by Eden Wolfe
Back to the one whose life she destroyed.
Ariane, the first, the true Future Queen.
The moon above her became the moon of her memory, twenty-eight years earlier.
The full moon shone brightly into the room as she began to give birth.
There was the shock of red hair emerging from her body. She hadn't yet seen the face. She was exhausted and in pain. The babe was clawing at her canal, resisting being born, demanding to return to the womb.
"Come, child, come! Queen Child, come!" Maeva had pushed from the nape of her neck to her ankles, all muscle and ligament twisting to close the path from which the child came, leaving no choice but the light.
The child screamed from inside as if she knew the world she was about to greet would offer her no solace. Not for a Queen Child like her. Not after dying in the womb and having life pushed back into her by her mother's force.
"Please, child, please," Maeva had pleaded, and at last the head crested, with hesitation, inching into the world with the reluctance of a lamb to the slaughter. The babe turned as if to look back, but indeed the gate had closed. She would never return.
How the child had cried.
"Please, Ariane, hush now. You will be a queen, born from my own body. The pattern of queens born through detached incubation is over. You come from my blood; my blood to yours.” Maeva coaxed as she clipped the cord with gentleness, the love of generations suddenly alive in every pore, a need to protect, a need to hold. "Come, child, you are with mother, you are the only one, and I, your only mother, child, come to me and see how I love you."
The already long red hair on the newborn covered her face. Maeva caressed it aside and at last, their eyes met.
Maeva froze, consumed in an instant by the guilt of what could be only her fault.
The child's face. Disfigured. Ears that began too low on the head. Eyes that could see forever but placed in the wrong spot. No symmetry. The code was perverted. Everything in the wrong place and the hair of fiery sunset across greener eyes than sea and pasture, greener than the depths of space. Dark and sad, and ready to love.
A Queen Child brought back from the dead while still in her mother's womb.
A Queen Child deformed.
The collapse over the cliffs. The death that should have been final. The life-giving that wasn’t natural.
She should have let the baby die.
"Oh, my Ariane. I am so sorry."
On hearing the words, the child stopped weeping. Maeva laid her down on the sheet in the middle of the floor, covering her with blankets and blocking her face from sight.
"For all you will live, and all I can never give you, I am sorry."
The babe looked her in the eyes, and they shared the memory of the fall.
The child knew it all, she could tell. Another victim of Rainfields.
Not the first and not the last, the voices of old within Maeva spoke.
The child of no more than a few minutes looked at the Queen. Maeva looked back her deformed Queen Child, her Ariane. She felt the silent babe do what no queen had ever done since the Mist.
She’s forgiving me.
Maeva was washed over with a sense of release, felt it rushing up from within her. The gift of forgiveness from the newborn’s eyes, given to her who was least deserving of it. The child’s strange eyes softened.
Maeva couldn’t look away.
"Irene," she whispered, hoping she’d be heard from the other side of the door.
"Yes?" Irene replied, opening the door just a crack.
"You will swear to silence for what you will see."
"Yes." Irene had only been a few years in the Queen's service, but she had been sought out from Gana years earlier. Maeva felt a magnetic pull to her. Her dark complexion and intense eyes captivated her from the start. Maeva trusted her implicitly at first sight.
The door creaked open a crack and Irene closed it silently behind her. She was the only one in the fortress who knew of the Queen's implantation of the Queen Child. The pregnancy had been hidden for the full six months under robes and frequent travels to the outlying counties.
On turning from the door, Irene's eyes widened at the quiet bundle on the floor.
"My Queen, you've had the Queen Child in secret?" Irene approached cautiously, as Maeva sought Irene's eyes. Maeva kept the child's head covered just enough to hide her defects.
"She is innocent," the Queen said.
"Of course, she is. She is just a baby."
"No," the Queen choked back. "She's not. I killed her."
"She is alive, my Queen, I see her breathing under the blanket. You are confused by the labor - "
"I'm not confused. I killed her once, Irene." The Queen inhaled deeply and barely spoke, "At Rainfields. I was weak then. I fell. She died, and I brought her back. But now she's been punished for it. No one can know, no one can ever know, no one can - "
"Shhhh, now, my Queen. The Queen Child will - "
"She is not the Queen Child!"
Irene gasped as she unfolded the sheet and saw the child.
"It's my fault."
"I understand, Maeva."
And with the slowest of movement, slower than time itself, Maeva looked one last time on the child's face and embraced her through the space with love, unseen and powerful and fleeting. Still, the baby did not cry.
Irene took the bundled babe, and slowly moved the sheets away to fully reveal the mistake of a face. She inhaled deeply, moved by the child's smile who knew no anger, moved by her forgiveness of Irene's fear.
"Ah yes, little one," Irene whispered, "You were loved, remember that."
"You have to - "
"I will take her, my Queen."
"You can't harm - "
"There will be no harm, my Queen."
Maeva suddenly knew what must be done.
“Take her to Lucius. He’ll know what to do with her. He’ll take care of her.” Her voice trailed off. “He’s as much as her father. He will love her. He will know what to do.”
The perfect child he’d created.
What will Lucius say? All the gifts he designed in her – what will he say when he sees what she’s become?
"Mama?" The babe spoke clear as day.
"My child-" the Queen looked on from the floor of the bathing room.
"Come, little one," Irene coaxed, "Leave your mama to her world. You will have a new home."
"Mama?"
"You no longer have a Mama, child. We must go." Irene moved towards the door.
The shock of red hair looked up from Irene’s shoulder with a start, meeting the Queen's eye with question and fear and loss.
"Ariane," Maeva whispered, "Your name is Ariane, and you were once very, very loved."
The baby’s eyes welled, reaching for the Queen, confused.
Irene slipped out of the room saying only, "I’ll take her to Lucius."
The door closed.
Maeva sobbed silent tears in the corner of the room, still surrounded by her waters and placenta not yet delivered.
Her world would never be the same again.
She let the moon of the present night come back into focus, her body completely drained by the memory. She stared up at the sky as the weight of all she had to do pushed down on her chest. There was no choice anymore, the path was paved. The back of her head throbbed. She didn’t want to move.
There was so much yet to come. She needed a little reprieve from it all.
She lifted herself.
She let the cool air brush across her body, and then she started for home.
Nearly eighteen hours later, she closed the door of her bedroom behind her. She collapsed in bed. And she slept.
28
Rita
The sound of the flutist came on the screen. Rita loved living close to the screen. It was like she had a friend beside her even on the coldest nights. The gentle hum of the screen was soothing to her, and mornings were always the best. The wood flute filled her heart with joy, and she sm
iled, her head surrounded by the soft white pillow.
She paused there. Another morning and another day. She would make toast and drink orange juice, prepare her chicken sandwich, and take an apple.
Oh, a pear! It is pear season after all.
Rita loved pear season.
Rita knew what she was born to do. She was born to love life, to wake with love in her heart. She took on the day with zeal, she closed it out with zest for the next day and she felt it all in the glorious morning flute. The sound was gentle; the vibrations in her chest made her smile. She was so close to the screen she could actually feel it.
"Oh day," she declared and popped out of bed, eyebrows high and lips curled up in a smile. Sometimes it felt like Mary on the screen was talking straight to her, only to her. The green eyes of the image sideways out the window perked up as they always did at this hour. Mary was her friend, everyone's friend, reliable and true, and something in her always felt familiar, like looking in the mirror from a new angle or catching your reflection in a gentle wave. Like a sister.
The shower was hot, her coffee was hot, the bread from the day before more delicious in its crust than when she picked it up from the market stall.
How can that be? she wondered and then simply accepted it as fact.
Rita loved her design. At the clinic, she mulled over the others and was grateful for the traits infused in her. How much was design, how much was simply nature or daily nurture, she didn’t know, and it didn’t much matter. Hers was a good design, one meant to endure, just like the others, and she had faith in their system. She had seen the little lives emerge - stronger, abler, smarter. They would survive, they would, no matter the conditions that Lower Earth threw at them.
Shame about the boys. But the time is what the time is, so why spend time worrying about it?
She gathered up her things for work as quickly as possible, a quick brush of the hair, the teeth, and general daily hygiene.
This day will be as great as yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that. Yes, it will be a great day indeed.
Rita's life was an unending chain of days as great as the one before it. She sighed in wonder at her luck. She heard Mary announce the coming hour for departure to positions, but Rita wasn’t yet ready to move. She was held in place by the beauty before her.
Across the table, the red sunrise cast daggers of shadows more striking than the imagination could create. The flutist played on in the background.
29
Lucy
The woman's cheery smile was both inviting and off-putting. Lucy watched how time and again she greeted each arriving patient with the same giant, full-toothed smile, same sweet melodic voice asking them how they were, have they been well since the last visit, how was their child, how was their Willing Mother, how was their job. At first, Lucy thought she was robotic, but as more than forty minutes passed in the waiting room, Lucy caught glimpses of her talking to herself or her paperwork or the coffee machine. She was always the same. An inexhaustibly cheery woman. Even when she kicked her toe against the doorjamb it was followed with "Oh gee, gosh, darn!" and a flurry of giggles as she shook her head to herself and walked back to her desk.
"I'm looking for Miss Lucy?" The voice of the cheery woman sang through the sliding glass square in the wall. Lucy almost didn't recognize that it was her name.
"Hi, hi, sorry, that's me."
A tilt of the head and a big smile. "Why hello, Miss Lucy. Your first time heeeere?" It was drawn out almost mockingly.
"Yes." Lucy touched the lava amulet around her neck. She realized she'd done it and became self-conscious. She dropped her hand to her side.
"I'm Rita. I'm the greeter, and it's great to have you here! I'll take you in now. Did you have any trouble finding us?"
Lucy was led into a simple room, white but not too impersonal, with a big window that looked into a green yard that was kept up with potted tropical plants. It made the room feel warmer, though it was a standard clinic room like she'd seen on other doctor visits.
Rita dramatically dropped a magazine called "Growing on the Inside" on the little table beside Lucy, which she flipped through. Articles talked about well-being, fertility health, meditation, and balanced eating during pregnancy.
On the wall was posted the declaration on Willing Women. Lucy scanned it.
Now, why didn't they tell us about this more in school? I can't be the only one in this position.
Waiting for the doctor, she had time to read it from start to finish, twice over.
DIRECTIVE ON WILLING WOMEN
“Directive, so passed in the age of the second establishment of the Willing Woman Program.
That the child born to said woman will remain with said woman until such time as either the health status or state demands require otherwise.
Expectation is that infants and young children will be best cared for by mothers who carried them. Emotional attachment is probable in first days and is a helpful aspect of the Program for the purpose of building relationships within the broader Lower Earth population. Movement into homes will be enacted as deemed preferable before adolescence.
When appropriate, according to Program requirements, children will move out of the first Willing Mother’s home into either a group home or the home of another Willing Mother. Such transitions enable relationship development across different attachment figures.
Exceptions will be applied as warranted, particularly in the cases of insufficient capability on the part of the Willing Mother. In these cases, homes or women listed as available caregivers will appropriate all rights previously held by the Willing Mother.
The Program recognizes the importance of relationship, with both the advantages and disadvantages it brings. The State will operate as mediator in situations deemed necessary, or by the Royal Court, if so escalated.
Participation in the Program is a privilege, not a right. It is based on capability and competence, genetic conditioning, and other social factors. Women not accepted may appeal through the Common Process of Objection.
Campaigns will be set at regular moments through the course of the year; potential participants are encouraged to attend. Specialized campaigns will be mobilized according to need: social, scientific, or otherwise.
The practice of Willing Women will continue until the Royalty deems it no longer necessary for the continuation of Lower Earth's population. At the time of writing, no such termination of the Program is expected.”
Lucy knew The Directive was posted in all clinics, a legislated requirement, but it provided little insight into what it all meant, and what happened behind the scenes in the several thousand strong workforce. It was the second-largest cross-county employer in Lower Earth after the Education Ministry. Everyone knew someone who was connected to the Program through the genetic conditioning teams, the recruitment groups, the clinics, and the post-care workers. The screens explained that the Program provided much more than just the ability to keep the population figures steady - it was a way for society to remain connected with their humanity, a side that was deeply at risk in their post-Mist reality. The Program was acknowledged, explicit, discussed, and debated - but only with regards to its application.
No one questioned whether the Program needed to exist.
When Lucy was younger she had attended one of the regular community meetings held across Lower Earth. They were supposed to provide accurate information, as rumors were always rife. It seemed many people had a desire to disband or completely rethink the Program - which the Queen dismissed out of hand across the screens. There had been a Tuesday Briefing specifically on this subject. "Of all our challenges in this generation, I am not about to question the one solution that is working." Lucy had found it hard to disagree, all the more so now in her current position.
The seat in the little white room was the kind designed not to be comfortable. The lines of the chair were sleek and the wood well varnished, but after a short time, Lucy felt her legs goin
g numb. The article on ideal diet for fertility was hard to focus on, so she ran her thumb over the lava stone to calm herself. The edges of the rock had already softened at her young age, she'd touched it in so many anxious moments. She let her mind take her back to the rally she’d attended a few weeks earlier. It was there that she’d decided to do this.
It had been in the Central Meeting House. The place had been transformed into a conference center of sorts, tables set up and with women at each - some former Willing Women, some pregnant, some who were reps from the Ministry, there to give administrative advice. Every visitor was assigned a number. All names were held anonymously on a list at the Ministry, confidentiality guaranteed. Lucy was thankful for that; she wasn't ready yet to tell her mother of her decision.
Lucy remembered how one of the Willing Women, Janis, had been particularly friendly with her. Janis had nodded with understanding when Lucy explained her situation and said she’d been in a similar position herself. Lots of ambition, but also a struggle to get through the final levels of school.
"So have you given up everything else now that you’re a Willing Woman?" Lucy had asked.
Janis laughed. "Absolutely not! I'm still doing my studies on the side, now that Anee is older. I could see myself doing urban engineering implementation, or perhaps agriculture implementation planning since I'm not meant for the countryside. But in the meantime, I also focus on Anee's studies, making sure that she can get that leg up that I didn't. You know, they’ve reduced the gestation period, so you might even have it easier than me." She smiled at Lucy.
Lucy had been reassured. She was still young, and even if right now her progress in algebra had slowed, she still felt competent. Janis had inspired her. So it was possible to be a Willing Woman and not lose everything she'd worked for so far.
"It's a sacrifice though, don't forget that," Janis had cautioned, "but one that is not only for yourself, as each child is a gift to Lower Earth, and Willing Mothers are at the soul of it. You can see your future in your child's eyes, your history in her as she discovers the world. But it does come at a cost. And remember, at some point, your girl will move away from your home. It’s both a blessing and a challenge.”
