From Tomb to Womb

Everything was ready for the ritual. The Supreme Priestess had begun her slow ascent toward the altar while the rest of the inhabitants of the temple moaned the dirge. It was not a loud sound, but rather insistent and low, so low even the footsteps of the lone woman making her way toward the High Place could be heard. Dimly lit orbs of silvery light had been set on each side of every few steps, giving this largest area of the temple a feeling of smallness, an emptiness: the sense of a tomb. A Handmaiden in black robes, her face covered with a black veil, came from the darkness behind the altar. She held out in front of her a black bundle and placed it on the altar beside the instruments laying there. Two more Handmaidens dressed the same way came out from the solid black void. They made their way to either side of the altar and, as the Supreme Priestess advanced toward them, brought out two glowing red orbs from their robes and held them above their distended abdomens.

The bundle on the altar moved slightly, and the Supreme Priestess quickened her step ever so slightly. Only the Handmaiden behind the altar noticed; she was watching the woman intently, even feverishly. Her eyes never left the figure advancing toward her. Every step up seemed like a little weight was settling in her own flabby abdomen, so recently as large as those of the women to her left and right. The little bundle moved again. Tiny movements. The Supreme Priestess stepped onto the dais and raised both arms out and above her head. She began the Incantation of Preparation, turning and gesturing as she did every month, her words almost inaudible as the rite proceeded. The low hum of the crowd continued. The weight grew heavier in the Handmaiden’s belly. It moved up and seized her heart. She moved her eyes, glancing down at the little black pile on the altar, back up at the Supreme Priestess, then left and right at the Handmaidens. Their eyes were closed as they gave themselves to the ritual, humming along with the crowd, swaying slightly. Then, as the chanting priestess turned her back to the altar, the Handmaiden silently, quickly, snatched up the little bundle. Grabbing the long, slender blade next to it, she slid back into the darkness.

*******

A still, dark night on the border is a blessed thing. Without the rustling the wind usually made, it seemed peaceful…benign. Just a night out in the fresh air. Bosc rode along the border, wondering who his family would send to take his wife’s place. Someone would come any day now. Yurna was due in the next month or so, and both she and her mother were insistent that their child would be born elsewhere.

“I don’t care if it’s in an alley in Beirninnal, I’m not having my baby in a borderhouse.” She’d said it in a tone he’d never heard her use before. It was sure and had the ring of authority.

“An alley, my love?” He’d had a bit of laughter in his voice, even as he wondered at her tone. Opening his mouth to continue, a smile curling his lips, he paused as she stopped cutting the carrots and looked at him straight in the face, eye to eye.

“Yes. I will not birth my baby here. I will not.” Bosc almost reminded her of what she’d said when they married, how she’d scoffed at the tales of a baby stolen from her mother’s breast in the night, the borderhouse’s doors still locked up tight while the border guard was on patrol. She’d insisted she’d never be so silly as to believe such a tale. The look on her face stopped him. He’d nodded and gone out to chop wood. Now, here he was, at the mercy of his family and his wife’s. Would they send one of her insufferable brothers to make up the necessary two-adult border guard team? Would his own brother be willing to come? It was not an easy life on the border, but it was good work, and mostly peaceful. He hoped maybe someone would think to send—

A shadow materialized in front of him. He pulled back on the reins to stop and slowly began to draw his sword. People being out at the border was unusual, and a border guard could take no chances. Bosc opened his mouth to challenge the figure.

“I mean you no harm.” It was a woman’s voice. There was no way to tell if it was indeed a woman on such a dark night. It could easily be something else. Bosc continued pulling his sword from its sheath. “Please…I…” She sounded desperate. “I have no where else to go.” Then her voice rang out in the stillness, “Do the men of the border still value human life?”

“What?” Bosc was now both surprised and entirely confused.

“Here.” She held out a bundle toward him. “Please. Take him.”

“Him? A child?” He sat like a stone while he tried to puzzle out who this woman could be. Was this some new trap invented by the creatures beyond the border? It was certainly not one of the border guards’ wives. How far was Beirninnal? Could she have walked out here from there? Why?

“Please.” She took a step toward him, hesitantly, then her head jerked to her left. “You must take him. Now. They are coming for us.” She ran to Bosc and plopped the bundle on his lap before turning and then…she was gone. Bosc grabbed the bundle by instinct. Suddenly, glowing lights appeared across the border. Witch lights. He shivered. The obvious explanation hit him: he’d just been given a witch’s baby. What was he supposed to do with it? Take it on patrol? Hand it in to his lieutenant? The glowing lights were getting closer. He heard distant hoof beats as another border guard saw the same lights he did. The lights began to coalesce into formation. Bosc couldn’t fight while holding an infant. What was he to do? Stash the child? But he’d risk the child being trampled or eaten by animals during the fight. Suddenly, a bright column of white light ignited the night. The grasslands across the border flamed into brilliant orange and red among the glowing witch lights. Then they were all gone.

“All’s well here!” Bosc yelled into the night. He heard the same phrase echoed back to him from the same direction he’d heard the hoof beats earlier. Fremmy was a good lad. He and his father switched off on duties. They were a good team. Bosc looked back down at the black bundle and awkwardly sheathed his sword. Gently tapping his heels against his horse, he pulled the reins to the left to go back the way he’d come. The grasses aflame across the boundary gave a little light to the night. He looped his reins around his wrist and slowly pulled open the little bundle. Regardless of what the witch had told him, he was shocked to see a baby’s sleeping face in the dim light and he pulled the child close. What did he do now? The child seemed strangely calm. Weren’t infants supposed to cry a lot? Fuss? He held a finger just below his nose. Yes, there was the faintest of breaths. His horse loping along toward home, Bosc gazed into the face of the boy. His own baby would soon be here. A baby as sweet as this one. But wasn’t this baby now his also? He looked awhile behind him at the smoldering grass. The child’s mother had given him her son. “Do the men of the border still value human life?” He looked back into the newborn face, the perfect eyebrows, the delicate lips. Yes. Yes, the men of the border still valued human life, and Bosc just as much as any of them. He covered the baby back in the wrappings, leaving his face partly exposed so he could breathe easier, but held him close against the chill of the night. He nudged his horse into a trot and made his way back to the borderhouse.

The horizon showed the barest hint of sunshine as Bosc made his way to the stable and left the horse inside. He’d come back later to take care of his mount, but he felt a sudden sense of urgency to get the baby in the house. He made his way to the locked door, pulling out his key from its pocket and quickly letting himself in. As the door clicked shut, her heard his wife’s snoring. She’d not snored when he’d first married her. Maybe she’d stop after she’d birthed the baby. He glanced down at the child and then back at the door. Would the witches risk coming for him even in daylight? He locked it back and then tiptoed to the bed in the only other room in the tiny house.

“Yurna,” he whispered. He reached out and gently moved her shoulder. “Yurna,” a bit louder. She stopped snoring and groaned. “Yurna. I have something to tell you.” She laboriously rolled over and opened her eyes. Then, seeing the child her eyes widened. He gave her a goofy grin. “Can we keep him?” She sat up and put her hands on her face.

“Where did he come from? Did you find him? Out there?” Her horrified face gave Bosc hope she would be willing to help care for the child.

“No, I didn’t find him. His mother gave him to me.”

“His…mother?” Her face looked as confused as he was sure his own had been when he had been given the baby. “How did a woman get all the way out here? He looks tiny! Is he—.” She reached forward and unwrapped the infant. “He’s a newborn babe, Bosc!” She looked up at him in shock. “Who gave you a newborn babe up here at the border? And why?”

“I…I think…I can’t be sure, but I think it was,” he paused and then finished in a whisper, “a witch.” Yurna’s eyes about bulged out of her head and her mouth gaped open. He rushed to explain, “She said ‘they’ were coming for them, and there were witch lights massing and then she disappeared and this…purest white fire, the brightest thing I’ve ever seen besides the sun, came down and then…they were all gone,” he could hear the awe in his voice as he said it. “When she gave him to me, she asked ‘Do the men of the border still value human life?’ We do, Yurna. Don’t we?” Her expression had changed from surprise to disbelief as he’d told her what had happened. Then finally, it changed into a stubborn look. He felt his own resolve solidify. He was going to keep this baby, even if he had to do it without Yurna. Then she was going to go away and have their baby and, a sudden feeling of loss came over him, he’d never see her again. She’d go back to her family and end their marriage. His resolve warred with a sudden stab of fear and hurt. She leaned forward and took the baby from him.

“He’s a beautiful lad. And the women of the border value human life as much as the men do,” she said firmly. Bosc’s whole body relaxed with relief. “I’ll take him with me when I go to birthing. I’m sure I can feed them both with a bit of coaxing.” Yurna sat back into her pillow, holding the baby close. “My cousin Natta had triplets and only needed a wet nurse at the very beginning. Then she made as much milk as a cow, I’m sure. Until then, we’ll have to figure out how to nurse him. We’ll go to Beirninnal and find a wet nurse or a goat.”

“But there will be so many questions, Yurna. What will we tell people?” Though Yurna was understanding and willing, he doubted the women who had lived close to the border all their lives would be inclined to help care for a witch’s baby. Yurna’s face became calm, as it usually was when she was solving a problem. She glanced at her husband, then looked back at the baby.

“My mother won’t have a witch’s baby under her roof, and I doubt yours will, either.” No, Bosc’s mother would not. Yurna looked steadily at the baby. “I’ll have our baby here. Then we’ll tell everyone I had twins.” She looked up at Bosc and he saw tears in her eyes.

“That’s not what you want to do,” he said gently.

“No. Of course it isn’t.” She looked scared for a moment, then calm again. “But the babe’s mother didn’t want to die in a burning inferno to save him from…whatever was after them. It must have been terrible.” The baby began to stir. “We need milk for him and I haven’t any yet. Go to Beirninnal and buy a goat.” She smiled. “If anyone asks, tell them I’m craving milk.”

“And what will we tell your mother when she comes to take you away for birthing? What will we tell the man they send to replace you?” Bosc wasn’t smiling. He no longer had to worry about Yurna leaving him over the foundling, but there were still things to figure out. And there was still the fact that his wife’s plans were being ruined.

“I’ll tell mama…” she sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll tell her. But I’ll take care of it. We can keep the baby hidden and send them all away.” She held out her hand to him. “We’ll figure it out, Bosc. We’ve always figured things out before. We can do it again.” He took her outstretched hand in his.

“How am I going to pay for a goat?” He asked ruefully. They’d been saving his wages to live somewhere after the baby was born while he looked for new work. They couldn’t live at the border with a baby, now two babies, that might be snatched away in the night.

“Doesn’t Lemmy have a goat?” she asked thoughtfully. Bosc nodded. “He loves biscuits. Tell him I’ll make him some if he gives us some milk. Maybe see if he’s willing to sell it.” She squeezed his hand. “We’ll figure this out, my love. We will.”

He squeezed her hand in return, then stood to leave. “Do you need anything before I go?”

“No,” she responded confidently. The baby was starting to make grunting squeaks and opening his mouth. “He’s hungry, love. Just go.” She looked up at him and smiled. “We’ll be fine.” He got to the door as she called to him, “Think of a name while you’re riding! The poor lad needs a name.”

“Yes, Yurna.” Bosc smiled to himself as he listened to her cooing at the baby. He locked the door behind him and hurried to the stable, where he hopped on the still-saddled horse. “I’m as mystified by this day as you are, old friend.” He patted the horse fondly and then spurred him to a gallop.

*******

The baby started squalling not long after Bosc left. Yurna’s heart ached for the poor boy. How long had it been since he’d eaten? She wrapped him back up and rocked him in her arms. Then she got up and waddled to the fireplace. Her belly helped her hold the crying baby while she stoked the fire. The poor thing was crying real tears, sucking in deep, gasping breaths. Yurna sat back on the bed and pulled down the neck of her gown, letting the child latch on and suckle at her breast.

“I guess I’m what you’d call a ‘dry nurse,’” she chuckled. “I have nothing for you but comfort, sweet boy.” It seemed to satisfy the baby, and Yurna leaned back on her pillow and drifted back to sleep. A seizing pain gripping her abdomen yanked Yurna wide awake. A birth pain. The baby was coming. No midwife. No mama. Not even Bosc. Yurna breathed deeply and tried to stay calm. Women do this all the time, she told herself. I can do this. Another pain. She moaned as quietly as she could. The baby was still suckling and she didn’t want to bother him. She hadn’t been present at a birth before. She had no sisters and her brother’s wife had given birth after Yurna had married Bosc and moved to the border. Were the pains supposed to come so suddenly?

Hours later, when she finally heard the hoofbeat of Bosc’s horse, she’d successfully suckled the baby at both breasts and gotten him back to sleep, then had done it all over when he woke again. He wasn’t happy for long because there was nothing in his belly, but he still nodded back off to sleep eventually and she was able to lay him on the bed and work her way through the birth pains. Yurna was quietly moaning through another one as Bosc entered the house. He must not have heard her over the sound of his boots on the floor, because he set something on the table and then moved to the fireplace to add a log. She rested as the pain passed and breathed deeply in relief.

“A bit chilly in here isn’t it, love? Lemmy’s considering selling us the goat, but he didn’t seem—,” he stopped short in the doorway to the bedroom. “Yurna? What’s wrong?” He rushed over and crouched beside her as she knelt on the floor, her upper body laying on the bed. She turned her sweaty, tired face to him.

“The baby’s coming, Bosc,” she whispered. “I told you it would all work out.” She smiled triumphantly, then closed her eyes and moaned in pain.