by Gene Stiles
Rhea wept silently while tenderly washing Amelia’s soft, limp face with a warm, damp cloth. She wiped away lines of frothy drool from the girl’s full, pink lips, once so filled with joy and a sunlight smile, now slack and listless. Brown eyes that used to sparkle with wonder in the golden glow of the fields now stared sightlessly at the thriving, glistening city below, their vibrant cinnamon dulled to the color of wet dirt.
‘What am I to do?’ Rhea thought, salty tears seeping into the edges of her downturned lips, her slender fingertips caressing the growing bulge beneath Amelia’s yellow gown. ‘Soon there will be no hiding what is to be. Whatever shall we do then, dear child? What shall we do then?’
“Lady Rhea,” a light voice intruded upon her dilemma, “your presence is requested at council.”
“Thank you, Eleanor,” Rhea responded, careful to keep her tear-dampened face turned away. “I shall be there shortly. Please send for Hestia.”
“As you wish,” the young woman responded, backing out and closing the chamber door behind her as she left.
Whenever her duties took her away, Rhea asked her eldest daughter, little Hestia, so quiet and shy, to check in on Amelia throughout the day. Hestia happily complied, honored that her mother placed so much trust in her. She played with fine-crafted, porcelain dolls, laying her favorite, red-haired Melissa, on Amelia’s lap, under the folds of her delicate fingers. The doll, clothed in a red-flowered dress, was a virtual twin to the child with flowing locks of wavy, auburn hair, gem-green eyes and a slim, soft body. A scatter of other male and female dolls and fluffy animals lay strewn around the floor near the two girls. With them, Hestia created fanciful adventures of life outside filled with playful heroics, sweet love stories and travels across a world so huge that Hestia could not even fathom its ends. She shared her happy wanderings with Amelia in a tinkling, singsong voice alive and soaked with childish wonder.
Only away from others did Hestia come alive, chattering like a chipmunk when there was no one else to hear. She loved spending time with her younger sisters, but they were far different that her. The lovely, blue-eyed Demeter was full of warmth and laughter, all butterflies and flowers and laugher that brought a smile even to the face of their dour, stern father, Cronus. Her flaxen hair glowed in the sunshine with streaks of gold that glimmered in the light, yet the ends were always dirty brown where she knelt on the ground running her tiny hands through muddy, rich soil. Hera was Demeter’s opposite, reddish-yellow hair always trapped in a tight braid down to her narrow waist, dark, black-green eyes that could pierce your soul, rooting out the smallest lie. Hera always seemed to be judging everyone and everything she saw, her thin, light pink lips pinched and firm, her beauty almost lost within her sharp, angular face. When the three were together, Hestia quietly watched over them like a mother hen, enjoying their differences but staying an arm’s length away.
Here with the silent Amelia, Hestia could talk of all that was inside of her without fear of the look of judgement in her father’s face or worry about his sometime harsh, cruel punishments. She could fantasize about all she would do when she grew older and lay out her dreams at the feet of Amelia, asking for advice and deciding which dreams should be cast aside. To Hestia, the comatose girl was a life-sized, living doll that she could dress, have tea with, share secrets with and laugh aloud with. She truly loved her silent companion.
“It is not that Father does not love me,” Hestia told Amelia in quiet confidence. “It is just that his duties are so vast that he has no time for me anymore. Before my sisters and my brother were born, he spent lots of time with me, but then the city got bigger and the family got bigger. He is so important now and there are so many of us children that he has little time to share with me.”
“I understand it,” Hestia continued, pouting her little ruby-red lips, the mist of unfallen tears blurring her large, jade-green eyes. She sat on the edge of her small wooden rocking chair holding Amelia’s warm, flaccid palm in one tiny hand, running the little fingers of her other hand absently on the silent woman’s smooth, soft skin. “I really do, but do not have to like it. I miss him so. I wish you could tell me what to do.”
Hestia bowed her little head, auburn waves hanging over her trembling shoulders as tears overtook her. They rolled down her rosy cheeks, past the edges of her thin, quivering lips and dripped upon her pink, red-flowered dress. So lost in her childish sorrow was Hestia that, at first, she did not notice the light grip upon her fingers. As the pressure grew in twitches, she raised her eyes to her lethargic friend, staring in wonder at the unmoving face. She wiped the moisture from her cheeks, noting the pinkish blush on Amelia’s face grow darker, the ripples of tension clenching her jawline and heard the other girl’s teeth grind together. Hestia’s mouth dropped wide open when the touch on her hand became a painful clench.
Then the screaming began.
Amelia lay in quiet repose upon a bed of purple and yellow flowers, her jade eyes closed to the glare of a warm, noonday sun. Tall stalks of spring-green grass swayed in waves with the breath of a mild westerly breeze. The scents of a million growing things filled the air around her with a sweet aroma touched with cinnamon, apple, rose and tulip. She ran the tip of her tongue across the small smile playing upon her sensuous pink lips, tasting the breath of the Creator and thanking him for its wonder. The songs of countless birds and the chirpings of tiny insects blanketed her ears in a soothing melody of safety and comfort, embracing her in the soft arms of a mother’s love.
A mother’s love. For some strange and inexplicable reason the words filled her with glorious joy and terrifying horror, both at the same time. Her languid body shuttered on her bed of grass and flower petals, her muscles twitching with painful cramps. Deep lines creased her moist brow, her downturned lips muttering unknown words that made absolutely no sense at all.
Amelia rubbed her belly in a gentle rhythm, her delicate fingers creating circles upon her sun-darkened skin. A ball of blazing golden energy glowed within her abdomen, filling her with a marvelous rapture that sang through her tingling nerve endings. Inside the intense light, fingers of yearning adoration reached out to her troubled mind, begging for desperate attention. A barely heard bantam voice whispered unintelligible words of the purest of loves, calling to Amelia in devoted adoration.
The luminous ball squirmed as it spoke, the movement striking a cord of fear in her soul, forcing her crinkled eyes to pop open against her will. Above her, beyond the blue, cloudless sky, red, burning eyes gazed at her with gleeful, wicked joy. Fang-filled jaws opened and slathered the dome of her prison with sizzling acid. Arched, malefic talons ripped at the shell that kept her safe, reaching down to trace scorching trails of blood and fire on her tummy. The thing inside her responded to the touch with the same loving emotions it had given to her, the same devotion and the same desire for attention. Tendrils of gold reached out for the demonic claws and wrapped around them like the fingertips of a child.
A hellish, bellowing laughter assaulted Amelia’s ears and she screamed, cupping her hands tightly over her ears in a useless attempt to cut out the sound. It pounded her flesh and tore rivers of blood across her agonized, writhing body. Black, hairy monsters ripped through the bubble of her protection, their crooked claws dripping thick, crimson that burned where it touched her. They fell from the sky, flattening the grasslands and crushing the fragrant, colorful flowers beneath their twisted, dirty toenails. The howling creatures pounced upon her helpless prone form, screeching in demonic glee. Amelia fought and struggled, convulsing and wailing as the pinned her to the ground.
Yet within the unholy darkness, a golden sphere of light called out to her in fear-tinged love. Its energy strengthened her violent struggles, willing her to break free with a brilliant, growing force of life. Inside her mutilated, lacerated mind, a tinkling, singsong voice bathed in frightened apprehension called her name, laying cool hands on her fevered brow. Amelia swam against the riptide of fury that impaled her, her hands stretching out
to reach the golden light and to grip the cooling hands.
The dome of protection exploded into frayed tatters above her unleashing a screeching torrent of vile, stinking, fur-covered bodies that fell upon her with rage and hatred blazing in their bloody red eyes. Her psyche shattered, the shredded pieces reforming around the glowing ball, drawn to it with a blinding force. She could make it if only she could cling to that light. If only she could keep hearing that little desperate voice buried inside her. It called out to her with a single indistinguishable word that Amelia battled to understand. Without warning, the sound sharpened into crystal clarity. One word. Mommy.
Memory flooded Amelia’s tortured soul overlaid with a mind-wrenching horror, that solitary word racing through the crackling inferno of her ravaged heart. She understood now. She knew what the glowing globe inside her was saying and she was horrified through every fiber of her being.
Amelia screamed then. She screamed until her throat was dry and burning. Then she screamed some more. Then again and again and again.
“Forgive me, please,” the nervous Aam said loudly, bursting into the council chambers. To interrupt these proceedings was a serious breach of protocol and could result in dire consequences for him, he knew, but the message was serious and urgent. It could not wait. “Lady Rhea, Amelia has awoken. It is not good.”
Without regard to the other eleven or even a single word, Rhea shoved her high-backed chair away and bolted from the room. She pushed the burly guard aside as if he was made of smoke, running down the wide, marbled granite hallway until she reached the lift that would take her up two levels to her quarters. A gaggle of women shifted on skittish feet just outside Amelia’s chambers, apprehensive, but unwilling to disobey Rhea’s command to not enter the bedroom under any circumstances. Hestia sat crumpled on the divan, wrapped in the arms of two women who cooed softly at the hysterical little girl. Though Rhea wanted nothing more than to sweep her daughter into her embrace, she bypassed her in lieu of racing into Amelia’s room.
Even through the massive oak doors, the shrieks pierced her ears like the high-pitched howls of a trapped, vicious animal in screaming pain. Inside, Eleanor sat on Amelia’s heaving chest, pinning the convulsing, raving girl beneath her. Fresh purple bruises covered the attendant’s face and bright red blood coursed down her muscled arms along the trails of deep scratches. It looked as if Eleanor had fought a rabid murcat and lost. Amelia fought with furious frenzy, wailing incoherently, trying desperately to sink her teeth into her captor to no avail. Eleanor rode her like a wild beast using her heavier weight and all of her superior strength to hold the girl to the carpeted floor.
Rhea rushed to her aid, placing her palms on either side of Amelia’s crazed and sweaty head. The ebony hair lay matted and knotted by the wetness of fever and the young girl’s head struggled beneath her firm grasp. Rhea closed her sky-blue eyes, took deep, steady breaths and pulled energy from the pit of her soul. The golden glow of Healing radiated from her hands, bathing Amelia’s mind in bright yellow light.
‘Shhhh,’ Rhea’s mind whispered over and over in a gentle, tender mantra. ‘All is well. You are safe and surrounded by love. Be at peace.’
Ever so slowly, Amelia relaxed, her insane thrashing subsiding. Her chest quieted its heaving and changed into a rhythmic rise and fall. Eleanor eased her grip and slid off the girl, kneeling close in case she was needed once again. Her bruises faded and her cuts closed beneath the light glow of her own Healing. She ran one palm across Amelia’s damp brow while she caressed the girl’s arm with the fingertips of her other hand.
Amelia’s eyes fluttered then opened widely, her mouth gaping as if to renew her horrifying howls. Instead, she calmed, sucking in a deep gasp of air. She groaned, grasping her chest as if her poor heart was rupturing with torment. Amelia rose to sitting position, wrapping her trembling arms around her vibrating knees, sobbing softly.
Rhea released Amelia’s temples when she sat up, carefully watching the girl and scooting forward to give back support if needed. She ran her fingertips through the long, black hair and whispered words of comfort. The action, repeated so often in months past, had a soothing affect, the sobs becoming heart-wrenching whimpers. With the help of Eleanor, she lifted Amelia tenderly and led her to the four-poster bed, the girl wobbling on weakened legs. She slipped the maiden beneath the flowered comforter, stuffing pillows behind her back.
“Thank you for your kindness and help, Eleanor,” Rhea said over her shoulder, he worried gaze never leaving Amelia. “I shall take it from here. Please take care of Hestia and tell her I will be with her soon.”
“You are more than welcome,” Eleanor replied, her sad eyes looking at the rumpled, shattered young girl. “Do not worry about your daughter. I will treat her as if she was my very own.”
“You always do,” Rhea smiled weakly. “Again, thank you.”
Eleanor nodded at Rhea’s back and silently left the room, pulling the door tightly closed as she went.
Amelia pulled her legs up to her chest, burying her weak and drawn face against her knees. Her ebony hair hung in twisted straggles over her slumped and quivering shoulders. Keening sobs escaped from her slightly parted lips, muted by the thick comforter clenched between her grinding teeth. She rocked back and forth against the stacked, fluffy pillows, trying desperately to keep the vile, demonic horror growing inside of her from forcing her churning stomach to spill out acidic bile from her burning mouth.
“Do not worry, sweet girl,” Rhea crooned repeatedly, running her long fingers along Amelia’s face and through her damp hair. “We shall get through this together and you have my oath that I shall be with you no matter what happens. No one else will know if you wish. It is and will be our secret.”
“Oh, Creator,” Amelia bawled at the kindness saturating the voice, throwing her shivering arms around the woman, hot, salty tears soaking Rhea’s silky, white blouse. “Whatever shall I do? Whatever shall I do?”
Chapter X
Morpheus paced the anteroom like a caged animal, trying vainly to close his ears to the screams and swearing piercing the wide oak doors of the bedchamber. He was even sure he heard his name being cursed more than once. He wanted nothing more than to burst into the room, but the bulky matron standing cross-armed in front of the door would not brook such an intrusion. His ebony hair swirled around him like a violent thundercloud tossed by a ragged windstorm. His thick wristed hands clenched and unclenched behind his narrow waist, bunching the thin fabric of the billowed-sleeve, ocean blue shirt he wore. Where it opened in a deep V cut in the front, his massively muscled, hairless chest glistened with heavy droplets of sweat. Tendons and sinews bulged and quivered in high relief against his tight, black leather pants with each long-legged stride across the granite-walled room. His ruggedly handsome face was marred with deep furrows, his finely shaped lips pinched not with anger but with worry and helplessness.
“You are going to wear a path even in this hard stone floor if you do not slow down,” Lelantos grinned, his gold-flecked eyes sparkling with mischief. His brawny body lay relaxed sprawled out against the padded cushions of the long, cloth-covered couch that took up one wall of the gaily decorated chamber, his long waves of auburn hair hanging loose around his square-jawed, finely chiseled face. “She will be fine. All is well. Calm yourself.”
Morpheus glared at his friend, trying to decide if he should choke the grin off his laughing face. Of course, Lelantos could repose so placidly. It was not his beloved in such pain and suffering just outside his reach. Never had the warrior felt so helpless, so useless. The ladies assured him all smiles and joyful, all was as it should be and that he would only be an encumbrance at Haleah’s side. He just had to have patience. Easier said than done.
He was just about to snap at Lelantos when the birthing room went eerily quiet. He turned sharply, striding toward the oaken doors with the purpose of shoving them wide open when the cries began anew. The matron stopped Morpheus with the raise of one hand and t
urned on her heel, entering the chamber and closing the door firmly behind her. In just a few moments that seemed like an eternity, the pain-filled curses ended. A new set of cries filled the air, tiny but somehow strong. The woman returned, grinning from ear to ear, her brown eyes shining. She looked at Morpheus, pushed the door open and stepped aside, motioning him to enter. Morpheus hesitated, hearing the babble of excited, happy women echoing off the cool, stone walls and a harmony of little wails.
“Well, come now,” the lady chuckled, seeing the consternation on his bewildered face. “You are a father, Morpheus. Go see your wife and children.”
“Children?” Morpheus stammered. “What do you mean ‘children’?”
“See for yourself,” the matron chortled, grabbing him by the elbow and leading the stunned man inside. “Come now.”
A cadre of animated, delightfully jubilant women surrounded the blue-canopied, four-poster bed, cheerfully captivated by its occupants. With each high-pitched cry, they giggled and chattered ecstatically. Seeing Morpheus enter, they cleared one side of the bed, pulling a fresh, brightly flowered comforter over the top. Still babbling like a rocky mountain brook, the women moved away to let the new father meet his new family.
Haleah sat up, fluffy, over-stuffed pillows propped up behind her. She looked haggard, exhausted, her long, blond tresses damp and stuck to her rosy wet cheeks and forehead, but she glowed and sparkled like a spring morning sun. Her ocean-blue eyes shimmered in the sunlight pouring in from the wide bank of windows, glistening with happy, unshed tears. Her full red lips lit her radiant face with the most joyous smile he had ever seen. Never had Haleah looked so incredibly beautiful. Tucked in the crook of each arm, wrapped in bundles of pastel blue cloth, lay two little glowing faces. She smiled at each of them then gazed up at Morpheus, beaming in a halo of purest gold.
