Although Aazuria had been expecting it, she still felt a shudder of revulsion when Prince Zalcan Hamnil pulled on her shoulders and pushed his mouth against hers. His lips were rough and misshapen from their meeting with Vachlan’s mace. She could feel the bumpy scar tissue against her skin, and she wondered if he could even feel the kiss.
He pulled away, looking at her nervously. She had forgotten to kiss back. Why did he even care? Was he making some sort of pretense at changing his ways? It did not matter—she knew what she needed to do. She closed her eyes tightly, and returned her lips to Hamnil’s mouth. She immediately felt his warm tongue dart forth between her parted lips, and she combatted nausea.
She thought of her husband. Trevain, please forgive me. I must do what I must so that I can remain in one piece, protect our daughter, and someday see you again. Please do not give up on me.
Aazuria woke up in the cabin to the sound of feminine screaming. To her surprise, she was lying naked on the small bed in the cabin. It was the first time she had slept on a bed in months, and her rest had been deep and dreamless.
“You haven’t cured me! I thought you could cure me!” the prince was shouting.
Her first thought was that her plan had backfired. She had unleashed his inner violence. Her second thought was that she should escape and swim out into Lake Vostok to get away from him while he was in this state. Her third thought was that he was wounded and disturbed, and needed comforting. She pulled the blanket around her body.
“There was nothing to cure,” she told him. “There is nothing wrong with your natural inclinations.”
“It’s all wrong!” he shrieked. “I’m wrong! They all told me… they called me those horrible names. I tried to be everything I should be. I’m still trying. Why can’t I love a woman? Tell me Queen Aazuria, why can’t I love a woman?”
She flinched when he began to toss pieces of furniture around the room. They did not have much in the tiny cabin, and they could not afford to have a broken chair or smashed plates. They could not even afford a broken pencil, for there were no other pencils.
“Prince Zalcan,” she said softly.
“Get out!” he told her. “Go swim in your stupid lake. Get away from me!”
She nodded, and did not even retrieve her clothing before she darted into the chamber which controlled access to the lake. When the metal doors closed behind her, she leaned against them weakly as she waited for the second set of heavy doors to open.
“Trevain,” she murmured to herself miserably. She would have done anything to be with her husband, and to feel the kindness in his embrace. She missed the bravery and strength in his eyes. It pained her to know that she would not be able to hold his hand as she gave birth to their daughter. She did not anticipate that escape would be possible that soon in the future. It would be years.
As Aazuria swam out into the lake, burning up her anger and frustration with the sheer speed of her motions, she felt her chest contracting with gasping sobs. Sometimes, she felt strong enough to be patient. But there were moments like this when she just needed it to be over, now. She missed Adlivun, and she missed her husband. She missed her loving sister, and she missed the rambunctious, unpredictable Visola.
She would give anything to see the faces of the people she loved. She felt lost without them. Her strength having been abruptly drained, she stopped swimming and allowed herself to sink to the bottom of the lake. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She curled up into a little naked ball as she wept. As the warm sand molded to the shape of her naked body, she was reminded of the preposterous fact that she was at the bottom of a buried lake in Antarctica.
She had accepted from the beginning that no one would be able to find her, but in this moment of weakness she found herself praying for the impossible rescue. Was there some way that her location could be discovered? Had Hamnil been foolish enough to tell anyone? No, of course not. She was as good as dead to the world above.
When Aazuria returned to the cabin, after several days of sleeping and crying in the lake (and blaming this spell of frailty on the pregnancy hormones, which had become a universal excuse) she was thrilled but concerned to see that Hamnil had left early. She was pleased because she no longer had to communicate with him, faking civility and fearing his temper, and she was concerned because she did not know if he would ever return.
She had tried to punch random digits into the keypad which controlled the elevator, but of course, she did not know the code. She did not even know how many numbers were in the code. Was it four or six? Just thinking about how many possibilities there were for her to go through gave her a despairing headache. No; there was no time for this. She would have to move forward below the glacier, since she could not take the elevator to the surface.
As much as it would grieve her, she made the decision not to go back out into Lake Vostok for the rest of her pregnancy. Her bodily processes were accelerated on land, and she would age at the average rate for land-dwellers. She had already been pregnant for several months—two full months trapped in the cabin would have been the most accelerated phase of her pregnancy. By her calculations, she should be close to three months along by land-standards. Which meant that if she stayed in the cabin, breathing air, there would be only six months of gestation remaining. In the water, it could be years.
“He is gone, Varia,” she said to her unborn child as she lowered herself to the ground. “It is only us now. I have so many things to tell you. I have so many things to learn about you. I cannot wait until you get here—you will make this whole empty continent radiant with glory.” She began to do her routine pushups, counting in a low voice as she raised herself from the ground repeatedly. She continued talking to her daughter. “You will change everything for me.”
She would continue to strengthen her body throughout the pregnancy. By the time she gave birth, she would be entering motherhood as a warrior.
Chapter 20: Connected to Everything
Aazuria slammed her fingers against the keypad, punching in codes frantically. She needed help. She needed a midwife, a doctor, or anyone at all. Having dozens of codes declined, she began to hit the wall and scream at the uncooperative elevator shaft. It was useless.
The tortuous months had passed, and now that the moment was here, she was not ready. She could never have been ready for this. The pain of the contractions were unbearable, and she felt like she was dying. Women had often died in childbirth with the best of medical care—how could she do this alone?
Her body seemed to be producing more sweat than ever before, and her hair clung to her neck and shoulders uncomfortably. The temperature, the air, the ground under her feet. Everything was wrong and vexing. Her back, her belly, her legs, her thighs, and her head—each part of her seemed ablaze with agony. How did other women do this?
Rather, how did they endure not being able to do anything about this? It seemed like nothing she tried to do would dislodge the infant from her insides. It was so slow. So achingly slow. Her body had to take its own sweet time to figure things out, and she could not control the process. She could not use any of her well-developed muscles to hasten the labor. She could not reach inside herself and pull the baby out. It had to be slow; so horribly slow and unspeakably awful.
She had coaxed herself into lying down and waiting, but when the next contraction came, she rose to her feet and ripped all her clothes off. She was in so much discomfort that even the fabric pained her suddenly sensitive skin. She felt like something was wrong. This was taking too long, and it was far too dreadful.
“Sionna!” she yelled so loudly that it echoed in the cabin. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she sank to the floor, resting on her pile of discarded clothing. She slammed her fist into the ground. “You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to help me through this! What do I do? What do I do?”
An idea occurred to her when she saw a loose black thread hanging off one of her garments. She stared at it f
or several minutes, horrified at the images dancing through her mind. When she could stand again, she rushed over to the cabinets and drawers, and began tossing their contents out on the floor. She had viciously emptied three drawers before she found the item she had been seeking. She lifted the needle victoriously, making a face of displeasure as she stared at it. If she needed to cut the child out of her stomach, she could remove the threads from her clothing and stitch herself back up again. Looking around, she sought something sharp to do the cutting. She could only find the lid of a can that had held preserved foods.
The idea of using the jagged edge of a can to cut her stomach open was dreadful, but just in case it became necessary, she used the burner to start a small fire to disinfect the needle and the makeshift knife. Then she took them over to the bed with her, and lay down, controlling her breathing and hoping she would not have to use the tools. She did not fancy the idea of trying to stitch up her own bleeding stomach. She would undoubtedly do an amateurish job, producing an awful scar, and… well, Visola already had an atrocious scar across her abdomen, and an exciting story to go with it. Aazuria did not want to compete with her friend for the most hideous self-mutilation trophy. Even though she believed that she had better reason.
Caesarean section was far more justifiable than seppuku. It was also far less dramatic, but Aazuria did not care for drama. She only wanted to preserve her own life and the life of her daughter. In many instances on land or in the sea when a woman died from childbirth, the child would be taken care of by a relative. There were no relatives under the Antarctic ice. There were no strangers. There were no human beings. There were no mammals. She was it; if she wanted her daughter to survive, she needed to safeguard her own life. The infant would need her nurturing.
When the contractions came again, Aazuria gritted her teeth together. She hated not being in control of her own body. A sudden memory of Visola’s pregnancy came to her mind, and she was reminded of a surefire method she could use to cope with the pain. Launching herself to her feet, she moved over to the wooden chair and picked it up by the legs. Looking around for something solid, she saw the heavy metal doors and nodded, imagining Prince Zalcan Hamnil’s face where the doors stood. She screamed as she dashed the wooden chair against the metal until it broke apart. Then she continued to use the wooden leg as a club to smash against the sturdy surface.
The physical exertion helped to take her mind off the contractions, and she did not even notice when they ended. When she had run out of gusto with which to fuel her muscles, she stood there, panting. Her shoulders and chest heaved with her forceful breaths. She dropped the piece of the wooden chair, and sighed, reaching up to squeeze her heavy, swollen breasts, which felt very much like they intended to burst. She considered the caesarean section again, cringing at the thought. Then her eyes fixated on the doors.
She needed the water. She had not been out in the lake since Hamnil had left, but now that she was in labor, it should be allowed. Perhaps it would make her delivery easier; the water was naturally warmed with geothermal heat, similar to the hot springs in Adlivun. Those hot springs had healing minerals in them, so it stood to reason that so would this lake. She quickly opened the doors and slipped into the chamber, eager to feel the soothing force immersing her. Would the pressure be too great for a newborn baby? That was a risk. Cutting herself open and stitching her stomach up with thread was risk too.
This was the most difficult day of her life. As she swam out into Lake Vostok, she was grateful to feel her body relaxing and to feel the tension in her womb dissipating. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift weightlessly in the water. This felt better.
Aazuria wondered if a child had ever been born in Antarctica before. Once she had submerged herself in the water, the pregnancy had progressed a bit more normally. She was a sea-dweller. The excessive pain had surely been her body complaining that it needed to be in the sea in order to give birth. Once she had complied with its demands, it had been more cooperative.
Of course, it had still been blindingly agonizing, and she had still truly believed that she was going to die. But at the darkest moment, when she believed she could not push any further, and the child would surely be stuck in her forever, and she would surely pass out from loss of blood and never awaken again—the water had enfolded her. The water had clasped her hand like the most loving spouse or parent, and caressed her hair. The waves had whispered that they had faith in her. They seemed to susurrate that she was a beloved child of the sea, and as long as she was in the water, she was safe in its proverbial arms.
Seized by a strength that was not hers, and a sudden otherworldly faith, Aazuria had been able to naturally give birth to her daughter. It had seemed impossible a moment before she had made the final push, and it seemed impossible immediately after—but nonetheless, she now held the infant in her arms, dizzy with disbelief.
She was not surprised that the baby was a girl. Aazuria peered through the dark water to see that Varia had one blue eye and one green eye. This made her smile. The child’s little tufts of hair were pure white, just like Aazuria’s own tresses, and most of the Vellamo family. This meant that her hair would possibly grow darker in the sunlight, but there was no sunlight accessible to confirm this. Aazuria would have to wait and pray that someday she would see her daughter smiling in the sunlight. For now, she was just grateful that they both had their lives. And her gratitude was directed at the subglacial sea.
Even though Lake Vostok was enclosed under mountains of ice and sealed away from the vast oceans that were its family—much like Aazuria herself—it was not helpless. The lake had once been a part of the oceans, and it still held their gift. She could feel it now. It was precisely the same as when she danced and knew that she was still free. The lake was resonantly echoing her triumph. Although confined and entombed by definite borders, it still had access to its powers of healing and giving life. It was still linked to something greater; it was still part of the boundless sea.
To Aazuria, this was the most heartening realization possible. If desolate Lake Vostok was connected, then so was she—the affection of her distant loved ones would reach her and her newborn daughter through all the barriers of land and ice. Although she had given birth alone, she did not feel alone; she was surrounded by a love and protection more powerful than time itself. Holding her small daughter made her feel somehow more connected to everything on earth—she was now a participant in everything that ever had been and ever would be.
Maybe this all meant that she was a good person; the cosmos had not allowed any harm to come to her and her daughter in their most susceptible moment. It easily could have.
She wondered if Trevain was thinking about his daughter at this very instant. He had such deep intuition, and surely he somehow knew! He surely felt a pang of joy and pride, even if he did not quite understand why or whence it came. Varia was a part of Trevain—they were connected. She held the little girl up in the dark sea, presenting her to the water. She needed to share this moment of infinite bliss with the loyal lake.
“Varia,” she said softly. Of course, she could not really hear the sound in the water, but she imagined its sound in her mind. The name was elegant and feminine; it was the genus name of a special mushroom called the violet coral. Trevain had chosen it as homage to Corallyn and Visola, to signify life conquering death. Now that she was holding the little girl, Aazuria found the name perfect. The child’s full name would be Princess Clavaria Vellamo, but she imagined that the first syllable of her name would mostly be dropped in informal conversation. The baby was cooing in response to her attention.
“Welcome,” Aazuria whispered, bringing the baby down to her chest and holding her protectively. “I have been waiting forever.”
Chapter 21: Different Colored Eyes
The alien ruckus of the descending elevator startled Aazuria as she sat on the bed, feeding her daughter. Varia began to cry.
“Shhh,” Aazuria whispered, as she slipped her
blouse back over her shoulder. “Just play along.”
She had expected the prince to return months ago, and supplies had been running dangerously low. They had run out of multivitamins long ago. She had often had to leave Varia swaddled in blankets on the bed, and go out to try and find something to eat. She had found herself desperately scraping the insides of small snails to get some meat into her body. She never ventured away from the cabin for more than five minutes, because she did not feel comfortable leaving Varia alone.
Her anxiety mounted as the noise grew louder, and she drew the infant closer to her body. The little girl seemed to be able to sense her unease, and she clung to her mother fearfully. When the elevator pod arrived, Prince Zalcan Hamnil stepped out, toting large bags filled with supplies.
“Honey, I’m home!” he joked. When he saw Aazuria sitting on the bed and looking at him expressionlessly, he frowned. He saw the bundle in her arms, but it took him a moment to process the situation. “Is that…”
Aazuria carefully rose to her feet. She approached the prince, holding the child out in her arms. “This is our daughter,” she said as evenly as possible. She was not sure why she felt guilty about lying to the enemy.
The prince had visible surprise on his face. “You mean that when we…”
“It has been known to happen as a result,” she responded. The baby cooed curiously at the sight of the stranger.
“May I hold her?” Hamnil asked. He seemed more fascinated with the presence of the child than the logistics of its creation.
Aazuria hesitated. “Please be careful,” she said softly. It ripped her insides apart when Hamnil took the baby from her arms. She felt tears spring to her eyes at the thought that the man who had killed her youngest sister was now the first person to hold her infant child. It should be Trevain. It should be someone she trusted. She should not have every muscle in her body tensed up and ready to attack.
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