Dreams of Darkness

by D L Pitchford et al.

  Caladra screamed, the sound beginning deep within her and shattering the stifled air inside the timbered walls. The midwife puttered around her, pulling a steaming kettle of water from the fire. The pain dragged her back under as another cry tore itself from her chest, releasing itself in the form of the old woman’s name.

  The woman chuckled, a dark, full-bellied laugh that shocked Caladra silent, pain driven away long enough to hear.

  “My name is not Maude, dear, despite what Elizabeth Weave would have everyone believe. Call me Maeve, though I could do without the addition of old.”

  Maeve’s movement around the small cottage caught Caladra’s gaze, even as tears clouded her vision. She watched as the woman bent over the fire, stoking the flame with a makeshift bellows and bundled twigs. The name seemed to suit her better, speaking to the easy movement of her body at an elder’s age and the hint of mischief in her voice that Caladra clung to, even as the next wave of pain consumed her.

  Smoke rose and hung in the air, drifting down from the ceiling and coiling in her lungs. Caladra coughed and coughed, struggling to make any sounds as the smoke filled every gap in the space.

  “We have to sweat the baby out of you.” Maeve fanned the fire, feeding it more twigs and waving at it with a large cloth, causing the smoke to billow thicker. “This bairn’s fighting to come into the world and we’ve got to give it as much of a chance as we can, aye.”

  Caladra’s guttural screams obliterated the silence that fell over the village at night. It crawled its way out of her chest, shoving aside her breath and the smoke both.

  “This birth is a difficult one,” Maeve said, cooling Caladra’s brow with a damp cloth, “but you will come through the other side of it. Women have been giving birth in this hut long before I came to this village and nary a child has been lost yet. This bairn will not be the first.” The midwife reached between her spread knees and tugged. “One more push now.”

  “Pa wa mọ,” Caladra shouted out, gripping the wooden frames of the birthing chair as she bore down. Preserve us. The fear, the worry, the pressure that had been weighing her down fled her body as she brought her child into the world.

  The sound of newborn wails ripped through the hut, bringing tears of exhaustion and relief to her eyes.

  Caladra watched as Maeve rubbed warm cloths over her child’s body, wiping it clean of the muck of the birthing process. She then leaned over the shrieking child, peering into its squinting, wrinkled face, and exhaled a gust of air.

  Once. Twice. Thrice she breathed. With each breath the child grew calmer, no longer squirming or crying out.

  Caladra reached out, limbs as weak as they had ever been but aching still to hold her child in her arms. But the midwife continued on as if she had not seen her. The old woman checked betwixt the child stubby legs and pulled the warm steel knife from the fire’s edge. She quickly bound and sliced the cord connecting mother and daughter, pressing against the weeping wound with the flat of her blade, allowing the heat to seal the opening.

  “Come now, you have a beautiful daughter, Caladra,” Maeve crooned as she swaddled the newborn in the fresh linen she had on hand. Freshly washed at the edge of the Dana River, the white cloth seemed to gleam in the firelight, covering the babe from crown to toe.

  Caladra reached out again and smiled as her daughter was placed in her arms. She brought her to her chest and drank in her features. Soft tufts of hair crowned her head and bright blue eyes gazed up at her. She couldn’t help but coo and cry over her first child. Her beautiful daughter. Caladra reached out to wipe at her damp forward while dragging her nose over her daughter’s face, inhaling the scent of her flesh.

  She was spellbound, enchanted by the movement of her minuscule hands and feet and the slight fussing of her limbs as she curled and flexed her tiny muscles.

  “Your daughter will be a strong one, wild and willful as those that came before her,” Old Maude said as she continued to clean the birthing area. “Have you thought of a name, yet?”

  Caladra panted, taking in short gasps of air, color restoring her cheeks slowly. “Paul wants to choose family names from his bloodline, but I hold the naming rights for our children.”

  She leaned forward, nuzzling into the wisps of hair on the newborn’s head. Tears fell onto the crown of the child’s head as her mother cradled her to her bosom. This was an important moment and one she had struggled with. According to the practice of her people, a name was chosen only after days of thought and prayer, surrounded by family and tradition. But she was far from home and the practices of her people.

  This was a new life and her daughter would have new traditions.

  “Her name is Helena. For her father’s family.”

  As Caladra spoke her daughter’s name, she drew strength from it. Air traveled through her more easily and the furrows pain had carved into her face faded, leaving way for her clear, youthful skin to return.

  Maeve puttered around, pulling jars of oils and herbs and other liquids from her shelves. She moved to a mortar and pestle where she mixed and mashed and ground ingredients together to make her concoctions. After she finished, she set the mortar down and plunged both hands into its depth, coating her fingers and palms with the panacea.

  “We must anoint your child with honeysuckle and berry juice,” the midwife said, approaching Caladra and Helena, hands glistening with an unknowable elixir. “Giving the Earth a chance to greet her newest daughter.”

  Maeve plucked Helena from Caladra’s arms and took her to the fire. She rocked the child in a slow, even motion, humming deep in her chest as she did so. Caladra thought about how natural it looked, how calm she looked with her daughter in her arms.

  “Do you have any children of your own?” Caladra asked, sitting firmer in the birthing chair. Although she felt better, she could not feel her legs; she was numb from the base of her back to the floor.

  “Och, I have never been that lucky.” Maeve placed Helena into the crook of her elbow. “Lucky in life or lucky with men. No, I have no children of my own. I lost that right long ago.”

  She traced her infused fingers over the babe’s face, outlining her features in whorls of gold and purple. Caladra watched on, discomforted. What was being done veered too closely toward baptism; neither her husband nor his goodfather could learn of this. She had heard that Maeve lived according to the Old Way, worshipped the forest gods and performed the rites of spring and winter to appease the earth and protect the harvest.

  She always thought it was the townsfolk reacting to her sex: a woman, an outsider on top of that, with power over life, the lives of their young, the future of the village, the wellbeing of their families. Now, she saw the truth.

  Caldara shivered. A lion prowls in my shadow, she thought.

  She knew something of the Old Ways. Diana delighted in whispering the forbidden knowledge she had gained behind her palm. Instead of enticing her, as Diana intended, the stories repelled her. They reminded her too much of home.

  As a young girl, she had listened to the quiet hush of the tribal elder’s gravelly voice as he whispered the secrets of Under and Over to her. He wove tales of ferocious beings, capricious spirits, terrors that lived beyond the walls of the world. He told her of the power their family once held, the words of power they wielded, words to rend and tear and torment the Things from Over and Under.

  She had not thought of him much since he went to dwell with the orisha and she had left the tribe; his words had been banished to that place where childhood cares went. Although, at times, when the moon was dark and the shadows crept over her shoulder like a familiar friend, he came to the forefront of her mind. As he did tonight.

  Caladra’s hand ached already, desperate to hold her daughter again. To cup Helena’s hand in hers, and listen at her chest, marvel at the signs of life that flowed through her.

  “Come now, dear,” Maeve said to her, returning to her with her daughter. “Time to move you into the cot to rest now. Childbirth is a major
ordeal. No matter what the menfolk think of their huntin’ and their gatherin’, this here is the most important work there is to be done. Necessary work as well.”

  Caladra assumed that the old midwife would return her daughter to her arms before assisting her as she attempted to stand. But that was not the case. Instead, Maeve gripped her underarm and pulled her to her feet. Her fingers wrapped around Caladra’s flesh like iron bands; Caladra was helpless to resist the force they exerted.

  She leaned on the midwife and they shuffled from the birthing chair to the small cot set aside against the back wall. Caladra’s legs collapsed from under her as she neared the edge; Maeve’s gentle shove sent her into the middle of the cot. She sank into the woven blankets and furs with a gentle sigh. The cot was firm yet soft. Caladra rolled over, looking up at Maeve in surprise as the woman leaned down and placed her daughter on her chest.

  “Tis softer than you expected, I know. The herder’s wife traded me two skeins of their softest wool and a basket of goose feathers in return for the childbearing tincture I gave them. They had a new bairn by Wolf’s Moon.”

  She watched as the midwife puttered around the small space, performing the necessary tasks left after a new child came into the world. Maeve gathered the soiled birthing cloths and tossed them outside, scattered the remnants of the warm water across the floor, washing away the new stains and further staining the floors with the old ones, and fed twigs to the fire.

  “I’ll be glad to head home and introduce Helena to her father.” Caladra smiled as her daughter batted her fingers against her chin. “He should be back from the hunt by now.”

  “Gracing church coffers with newly salted deer meat, surely.” Maeve’s voice rang with scorn.

  Helena let out a whimper and Caladra responded immediately, whispering words of peace into her tiny ear, lulling her to sleep with the promise of safety and love.

  “Ach, she’s restless, your daughter. She senses what is to come, a whisper of warning that creeps through her blood. The very blood you yourself have forsaken.”

  Fear scraped at Caladra’s throat, causing her to choke on air as her eyes flung themselves at Maeve just in time to see the old woman toss a handful of leaves into the fire. Purple smoke rose from the flames, billowing into every corner of the room within a few heartbeats. As Caladra’s vision was overtaken by the cloudy purple haze, her eyes watered and apparitions formed within the fire’s depths. The flame hissed, spitting embers into the pile of stones surrounding the small pit. To Caladra’s eyes, a bird made of orange and red and yellow soared toward the ceiling.

  A flicker of knowledge lit at the edge of Caladra’s temple as she desperately tried to shield her daughter from the herb smoke, pulling her further into her chest.

  “What have you done? What did you throw into the fire?” Her tongue lay heavy in her mouth. The air pressed at her, invading her with the sweet smelling smoke. It stole the words from her lips and left her unable to gather her thoughts.

  “Vervain, dear one. It’s vervain I added to the fire,” Maeve said, gathering jars and bundles, and tinctures from her stores. She placed it all in a leather sack that sat by the door. “Now that you’ve done what was necessary, it is time. While the darkness still clings to the world, we must away.”

  Caladra saw her approach, nothing but a malformed shape as her eyes continued to cloud, heavy with the desire to sleep. She felt hands clawing at her chest, grabbing hold of her daughter. As Maeve pried her loose, Caladra jerked forward, sinking her teeth into the old woman’s arm.

  Maeve cursed and wrenched herself free, leaving a chunk of flesh caught in Caladra’s teeth. Whatever energy she had managed to muster flowed out of her after her act of defiance. Caladra fell back into the cot, the last gasp of consciousness fading from her flesh.

  As she collapsed, she caught sight of Maeve, Helena cradled in her arms as she headed toward the door.

  Chapter Three

  Caladra regained consciousness with a gasp and a hand to her heart, reflexively swallowing down the salty substance caught in her mouth. She could not recall what had caused her to slumber; the last thing she remembered was the warm weight of her daughter on her chest and the sweet scent emanating from the fire. She felt around absently, searching the space beside her with her hands as she wiped the muck from her eyes.

  Helena was not there.

  Caladra stumbled to her feet, ignoring the weakness of her limbs as she started toward the door. Her daughter was in danger. She felt it in her bones.

  Her travel to the door was fraught with pain and tears, but Caladra refused to stop. Bearing down on her teeth, she put one foot in front of the other, forcing her body to move, even as it rebelled against her. She slumped against the doorway, hearing the groan of ancient warped wood as she leaned against it. She had to press on. Before it was too late.

  Holding back a whimper, Caladra gripped the wooden frame and pulled herself out into the cold night Her flesh pebbled and her breath clouded her face, neither of which would prevent her from rescuing Helena from the danger she faced.

  One foot and then the other. Caladra hobbled into the woods beyond the hut, ignoring the underbrush slicing into the soft flesh of her soles as her lips fumbled over half-remembered chants.

  “Fatebender. Father of Chaos. I beseech thee. Lend me your doubled sight…dual gaze…double.” She cursed, feeling the sacred words slip away. Her right hand drew furrows down her forearm as Caladra rallied, calling on the pain to clear away the mist clouding her mind.

  She could not continue as she had been. Blinding herself to the dangers that lay beyond the edges of the world. Endangering her daughter when she had the knowledge to shield her from such things.

  Caladra let loose the scream that had been building since she awoke. She gave into it, gifted it to the trees, the brush, the burrowers and biters and climbers and crawlers. And to the god whose faith she had broken.

  The part of herself that was the mother raged inside, thinking of nothing else but the child she had only just birthed. Her cool skin, the soft brush of flesh against flesh as Helena patted her face. She had to press forward, somewhere, anywhere until she held her daughter again.

  The part that was more, that which she had denied and rebuked, knew better. She was wild and warm. A steady cold flame burned at her core. The seed of power that dwelled within her came from the center of the world’s grip, the sweet burn of starlight stroking against the sky.

  Caladra fell to her knees, attacking the hard earth with her intent. Her hands ravaged the soil, fingers painted with muck and moss. She reached out with her magic, thin tendrils of power that lashed out, and inward with her mind’s eye. Sinking into herself and into the ancient wood, Caladra prayed.

  She prayed for strength enough to get back to her feet and continue on. Prayed for power enough to find her daughter. Prayed for insight, sight beyond seeing and knowledge beyond knowing.

  Eshu, the woods whispered, batting her plea between the branches as it searched.

  Caladra knelt, and prayed, and waited for a reply even as the shadows grew deeper and the night creatures gained even more ground.

  Eshu responded with a silent roar, pressure and presence collapsing Caladra further, causing her to bend until she was on hand and knee before it. The weight of it, the attention of her patron after such a time, overwhelmed her. Her limbs shook, aching as they kept her from colliding with the dirt and damp, breath escaping her lungs before she could even think to draw it.

  She knew this test. Knew it and despised it now even more than she did as a child of four first encountering the rite of passage.

  As she struggled to lift her head and hands, the pressure grew stronger still; silence had descended around Caladra as she worked against the force. Sensitive to the touch of the divine, all living things had fled the area, save her, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Sweat drenched Caladra’s forehead as she fought against Eshu’s touch, setting one shaking leg underneat
h her body. One foot in front of the other. One movement leading to the next. She drank the air in quick bursts, in and out, allowing the burn to further fuel her.

  Finally, she stood, hurling herself upward until she stood again on both feet. A savage grin broke over her face. Pride swelled within her, filling up the secret places she had so long denied. The world paused around her, the unnatural silence falling away as the night forest scrambled into motion.

  Caladra shook, trembling where she stood as her god rewarded her effort with power. His force, once pressing against her, slipped beneath her skin and filled up the hollow places he had scooped out long ago. It studied her, coiling within her, nudging at her insides and sinking into her bones. Her eyes itched in her skull, rolling away until all that was visible was clear white. Having taken her mortal sight, Eshu granted her access to the Otherworld, the space between waking and dream.

  Deep red furrows lay against the earth to her left, trodding deeper into the woods. Caladra raced forward, letting the mother gain ground inside her. The brush blurred by as she travelled, harrying her prey now that the scent had been caught. Caladra took no notice of the forest and, imbued with her orisha’s will, the forest took no notice of her. Leaves fell to either side as she ran, branches bent away from her face, the ground held no reminder of her presence.