by A. G. Henley
He coughs, embarrassed. "Hey, I think we're getting close. I can hear them squabbling from here. Good thing the fleshies don't come in. We'd be dead with all the noise they're making. What's the plan for getting us from the caves to Koolkuna?"
“Kadee is supposed to meet us at an exit. From there, I guess we’ll have to walk outside.”
Which assumes she made it back to Koolkuna to let them know we were coming. She was able to travel through the forest thanks to her resistance to the poison, or whatever it is that allows her to see the sick ones as they really are.
"How much longer until we get to the exit?"
"A few hours, maybe? I’m not sure.”
I’m not sure about much. It’s taking all my strength to put one foot in front of the other. The voices are close now; we’ve caught up to the group.
If my internal map is correct, they’ve stopped at the side of the enormous cavern that Peree and I traversed, only to have to retrace our steps an hour later when we couldn't find an exit. I recall the utter silence when he left me to explore a passage. I panicked, until I remembered I could follow the foul scent of the crampberries back home.
Being here again is like having the same dream twice. I can still follow my nose, but this time there's only one direction I can go: toward Koolkuna. Going home is no longer an option. It's not even home anymore.
Two separate small fires sparkle in the dark. I hear some quiet conversations, but mostly I feel a strained silence. If I had to guess, the Groundlings are sitting around one fire and the Lofties around the other. Stupid, but not surprising. The fact that our group isn't exactly getting along concerns me, but in a distant sort of way, like hearing an elder tell a story about it.
I smell Peree's honey-tinged scent before he reaches us. I expect him to take my hand or hug me, but he doesn't.
"I'll . . . go find something to eat," Bear says. His arm pulls away from my waist, where it had been resting.
I reach for his hand before it disappears, holding it in both of mine, trying to communicate all my emotions with that one simple touch. Gratitude, regret, friendship, guilt, loyalty. I hope he can feel all of it. Then I turn to Peree.
"How are you doing?" His voice is inscrutable.
I wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek against his chest. His muscles are tight at first, but he slowly relaxes and pulls me against him.
"I wanted to stay with you," Peree says. "But someone had to lead the group."
"I know. Bear explained."
"Oh . . . I didn't think he . . . well, good."
We're quiet for a minute.
"I wish we were alone in here again, the way we were before," he says.
I think of his savaged thigh. "Before you were hurt."
He lays his palm gently over my heart. "We both have new scars."
I place my own hand, blemished from a lifetime of struggling to find my way in the dark, on his, and we hold each other in the all-consuming blackness.
Petrel finds us there, entwined like tree roots, a few minutes later. He doesn't tease us this time. Maybe he understands we needed a little time together to reconnect in some tangible way.
"I offered to lead the group—it's not like I can't follow that nasty smell myself by now—but most of the Groundlings seemed to think I'd take them into some kind of trap. Whole damn place is a trap, if you ask me. Anyway . . . you said Koolkuna has a good herbalist, right?"
I nod. "Nerang is the best."
"That's good," he says mildly.
"Why?" Peree sounds alarmed. He must have seen something on Petrel's face that I didn't yet recognize in his mellow voice.
"Moon's been having some pains."
Peree's hand grips mine. "Pains? You mean the hatchling?"
"Probably from all the walking. Being on her feet all this time. But you know, it's close to her time."
Peree swears.
"How much longer do we have to go, do you remember?" I ask him, thinking about Bear's question.
"A few hours, at least. But I'm not positive. We took a wrong turn after we left this cavern, and ended up where we spent the second night, remember?"
I'd forgotten about that. The crampberry trail has helped us move much faster than the first time Peree and I stumbled through the caves, but there's still a lot that could go awry with our plan to get to Koolkuna. And now we have the possibility of Moon giving birth early to worry about. I try to shift the cloud of gloom around me so I can focus on getting our people through this in one piece. But it's not easy.
I hurry with Petrel and Peree to Moon's side.
"Oh, Petrel, I told you not to tell them. They have enough to worry about." She must see the concern on our faces. "Peree, I'll be fine. I've been having a chat with the hatchling. I let him know he can't come yet. He needs to nest in there a little longer. You get us to that village, and he'll stay put in the meantime. He's a good boy; he'll listen. Fennel, are you okay? Do you need anything? I mean, anything we can get you?"
I shake my head, ashamed that she's thinking about me when she must be dreadfully worried about her baby. I forgot all about Moon's condition, and how uncomfortable she must be, since we came in the caves. I make a promise to myself to remember I'm not the only one with problems.
"Go," I tell Peree. "Get the group moving. I'll stay in the back with them."
He touches my necklace, his fingers lingering longer than usual on my collarbone, then he starts barking orders at both groups to extinguish the fires and pack up to leave. Someone grabs my elbow—Bear. He hands me something. It feels like a burning ember from the fire against my frozen digits, but it's only a cup of strong tea. I take an appreciative sip.
We start walking, and it isn't long before Moray and the Lofty man get into it again.
"You better watch your back when we get there," the man says.
"Yeah, Moray. The bird man might peck you to death," Cuda snickers.
"All those muscles aren't good for much when it comes to an arrow, Groundlings. Except giving me more of a target."
"Sure, if you don't die from old age while you're working up the courage to try," Moray says.
"Moray, please stop antagonizing him," Frost pleads.
"Whatever you say, love," Moray says. Which could have been sweet, if he said it with any kind of affection in his voice. I wonder if she has a good idea now who she's gotten herself involved with. I feel bad for her.
"You're being an ass, brother," Conda says. He might have threatened me, but I like this one better and better the more I hear from him.
"It's best to ignore Moray, Frost. That's what we do," I say.
"Welcome back, Fennel! Thought we'd lost you to the living dead," Moray says. "Relax. Cuda and I are only having a little fun."
"Clearly they aren't enjoying it." My voice is taut. Something unstable—dangerous—bubbles in my gut. "You're not helping."
"Never said I'd help anything," he responds. "I made a deal to protect you so I could come to Koolkuna. Bargain worked out well, didn't it?"
The rage that's been simmering inside me since Moray poisoned me, and probably well before that, explodes to furious life. My hands shake so bad the hot tea spills all over them. I throw the mug at the ground, pulverizing it, and stalk toward him. "Our bargain killed my brother! It's because of you he's dead!"
"And it's because of me that you're alive," Moray says coldly. "Not that I'll get any thanks for it."
"Thanks for nothing!" I scream at him. I thrust my hand in my pocket, gripping Peree's knife. I've never had the desire to use it as much as I do right now. Bear's lessons hurtle through my mind: where I'll aim to strike, the angle I'll use, the necessary strength it will take to pierce anything vital on a man as big as Moray. Which all reminds me of my practice sessions with Eland. Fresh gusts of despair blow through me.
I slash at Moray. To my surprise, the knife meets flesh. I almost drop my weapon.
"Good job," Bear says with satisfaction.
Moray grabs my wr
ist; I struggle against him.
"That's the only one you'll get, sweetheart." His voice is strained from pain, giving me more pleasure than it probably should. "Put the knife away before you start something you can't finish."
I shake with fury. "You should've let the arrow hit me!"
"Next time I will," he says. And he sounds like he means it.
"Right, that's enough," Peree says. Wrapping me up, he almost carries me a safe distance away from Moray. I start to pace.
"What can I do?" He sounds so worried.
"Nothing. There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do. I've lost him. It's my fault."
I keep pacing until the group starts moving. Pocketing my knife, I stay near the back with Petrel and Moon as Peree reluctantly leaves me to go to the front of the group. They ask if I'm all right, but I don't do a very good job convincing them that I will be. Not a big surprise. I can't convince myself.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
My head pounds and I feel off-kilter after my outburst. I think I shocked the group into silence. Even Moray and Cuda keep their verbal jabs to themselves for once, which is a welcome change.
My head swirls in a confusing cloud of justification for feeling angry and remorse for letting my anger get the better of me. I don't recognize myself. I don't know how long it will be until I do again.
We move as swiftly as possible through the bleak caves, making our way toward the fork in the tunnel where Peree and I originally took the wrong turn, then had to backtrack. When we reach it, the stench of the crampberries slaps us from both directions. Peree leads us into the right-hand passage without hesitation. It will take us to the exit where we'll hopefully meet Kadee.
We planned our supplies pretty well, I note to myself, more out of habit than pride. There's been at least one torch lit the entire time we've been in the caves, and I haven't heard any mention of not having enough blankets, water, or food. There's been plenty of bellyaching about the bitter cold, the near darkness, and of course the constant stink of the crampberries, but that was to be expected. And it's tempered by the Lofties' grudging admiration of the miraculous formations poised throughout the caverns and caves. They seem as awed by the frozen majesty of the place as Peree was when we were searching for the Hidden Waters.
Moon moves increasingly slower the longer we walk. She takes frequent breaks now. Either Petrel or I hang back with her to rest, catching up with the rest of the group as they stop. One of us has to stay with Thrush, to keep him out of trouble. I volunteered to be with him all the time so Petrel could remain with Moon, but frankly, Thrush listens only to Petrel. And not all the time. He's already earned several yelps and one angry reprimand for stepping on people's heels or plowing into them while prancing around the back of the moving group. Not to mention he almost set himself on fire playing with a torch during a rest stop. I don't know how the Lofties survived raising him in the trees.
As challenging as Thrush can be, he allows me to focus on something other than my own misery. His boyish exuberance reminds me of Eland a few years ago, although Eland was never that mischievous, thank the stars. The distraction doesn't make my sorrow easier to bear, but I can shift the burden of it from one arm to the other once in a while.
When I'm with Moon, I take her arm to give her the support she needs, and she guides us. She doesn't complain; she quit trying to talk a while ago. Her shoulders are bowed and she sucks in her breath often. I pretend the baby is only kicking her again, but I know it's her labor pains. I can feel her focus turned deep within her body.
"Are any of your people experienced with hatching . . . birthing?" she pants after one particularly nasty "kick." Her voice is slow and scratchy, remarkably different from her usually chipper speech.
I run through the small group of Groundlings who came with us in my head. "I'm not sure . . . Ivy, maybe. Should I go get her? And Petrel?"
"Not yet." Her teeth snap together, and she clamps down on my arm as another pain seizes her. I try to pick up our pace after it releases her, but she stops again a few steps later. She sways, and I hold her close to me.
“Fennel, I think my water broke.”
I push my hair out of my face and shiver with the anxiety prickling over my skin. “Okay, what should I do? Do you want to lie down?"
"Not here. Need supplies the group has . . ." Moon can't contain a short scream the next time the pain comes. She leans heavily on me as we hobble along the passage together.
Luckily the others aren't far ahead, resting in what is probably only a wide spot in the passage. I call to Petrel; the frantic tone of my voice brings him to my side in an instant. Peree arrives a moment later, and they lower Moon carefully to the ground. Petrel speaks to his partner in a quiet, comforting, voice, but I hear the fear in it.
"How much farther to the exit?" I ask Peree.
"Not sure." He sounds almost as uneasy as Petrel. "We've been heading uphill for a while, so I think we're close."
"Should we send someone on to see if Kadee is there?"
"I already sent Bear."
Moon moans, and Peree and I kneel beside her. I feel her forehead. She's sweating like she's inside a baking oven instead of on the frigid, rocky ground of the caves.
"Ivy?" I call out. "Can you help?" Footsteps move near and stop a few feet away. "Do you have any birthing experience?"
"Yes," she says, but she sounds tentative.
"So what should we do?" I fight to keep the impatience out of my voice as Moon pants on the ground by my knees.
"I've only ever helped with Groundling births," Ivy whispers loudly. Like the Lofties all around us won't hear. I grit my teeth at the absurd ignorance behind her words.
"I doubt a Lofty baby comes out a different way," I snap. I wish Marj or Calli was here. They wouldn't hesitate to help a laboring mother, Lofty or otherwise. I think. "I don't care if you've only birthed rabbits before, you're all we've got. Please, tell us what to do."
"We need some warm water," Ivy says after a moment, "and a few blankets."
I'm pleased when Frost brings over her extra blanket and offers to watch Dahlia while Ivy is helping us. But I'm especially gratified when I hear Conda say he’ll start the fire to warm the water. Within minutes it flickers to life on the ground a few feet away from us. Moon howls with pain.
"I'm going to see what's keeping Bear," Peree says. He sounds like he'd rather be doing anything else other than sitting here watching his cousin give birth.
"Maybe you should take everyone with you." I doubt Moon and Petrel want an audience, either. “Leave the fire lit for us.”
He gets the crowd moving through the next passage in no time. Thrush wants to stay with Moon, but Peree and Petrel refuse him with equal firmness. Peree hustles him out with the others, squeezing my shoulder as he leaves.
Petrel, Ivy, and I stay behind with Moon. For her part, Moon seems like she could care less who's there so long as the baby comes as quickly as possible.
When she's not issuing spine-splitting screams, she mutters to herself or to the baby. Or she curses Petrel. He ignores that, instead whispering to her about how wonderful their life will be in Koolkuna with the hatchling. Moon has always referred to the baby as a boy, but Petrel keeps saying "her" and "she." I guess we'll find out who's right soon enough. Assuming everything goes well. But we're in a frozen cave passage far from any real healer. Anything could happen, and in my experience, it usually does.
I hold a water sack for Moon to take sips from between the pains. I’ve heard lots of babies being born—that’s hard to avoid in the close quarters we all live in—but this is the first birth I’ve been a part of. My heart beats unevenly, and the sweat rises on my forehead. Ivy busies herself down below. To her credit, she stays focused on her patient, talking to her and telling her what to do.
The pains seem to go on and on, striking faster each time. Moon writhes and bucks, riding each shockwave that crashes into her body. It’s horrible. Gasping, punctured by the shrieks and groans
, is all she's able to manage now. Petrel keeps up his quiet murmuring by her ear.
Ivy speaks to me during a quieter moment. "Something's wrong. The baby should be here by now. Unless a Lofty birth is different."
"They aren't different,” I say. “Moon's a woman exactly like us. What can you do?"
"I don't know what to do," Ivy says. She sounds panicked. It's understandable; she's not a healer, and she's not much older than I am. I put my arm around her.
"It’s okay, Ivy. Just . . . keep doing the best you can.”
I'm sweating, and my stomach twists. Not another death, I plead to whoever might be listening. Please, not another. Another will break me.
I grasp at straws. “Any idea what Marj would do in this situation?”
Ivy straightens up. “There is something.”
“Try it, whatever it is,” I urge her.
“I need something to put under her hips,” Ivy says, her voice high and strained.
“Like what?” I ask.
“A pack maybe? It needs to be firm enough not to flatten.”
“Here’s mine,” Petrel says.
Ivy takes it and places it under Moon. “You’ll have to do kind of a back bend. It . . . it won’t be comfortable.” Moon grunts her understanding.
“What will this do?” I ask.
“It helps the baby get unstuck.” She pauses. “I only saw Marj do it once. I hope I have the pack in the right place,” she mutters to herself.
Moon screams as the next pain hits her.
“What do we do now?” Petrel asks frantically.
“We wait,” Ivy says. “Through three pains. I remember that. Three.”
The waiting is agony. Moon shakes with the suspended pain of the awkward position she has to lie in now. I hold her hand, and I start to sing. Aloe sang to Eland and me when we were hurt or scared, and I can’t think of anything else to do that might help.
I sing a lullaby, imagining myself calling to the baby. I sing as the second pain wracks Moon. She lies still, exhausted. I keep singing while the third pain hits her, although I want to hold my breath, waiting to find out if Ivy’s idea worked.
