgent than before, and I became dimly aware that the cadence of her voice now matched the timing of my contractions.

“Nana’s face is turned to you, now,” Zena whispered, her lips pressed close to my ear. “You and your child are under her protection—now push!”

I gritted my teeth and bore down as hard as I could, struggling to jettison my precious cargo. I was so exhausted, I felt as if I were trapped in a Mobius strip—that I had, somehow, always been in labor, and would always be in labor; that there was no baby, no future, just the eternity of striving to push something that was and, yet, was not, of myself from myself. I looked in the direction of Tipi, who was still at the foot of the tub, invoking the name of her goddess, and saw standing behind her the shadowy outline of a woman. As I struggled to bring the figure into focus, her face changed from that of young woman, to matron, to crone, and back again. As different as each visage was, one from the other, each face bore the same smile and the same pair of golden eyes.

I heard Hexe excitedly call out, as if from an impossible distance, “I see the baby’s head! I see his shoulder!” I took a deep breath and bore down a final time, forcing our baby out of my birth canal and into the arms of his father. “I’ve got him!” Hexe shouted, splashing about like a hillbilly trying to catch a catfish by hand.

As he brought our son to the surface, Tipi finally halted her chanting and stepped into the tub, using a ball syringe to suction the plugs of protective mucus from the baby’s nostrils and mouth so he could breathe on his own. Only then did he begin to cry, giving voice to a lusty, insistent squall.

“Is he okay?” I rasped.

“He’s more than okay, Tate—he’s perfect,” Hexe grinned as he placed our newborn son, still attached to his umbilical, onto my belly.

I had never been as exhausted and elated as I was at that moment. Esau, Boss Marz, the Maladanti, Hexe losing his hand, my parents disinheriting me—all those things lost their meaning as I gathered my child into my arms. I wept and laughed in equal measure, covering the top of his still-damp head with kisses as he waved his fists like a tiny boxer at the brave new world he now found himself in. I was so happy and relieved, I barely noticed the sorrowing look exchanged between Tipi and Zena as they noticed the number of fingers on my baby’s hands.

Hexe climbed out of the water and put his clothes back on, allowing Sister Tipi room to deliver and dispose of the afterbirth, and then sever the umbilical cord. The priestess handed the baby over to Hexe, who proudly cradled him in his arms as she and Zena helped me out of the birthing tub and back onto the bed.

I propped myself against the headboard and reached out to take our son from Hexe, so I could breastfeed him. Suddenly Tipi and Zena gasped out loud in surprise and dropped to their knees.

“All Hail the Blood of Arum!” the priestesses proclaimed in unison. “All Hail the Heirs of Adon!”

It wasn’t until I looked down into my newborn son’s tiny, wrinkled face, and saw him looking up at me, that I understood the reason behind their adoration. For while my child might have his mother’s hands—he had his father’s eyes.

Chapter 30

“I can’t believe we went through so much drama for something so tiny,” I said in a hushed voice as I watched my new son nurse. “But it was worth every second.”

Tipi and Zena, their jobs now done, had withdrawn from the birthing chamber to allow Hexe and me time to bond with our new child. Hexe was stretched alongside me on the bed, staring at his son in open awe. He chuckled as the baby wrapped his tiny hand around his left index finger.