Fancy whimpered again and struggled as the spasm convulsed her. "Help me, Magda," she whispered hoarsely. "Please help me!" Fancy moved her lips and writhed as the next wave hit. Her mouth was bruised and swollen from biting her lips to keep from crying out. Her hands twisted the covers as each new wave of pain engulfed her.
Magda hardened her heart against the hurt she must inflict and fumed Fancy onto her side; she probed the rock-hard belly for the baby's head and feet, then gently but firmly pushed to manipulate the child into a head-downward position. Fancy groaned with the pain of it, and Magda waited for the contraction to pass to try again and again. But the baby clung to its transverse placement and Magda, despairing, ceased her efforts.
The wolf pack howled again, this time considerably closer— Magda moved to the window. She swirled away the frost from the pane and was shocked to see a huge number of ghostly presences circling the small house. The wolves must be starved indeed to venture so near a dwelling.
"Sweet Jesus, not now!" she said aloud, as if admonishing a recalcitrant child. Then she took the strained herbal brew from the pot at the hearth and tried to spoon some into Fancy's mouth.
Fancy meant to cooperate, but her agony made concentration impossible. She looked up with fever-wild eyes that begged for mercy. Her lower back was being torn by an agony that sent shooting daggers into her loins to meet the spasms that clutched her belly. It was impossible to have such pain and think, to have such pain and live. The whole world had turned red with it; her belly extended from her brain to her feet; there was nothing left of her but the baby and the impossible, unrelenting torture. Every trace of beauty was gone from her swollen face, her cracked lips opened and closed, gasping for breath. She moaned with the same relentless rhythm as the wind.
Magda knotted towels, tied them to the footboard of the bed, and placed the ends in Fancy's hands for leverage. The pains were coming faster now.
"Scream, Fancy!" Magda commanded her. "You must shriek your head off if that will help you." But Fancy shook her head wildly and strangled the sound. Her cries are like the baby, Magda thought, tears running down her own face at the girl's suffering; they try to free themselves but are trapped inside.
She would attempt again to turn the baby from the outside—if she could not, there would soon be no choice but one... to reach inside the womb itself and pull the head toward safety. But the danger... Magda forced her own heart to stillness. One child in a thousand delivered under such conditions would live.
And the mother could be torn to shreds and bleed to death in anguish, or could survive the first ordeal only to die of fever from infection. She could survive both, and go mad from the pain and the indignity of having a child torn from her body against nature's will.
Fancy drifted on clouds of fire, even Magda's hands caused anguish now. She would willingly have died if it would end the pain. She chewed her lips to bleeding, and tore at the towels until the bed groaned with the strain. Her mind drifted in and out of reality. Once she even saw Chance standing at the foot of the bed and she begged him to hold her, but he dissolved before the onslaught of another contraction and Hart took his place.
She felt Magda smooth the matted hair from her forehead and croon strange words into her ear, but nothing mattered anymore. She thought she heard herself scream, but she had fought so long not to that she wasn't certain.
Magda pulled the purifying tincture from her bag and prepared to try to turn the child. Fancy's strength was ebbing fast; it was increasingly obvious that if the baby couldn't escape the body that entrapped it soon, both would die. Why in God's name were the other two not here with her! They could hold the girl at least in loving arms—without them there would be no choice but to tie her to the bed against the torture she must endure. Curse the storm! Curse the wolves! Curse the fool who made her pregnant and hadn't the wit even to know!
The howling outside ceased abruptly—only the wind keened, as if alive. The silence was far more ominous than the sound had been and Magda knew in her soul that the wolves were coming. Soundless paw pads in the snow... Every sense alert, hair standing out on arms and neck, Magda whirled to face invasion just as the window splintered and a hurtling gray body crashed past her into the cabin. The leader stood poised to spring, his eyes glowing red as the fire coals, his fangs bared for battle.
Fancy, on the bed, opened wild unbelieving eyes. The wolf-leader crouched to pounce and Magda seemed to grow in stature before Fancy's incredulous gaze. The Gypsy's arms were raised above her head in some ritual too primeval to name; a guttural sound escaped Magda's throat, a growl, a moan, a she-wolf howl so piercing that the crouching animal slicked back its ears and whimpered, its own growl dying on back-turned lips.
Magda's wolf cry crescendoed, then died slowly in her throat and a weird chanting replaced it. Her upraised arms crackled with a rainbow fire that riveted the wolf's gaze. Slowly, deliberately, Magda lowered her arm to her side as her chant grew louder; she pointed her glowing index finger at the cringing beast and he began to whimper. The wolves outside the cabin cried, yelped, howled for their leader, but the leader could no longer control his body or his brain.
Magda spoke again, her voice so commanding it seemed to fill the cabin and the mountain and the world. Fancy saw the power that emanated from Magda's body, a crackling glow that made her seem twice her normal size. She ordered him, and the wolf rose trembling from its crouch, subdued, whimpering pitifully as a beaten dog—then, as if released from a spell, it turned and leapt again through the window to the pack beyond.
This isn't happening! I'm delirious. I'm dying. Fancy's mind whirled. Wolves are not turned back by humans... Magda cannot change her shape, cannot glow with iridescent colors. No! This is all madness from the pain. Another contraction dragged Fancy's mind away from the mystery of Magda's magic. She shrieked aloud in wildest terror, as if the hallucination of the wolf had finally broken all control.
"Dying, Magda," she whispered. "We're dying...."
Magda drew near the bed and stood like a stone sentinel. She centered her breathing... left nostril to empower rationality, right to free her intuition. Calm. She must be very, very calm and strong for Fancy's sake. Two lives hung in the balance; if she lost her courage, she would forfeit them both.
Breathe deeply, Magda. Breathe from all the seven centers of Universal Energy. Feel the colors of the chakras enliven you. Trust the Old Knowledge of a thousand lifetimes that you carry in every cell. She touched the crystal amulet around her neck, and entered the silence of her own soul.
The acrid smell of whatever Magda had bathed her hands in made Fancy want to retch, but she was beyond even that. She felt her hands being tied behind her head to the bedboard. No! Magda would never do such a thing to her! She felt her legs pulled apart and something thrust into her most intimate parts. Sweet Jesus, what was happening? Something so much worse than all before it that it had no words. Magda's hand was burrowing inside her, pulling, probing, tearing something primal from her. Fancy shrieked for mercy. She wrenched herself away from the terrible invasion, the betrayal...
"The head, Fancy!" Magda screamed above her cries. "Courage, child! The head is through. Push for all you're worth!"
A great slithering something passed through Fancy into the' world. She heard a shout of triumph from Magda, then the tiny angry voice of protest from a living throat.
"A daughter, Fancy! You have a daughter!"
Magda held a bloodied rag doll that moved of its own accord. Fancy saw the Gypsy wipe its eyes and siphon something from its tiny nose, then swaddle it in a scrap of cloth and lay it wriggling on her breast.
A daughter. If only she had the strength to care, Fancy thought through the stupor of exhaustion. She would truly love to have a daughter....
Chapter 42
Fancy and Magda sat on the billowing grass, the baby lay on a square of blanket between them. Aurora had grown well, considering her brutal entry into life; the beautiful child gurgled contentedly in the s
oft spring sunshine.
"The devas are playful today," Magda said absently, fondling the newborn grass beside her skirt. "How they love the spring."
"And what exactly are devas that they should be so merry?"
"They are the Shining Ones, child. A Sanskrit word. You would call them angels. The Indians know them—this is why they give thanks when they borrow from nature."
"Do people have angels, too, Magda? Do I have an angel?"
Magda laughed aloud.
"You, child? Of all humans, how could you doubt your celestial guardian? I assure you that your particular angel works harder than most."
"Now you're teasing me."
"Only a little," Magda replied. "The time has come for you to go, has it not?" She asked the question carefully. Fancy nodded.
"I'm going to try the stage, Magda. I can't go back to Oro—not yet. I'll write Jewel to tell her. Wes says New York's the place for me. I still have some money from the auction, the part I left with
Jewel. I think there's enough for a train ticket and a boarding-house, at least for a while. I'll try to find someone to care for Aurora while I work...."
The Gypsy nodded. Fancy was still young enough to believe everything possible.
"Show me your hand," she commanded, and Fancy held out her palm to Magda.
"When the road is steep and the path obscure, remember this: There are no excuses for anything, Fancy... we change things or we do not. Excuses rob you of power and weaken your resolve. All is justice in the universe. If your ambition is immense, so are the obstacles you must overcome to achieve it. But you may find that what you want, and what you need for happiness, are two entirely different matters."
Fancy frowned, unsatisfied by Magda's words. "There's so much I don't know yet, Magda. Sometimes I'm afraid."
Magda looked thoughtful for a moment. "Remove your clothes, child, and I will teach you something you should know," she said suddenly.
"Why do I have to take off my clothes?"
"Do you know nothing of obedience, Fancy? A practitioner of metaphysical disciplines must comply with her teacher's instruction, not ask questions!"
"Is metaphysics another name for magic, Magda?"
"No, no, not at all," the Gypsy replied, amused. "Metaphysics is merely the study of Universal Law... of God and Goddess, if you will, and the way in which this, and all the other unseen worlds, function. Magic is a willful act that uses Universal Law to accomplish some human end. You are too willful already, you need no more temptations of that sort."
Fancy laughed. "But you are teaching me some things that most of the world doesn't know."
"I teach you what is useful, and will prove to you there is more to life than what your physical senses perceive. I would never teach you magic."
Fancy pulled her shirt off over her head and let her skirt drop to the ground, so she was clad only in her shimmy.
"Lie down," Magda instructed, and Fancy complied. She saw that the Gypsy had a pouch full of glittering crystals that she was emptying onto the lap of her skirt.
"There is no point in telling you about the power of the crystals, Fancy. You must feel the energy yourself, or you will doubt."
Fancy lay back in the sunlight; the clear, sweet air raised goose bumps on her body.
"Pay heed to what I say, child. It will be hard to concentrate, once the power of the stones is on you."
Magda took several deep breaths to center her consciousness. "We do not merely breathe air, Fancy, we exchange energy with the universe. There are seven great exchange points on your body, through which you receive energy from the vast universal ebb and flow around you. They are called chakras."
Magda laid a blood-red stone on Fancy's pubic bone. "This is your root chakra, mark it well. The root defines your material form... in your case, it seems to work conscientiously, for you are beautiful. This root controls the physical part of your sexuality. Its color is the red of blood, and of the earth. If it becomes blocked by injury or wrong thinking, you will lose your power to give or receive pleasure." She laid four small crystal points around the red stone, and Fancy felt a curious swirling tingle, as if a path had been opened through her body and a cool breeze blew through it. Magda moved her concentration up to an inch and a half below Fancy's navel, and laid a bright orange citrine there, to glitter in the sun.
"Your belly chakra vibrates to a bright orange frequency, child. This is the seat of all your creativity, and your ability to generate life, Fancy. If it falters, you will be barren in mind and in body." She surrounded the citrine with a circlet of soft orange stones that Fancy thought might be amber; again, the whoosh of cooling air ran through the girl's body, making her feel transparent. Magda moved her hand to a place at Fancy's waist.
"Your solar plexus is the seat of your belief systems—all you think you know of reality. It is the place where your ideas are stored. Its brilliant yellow energy has the capacity to transmute realities." Magda stopped, senses alert. "There is a blockage here."
"What does that mean?" Fancy asked, raising her head in curiosity. Magda pushed her down again.
"Breathe deeply, child! Breathe in through your solar plexus... think yourself into your body's consciousness...."
Fancy felt two crystals laid upon her eyelids and breathed as she'd been told, feeling stranger with each breath.
"Oh, Magda," she whispered. "I'm seeing the oddest visions in my head."
"What do you see?"
"A dusty storeroom... filled with boxes that have been sealed and resealed, endlessly. There's a door that's boarded over, and I'm standing with my arms pressed against it, frantically trying to keep the door closed."
"And what is behind the door, child? Tell me!"
"Memories, Magda... terrible memories that must never, ever come out of their hiding place!" The vision shocked her and surprising tears ran down her cheeks.
"You have blocked the energy of this chakra, child, to protect yourself. You've stored your sorrows in those boxes, and you've blocked your own life flow. If you persist, the organs around this center will wither and you will become ill."
"What can I do?"
"Let the memories go, Fancy. Open the door and the boxes, place the sorrows in the sunlight... sweep the shadows out of your world. The crystal's energy will help you free yourself."
Magda held a wand of clear quartz in her hand; she passed it clockwise over the girl's solar plexus and waited. A vortex of energy whirled around Fancy. The door blew open and the boxes shattered against the walls of her vision. Ghost-shapes fled the boxes, sucked up by the whirling tornado—when the winds subsided she saw herself standing alone in the sunlight. "Are my memories gone now, Magda?" she asked, stricken.
"Only the shadow forms... the memories remain. It is quite possible that in your ignorance, you will re-create these thought forms, for they are at least familiar."
Magda laid a large green emerald between Fancy's breasts, with six small rose quartz points around it.
"Breathe the green of the emerald into your heart chakra, Fancy, and tell me what you see."
"I can't."
"You can. You must! What do you see?"
Fancy's face contorted. "It's torn in half... my heart is broken on the floor like a child's toy. I snatch it up and try to glue it back together, but I'm crying too hard and I can't see what I'm doing."
Magda's voice was a command. "Focus green light on the broken heart, Fancy. Surround yourself in the healing green light and watch the mending restore your heart."
The sobs that had shaken Fancy subsided and she found that the vision had changed to a tranquil pastoral scene. Green grass stretched endlessly to the horizon, she and her ravaged heart were nowhere to be found.
"The heart is the center of your entire energy system, Fancy, the transformer of your spirit. All chakras below it have to do with matter, all above, with spirit. You must find the balance between the two in order to know happiness.
"Imbalance causes illness... s
tricture causes illness... fear causes illness. Balance is the reward of our learning process, the prize we must seek for wellness. If we were truly in balance, we would never die, never age, never suffer illness... but neither would we be human, or learn humanity's lessons."
Magda placed a cool blue-lace agate on Fancy's throat and the girl saw herself on a lavish theatre stage singing the final notes of a poignant love ballad. The audience seemed overcome with emotion, dabbing at their eyes and struggling for control. The heightened state of consciousness let Fancy see clearly the power she had over them, the magnitude of her sorrows were the secret of her success.
"They love me, Magda," she whispered. "They feel my sadness and they cry with me."
"You will transmute your suffering into art and the audience will hear the truth in your voice. Karma, Fancy! The throat is the seat of your life's gift, your soul's purpose. Tread carefully on the freedoms it provides you... all your challenges reside there."
Magda placed a midnight-blue azurite between Fancy's brows.
"I see swirling colors in a midnight sky... I don't know what they mean."
"You are seeing with your Third Eye, Fancy... the eye of the spirit. Never doubt that there is more to the universe than what your physical eyes can see. Today, you have looked on Infinity."
She placed a final clear quartz cluster at the crown of Fancy's head and a flood of cool, unearthly sunlight washed through her, so powerful she could barely hear Magda's reverent words.
"The crown is the place of transformation. When you die, your soul will exit through this doorway, taking with it the seed atoms of your being. For now, breathe in the Light of God and Goddess through this portal... breathe deeply of the Universal Life-force that it may strengthen you for your journey."
The stones were lifted one by one from Fancy's body and the energy subsided until she was only herself again.
"What happened to me, Magda? I've never felt anything like it." She was giddy and exhilarated; there was an unbearable ache in returning to the mundane.
Paint the Wind Page 30
