The Vampire Memoirs

by Mara Mccuniff

  There was much brouhaha in Castrill before the men left. Wives and daughters and such wept and bawled and carried on as their husbands, brothers, sons, and fathers prepared to leave the city. I resolved not to carry on in such womanly fashion and instead bid my farewell to Gaar in the privacy of our home. I watched him silently as he assembled his armor and equipment, but I felt my lips quiver as I fought off tears.

  He finished his task, and stood tall before me. He looked especially strong and handsome when wearing his black armor, sword at his side and shield on his arm. He moved toward me and brushed my cheek, and that made some tears come.

  "Don't cry so, love," he said. "You make me want to join you.

  "I'm sorry," I sniffled. "I only—I just—"

  "I know," he said. "In times like these the tears come easily. And yet you've wept many times before this. Are these tears for the same reason?"

  "No," I whispered. "I just—I just wonder if I'll see you again."

  He tried to hug me, but it wasn't easy wrapping his arms around that bulk of mine. I was at least eight months with child. We parted, and he smiled and rubbed my belly gently.

  "Try not to think of such things. I will come back to you—and the child. I promise you that." Comforting words, but then, I wasn't worried about his survival. I sniffled for some moments as he gazed at me and continued rubbing my belly. Then he drew himself up, leaned over, and kissed me.

  "I must go now," he whispered. "Remember my promise. But if I must break it, and you know only death could make me do so, then remember my love for you. And always remember to tell the child of me, and of how much I loved it—son or daughter."

  Warrior or not, my tears fell out in a waterfall, and Gaar sniffled and wiped away one tear, but he wept no more. I followed him to the door, bawling and carrying on like those women I had sworn not to imitate, and I was ashamed of my childish behavior, though I could not stop it. I watched him hurry away to the other men, .and I longed to join them in the battle, if only to fight by Gaar's side as I'd done before.

  He was nearly to the bottom of the hill, and I thought of shouting a last good-bye to him, but that would have been too embarrassing if anyone else but he had heard it. So I leaned against the doorway, sobbing, until he disappeared into the distance.

  Leta began staying at the hovel a week or so after the men left, as by now I had to break down and admit that I needed help. None of her family had gone to fight, as they were farmers, but the crops would be one of the first things to go if Westmont defeated us and plundered the city.

  I let her sleep on Gaar's side while she stayed over. Occasionally I would wake myself and her with my nightmares about the baby; Leta thought it was "my time" each time I woke with a start, and I had to assure her (and myself) that I wasn't ready yet. For myself, I wondered if I would even know when it really was "my time," as I had no idea what the signs would be.

  I dreamt one night of the baby, huge and looming above me, with enormous teeth and evil eyes, pushing me into a corner and holding a bloody sword over my head. I screamed as he swung it toward me, and my eyes flew open, and the horrible image was replaced by the darkness of the room. I sat up, sweating and panting, and my legs were drenched in water. I almost cried out, wondering where it came from, if I'd actually wet myself during the nightmare. Leta was still asleep, and I was glad that I hadn't cried out. I tried to relax and forget the nightmare and that awful water, but it was becoming harder to breathe, and my stomach was tight, and my back ached. I felt a pushing and jostling inside me, and my breath quickened in fear. Then the feeling stopped, and I sighed in relief and lay down to sleep again, water or no water. At last I calmed down and was nearly in slumber when it happened again: a tightening and a pressure in my belly and back. I held my stomach and tried to relax, tried to slow my breath down and ease the pain, but it kept on and on, and I looked around wildly in the darkness. I flung my left arm to my side and hit Leta, who groaned once and moved.

  "Leta!" I whispered harshly, and hit her again. "Leta!"

  "Wha—? What? What?" she moaned, struggling to sit up. The pain increased, and I grabbed my belly and groaned.

  "Mara? What is it? Another nightmare?"

  "No, it's—! Leta, I think—!"

  "Think what, Mara?" She suddenly gasped, and I felt her hand on my belly. "Oh, no. Are you—? Is it the baby?"

  "I—I think so!"

  "Oh, no," she muttered, "Not now. Why now? Why in the middle of the night?" I heard her stand and fumble around in the darkness. "Where is that lantern?!" she cried.

  A small light soon appeared, and Leta crawled over to me, lantern in hand, and felt my stomach.

  "Yes, I can feel it," she said. "Final labor!"

  "I… if you say so," I wheezed. "It must be—OOOOOOOO!"

  "Try not to think about the pain," she said. "I need to get, uh—Uh—What? What do I need? Blankets! Water! Y-yes, I remember!"

  "I don't know what to do!"

  "Just relax, Mara," she said, taking my hand, "Just—just start breathing slowly, in… out… just breathe, calm yourself. I'll be right back—"

  "Where are you going?"

  "I need to get everything ready! Water, blankets, everything! Just stay here, and try to breathe slowly, easily…"

  "Where else am I going to—OOOOOOO!"

  Leta ran from the room, and I heard her stumble into something in the darkness. Breathe slowly and easily, she says, I thought. I've never felt such pain! There was even more pain, and I screamed. It felt as if the baby would burst straight from my stomach itself.

  "GAAAARRRR!" I screamed, and Leta ran into the room and shouted at me again to keep calm. She threw down all the things she'd brought in, then took my hand again.

  'It's going to be all right, Mara," she said. "You're going to be fine."

  "Where's Gaar?" I asked

  "He's not here right now, Mara. But I'm here. You'll have your baby."

  "It hurts so much. It's killing me!"

  "Breathe slowly, deeply, Mara," she continued. "I know the pain is awful, but you have to bear it."

  "I knew this would happen," I said. "I knew I would—OOOOOOO!"

  "Keep calm, Mara! I'll be right back! I just need to get the water! I'll never leave your side once I get back!"

  I fought the pain as best as I could while she ran from the room again. The pain was one thing, but I hated her string me like this, like some weeping little girl. But the pain was beyond anything I'd imagined it would be, and I was terrified, and Leta was all I had. I needed her.

  She came back in lugging a big bucket of water. She set it down and dipped her hands in it and then shook them dry.

  "Please don't cut me, Leta; whatever you do, don't cut me open!"

  "I pray it will never come to that, dear friend," she said. I'll do whatever I can to avoid it. Meanwhile, you must open your legs. Come on, Mara; open!"

  I obeyed her, and she crouched down in front of me and tried to peer in. I tried to sit up so I could watch, but she held me down gently.

  "No, no, you have to lie down," she said. "Yes, your water has broken. It's almost time, my friend!"

  "I want to see—OOOOOOOO!"

  'I can barely even see! I need a light." She took our little lantern and held it in front of her.

  "Yes," she said, "yes, good…"

  "What? What is?"

  "You're getting bigger," she said. "Your opening is big now."

  "My what?"

  "Keep breathing, Mara," she said, "And start pushing! Start pushing the child!"

  "I—I—Help me, Leta!" I said in despair. I was certain I had only a few moments of life left.

  "I'm helping you! Here—take my hand!" I reached out and felt her grab my fingers. I squeezed again, and she cried out. She bade me squeeze gently and regularly, and I did this the best I could, which wasn't all that good, but Leta encouraged me with enthusiasm.

  "Yes! That's it! Slowly—regularly! Breathe and push, slowly, in rhythm! Work with the b
aby, not against it!"

  "I'm trying! Gods, Leta, it hurts!"

  "Shhh—just breathe regularly—squeeze gently. You're getting it!"

  I wondered when the pain would end, when it would be all over. I wondered if my mother felt this way when I was coming, or if my pain was even worse. I shut my eyes and grimaced, and I pushed with all my might in the hopes that I might avoid her fate.

  I lay there, drenched in sweat and fluid, frightened, tired, and feeling completely helpless. I pushed and breathed to the best of my abilities under Leta's advice, wishing it would all just end, wishing that Gaar were there so I could see him one last time.

  I resolved that I would not hate the baby for what it would soon do to me; I vowed not to seek vengeance on it.

  "Leta…" I said.

  "Yes. Keep pushing…"

  "Leta, you must promise me…"

  "Of course, whatever it is, breathe… push…"

  "You must promise me that if I die, you must tell the baby I don't blame it. You must tell it that I did not die hating it… Promise me… I"

  "I'd rather not talk about your death while you're still alive, Mara—"

  "Promise me!"

  "Yes, I promise, I… of course, keep on—!! Mara! I see it! Keep pushing!"

  "What? See what?"

  "The head! I can see the head! The baby's coming!"

  Leta crouched down even more and peered more intently between my legs. I tried to sit up again, but couldn't, of course.

  "No, no! Stay down!" she said. "Just keep breathing and pushing!"

  "A-are you sure it's coming? Th-the right way?"

  "Yes, of course the 'right' way! Oh, Mara; Mara, my dearest friend—you're about to become a mother! It's—one last push, Mara! PUUUSHI!"

  An explosion erupted from between my legs, and more goop and blood and flesh came out, and I feared that the child had taken my insides out with it in some last attempt to destroy me. I heard Leta scream, and I wondered if it was from joy or horror.

  "Mara! Mara it's out! It's here! It's, uhh—it's a boy! You have a son! Mara—you have a son!"

  I had no words for her. Tears flooded my eyes, and I let my head slowly sink into the blankets, crying and laughing at the same time.

  I woke up to the sun shining in my eyes, and I wondered if I was still alive. Shielding my eyes, I looked around and recognized the cramped space of the bedroom, where I'd been all night. Leta was gone, but I caught sight of a wooden thing lying to the side of me. I recognized the cradle Gaar had made some months before, but it had not been kept in the bedroom until now.

  I heard some clanging of dishes in the next room, and I assumed Leta was cleaning, or preparing a meal, or some-thing. I looked at the cradle again, but I could not see over the top and into it, and I was afraid to sit up and look. I was afraid of what I might find.

  The dishes stopped clanging, and I heard footsteps coming toward the bedroom. The door opened slowly and quietly, and Leta peeked in, and I struggled to sit up. She opened the door wide and entered, her face beaming.

  "Hello," she whispered. "How do you feel?"

  "Awful," I said.

  "You look tired," she said. "Did you rest well?"

  I nodded, although I could have used quite a bit more rest. Leta stood silently for a moment, fidgeting her hands.

  "You had a son," she whispered finally.

  "A son?" I repeated, glancing at the cradle. "Yes… I remember you saying that."

  "Yes," she said. Then: "Have you held him yet?" I shook my head. Leta moved to the cradle and peered in.

  "He sleeps now," she whispered. "Would you like to hold him, though?"

  "Uh—I don't know," I murmured, my spine suddenly shivering.

  "I placed him on your belly soon after he came out," she said. "But you'd fallen asleep. Before the afterbirth, even; I was surprised."

  "Afterbirth? Y-you mean I had two children?"

  "No, no, the afterbirth. You know, the womb and the rest of the cord. Don't you know about that?"

  "Um… no," I said.

  "Oh, it doesn't matter. But are you certain you don't want to hold him?"

  "Um…"

  "When you're feeling more rested, then?" I stared at the cradle and nodded quickly. Leta moved over to me and then sat beside me. She sighed and shook her head, smiling.

  "Such a night," she whispered. "I thought it would never end."

  "Me, too." She turned and smiled at me.

  "You kept saying you were going to die," she said, and laughed once. "The pain was that bad, eh?"

  "That's part of it," I murmured. "I thought you'd have to cut me."

  "No," she said. "No, and I'm glad I didn't. Sometimes that happens, though, and the mother must be sacrificed. I thank the Lord that He spared you."

  Myself, I was busy thanking my mother.

  Then, again: "Are you certain you don't want to see him?"

  The shivering started again. I looked at the cradle, and then back at her.

  "Well," I said, my lips quivering slightly, "Maybe—maybe if you held him—and… I just looked…"

  "Certainly," she said, rising and moving to the cradle. She reached down and slowly drew out what resembled a big lump of blankets. She knelt beside me and moved some blankets aside, and there was the ugly, wrinkled, sleeping face of my son. I drew back slightly in disgust, but then was drawn to it again in a blend of curiosity and fear.

  "Your son," she whispered, holding him closer to me, and I drew back again, eyes widening. Leta smiled and laughed softly.

  "You fear him?" she said. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Look at him, Mara; look—your child."

  I looked at the boy, then at her, then at the boy again. I reached out with my hand—slowly, cautiously—until I touched his cheek, and then pulled my hand back quickly.

  "Hold him, Mara," she whispered. "Go on; hold your child." Leta held the baby closer to me, and, my hands quivering, I reached out to it and slowly took the boy from her arms. He began to move, and I became afraid that I would panic and drop him, or hurt him somehow. He was so small, so fragile-looking, and I wondered how such a little thing could make me so big.

  "Here," Leta said, reaching for the baby, "keep his head up, and hold him under here." I sat passively while she corrected my hold, and then she sat back and smiled.

  "Newborn babes are beautiful things. Don't you think so?" she cooed.

  I looked at his face again. "No," I answered.

  "What? Your own son?" she said in surprise. "I'm surprised at you. You should be bursting with joy; you've had your first child!"

  I stared at the child some more, and slowly, very slowly, the realization that I was alive—the baby was alive!—I had had a son and I was alive—crept into me, and I began to smile, then to chuckle softly. The more I looked at him, the more I accepted that this was real—this was not a dream—I was alive. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, crying tears of relief and joy. Leta laughed with me, and I opened my eyes and smiled at her through my tears.

  Chapter 7

  It was just past sunset, the same day Ran—Gaar and I decided on that name before he left—was born. Fortunately, Leta had prepared a hot meal for the two of us. I was still weaker and more tired than I wished to be, but I had moved to the other room to dine, and we sat around the hearth rather than on the chairs. Leta had suggested that we bring the baby in with us, and he lay beside me in his cradle, resting.

  At one point Ran woke up and started crying, and all of Leta's efforts to quiet him failed. She suggested that he was probably hungry, and handed him to me. After much stalling and hesitation, I finally had to admit that I didn't know what to do, which Leta didn't believe at first. I wasn't actually that ignorant; I did know about mother's milk, but I had blocked that sort of knowledge from my mind for so long that I might as well never have learned it.

  At first I was afraid to open my robe in front of Leta. It was then that it occurred to me that she probably knew far better what to do tha
n I. She had delivered my first child; now she was helping me cope with it. I broke down and asked for help, and basically let her show me everything, including how to hold the child.

  We sat there silently for a long time, the only sounds coming from the hearth, and, of course, Ran's suckling. I felt very calm then, very much at peace just from watching him feed. It was all so strange to me, not just the baby, but my entire life thus far. In less than a year's time I'd been married and had a child. I even had a best friend now…

  "Leta," I said, still looking at my son. He had finished the first breast, and I started to move him over to the other.

  "Yes," she said.

  "I—I just wanted to thank you," I said. "For everything. I wouldn't know what to do at all with him without you." Ran resumed his feeding on the other side.

  "You are my friend, Mara," she said. "You know I would do any of this for you again and again."

  "I've never had a friend like you before," I whispered. "Or actually, I've never had a friend before, for that matter."

  "Ohhh," she said. "You must have been very lonely."

  "Yes," I said. "But back then I would never have admitted it."

  "I'm very glad to be your friend now, Mara."

  "And I'm very glad to be your friend," I said. "You know that I am, don't you?"

  "Of course I do," she laughed. "You have some strange thoughts sometimes."

  She then offered to help me in any way she could with Ran. She even suggested that I ask her mother for help, should I need it, as the woman had seven children of her own, after all. I insisted that I wouldn't be troubling them so; I wanted to deal with my own problems on my own.

  Ran soon finished his feeding, and I held him up to my face and watched him. I watched his eyes close, and soon the boy had drifted into deep sleep. It wasn't hard for even me to understand why people often see children as small miracles. My own miracle was that I had survived. I wondered if I had been forgiven, and silently renewed my pledge to raise Ran as best as I could in my mother's name.