A Dark and Stormy Light

No one knew when the storm started, only that it would not be stopping anytime soon. Thirty years ago, the Empire exiled Doctor Carnassus to the small island of Marope. The torrential rain had never stopped in all that time. Even the elders who grew up here spoke of the sun in the same way they talked of dragons and fairies. They laughed at his stories of the glowing sphere in the sky. 

Carnassus rushed along the boardwalk as his apprentice James struggled to keep him dry with a waxed umbrella. Carnassus did not blame the poor boy for trying. James was new to the island, coming over on the most recent trade ship. He would realize sooner rather than later how impossible a task it was to stay dry on this island. 

“Doctor,” James said. His long, dark hair stuck to his face, making it hard for him to see. Carnassus wished he would cut it, but teenagers needed their minor rebellions.  

“Hm?” 

“I was wondering about the storm,” James said. “How it came to be.”

Carnassus sighed. “Not this again. I’m a man of science, not a storyteller. Go to the crone if you want a story that will keep you up at night.”

“The Medicine Woman scares me.”

“Don’t call her that,” Carnassus said. “The witch is not a woman of medicine. She trained at no academy. She’s a fearmonger and not even a good one.”

“So…the storm.”

“I can tell you only what the locals say, that hundreds of years ago, this land belonged to the Marope tribe. The island is named after them. They could hold their breath for over ten minutes and were one with the sea. Utter nonsense, if you ask me.”

They passed a group of elders huddled beneath a palm tree. A meager fire sizzled in the rain, a fish cooking on a spit over it. The elders made a sign with their hands of respect and offered them some fish. James reached out to take it, but Carnassus slapped his hand.

“We can eat once we’ve seen the patient,” Carnassus said. 

They left the village behind, climbing the hill at the southern tip of the island. The Mayor’s manse loomed over the village, the only building reminiscent of Carnassus’ homeland. It made him homesick. When first he came here, he had expected the exile to be a trifle thing. Thirty years later, he knew the truth. They forgot about him. Now he would die a sopping mess. 

“The tribe was welcoming to those from the mainland at first,” Carnassus said, “trading fish and urchin for medicine and weapons.” His breath came in ragged gasps as they climbed the muddy hill. He was not the strapping young man he once was. “The foreigners slept with the locals, diluting their sea-blood as they called it. Eventually, there was only one man left with the true blood of the Marope. On the day he took his last breath, he cursed the foreigners, stating that the island would never see the sun until the true blood returned.”

James whistled. “So it’s a magic storm.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s a perfectly logical reason for the storm.”

“Which is?” James asked. 

Carnassus grunted, grateful to arrive at the top of the hill. He hated not having the answers. 

The manor had seen better days. The three story structure would have blocked out the sun if there had been one. It must have sat here since before the storm started. It would have been impossible to build a structure of this scale amidst endless rain. Whole wings lay uninhabited, rotting from the inside out. Inside, dozens of metal buckets caught water falling from leaks, though to their credit, the Mayor and his household kept the place dryer than any other home on the island. 

The Mayor greeted them in the foyer. His blond hair and blue eyes marked him as a recent immigrant to the island. He and his wife had no Marope blood. It was the clearest sign of wealth that his clothing was not soaked, merely damp. The attendants offered Carnassus a fresh set of clothes, but he waved them off. Time was of the essence. 

“Where is the patient?” Carnassus asked. 

“This way, Doctor,” the Mayor said. He led him up a double staircase, past paintings depicting the sunlight made by artists who had never seen it. They envisioned it as purple or green. Carnassus was one of the few inhabitants who knew what color it actually was, though even that memory was fading with time, replaced by the dark gray of storm clouds. What had the sun looked like? Yellow, almost golden on a good day. That was how he remembered it. Unpleasant to look at, but marvelous to behold.

The Mayor led them into a bedroom. A group of nervous maids gave a collective sigh of relief as they took in Carnassus’ dark coat and doctor’s bag. The patient lay on a plushy bed, her legs propped up on pillows. They hiked her dress up around her waist, her legs wide apart. The maids had tied her long blond hair out of the way.

The Mayoress regarded him with bloodshot eyes. “Get this child out of me,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’ve been trying not to push.”

“You did well to wait for me,” Carnassus said. 

“Just make sure my son draws breath, and you will be rewarded handsomely,” the Mayor said. 

“Son?” Carnassus asked. “How can you be so sure?”

The Mayor flushed and looked down. 

The Mayoress laughed and then winced in pain. Her breathing came in shallow sips, like a fish out of water. “My husband does not like to admit to superstition, but the Medicine Woman came by several weeks ago. She assured us we would have a boy and he would be the light of our life.”

Carnassus bit his tongue. The witch had a fifty percent chance of being right. She was taking quite the gamble. He would let them believe what they wanted, so long as it didn’t impede actual medicine. 

Carnassus opened his bag and took out his supplies. An oil lantern, a pile of linen rags he had taken great lengths to dry on a fire, a pair of shears, and a bottle of milk of the poppy. It was scarce on the island, but he had bartered with his medical skills. Addicts often had need of medical intervention. 

Carnassus offered the milk of the poppy to the Mayoress, but she turned it away. 

“I want to have my wits about me when I see my son,” she said. “Besides, I’m stronger than I look.”  

“Fetch me a basin and water and soap,” he said to one maid. She rushed off. Carnassus lit the lamp. The wind howled outside. “How far apart are the contractions?”

“Two minutes,” one maid said as the Mayoress grunted. She closed her eyes, sweat pooling on her forehead. She clutched the Mayor’s hand. After a minute, she fell back.

“Then I got here just in time,” Carnassus said. The maid arrived with the basin. Carnassus stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He washed his hands and forearms and dried them. Carnassus got on his knees and examined the Mayoress. 

“How is it looking doctor?” the Mayor asked. 

“You did well waiting for me, Madame Mayoress. Now I need you to push, in time with your contractions.”

“I…I can’t. It hurts too much.”

“And it will continue to hurt until the baby is out. Now push when you’re ready.”

The Mayoress screamed. Lightning flashed. A window burst open, glass shattering. A maid rushed to close it. She slipped on water and fell into a pile of glass. Carnassus cursed and gestured to his apprentice. 

“Help the woman,” Carnassus said. “You’re doing well, Mayoress. Make sure not to hold your breath.”

The Mayoress pushed again, excrement soiling the expensive sheets. The Mayor looked away, but Carnassus wasn’t fazed. He cleaned her off and washed his hands again. The wind shifted, rain coming in through the broken window almost horizontally. Damn storm made everything ten times harder. 

“Push,” he said. Another flash of light came as the manor shook. A section of the ceiling collapsed and narrowly missed falling on them. Carnassus cursed, the water already pooling at his knees. With a clenched jaw, the Mayoress pushed. The baby’s head became visible, covered in a shock of brown hair, then went back in after she stopped.

“He is crowning,” Carnassus said. “Keep going.” 

She pushed again. All five windows burst open, wind whipping at the curtains. James tried to close one, but the window swung and hit him in the head. He fell to the ground. 

“Damn it boy, get up,” Carnassus said.

“What’s happening?” the Mayoress asked. 

“It’s just the storm,” Carnassus said. “Focus on breathing and pushing.”

“No, it’s the baby,” the Mayor shouted over the wind. “The medicine woman said this would happen. She said the gods have blessed him.” 

Carnassus bit back a retort. “Push.”

She howled and pushed, the baby’s head fully coming out. Lightning struck a tree outside, the thud of it falling startling the maids. 

“Something’s not right,” the Mayor said.

The Mayoress pushed. The baby’s shoulders popped out. Another gust of wind picked up, stronger than he had ever seen it, so strong it knocked him to the ground. Shattered glass embedded itself in the wall. He got up just in time to grab the baby as the Mayoress gave one last push. The child slid out. 

All went quiet. The wind died down. Everyone held their breath. Then a blessed sound came, the sound of crying. 

The Mayoress, covered in blood, sweat, and excrement, let out a sigh of relief. 

“Doctor,” James said. He clutched his head, which was bleeding. Several of the maids had wounds from shards of glass.  

“Not now, boy,” Carnassus said.

“But…the storm.” 

The rain stopped. A beam of light poured through the hole in the ceiling, damn near blinding them. Carnassus covered his eyes, only opening them once they adjusted. A maid gasped. The beam of light fell on the child, revealing his brown eyes, hair, and skin. Whispers went around the room. The boy had Marope blood.

The Mayor stormed out of the room, though not before cursing and breaking the doctor’s oil lamp. 

The dark clouds faded outside, casting the island in light for the first time in hundreds of years. 

“But how?” Carnassus asked. 

“I told you, doctor,” the Mayoress said with tears in her eyes, “he’s our little miracle.” Pain racked her face as she gave another push, the placenta popping out.

“I…don’t believe in miracles,” Carnassus said. And yet. The child stared at him with intelligent brown eyes. He handed him to his mother. She took him and held him to her chest. His crying ceased. 

“Do you have a name?” Carnassus asked. 

“Sol,” the Mayoress said. “His name is Sol. Send word to everyone in town. Tell them that the endless night is over, swept away by my son. Tell them the true blood has returned. My son lifted the curse.

Carnassus ushered the maids out of the room, urging them not to gossip, which was an impossible ask. Once they were alone, Carnassus cut the umbilical cord. 

“Who is the father?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” the Mayoress asked.

“The Mayor…”

“The Mayor will love my son just as he will love the newfound sun. The Medicine Woman told me what to do, who to sleep with. She told me if I did everything she said, the sun would come back, and she was right.”

“But at what cost?” Carnassus asked.

“My husband can survive a bruised ego, but these people cannot survive without a sun. This will unite our people. You will see.”

Sol woke up and immediately started crying. As quickly as the sun came, it faded away, replaced by dark clouds. The Mayoress lowered her shift; the baby suckling at her breast. Slowly, the clouds vanished. 

Carnassus sat down in a moldy armchair and took off his hat. “You will have to keep that child happy and healthy, lest the storm return.” What was he saying? Such superstitious nonsense, but his eyes did not lie.

“Well,” the Mayoress said, “it’s a good thing we have a doctor on call.”