New Life

Though the sun was setting, it was still bright enough to make Maya squeeze her eyes shut as she dragged herself out of the ocean onto the sand. Thousands upon thousands of tiny grains of sand stuck to her body, and she lay down in the dunes, panting.

All right, Maya kind of understood why most – nearly all – of the women of her people stayed below the surface, to do the whole birthing thing under the knife rather than drag themselves onto land to undergo a transformation to let the baby come out the natural way. A thousand years ago, everyone did it this way. Science moved forth since.

As a contraction grabbed her body, like an enormous hand with fingers gripping her swollen belly and twisting around, she breathed the way her midwife told her she would have to, to give birth the old-fashioned way. In through the nose, out through her mouth. Focus on her body. It knew what it was doing.

Perhaps this hadn’t been her brightest idea ever.

She could’ve been down on the ocean floor, surrounded by surgeons and medical personnel, her baby out in minutes and the only pain she would’ve needed to suffer would’ve been the needle prick as they numbed her.

But a part of her – a large part, screaming at her, obviously, since she was here – had recoiled against taking the simple way out. This was their next ruler, next in line for the throne after her. She’d followed so many traditions, and she’d wanted to follow in the footsteps of her mother. Wanted to be close to her mother, share a connection with her even now when she was part of the waves while Maya still lived in them. 

Oh, how she wished her mother could be there to guide her – not only through birth, but through taking care of a little one. Though Maya was looking forward to meeting her baby, to hold it in her arms and hug and feed it, and take care of it even when in the middle of the night, she was also petrified. Sure, she’d been running a kingdom for a couple of years – but being solely responsible for a new life? What if the baby stopped breathing, what if she turned her gaze away to take care of something and when she looked back, the baby had gotten itself hurt?

Another contraction, stronger than the last, like a vice around her middle, broke her train of thoughts and forced her back to focusing on breathing.

When she looked down, she found feet instead of fins. Knobby knees had replaced her smooth scales, the same pale white skin as that on her upper body. Where her red fish tail had been, the only red remaining was a little blood in the sand. 

The contraction released her, and Maya let her head fall back onto the sand. Grains of the soft white made their way into her hair.

As she waited for the next contraction, she took a moment to glance around. The island was empty of life but for birds and a few tiny water animals taking a break from swimming, and they wouldn’t bother her. The island – covered in sand and with a couple of strange, tall trees – was tiny. Swimming around it would take minutes. The humans had yet to find this place, and Maya was glad for it. If the baby was a girl – and she expected it to be, not because she knew from any of the checkups, but because she knew – and the humans could stay away from this part of the world, then maybe in many years time, she could accompany her daughter when it was her time to go through this.

Well, that was far into the future.

But lying in the sand, in the middle of giving birth, she somehow felt a part of the past and the future all at once, in a way she never experienced before. Perhaps because birth was such a primal thing, or maybe because she’d lost her own mother at such a young age. She didn’t want her own child to suffer through the same.

Contraction. Focus, breath in through the nose, out through lips pressing together. Try to relax, that’s what the midwife had said. Had she ever been in labor? As a cry of agony escaped her, Maya decided that the midwife most certainly couldn’t have, or she would never have said such a dumb thing.

But the contraction let her go again.

The child pressed down. It wanted out.

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon, coloring the sky orange and pink, fading into a darker purple.

She cradled the strange swelling of her belly. Soon, she’d meet her little one. She wondered if it would have her eyes, or if it would be his. Would it – she, Maya said to herself – have her own red hair and red scales? Or would her eyes be green like his?

He hadn’t even asked to come along. She wasn’t sure whether it was because he didn’t want to be part of the messiness of birth, or if he’d known instinctively that she wouldn’t want him there.

She wanted to be alone. Do this the way tradition said she should. The way her mother had done, and her mother before that. Generation upon generation of queens and they’d all given birth the natural way, alone on this island. 

The contractions were coming closer and closer together, more and more intense as her body pushed the baby downwards, towards its escape from the prison of her body. Soon, it would break free. 

And the next time her muscles contracted without her asking them to, they changed, intensified, and she felt the head of the baby, screamed as it pushed down.

A brief pause, a break. Breathe. Then the pain erased the instructions of the midwife and her breaths were short, staccato-like, and she screamed again, using every bit of her force to help the baby out.

Time lost its meaning. 

Her mother was there. When she squeezed her eyes shut, she saw the image of her mother. She was smiling, that angelic, loving smile that Maya treasured as her best memories.

“Come on, my love, you can do it.”

Her mother’s encouragement was what she needed to push through, to become one with her body as it worked. 

She reached down between her legs and pulled out her child. 

It’s face was scrunched up, more blue than any other color, but then it started screaming, a tiny yet forceful wail from this little being. 

Tears ran down the side of Maya’s face. 

A baby girl, just like she’d always known.

“There, there. You’re all right, mommy’s here.”

Mommy. From one moment to the next, she’d become a mother. 

The baby flapped its fins – red, like hers, like her grandmother’s – and as she used her body, used her lungs, her skin turned from blue to pale white. 

Maya counted her fingers. Five on each hand, with tiny bits of skin between each finger just like on her own hands. The child was made for the underwater life, would thrive there among their people. 

The baby found her nipple and started suckling. Though it was the first time, it was somehow natural, and the baby calmed there, small fingers gripping her breast with unexpected ferocity. 

Maya, a mother.

“Hello, princess.” She ran a hand over the downy red strands of hair on the baby’s head, soft like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The baby took no notice of it, concentrating on her meal. 

Maya lay her head back down on the sand.

It had been painful – no, that wasn’t a large enough word, it had been excruciating – but she wouldn’t change it. The connection she’d experienced with her mother, seeing her, hearing her voice in those final moments of labor… it had been worth everything. She was part of something larger. 

When her legs knitted themselves back together to form her fishtail, she sat up with a gasp. The baby protested as she lost her hold of the nipple, but Maya helped her back into position.

The sunset had given way to a starry night and Moira stared at it, wondering what the little white dots were made of. They were impossibly far away. She turned her gaze to the ocean. Soon, she’d return. Swim down with her precious cargo to the ocean floor. To show him his daughter. To present the newest member of the royal family, make her official. They’d enjoy pampering, gifts and ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. She’d return to a new life, with a new life. 

She smiled, watching the baby’s dark eyes in the dim light of the night sky.

Soon, she’d go. 

Soon.

Just not yet.