Forever

by Natalie J. Case

  As they began to come closer together, I gathered the things Lu Sin had said we would need. It was busy work, meant to keep my mind off the coming events, but it did not. If anything, it seemed to amplify each round of clenching and unclenching, nearly dropping me to my knees several times. I wondered as I crawled into my bed if I could indeed do this thing which mortal women take for granted.

  The pains grew in intensity and I questioned my own sanity in wanting this child as much as I had come to. The room was as prepared as I could make it on my own. I tried to concentrate on anything except the pain, but it was overwhelming. I lay on the bed and waited, feeling my body preparing to tear in two. I am sure I talked to myself as the time passed, cursing any man I had ever known.

  I tried to hear the child within me, but the noise of my own body was too overwhelming. My breath came in long, ragged gasps, my heart beat wildly out of control. The skin surrounding the baby seemed alive, burning, twitching. I shook with each contraction, fighting off the Change, which came in response to the pain. Hours went by and it continued, weakening me in ways I had been unprepared for. I imagined dark must have come outside and absolute fear that Lu Sin would not return in time overtook me. I was sure I wouldn't be able to do this thing without her. I screamed her name as if that would bring her to me, all the while clutching madly at the bed sheets with each pain.

  I tried to calm my insanity, to rationalize my thoughts. There was no reason I couldn't do this, I told myself. Women all over the world do it every day. If I was capable of conceiving this child, I was capable of delivering it. I turned my inner battle to the physical act, abandoning all efforts to keep the Change from taking me. I roared with the pain and committed myself to the act of the birthing. I felt the child respond, grasping its own life as I had mine. The hard pains came, urging me to push against them, and there instinct took the place of reason.

  Distantly I heard the sound of Lu Sin's horse, the door opening, her footsteps, but they were only side notes to my thinking. I was relieved when she at last burst through the door of my room, taking stock of the entire situation in a heartbeat and joining in quickly. She took her place at the end of the bed, spreading my legs open as if I were a wishbone after the family feast. My insides were screaming to be released and the child had begun its final arrival. Her voice was soothing, but I don't remember a single word she said. I saw her face pale as she looked upon my Changed face, but she turned herself immediately back to the task at hand, and the child's head, which she then held in her hand.

  My screams shook the rock walls of the cavern from which the bedroom had been made, echoing into the night. Never in all my days had I felt such a thing, as though she were tearing her way out of me. Then, quite unexpectedly, it was over. The child was born, held in Lu Sin's arms.

  I lay there upon the bed, gasping for air and attempting to calm my heart, all the while straining to get a glimpse of her. I heard the sharp slap of flesh against flesh then the sound of a baby's first cry. It all left me then, the doubt and uncertainty, the fear of inadequacy, the unequaled pain. Lu Sin brought her to me, cleaning the blood and muck of birthing from her tiny body.

  “Your daughter,” she said as she handed her to me.

  “My daughter,” I echoed needlessly. I looked down at her for the first time and my breath caught in my throat. Dark brown hair covered her head. Her wrinkled up skin was all red and pink and warm. I had no words for her or for Lu Sin. I held her to me and let the tears come, streaming down my sweat stained and still Changed face. I was exhausted, hungry and taken by the touch of her tiny little hand. I might have sat there for hours, unmoving, but for Lu Sin. Suddenly she was at my side, a bottle of formula in her hands.

  “You should feed.” She uncorked the bottle and handed it to me. “And so should the babe.” I drank deeply, welcoming the feeling of it filling me. With Lu Sin's assistance, I managed to arrange myself in such a way as to give the child my breast while I took my sustenance as well. I watched as she found her way to it, one little fist balled up to bat the air as she sucked. It was an odd thing to me, a feeling not all together unlike that of one of my Brethren feeding from me, but so much different as well. I watched in amazement.

  I was vaguely aware of Lu Sin cleaning up the room, removing the bloodied sheets. The child fell asleep at my breast and the very sight of her so contentedly asleep bewitched my own eyes. My heartbeat had at last returned to normal. The Change was fading. I felt Lu Sin lift my daughter from my arms and smooth a blanket over me, then I slept.

  I woke to a quiet house, only the light of the fire lit up my room. I sat up, suddenly remembering the agony I had been through only recently as the aches made themselves known. My feet held me however and I moved only somewhat slowly out into the hall. A fire burned in the nursery, low and dim. My eyes made out the form of Lu Sin asleep in the chair. I moved in closer, to the crib where the infant slept.

  I found myself smiling foolishly to myself in the dark as I watched her, completely enamored of this thing I had somehow done. It had been inconceivable to me at one time, that this could ever be true. It seemed impossible at that moment to imagine my life before she had come to be a part of it.

  “She is beautiful,” a voice said in the dark behind me. It was not Lu Sin's voice.

  I spun around, instantly defensive. Dovan divorced himself from the shadows by the door. “I heard your pain, and assumed she must have come. I couldn't stay away.”

  I smiled and reached a hand out to him. He came to me and we stood together staring down at her. “Have you named her?” he asked gently.

  “Francis , for her father. Dovana, for her great-grandfather.” I closed my eyes and savored the feeling of home and comfort in that room. Dovan's presence filled it with a sense of strength.

  “And her family name?”

  “Stuart, for Francis's family. Francis Dovana Stuart, my daughter.”

  “I have brought you a gift.” He took my hand and drew me out of the nursery and out into the living room where he had already lit several candles. We sat on the sofa and he handed me a small box. I held it for a long moment before opening it. Inside was a silver ring, ancient and highly polished. I held my breath as I lifted it from its satin bed. “It was your grandmother's. I gave it to her on the night our first child was born. She had always intended for her daughter to receive it, but we had only sons. When she died she wanted it to be given to her first granddaughter on the day when she gave birth.”

  “Thank you.” I slipped it onto my right ring finger. It was like it had been made for me. “I don't know what to say.”

  “You don't have to say anything. It belongs there.” He smiled a surprisingly human smile, filled with warmth and love. “You have made me exceedingly proud, Amara. You have been the one piece of humanity in my existence. I have watched you grow into a wonderful, courageous woman. You cannot know what that means to me.”

  “I think I shall find out,” I said, my thoughts sweeping back down the hall to my child. A part of me already understood him, a part of me wanted to throw myself into his arms and weep with joy. I restrained myself.

  I could hear the sounds of Lu Sin waking, checking on the still sleeping infant, then moving toward us. “Ah, Lu Sin, come here. I would like you to meet someone.”

  She stretched and yawned as she padded toward us in soft slippers. “Lu Sin, this is Dovan, my grandfather. Dovan, my friend, Lu Sin.”

  Dovan inclined his head in perfect time to Lu Sin. He seemed cautious, but accepting of her presence. “It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of the one who helped to bring my great-granddaughter into the world. Please sit down, join us.”

  She sat slowly, cautious as well. She had heard me mention his name, had seen his picture in my bedroom. She knew what he was. If she was afraid, she held it in check well, deferring to my wishes. It was something of a defining moment in our relationship, an expression of her trust that no harm would come to her in my home.

  We spoke a wh
ile, then I heard Francis beginning to wake. I stood and Dovan followed. “She'll be hungry, Child. Take good care of her.”

  “I will Dovan. Will I see you again?”

  “I think you will. Perhaps when I return I'll bring Justine with me.”

  “I would like that.” He kissed my cheek and was gone. I yawned and went to Francis. Her little face had just begun to wrinkle up as she started to cry. I picked her up and cradled her in my arms, cooing to her as I settled into the chair. I suckled her to my breast and found myself humming to her some ancient lullaby from some by-gone era that I barely remembered, but couldn't tell from where. Certainly my mother never sang to me, she had never been that maternal.

  “You should see yourself,” Lu Sin said from the doorway. “I'll bet you've never looked more human, more normal.”

  I snickered. “No, I'll bet I looked fairly human laying at the bottom of that ravine up the mountain, human and dead.”

  “You look like a mother,” she said.

  A mother. I, somehow in my twisted existence, I had become a mother. My thoughts drifted to my last experience with motherhood, with raising other women's children and to Moira. I wondered if she had somehow heard, as Dovan had … if she would come. I suddenly wanted to see her.

  Francis was asleep at my breast and I was suddenly taken with exhaustion. I lay her in the cradle and wearily found my way back to my bed. I was asleep before I was fully ensconced. The next days would be spent achieving some manner of a normal routine, with the child in our lives dictating sleeping and eating hours and rearranging everything.

  It was awkward at first, spending all my time with an infant, my infant. For the first time in my life I had no urges toward a human life, except to keep and protect it. Even my closest mortal friends had always held some desire, some craving for me. I had fought myself for so long, I didn't know how to react to this. My need for the formula diminished and my appetite for mortal food increased. I could sit alone in a room and feel … something other than hatred or anguish or self-loathing … something more than physical desire of one kind or another. It was several days before it dawned on me what it was. I loved.

  I would find myself sitting beside the cradle, looking at my child as she slept. I saw with eyes that wondered at every movement of her, every breath she took. I marveled as she drank from my breast, taking her life from me in a way very unlike anyone else ever had. Her tiny fingers and toes held a fascination beyond even the curiosity of her birth. I could completely forget myself when alone with her, so intent upon her being, so in love with her I could simply forget to breathe.

  She seemed blessedly unburdened with the curse of my own existence, though her face paled far more than normal after the rush of the birthing was done. There were no lethal fangs in her mouth, no biting instinct when she fed. Her dark brown hair was so soft to touch, so perfect. She was more mortal than even I had hoped. I could sense the other in her, but only as a distant genetic reminder, an instinct, a Family sense. She would likely develop some of the gifts as she grew older, but for the time, she was not unlike any other infant in the world.

  It was well into the night, several months after the birth, I sat outside our home in the light of a half moon, cradling Francis in my arms and savoring the soft night air. I felt them come, and shifted a little, my eyes scanning the trees. Moira appeared first, slipping from the line of trees nearest the garden and gliding my way, her smile gentle.

  “Hello, Mother,” she said as she neared me. I felt the baby jump, startled by the voice, or the feeling of her presence.

  “Moira.” I reached out my free hand to draw her close to me. “I have missed you.” My smile was genuine as Leonard also came into view. “I have missed you both.”

  “We heard the news, and thought to come see for ourselves,” Leonard said, sweeping off his hat.

  “A child,” Moira said, barely more than breathing the word. Her nimble fingers brushed Francis's face and she smiled again. “How?”

  I smiled myself. “The same way a mortal might accomplish it, I imagine,” I replied. It felt good having them near me again. “How did you hear?” I asked, thinking perhaps Dovan had sought them out.

  Leonard shifted nervously. “You are the talk of many of our kind, Mother. They speak of you in whispers, the one who kills her own kind and gives birth to human children.”

  Moira took his hand. “They are afraid of you.”

  “People are always afraid of things that they do not understand,” Lu Sin said from the doorway. “Your kind can not fathom your humanity, as Mortals cannot fathom your other half.”

  “And so she stands alone,” Moira said in that sad way of hers.

  A quiet settled over us, a tad melancholy. Francis stirred in my arms and I stood. “Enough of this talk. My Moira has come to see me. Lu Sin, please take the child inside, I should like to spend some time with Moira and Leonard.”

  I handed off the bundled up form of Francis, then slipped an arm through Moira's. “Tell me all about you.” I invited as we set off to walk in the woods. They told me of the places they had visited, and the various people they had seen. Some part of me longed to return to that kind of life, wandering from place to place, but my heart beat in my daughter's chest. For me, that time had passed. They spoke at length of traveling to America, and I told them of my time there. Near to dawn, we withdrew into my home, to sleep away the daylight hours. I had not realized how much I had missed them, my first children, and the way they were with one another. None of it had changed. Moira still seemed more alive, more real when Leonard was near. Leonard was still entirely focused on Moira and the rest of the world disappeared when he held her in his arms.

  Three nights after their arrival, I watched them slip off into the trees, Francis asleep on my shoulder, Lu Sin beside me. It hurt me to see them go. There had been a feeling of completion with them there, as if I had come full circle.

  The nights stretched outward, beyond my even taking notice of them, weeks and months whirled past. She grew slowly, though not nearly as slowly as my own torturous climb from infancy. In her first year she seemed to develop almost as a human infant would, a little slower in physical growth, but she made up for it in intellect and a knack for learning. She took her first steps when she was not quite three, while I sat on the floor of the cabin and watched in gleeful motherhood. She was my pride and my joy, my greatest achievement.

  In my joy of her I lost sight of the grand promises I had made to myself. I had seen her as my gift to the world before I had ever held her in my arms, but she was so much more. Her eyes sparkled with a light that spoke of her father, and her curious nature reminded me of myself as a child.

  I was afraid to test her to the daylight, though Lu Sin and I debated the issue greatly. Lu Sin believed her nearly human skin would withstand daylight, though a certain sensitivity to it would remain. I however was terrified of the thought of letting her take my vulnerable child into the sun. I forbid it.

  It was the first of our disagreements, Lu Sin and I. Most often she was right, but I was too stubborn to admit it. My paranoia made me guard Francis jealously against anything that had a remote chance to harm her, Lu Sin saw things more levelly and knew that my over-protective nature would one day be a detriment to us all. Still, I always insisted, always won. I was content with everything around me, even the bickering and sometimes strained relationship that Lu Sin and I had come to share. When first I had met her she had been a quiet woman, not given to strong statements of opinion or disagreements. It seemed as time passed that she contradicted most of my decisions, and her opinions were strong and stated loudly.

  It wasn't until Francis was nearly five that I finally agreed to the first testing, watching from the shadows as Lu Sin held her hand and coaxed her out into the twilight just before dark. The skies were orange and I had visions of that tender skin blistering beneath even this distant sun, weakened by its descent. I held my breath, as my precious child looked around her, wide-eyed and amaz
ed. The setting sun cast a ruddy appearance to the house that seemed to fascinate her. Her eyes squinted as she sought out the source of light. It was all I could do to contain myself for the ten minutes they were outside before the reticent sun slunk away behind the trees.

  I pulled her to me as they came back inside, running my hands over her exposed arms and face, looking for marks that the sunlight had damaged her. She was unharmed, though the brightness of the light had brought tears to her sensitive eyes. “Did you see, Mama?” she asked, her eyes widening. “The skies were bright.”

  “Yes, Francis, Mama saw,” I said, hugging her. Lu Sin smiled briefly, then set about making breakfast.

  Once we were done eating, and Francis had gone off to play, Lu Sin and I sat at the table together, our collected teaching materials between us. We had been working on our plans for Francis's education, and the problems with bringing a tutor into our lives, further aggravated by our odd living schedule. We now knew that Francis could live her life in daylight, which eased part of the difficulty. I wanted to give her the best of everything, and that meant teachers who possessed greater knowledge than Lu Sin and I together.

  “We can still get through the next few years,” Lu Sin said, sorting through a stack of readers she had brought with her from San Francisco. “But, we should begin looking for tutors before much more time has passed. It will take months to get the advertisements out, and responses to them.”

  I nodded, absently fingering the stationary on which we had begun listing the subjects we wanted Francis to learn. It was an ambitious list, including the basics of reading and writing, mathematics and rudimentary science, botany, astronomy, art, music, history, as well as her own special heritage. I knew the time had come to begin formal lessons, structured times for each task. I sighed and looked at Lu Sin, who seemed tired and pale. “Are you well?” I asked, vaguely concerned.

  She smiled. “You are perceptive. I didn't sleep well. Something I ate disagreed with me.”