Close enough to lose it forever, Leagh said.
The child shifted, unperturbed at the thought of the travail ahead. Have more faith, mother, she said, and think only of the lilies ahead.
Leagh smiled, a hand on her belly, and then she stilled and looked up.
There was a shadow behind one of the fluttering curtains: dark, oppressive, horribly gleeful.
“Roxiah is here,” she whispered.
And one more besides it, said the child, but Leagh did not know what she meant, and so she ignored it.
Roxiah proceeded into the birthing chamber in grand style, its belly breaking through the curtains first, long before Roxiah’s grinning face was revealed.
Leagh winced, for the woman’s face—Niah’s—was nevertheless so much like Zenith’s that Leagh found it difficult to concentrate.
Poor Zenith. Dead in the dust of some desolate gorge in the Urqhart Hills. Leagh had been well aware of the manner of death visited on Zenith and StarDrifter.
But this entity was not Zenith. This was the Demon Rox, writhing in Niah’s womb, awaiting birth, and the combination of Niah’s soulless body and Rox’s demonic spirit (and infant flesh) was loathsome to behold.
Roxiah’s face was a frightful combination of outward blankness with corruption that writhed only just beneath the skin. It was twisted, bland, malevolent, torpid. It combined soullessness with the depravity of evil. It combined vacancy with a sinister and perverted tenancy that waited to explode forth in fiery and death-dealing birth.
“A joust!” Roxiah crowed, “between you and me! The battle of the bellies, I think! What is the challenge, milksop? What ‘choice’,” and Roxiah made that word a foulness, “do you have for me?”
Leagh straightened, despite the pain and discomfort that gripped her. “The choice is obvious,” she said. “Only one child can be born. Yours, or mine. Bleakness or hope. Your choice. Yours. Which child is to be born, Roxiah? Which?”
“Mine! Mine! Mine!” Roxiah shouted, jumping up and down in a display of ungainly joy. “Mine!”
Niah’s Demon-controlled body dropped to the floor, writhing and contorting as if gripped in the final pangs of birth. It lifted and spread its legs, as if determined to force out the infant Rox here and now.
“Mine!” Roxiah crowed yet once more.
Far above, Qeteb turned to DragonStar and grinned. “A stupid choice to give Roxiah,” he said, grinning his joy. “How could Leagh have possibly thought that—”
“The choice must still be born,” DragonStar said calmly, although inside his emotions roiled. Leagh had lost, it seemed.
Hello Niah, said Leagh’s baby, and Leagh’s face dropped in shock at the strength of her child’s mind voice as it sped from the womb.
“Niah doesn’t live here any more,” Roxiah chortled. “Someone else does. Me, me, me!”
Roxiah rolled about and finally managed to get to its feet. It spied the table with its birthing implements spread about, and it seized a large hook, raising it threateningly as it advanced on Leagh. “Time to go, my dear.”
Niah? said Leagh’s baby. Niah? Come home, Niah. Come home.
The wasteland was far distant, a place with no paths leading to any bridge of escape, a place devoid of hope.
She stood, her head hanging, her eyes closed to the soullessness surrounding her, knowing she was beyond redemption.
When she had been in the joy and hope of her youth, this was not where she had thought to have ended.
Why, when all she had done was love? Why, when all she had done was fight for the right to love?
Niah, Niah, come home!
Leagh did not move, nor attempt to protect herself. “Your choice, Rox,” she said. “Which baby is to be born? Whose?”
Niah come home…
Roxiah laughed until spittle flew about the chamber in a mad rain of glee. “Time to go, Leagh!”
It threw the hook, and Leagh had to twist violently to avoid it. She staggered, and then fell.
Niah come home…
Come home? Come home? Where was home?
She remembered the place where she had been raised into womanhood: the peaceful enchantment of the Island of Mist and Memory, the companionship of her fellow priestesses, the comforting roar of the waves a thousand feet below her feet.
Was this home?
Roxiah scuttled over the distance between them, another hook in its hands. “Time to leave, depart, and farewell the scene, Leagh,” it said, and, placing one foot on Leagh’s chest, raised the hook to drive it home.
Niah come home…
No, that place had not been home, for she had left it.
There had been another home, the house of Hagen in the horror of Smyrton.
There she had birthed her child, her beautiful daughter, Azhure.
And there she had died, burned alive as Hagen poked her further and further into the fire…
…further and further into the fire…
…further and further…
“No!” she screamed. “No! I won’t come home! I won’t!”
That is not your home, Niah. Come home. Now, please, you are needed NOW! Come home, Niah, come home.
“I make the choice!” Roxiah screamed. “My baby, not yours!”
Leagh raised her arms, crying out, and trying to twist away, her belly left vulnerable as her arms tightened about her face.
Roxiah chortled with joy, twitching and twittering in its demonic labour pangs.
It had won. Rox would be reborn.
Niah, please, please, come home now.
She lifted her head, staring at the vision that had suddenly appeared in the wasteland before her.
A Woman, standing under the most wondrous Tree that Niah had ever seen.
The Woman was beautiful beyond measure, and so powerful the surrounding wasteland cringed in fear.
The Woman smiled, and tears sprang to Niah’s eyes.
“Where is home?” Niah whispered. “Where? Must I fear it?”
“Home,” said the Woman, “is where you are needed, and where you belong.”
“Where?” Niah said, her voice a whisper. “Where?”
Again the Woman smiled. “Where you are needed,” She repeated, holding out Her hand. “And where you will be loved. Come home, Niah.”
“I can never be loved,” Niah said, now on her knees and shaking with shame. “Not after what I have done.”
“Done? All you have done is to love, and to be deceived in that love.”
“Zenith…” Niah’s voice was now barely audible; her gaze was now firmly fixed in the dust she knelt in.
“Zenith adores you,” the Woman said. “Trust me.”
Zenith adores me? Niah wondered, hardly daring to believe it. She cannot, not after what I have done…
She looked up as a shadow fell across her.
The Woman, still reaching out Her hand. “Come home, Niah. Come home. There is only one small task to be done along the way.”
“One small task?”
“One small task for utter redemption, and an eternity of love. Come home, Niah.”
And as Niah reached out to take the Woman’s hand, the fragrance of the Tree enveloped her.
Roxiah howled, a combination of triumph and the agony of its labouring womb.
Within the womb Rox wriggled in glee, punching and kicking, determined to be born immediately so he could savour his victory by feeding on both Niah’s body and those of this stupid witch and her pathetic infant.
He would eat it out of its mother’s womb! He would!
With all the strength that Niah’s body contained, and the impatient desire of the demonic infant it carried, Roxiah lifted the hook, screeched, and in one vicious, lightning-fast move, drove the hook…
…into her own belly.
“Oh,” Roxiah said, with the most surprised of expressions.
Inside its body Rox gave a single convulsion, trying to wrest himself off the steel hook that had curved its way through his belly
, out his back, and then back through his chest to emerge just under his chin. Then he shivered, choking in the bloodied fluids of Niah’s womb, and died.
Leagh still lay on the floor, staring, stunned.
As the infant within struggled and died, Roxiah’s expression altered, and something else entered the horrid face.
Something sweet, and infinitely regretful. Something beautiful, and serene.
Something very definitely “else”.
Hello, Niah, said Leagh’s baby.
Leagh struggled into a sitting position as the grotesque form swayed above her. Blood was pouring out from the horrible wound in the body’s belly, and even as Leagh sat up, Niah took the hook, and twisted it yet further and deeper in.
“Rox is dead,” Niah said. “His flesh is tattered and torn.”
“Oh, gods…” Leagh whispered, managing to rise to her feet. “Niah? Niah?”
“None else,” Niah said, trying to smile reassuringly about the agony that coursed through her body. “Come…ah, the pain!…come to repair some of the damage I have caused. Come…come to find some redemption.”
Leagh grabbed the woman’s shoulders, wondering desperately what she could do.
Niah’s head dropped, and her entire body shuddered, but somehow she remained upright.
“Where?” Niah whispered. “Where is She?”
“Who?” Leagh said.
“The Woman. The Woman under the Tree. Where…ah!” Niah’s eyes dropped to Leagh’s belly. “There. There.”
Leagh tried to find something to say, but could not. She shook her head slightly, uselessly. Why this tragedy just so her child could be born?
Niah lifted one bloodied hand away from the hook buried in her belly, and touched Leagh’s face gently. “There is no tragedy,” she said. “For there is only great joy in these events. Lady, will you do something for me? Tell Zenith I am sorry for what I tried to do to her. I was wrong.”
Leagh bowed her head. She could not tell Niah that Zenith was dead.
“And tell WolfStar, renegade, that I did the best for him that I could.”
Leagh silently shook her head, tears sliding down her cheek. Niah had come home too late—far, far too late.
“And tell my daughter that I love her beyond measure.”
Niah tried to say something else, but she suddenly gagged and blood poured from her mouth. She sagged to the ground, and Leagh cried out.
Niah go home, Leagh’s child said. To eternity. Home to the flowers.
Leagh bent her head over the corpse and wept.
Katie sat up from the ice woman’s lap and pushed the glossy brown curls out of her eyes. She looked solemnly at Azhure, sitting at the other end of the barge with SpikeFeather, who still had his arms about her.
“Your mother has gone home,” she said. “Sweetly, innocently, and with a final happiness.”
“Welcome, ma’am,” said the Butler, and swung open the garden gate.
“Dare I?” said Niah. “Dare I? After all I have done?”
The Butler smiled, and if it were not for the dignity of his position, would have hugged her. “You are deeply loved and needed, ma’am,” he said. “Please, enter.”
Niah looked at him, not daring to hope.
“The lilies await you,” said the Butler. “And one else.”
Niah turned to the gate, and looked through. She stared, unbelieving.
Zenith stood among the flowers, the lilies tugging at her skirts and at her ebony wings.
She held out her arms, as granddaughter to grandmother, and smiled with love and welcome.
Niah burst into tears, and walked through the gate: sweetly, innocently, happily.
Qeteb’s fingers curled into the white cloth and he wrenched it off the table with a roar of fury.
He leapt to his feet and tossed the cloth high into the sky.
It fluttered down slowly into the crater.
“Two down,” said DragonStar. “And two wins. To me. My girls have done me proud.”
And he lifted his head and smiled at Qeteb.
“Cauldron!” Qeteb snarled, and turned away. “There you will fail!”
“Why leave now?” DragonStar said. “Don’t you want to stay for the birth?”
Chapter 59
Midwiving Deity
Pretty Brown Sal pulled them into Fernbrake Lake just in time, for which Axis was supremely grateful. If he’d had to put up with Ur’s cries and clamours for just one more hour…
Axis hated to think what Ur would have said had they arrived late.
He swung down from Sal, Zared and Gwendylyr a moment behind him.
The instant Axis’ feet hit the ground, he was almost bowled over by Ur hurrying forward with her pot.
“Make way! Make way!” she cried, and Axis was stunned to see that she was weeping with joy.
The next instant Gwendylyr had pushed past him, and was hurrying after Ur into the birthing chamber.
“I think I should wait here,” Axis said to Zared, but Zared shook his head.
“No. I don’t know why, but I think that you should be present as well.”
And so Axis, still so desperately sad he wondered that he could actually walk and talk and ride, followed Zared through the lines of the Lake Guard and into the birthing chamber.
The Lake Guard silently followed him, lining the interior of the chamber as silent witnesses.
There was one other silent witness. DragonStar, atop the ridge and staring into Fernbrake crater.
The best place for your birth, he said to the child, now so gripped in the struggle for birth she could not respond. Fernbrake. The Mother of all Life.
Leagh lay on the birthing bed and writhed, drenched in sweat. Gwendylyr sat at one shoulder, silently sympathising, one hand wiping the sweat from Leagh’s forehead.
At Leagh’s other shoulder sat a distraught Zared, wondering what he could do, and yet so glad, so relieved to have Leagh safe again it swamped all his fears.
Axis stood, almost wrapped up in one of the billowing curtains at the edge of the chamber, part of the circle of Lake Guardsmen inside the chamber. Before him, crouched in a huge huddle, lay Urbeth, her head on her paws, her eyes locked on the struggle before her.
This baby would be birthed with many witnesses.
Ur stood at the end of the birthing bed, quivering with excitement, staring at the baby beginning to emerge, her pot still held in violently trembling hands.
Axis watched her with some concern. Shouldn’t she be doing more? He remembered the births of his eldest and his youngest. At both, midwives had helped and aided Azhure in a way that Ur most definitely was not helping and aiding Leagh.
Ur was just standing there. Watching. And now quivering so violently in her excitement that Axis thought she would drop the pot at any moment.
And then he jumped, for everything about them changed.
They stood in an infinite field of flowers. Leagh was walking slowly between two women, both in mid-life and so beautiful Axis’ breath caught in his throat at the sight of them.
Ur and Urbeth, their arms about Leagh, encouraging her with every step.
The scent of flowers, a warm wind and the gentle sound of waves crashing beneath a distant cliff filled the air.
Zared and Gwendylyr were here too, as were the Lake Guard, but they stood to one side, anxious spectators.
“Axis.”
Axis turned slightly at the sound of the voice.
DragonStar, glorious in his near nakedness, the lily sword scabbarded in the jewelled belt.
“Have you come to watch?” Axis said.
“I have come to accept,” DragonStar replied, and he walked past his father towards Leagh, Ur and Urbeth.
Leagh gave a great groan, and twisted to one side as the child slithered from her body.
“The Baby! The Baby!” Ur cried, and she did what Axis had been afraid all along she would do.
She dropped the pot, and it shattered on the floor.
Several things happened at once. Zared rose to stare at the tiny, wriggling baby that had just slithered into the world. Leagh struggled to sit up so that she, too, could look. Urbeth leapt to her feet, and roared and shook as if possessed. And as one, all the Lake Guard present took a great breath, and shouted, their fists thrust triumphantly into the air.
And while all this was going on, something indescribable filled the birthing chamber.
Leagh gave a great groan and would have sunk to the ground were it not for the support of the two women who held her.
“The Baby! The Baby!” Ur cried.
DragonStar strode forward and sank to his knees before Leagh, an expression of utter wonder on his face.
He held out his hands to catch the Baby.
Axis could not describe what then filled the tent in words, only in emotion.
Wonder, gladness, joy, beauty.
Hope, salvation, pity.
Warm wind on cold cheek, and soft touch on despairing heart.
Being. A Being beyond comprehension.
It was the combination of what had been in Leagh’s womb, and what had been in the pot.
Ur lifted the child in her hands. It was a Girl, chubby, wide-eyed and joyful.
“The Mother?” Axis said, trying to make sense of it all.
DragonStar caught the child as She slithered from Her mother.
“The Mother?” said Axis.
DragonStar took a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice was filled with gladness.
“The Mother transformed and drawing breath as one with the Infinite Field of Flowers,” he said, “so not the Mother at all.”
He looked up, and lifted the Girl into Leagh’s arms.
“My Child,” said Leagh, and took her Daughter in her arms.
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