by J. L. Mbewe
“Yes, so you have said.” Johari glanced around. Why had she run out here beyond the protection of the king? She eyed the woman’s arm. “Are you hurt?”
“Death is written in the stars.” She lowered her arm.
“Death is a constant. I do not need a star to tell me that.”
“Silence.” She lurched forward. “The underworld groans as a woman in labor. It hungers for the death of this child. The queen will have her way.”
A contraction seized Johari. She grasped the tree roots. Not now. Not here.
“Johari!” The king’s voice rumbled in the distance.
The shade drew closer.
“Soon,” she spoke, and other voices joined hers until in unison they roared, pouring out of her mouth like a waterfall. “Our deaths will be avenged. The last sacrifice will be undone.” Laughter echoed and faded.
Hands touched her face. Johari opened her eyes. The king hovered above her, lines creased his forehead. Fear or concern or both flickered in his eyes. He mouthed words, but their meaning was swept away.
“Did you see her?” She glanced wildly around. Where had the woman gone? Another contraction hit her.
“Are you all right?”
Johari took a breath as the tightness eased away. “Did you see the woman?”
“No. What—”
Johari gripped his arms. “She said the queen was going to kill my baby.”
“No.” The king stepped back. “She wouldn’t.”
“Please do not leave me.” She bent over and breathed through the pain wrenching her body.
“You haven’t been consecrated yet. You can’t have this baby now.”
Johari glared at him. “Tell the baby that.”
He helped her to her feet.
“I do not want to go to the birthing room.” She seized up again.
“But where else?”
“It smells like death down there.”
“It has been prepared for you.” He placed his arm around her waist.
“Your Majesty, I am a healer. Let me assist.” A male voice interrupted.
That voice. She knew that voice. She sought the guardian’s face, but a wave of fire crashed into her abdomen, and she fell forward.
“I don’t want anything to do with you or your Shadow God.” The king’s voice was harsh. He looked past Saeed to the four men behind. “Servants, go get the midwives and the priestess.”
Of course he wasn’t alone. The king had an entourage everywhere he went. They eyed her, their faces cramped in disdain. Their eyes shot hateful arrows and pierced her soul. She averted her gaze and leaned into the king. Why did she think they would have treated her like an equal? How could she have forsaken her family for a life locked in a cage? The people grumbled against her and her dark skin. She was only an object of curious revulsion for those not acquainted with her race. Did they know she could change and rip out their throats? She snarled inwardly, but a contraction hit her, and her legs buckled.
While she was dazed from the pain, they had managed to drag her down into the dungeon cell they called a birthing room. A servant kindled a fire in the empty hearth. Another one scurried into the room dumping a pile of towels onto the ground. A priestess burned incense in the far corner, reciting a chant of some sort. She glided to each of the room’s corners and waved the smoldering bowl, its smoke curling upward. Her wide sleeves flared, revealing fresh scabs snaking up her arms.
Johari clung to Val’s arm. A tall woman rushed into the room and tugged an apron on over her head. A line of servants hauled buckets of water behind her. She directed them to the right of the hearth. They put the buckets down and then fled the room.
Saeed stood at the entrance, his eyes glimmered gold in the firelight “This is your birthing room, Your Majesty?”
“It’s a practical room, Guardian.” The king straightened. “I don’t remember inviting you down here.”
“Please, I want to help.” He glanced to Johari, then back to the king. “You must allow her to change, to resist will overwhelm her.”
“It is none of your concern, I assure you.”
Saeed frowned. His gaze returned to hers. He bowed slightly and touched her head. “Parzanah yzerole u li.”
Tears stung her eyes. The words warmed her, not just the meaning, but the sound of her language on his tongue. Her sister had spoken the same benediction over her.
“A li rzargo,” she replied.
“What did you say?” the king asked.
“Parzanah protect her.”
The king snorted. “We serve the Nuja here. Be gone, Guardian.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Saeed bowed.
“No,” Johari said. The word scratched at her dry throat. “Let him stay.”
The king grunted. “I have spoken. Leave or I will have you escorted.”
Saeed strode from the room, and Johari closed her eyes. Parzanah, please—a contraction slammed into her. She leaned into Val and dug her fingers into his arm. The king extracted his arm while a midwife pulled her away. Val shook his head and disappeared.
The midwife stuck her pale face into Johari’s. “Clothes off.”
She spun Johari around and gripped the back of the dress. She tugged and jerked, stripping away the satin layers and flung them against the wall.
Johari trembled as humiliation seared her insides, but it wasn’t because she was naked. Even though she stood in human form, this woman treated her worse than an animal. The midwife’s harsh eyes swept over Johari’s dark skin, her swollen abdomen, and her lip curled in disgust.
The midwife pointed to the chair with a hole in it. “You will sit and birth your child there.”
How could she bring her baby into this world? She sat, but the wood bit into her backside. Pain erupted across her back, and she fell forward on to the stone floor, but the midwife didn’t stop her, wouldn’t even touch her.
The contractions came quicker, harder. She had to focus. She had given her word not to change. Hot, searing pain shot through her. She would not cry out. She would not change. The contractions continued, yet something was wrong. At the back of her head, a dull numbness burned cold and slowly advanced down her neck into her heart, into her soul. Asleep, yet awake. Dreams and reality blurred.
Ethereal veils slipped past her face, withdrawing from her vision. Streams of silver flowed over a marble mountain. Delicate patterns of stars and moons, flowers, trees, and other symbols she didn’t recognize were carved into the marble. The streams plunged over a vast canopy of stone and dangled midair above thousands of gold bowls. Flames danced in the bowls and licked the silver strands. Whispers of her name fluttered on a breeze. Parzanah, is that you?
Her vision dimmed, and the veils returned. The midwife shouted at her. The priestess chanted, her voice growing louder. Too much noise. Then the guardian’s marred face appeared above her. He mouthed words, but they meant nothing to her. Where was her beloved? She struggled to sit up, but pain seized her.
“Yaeru,” Saeed said. “You must push or you will lose your baby.”
Tears burned her eyes. She couldn’t do it anymore. She snarled as searing pain burned in her back. Black fur rushed over her arms. The midwife screamed and fell away.
“You fool! She needs you.” Saeed placed his hand on Johari’s forehead. “She’s going into shock. We need to deliver this baby, or we will lose both of them.”
“Good riddance, I say,” the midwife said and rushed from the room.
Johari curled her padded paws against her swollen belly and pushed.
“Yaeru.” He rubbed her back. “You can do this—priestess, will you do something other than chanting meaningless words and filling the air with your stench?”
“If they die naturally, all the better.” The priestess sneered and resumed her chanting.
Johari growled, drowning out the priestess’s hateful voice. She pushed again, then the pressure disappeared. Sharp cries pierced the shadows. Her baby! W
here was her baby?
Saeed kneeled next to her, but his shoulder blocked her view. She struggled to rise up and craned her neck to see over him. She wanted her baby now. What was taking so long?
The chanting had stopped. The flames roared in the hearth, and the baby coughed. Saeed lifted him. She caught a glimpse of wrinkly red skin.
“He bears the mark,” the priestess said, pointing. “With his death, the last sacrifice will be undone. It is true!”
Saeed shifted, wrapping the baby in the towels. He scooted over to Johari and placed the warm bundle on her fur-covered chest. “You have a fine boy.”
Johari purred and licked the soft skin of her baby. His dark eyes blinked up at her. His little nose, lips, and ears perfectly formed. Beautiful. She didn’t feel the fur recede, but the next moment she lay on the cold, stone floor, cradling her baby, shivering. She held him tight and kissed him.
Metal scraped metal; and the glint of a blade caught her eye. The priestess hovered nearby, brandishing a crude dagger.
Saeed frowned. “What are you doing?”
“The baby must die.” The priestess approached slowly. The dying flames threw flickering shadows across her face.
“I cannot allow you to do this.”
A mocking smile curled her lip. “You are not welcomed here.”
“But the king?”
“Maybe she died during labor and lost the baby; it’s not unheard of.” The priestess dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
“Not among the Haruzo.”
The woman’s face hardened. “She is scourge on the kingdom. He is marked. They both must die.”
Johari clung to her baby. She had to save him, but how? She barely had the strength to sit up. Her eyes darted to the elderly elf.
“Saeed,” Johari whispered, cradling the baby tight against her. “Puru hali. Please, take my son, save him.”
“I cannot leave you at the mercy of this murderer.” He continued glaring at the priestess. “The Nuja have no mercy.”
He stooped to gather her in his arms, but she shook her head. “I’m dying.”
“Don’t you dare,” the priestess snarled and lunged.
“Voart!”
The woman recoiled, but bared her teeth at him. “The yenzo is no match for the power of the underworld.”
“Please, take my son and go.” But Johari clung even tighter.
Saeed’s amber eyes bore into hers. He lifted the baby from her arms. “The baby was never born.”
Her heart broke. Parzanah yzerole u li, puru hali…puru hali!
“You can’t do this.” The priestess waved her dagger. “Wherever he goes, we will find him, we will kill him.”
“You will not kill this baby,” Saeed said and rushed from the room.
“Guards!” The priestess charged after him.
Johari gathered her strength and leapt for the woman’s throat, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh. The weight of her feline form slammed the priestess backward. Johari released her jaws, and the priestess’s head lolled to the side, baring a bloody gash. Johari recoiled. Parzanah, forgive me.
Footsteps pounded the stairs. She huddled against the wall, shivering. Her strength waned fast. She couldn’t fight. Her darkened vision gave way to the veils again, yet they did not part. The sharp scent of roses saturated the veils and stung her nose. She lingered on the edge of consciousness. So cold. She clung to her fur. She would die a true Haruzo. The sight of her feline form would make it easier for the guards to kill. She curled into a ball. Why was it so cold? When would they come and end her misery?
The thundering footsteps paused. In the entrance, stood a throng of soldiers, in their midst, the king. Her beloved. Was there still hope? She lifted her head.
The king’s face twisted in horror, then fury. “Kill her.”
The guards rushed forward, but Johari didn’t feel the blades’ sharp sting as they struck her. The coldness fled, and she faded into darkness, then nothing, but the swish of gossamer veils against the tears on her face.
Discover the World of Nälu
www.WorldofNalu.com
Tales of Nälu
Desert Rose
Dragon Thief
Indestructible
A Princess No More
Hidden Dagger Trilogy
Secrets Kept
Writing as J. L. Mbewe, Jennette is an author, artist, mother, wife, but not always in that order. Born and raised in Minnesota, she now braves the heat of Texas, but pines for the Northern Lights and the lakes of home every autumn. She loves trying to capture the abstract and make it concrete. She is currently living her second childhood with a wonderful husband and two precious children who don’t seem to mind her eclectic collections of rocks, shells, and books, among other things. Here, between reality and dreams, you will find her busily creating worlds inhabited by all sorts of fantasy creatures and characters, all questing about and discovering true love amid lots of peril. She has two short stories published in The Clockwork Dragon anthology, and four short stories set in the world of Nälu. Her debut novel, Secrets Kept, was nominated for the 2014 Clive Staples Award. For more information about her journey as a writer mama and all things creative please visit her at https://www.jlmbewe.com/
