by Meg Elison
Eddy’s voice couldn’t reach her. She wanted her mother and couldn’t even allow that thought to form. She pounded one fist into the floor, fighting someone who wasn’t there.
She must have made enough noise to be heard outside in the hall. Neum came around the door, lips pursed and brow furrowed.
He reached for her arm and she yanked it away, causing another bright flare of pain at her ribs.
Neum looked her over and realized the source of the problem. Expertly, he wrapped his hand around her right heel and pushed the sole of her foot up toward her knee with the lever of his forearm.
She felt the muscle shudder for a moment and let go. He felt it, too, and moved to do the same with her left foot. Both legs relaxed and she lay slack, trying to regain her breath. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, waving him off when he tried to help her up again.
“Are you alright, sister?”
“What do you people want from me?”
Her voice was mean with pain and worry, but she was too far gone to care.
“Why did you bring me here? Why are you taking care of me like I’m one of your own?”
She was standing, but weaving on her feet. He held out both hands as if to catch her.
“Because it’s what we do. We help.”
“Bullshit.” She slumped, both elbows on the bed, fighting to drag herself into it. “Nobody helps.”
“Sure they do! That’s all the mish does! Go out and help. They’ve helped people all over, and sometimes the people come back here.” Gingerly, afraid of her lashing out, he offered her water from the pitcher beside her bed.
She accepted it with a huff.
Get hold of yourself.
Why is he here? Was he outside the room all night? Eddy’s voice, steady and wary.
“And anyhow, Alma told us you were coming.”
At the sound of Alma’s name, Etta’s face soured. She remembered being hit in the face with warm milk, the absurd intimacy of it.
“What is . . . Why is she . . . ?” She didn’t even know how to ask the question.
Why do you all treat her like some kind of thing that’s not even human? She’s like the biggest Hive queen, Mother, head Midwife, council leader. She’s everything to you people. She’s just a woman.
But the warm feeling of Alma’s hands came back to her as she thought it.
“I want to leave here.”
Neum stood up. “I’ll get you a pack ready.”
You’ll end up crawling. Eddy’s voice steadied her. Just go talk to Alma. Ask for that.
“No.” She took a few deep breaths. “Can I . . . Can you just take me to Alma?”
“Sure I can!” The little man brightened considerably. “All the women are there, anyway. That’s why I was awake, otherwise I’d be long asleep right now.”
“What?”
“Alma is in childbed, sister. Come.” He offered his arm and she took it.
Where are you right now?
The walk seemed to take forever. Etta came to understand she had been asleep only an hour or two before waking up. She was still deeply tired and in a lot of pain.
Remember her belly. She was contracting hard, clearly headed for labor. Do they have Midwives here?
Death is always in the room. Eddy’s voice, Ina’s words. Etta shook her head. Fatigue is making me crazy.
Us.
She could tell they were getting close. She heard the long groans and knew the sound. She had attended births in Nowhere as many did, hanging nearby. They sang and drummed and whispered and hoped, as if their collective wanting could seep beneath the door and reach the woman and child as they struggled toward life.
Most of the births Etta had been to ended badly for one or both.
She expected Neum to drop her in a chair near the door, but he pushed it open and guided her inside. Wordlessly, he closed it behind her.
In the room there were only women. Alma was walking, supported by the albino girl from the nursery, Lucy, and another whom Etta did not recognize. They led her across the room and back, contractions doubling her over. Against the walls, women sat in chairs and on stools. Many prayed, eyes closed and lips moving as they murmured. Others were riveted to the sight of Alma as she writhed and fought to walk.
Etta stared for a few minutes before Eliza caught her attention and offered her a chair. Eliza stood, letting Etta have her seat. Eliza settled herself on the floor and leaned back. After a few minutes, she reached up and rested her elbows on Etta’s knees.
Etta was shocked at first, but she remembered the easy intimacy of women at births back in Nowhere. They held each other and rubbed each other’s shoulders, sharing food and drink and forgetting all old gossips and rivalries at these events. She’d always felt on edge at those times, even when she was just a girl. She knew early on that the touch of a woman meant more to her than the comfort the others came for. She was worried that her need was clear on her face; that someone would see her feelings as sharply as she felt them.
The thing in her that was Eddy chuckled a little. You’ve never been as obvious as I would be. Lucky.
She ignored that. This was not a place for him.
Alma’s typical radiance seemed dimmed. She was pale and sweated like a cheese in the warm air. Her glorious hair was wound into a thick braid that swung below her knees, counterbalancing as her back bent. She grunted and groaned like any woman giving birth.
Etta looked over at the table beside the bed. She saw a clean, sharp knife, white cotton towels, string, and a ready supply of clean water.
Seems like they know what they’re doing.
They must, with so many babies around here.
Etta’s eyes darted around the room, looking for what was different.
They must know something we don’t.
Alma’s groaning slipped lower and she began shaking her head as if to say no, over and over. Etta had heard enough stories to know that was a sign that the moment was near. Lucy and the other girl helped Alma to the bed, where she climbed laboriously to her hands and knees. The two attendants pulled her gown up over her head and Alma was there in her full nude splendor, warm and round and ripe in every direction. Her body rippled like a snake. Etta could see the baby crowning.
Lucy put her hands on either side of the child’s head and waited. Alma pushed when the contraction came, without a word passing between them. The baby’s head was out but the shoulders took longer. Two more pushes and the child slid free into Lucy’s hands.
“A girl!” Lucy’s cry was pure joy. She held the child over her arm, sweeping the mouth free and waiting for the child to breathe. The baby gave a small cry in the shock of the cold.
All around the room, eyes were wet.
A moment later, Alma grunted again and the other young woman, a brown-haired and plain complement to Lucy’s luminous whiteness, came around to deliver the placenta. She blocked Etta’s view for a moment, and she and Eliza craned their necks, trying to watch.
This is it, Etta thought. If their Prophet is going to bleed to death in front of them, this is when it will happen.
The brown-braided woman came away holding another baby. This one was smaller and paler, nearly blue. Hastily, she flipped the infant over, tapping smartly on its back until it blew sticky fluid from its mouth and began to cry.
“Another girl!”
Alma sobbed, her face hidden from view. Women rose all over the room, blocking Etta out again.
The third baby came as an afterthought, long after they all believed it was over. Women all over the room gently rubbed vernix into the first two children’s skin and wiped them clean, wrapping them up to be held. It was Eliza who caught this last child, another small one. This one was born wiggling, silent but clearly very much alive. People turned to look only as Eliza’s voice rang out, breaking.
“Our Prophet has had another girl!”
Eliza put the tiny, perfect baby into the arms of another and helped Alma with the aft
erbirth that finally began to make its appearance.
Alma turned over, red-faced and slick with sweat. She looked exhausted but vigorous.
She hardly bled at all. Etta searched the bedclothes, watching folded sheets being taken away to make the woman more comfortable. She looks fine.
Alma held her arms out and two of the babies were placed there. The third she instructed Eliza to lay between her knees, which she brought up to make a cradle. She looked them over, nodding approvingly.
“I haven’t had three since my twentieth year!”
Lucy mopped Alma’s brow for her and offered her water. Alma drank without taking her eyes off the babies.
“Three girls! We are so blessed! Let it be known that it was young Shemnon who fathered these. Any woman seeking a strong seeder should get herself sealed to him quick!”
A giggle rippled through the room.
So she does have a Hive. Or at least, it’s not one man she’s tied to. Otherwise she wouldn’t have to call him out. And others can have him, too.
“It’s not Shemnon, Prophet. It’s you!”
Alma sighed, bringing the two nearest girls to her breasts and yelping as milk let down and she contracted again.
“Still, they help a little. Three seeds at once! Not bad.”
Eliza spoke over her shoulder to Etta. “The prophet normally has two at a time. Yea, she’s very pleased with Shemnon.”
Etta had a startled moment before she could answer. “How many living children does she have?”
Eliza laughed a little. “Living children? They’re all living. What a question! This makes thirteen. Most of them girls.”
Thirteen living children. Etta thought of the women of Nowhere, how they preened over two or three children in the house. How the Hives of women with even one child swelled and exploded, men living in the house next door, waiting.
Lucy leaned over Alma. “May I have the honor of nursing your third, sister? She seems mighty hungry.”
The tiny third-comer was indeed crying weakly, demanding to be fed.
“I’d be much obliged, Sister Lucy.”
Lucy swept the child off Alma’s knees and brought her to the breast. The infant fought for a few minutes to latch, but quickly fell to mashing her tiny fist into the woman’s flesh, breathing furiously through her miniscule nose.
The older women in the room dried their tears and picked up the dirty linens and tools.
“We’ll take these to the leaf,” one silver-haired woman in a long dress said to no one in particular. The room emptied somewhat. Etta stayed.
She sidled closer to the bed, entranced by Alma’s glowing appearance.
“I’ve never seen a birth go so well.” Etta watched the two pink mouths working tirelessly at Alma’s nipples.
Alma’s eyes met hers and Etta realized with a sense of unreality that the woman’s eyes were green.
Weren’t they brown before? Brown like a fawn in the spring?
Alma’s hand shot out fast and closed around Etta’s wrist. Etta felt as trapped as a mouse under the eyes of a hawk.
“Yes, they were brown before. They change.”
“How did you—”
“Not now.” Alma’s gaze was intense, holding her in place as though she were bound there. “Now is the time for other things.”
Alma’s hand on her arm felt white-hot. Etta stared back into the woman’s murky green eyes, uncomprehending.
Alma’s voice was low and steady. She cradled both children with her drawn-up thighs, holding on to Etta. “I know what we have to do, and this is the only time I’m going to have enough power to make you ready to do it. Yea, you have been taught by your Mothers. And so you are ready for the terrible battle to commence.”
“What?”
One child fell away from the nipple, milk-drunk and asleep in the ease of newborns. The other followed seconds later. They pillowed against Alma’s body. Her hands held Etta in place.
“It is the teaching of the Mothers. You must lead them. Hush now. Just hushhh.”
The final sound she made filled the room, as the sound of beating wings on a thousand bees.
Etta struggled to free herself. What the living hell is this?
Alma’s hand was so hot it was burning her. The heat shot through her fast, along the lines that carried panic and pain. Etta’s heart pounded. Her arm thrummed and her feet jittered.
Run, damn you! Run!
Her eyelids twitched out of sync. Alma’s grip grew stronger.
Without her volition, Etta’s leg sprang up and stomped onto the bed beside Alma. Alma moved her inexorable grip to Etta’s calf and clamped tight. Etta yelped.
The other women in the room kept their distance, watching transfixed.
“Is it not written in your law, ye are goddess?” Alma’s teeth clamped on the final sibilant, holding it like a cat hissing in the dark.
“What?” Etta was locked into her body, thrumming with something she could not control.
Alma squeezed the belly of her calf muscle tight and Etta felt something burst out of it, like the noisome fluid in an abscess lanced with a hot knife. She bellowed and broke free, slipping to the floor.
Three women carried her back to bed. Alma fell asleep, arms curled around two of her three newborns. All over the tunnels of Ommun, people made ready to celebrate.
CHAPTER 15
In Nowhere, births were celebrated. Healthy births were not as rare now as they had been two generations ago, but they were far from certain. Half of the male children lived, and most of the mothers of boys could come through the fever just fine. Women who gave birth to girls, however, were prone to the sudden bleeding and loss of consciousness that was described in the Unnamed’s earliest notebooks. Girl children died three times out of every four. The community contributed every way they could, and they took in women and girls whenever possible. But Nowhere remained a town of men run by a handful of women.
Etta had seen more than a few towns in her time on the road. Before Estiel and before Eddy, she had made contact with people in towns along the rivers and prosperous places like Jeff City a few times a year. Places like Manhattan, mostly: faring no better than Nowhere, but dealing with it in their own way. Building their own bridge between men and what few women they could keep.
Jeff City had made her suspicious. At first, she had been convinced she had finally stumbled into a place where they could cure the fever for good, or where people had become immune. Discovering Flora, learning what a horsewoman was, had dashed those hopes. Even cities that seemed to have enough women turned out to be some kind of trick, like Flora. Or the result of kidnapping and hoarding girls. Nowhere Etta had ever seen was like Ommun: full of women and girls who were born there and stayed freely, because they wanted to.
Lying awake in bed, Etta considered Ommun.
I was hoping for this.
Were you? Eddy joined immediately, to Etta’s complete lack of surprise.
She sat on the edge of her bed and it was as if he sat with her.
Yes, she thought stubbornly. This . . . and other things.
Remember what Kelda wanted? What Alice always wants? If there were enough women, would anyone care if we kept our own company?
Etta turned her head to the side as if Eddy were something she could avoid. To change the subject, she touched the place where her ribs had been broken.
She felt nothing.
If we had all this, no one would care who slept with who.
She gathered her courage and hit herself in that same spot with her fist. It hurt a little, but only as much as her own punch would in an unwounded spot.
That’s right, Eddy’s voice said.
She touched her forehead to find the divot where the rock had cut her, tried shaking her head vigorously to scare up the dizziness that had followed her for days.
The divot was there, but no pain and no dizziness followed.
Right. Eddy sounded satisfied.
Etta sat back down and pulle
d her toes in, arching her feet hard and shortening her calves as much as she could. She waited for the cramp to begin, wondering if the triumph of being right would be worth the pain.
She couldn’t have fixed it with her bare hands. It’s just not possible. Ina tried medicines and massages. Alma couldn’t have done it just with her will.
She held the curl in both legs as long as she could. Nothing happened.
It’s real, Eddy’s voice said, as flat as a trader examining his goods. It’s real and it’s what they have here. That’s why.
Etta took long, deep breaths.
Eight in, eight out.
We don’t need that anymore.
Etta snorted.
They’re still wanting whatever it is they think you have.
Etta considered this.
Women are the thing that’s always wanted. What is there besides that? They already have enough of us. Enough babies.
Eddy shrugged with Etta’s shoulders.
So?
So.
Etta thought of Nowhere. She thought of the few men who had been taken in to the small town—the ones who had skills that were needed, and who had convinced the women of the council that they were not slavers or rapists. One had been a knife sharpener with good tools. A couple had been builders.
What do you have to offer these people? You mention good drugs, they don’t want drugs. You ask them what they’re after and they tell you a lot of nonsense about angels and dreams.
What was it the Unnamed said about these people? About their god?
She could remember nothing. Only the sex. Only Roxanne, the Unnamed’s first companion. And Jodi. Only the winter that Jodi’s baby had died.
Nowhere had no gods. Etta knew them from books, and people kept some festival holidays, retold old stories sometimes. Older folks liked to argue about the deals people had made with the gods of the old world, and how, if they had been true once, they were surely broken now.
Etta had heard stories on the road about gods who had died, who were coming back someday. She heard about good gods and bad gods. Women with Hives would spin up tales about goddesses.
I’ve never seen anything with my own two eyes that would make me believe any of that.
