by J. R. Ward
Chapter Seventy
Tragedy struck during a brutal winter storm, and verily, it was not at all like the long labor of the female on her birthing bed. The ruination took naught but the blink of an eye. . . and yet the ramifications changed the course of lives.
"No!"
The sound of Tohrment's shout snapped Darius's head up from the steaming, slippery newborn in his bare hands. At first, there was no telling what had occurred to cause such alarm. Indeed, there had been much blood during the birthing, but the female had survived the delivery of her offspring unto this world. In fact, Darius was just cutting the cord and going to wrap the young for presentation--
"No! Oh, no!" Tohrment's face was ashen as he reached out. "Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe! No!"
"Whyever are you--"
At first, Darius could make no sense of what he saw. It appeared. . . that the hilt of Tohrment's dagger protruded from the sheets covering the female's still-rounded belly.
And her pale, now bloodied hands were slowly slipping down from the weapon to land at her sides.
"She took it!" Tohrment gasped. "From my belt--I. . . It was so fast. . . . I bent down to cover her and. . . she unsheathed the--"
Darius's eyes shot to the female's. Her stare was locked on the fire in the hearth, a single tear easing down her cheek as the life light began to drift out of her.
Darius knocked over the tub of water by the bed in his scramble to get to her. . . to take out the dagger. . . to save her. . . to. . .
The wound she had imparted to herself was a mortal one, in light of all she had been through during the birthing. . . and yet Darius could not help himself from fighting to save her.
"Leave not your daughter!" he said, leaning down with the squirming young. "You have brought forth a healthy babe! Lift thine eyes, lift thine eyes!"
As the sound of water dripping from the upended bowl seemed loud as a gunshot, no answer came forth from the female.
Darius felt his mouth moving and had the sense that he was talking-- but for some reason, all he could hear was the soft rain of that spilled water while he begged for the female to stay with them. . . for her daughter's sake, for the hope of the future, for the ties that he and Tohrment were prepared to forge with her so that she was never alone as she sought to raise what she had birthed.
As he felt something upon his britches, he frowned and glanced down.
'Twas not water that fell to the floor. 'Twas blood. Hers.
"Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe. . . " he whispered.
Verily, the female had chosen her course and sealed her fate.
Her last breath was naught but a shudder and then her head listed to the side, her eyes seemingly still locked upon the flames licking at the logs. . . when in fact, she saw nothing and would be sightless e'ermore.
The wail of the newborn and that forsaken dripping were the only sounds in Darius's thatched cottage that he could hear. And indeed, it was the young's plaintive mewling that threw him into action, for there was naught to accomplish about the spilled blood or the life lost. Grabbing the swaddling blanket that had been made for the little one, he carefully wrapped up the wee innocent and held her to his heart.
Oh, the cruel fate that had brought about this miracle. And now what?
Tohrment looked up from the bloodied birthing bed and the now cooling body, his eyes burning with horror. "I but turned away for a moment. . . may the Scribe Virgin forgive me. . . but for a moment did I--"
Darius shook his head. When he went to speak, he had no voice, so he placed his palm upon the boy's shoulder and squeezed to offer comfort. As Tohrment sagged in his own skin, the wailing grew louder.
The mother was gone. The daughter remained.
Darius bent down with the new life in his arms, and retracted Tohrment's dagger from the belly of the female. He put it aside, and then he closed the lids on those eyes and drew up fresh sheeting o'er the face.
"She will not go unto the Fade," Tohrment moaned as he put his head in his hands. "She has doomed herself. . . . "
"She was doomed by the actions of others. " And the greatest sin among them was the cowardice of her father. "She was doomed long afore. . . oh, merciless fate, she was doomed long afore. . . Surely the Scribe Virgin shall look upon her in her death with a favor she was not granted in her life. "
Oh. . . damned. . . cursed, damned fate. . .
Even as he railed against so much in his head, Darius took the tiny young closer to the fire, because he was worried about the chill in the air. As the two of them came within the circle of warmth, she opened her mouth and routed about. . . and for lack of a better alternative, he offered his pinkie for her to suckle on.
With the tragedy still loud as a scream, Darius took in the tiny features and watched as the little one reached out toward the light.
The eyes were not red. And upon that hand there were five digits, not six. And the jointing of the fingers was normal. Briefly opening the swaddling cloth, he checked the feet and the belly and the little head. . . and found that the abnormal length of feature and limb characteristic of sin- eaters was not represented.
Darius's chest roared with pain for the female who had carried this life within her body. She had become a part of both him and Tohrment--and even though she rarely spoke and never smiled, he knew that she had cared for them as well.
The three of them had been a kind of family.
And now she had left this wee one behind.
Darius retucked the blanket and realized that the swaddling cloth was the only way the female had acknowledged her impending birth. Indeed, she herself had made this coverlet that her new daughter was wrapped in. It was the only interest she had taken in the pregnancy. . . likely because she had known this would be the outcome.
All along, she had known what she was going to do.
The young's wide eyes stared up at him, her brows arching in concentration, and with a sense of grave burden, he recognized how vulnerable this bundle was--left on her own to the cold, she would die in a matter of hours.
He had to do the right thing by her. That was all that mattered.
He had to take care of her and do right by her. She had started with so much against her and now she was an orphan.
Dearest Virgin Scribe. . . he would do the right thing by her if it was his last action on earth.
There was a shuffling sound, and as Darius looked over his shoulder, he saw that Tohrment had wrapped the female's body in the sheeting and gathered her into his arms.
"I shall take care of her," the boy said. Except. . . his voice was not that of a boy. It was of a fully grown male. "I. . . shall care for her. "
For some odd reason, the way he held her head was the only thing Darius could see: That big, strong hand of Tohrment's was cradling the departed as surely as if she lived, holding her as if comforting her to his chest.
Darius cleared his throat and worried whether his shoulders were strong enough to bear this weight. However would he complete his next breath. . . the next beat of his heart. . . the next step that must needed to happen?
For truth, he had failed. He had gotten the female free but ultimately, he had failed her. . . .
Except then he dug deep and turned to face his protege. "The apple tree. . . "
Tohrment nodded. "Yes. That is what I thought. Beneath the apple tree. I shall take her there now and to hell with this storm. "
It was not a surprise that the boy would battle the elements to bury the female. He no doubt needed the exertion to ease his agony. "She shall enjoy the blooms in the spring and the sound of the birds that light upon the boughs. "
"What of the babe?"
"We shall care for her, too. " Darius stared down into that small face. "By giving her to ones who shall look after her as she deserves. "
Indeed, they could not keep her here. They were out all night fighting, and the war did not stop for personal loss. . . . The war did not
stop for anything or anybody. Besides, she needed things two males, however well intended, could not provide.
She required a mother's succor.
"Is it night yet?" Darius asked roughly as Tohrment turned for the door.
"Yes," the male said as he unlatched the lock. "And I fear it will be ever so. "
The door swung open, blown asunder by the wind, and Darius curled himself around the babe. When the gust was shut off, he looked down at the tiny new life.
Tracing her features with his fingertips, he worried over what the years ahead had in store for her. Would they be kinder than the circumstances of her birth?
He prayed that they would. He prayed that she found a male of worth to protect her and that she bore young and lived as a normal within their world.
And he would do whatever he could to ensure that.
Including. . . giving her away.
