The Mapmaker's War (24 page)

Content, you said.

You were. As well, you were happy. You couldn't remember many periods in your life before in which that had been the condition for long. Moments when you were a child and free to roam the forest. The apprenticeship with the old mapmaker, despite your undertone of desperation. The return home with Wyl, until.

Then inertia set into your body. Wide and round, you moved with difficulty. A rock budged with oxen will. The child would be born soon enough, but not soon enough. You felt the happiness slip to give way to deep sadness.

You weren't a monster, you knew at last. You loved the babe as surely as you loved her father. You anticipated the joy you would feel to see her face, to hold her warm new body.

Yet your pregnant stillness forced you to sit with old wounds. You bore the twins in fear, and you would bear Wei in grief. You wept as you remembered your mother's suffocated shame for the twins, who came too soon. You wept as you thought of your duty to the infants, who were needful and wanting when you needed and wanted something else.

You looked at your spouse's scar, sealed but somehow always open. You wondered what you had done. You were of two worlds. The one you left and the one you joined. You made a deliberate choice to bring her between them, although the latter would be her home.

Tell the truth, old woman. Name the grief now.

You had abandoned the girl and the boy before they were even born.

You were not ambivalent. You did not want them. No matter that the decision to give birth to and care for them suggests otherwise. Their presence in your body was an unwelcomed curiosity. You dreamed of them. They were one, sometimes two, sometimes three, birdlike serpents that bit your insides and sucked you dry. Parasites, you thought one morning, then banished the thought. You knew you shouldn't think such things. But you did.

You felt punished for your pleasure. A woman's fault yielded evidence that no man could ever bear. She took full blame, although half of it was hers.

Your mother had said, Be grateful they are so young. They will not remember you.

You were not spared the memory of them.

HERE YOU SHALL LINGER. HERE IS WHERE YOUR LIFE TURNED ON ITSELF.

You awoke at night. The moon was full. Leit slept while you breathed through several waves. You roused him when you knew the duration between lessened. He put on his heavy cloak to alert a neighbor. That person left a warm bed to awaken the midwife and ring the nearby bell. The rhythm chimed to tell the others a woman's labor had begun. Your labor.

Leit fed the fire. He prepared the floor with a cushioned pallet, large pillows, and soft linens. He covered your feet with wool socks and helped you into layers of simple shifts.

You wanted to pace. You paced. The midwife arrived to see about you, then went to the adjacent room. You were prepared for this. She was near if she was needed. Otherwise, Leit was to see you and his child through the birth. This was their way. Nature's wisdom was within you both. You were encouraged by your friends to believe this was so.

The singing began outside. The welcome song repeated several times. Different gentle melodies followed. You could ask them to be silent or to resume any moment you wished. Their presence was meant to comfort. You had joined the welcomes for other babies. Then you felt the warm swell swirl among the singers. As the mother, you felt a loving heat penetrate your body to the waiting babe. You were surprised at the tangibility.

Makha paced. She loped at your side. You wanted her present. This was decided some time before when you discussed your wishes for the day of Wei's birth. You didn't tell Leit the reason, however. You didn't want to refer to the wound. Makha was welcomed because she had saved him. The wolf 's healing instinct and her bond to your spouse ensured her wise attendance.

The waves intensified. You draped yourself over a mound of pillows. Leit rubbed and pressed your back until that no longer soothed. You knelt on hands and knees by the fire and slowly rocked. He was close enough to touch. He breathed with you, rhythmic as the sea. In a cease of the pain, you became aware of what was outside of you. Beautiful singing outside the door. Your spouse's quiet presence. The freedom to move and use your voice as you pleased. | such noise, woman! lie there and be brave! |

An unexpected pulse of desire streamed from your thighs to your mouth. You kissed him long until the next pang doubled you over. A horrible throb rippled through your abdomen as if something had escaped, violent with fear. You crept to a cold corner and pressed yourself up. You wept with hopeless grief. Leit's hand pressed on your shoulder. The midwife's hand was suddenly on the other. You demanded to be left alone. The pain of labor was minor compared to what now seized you. You wailed and keened. The midwife spoke into your ear.

Let it through, Aoife, said she. I know you're afraid, but you will not rip apart. Let it through. Let it out.

Because you trusted her, because your child wanted to be born, you screamed although you didn't understand why. You let the nameless rage have its way with you. Its power threatened to rupture the wet web of your flesh. Then Leit slipped himself between you and the wall. He held your exhausted body. He took that old pain in his arms.

Listen, said he. I love you. I love you. I love you. This he repeated until you calmed enough to say the words back to him. The midwife gave you a bittersweet drink. Within moments, the furious grief that had possessed you was a memory. You returned to your body in all its fullness. The midwife secreted herself away.

You asked Leit to remove your shifts. You knelt on the pallet with your hands on your thighs. You looked at him. He sat with his legs out. He balanced back on his arms, his scar exposed. You reached out to him. He came to you with a kiss. His body was relaxed. You felt the trust he had in himself that he could see to your labor and the birth of his child.

Sit here and support me, you said.

He sat with his legs wide. You leaned the whole of your weight into his shoulders and chest. You felt him tense to hold you upright. His hands moved across your body in soft, long strokes. His touch and your breathing together were soft currents against the cresting pain.

In a moment when the tension eased, you asked, How did you know to do this?

I didn't, said he. The men told me to try whatever felt right and to try another means if I was mistaken.

You moved away after several waves. You knelt on the pallet, aware of the ground below you and the child within. The sounds in your throat were not human. Makha sat up on her haunches and stared. When your body commanded you to push, you trusted the urge. Leit stood behind you with his elbows under your arms. You moaned. You bellowed. You howled. You reached down and touched a moist, unfamiliar curve.

Then you felt tremendous relief. You gasped. Leit guided you back to the cushioned floor. He reached between your legs, lifted the newborn, and placed the infant close to your chest.

We have a girl, said he.

The child moved but did not cry. You felt panic.

She's silent. What's wrong? you asked.

Leit took your hand and placed it on the babe's abdomen.

Feel, said he. She breathes. There's no cause for her to scream. She'll cry when she's ready.

The infant opened her eyes. She peered with an intense gaze that seemed to pierce you through. Your body flushed with warmth. She was beautiful, with fine dark hair and rosy skin.

Welcome, my daughter, you said.

He covered you both with blankets. He slowly stroked his hands along the baby's calm body. He left her connected to the cord. | the girl and the boy, out, cut, cleaned, packaged | When the membrane left your body, he wrapped it in a thick cloth close to your hip. He spread fresh linens under you. Makha curved her muzzle above your head and looked at you and the babe. The wolf 's nostrils twitched.

Leit knelt near you. His fingertip traced the infant's cheek.

Beloved Wei, said he.

He kissed his daughter, then opened the front door. Cheers and bells rang for several moments. They knew Wei had arrived.

The midwife twirled a knot of dried herbs, which smoked. The smell was sweet and vibrant. She swept the smoke through the chamber, then tossed the rest in the fire. She tended to Wei as the child remained on your chest. Strong, with a good heart, said she. She tended your body and asked what you wanted for comfort. Broth and bread and a bath. Leit helped you into a shallow tub. He held you and draped you in a heavy quilt. Your breasts ached against his dark chest. The midwife cleaned Wei with cloths in front of the fire. You watched Leit cut the cord. Wei gasped and began to cry for the first time.

She isn't hurt, said the midwife. Wei felt the separation.

Leit led you to a warmed bed with comfortable linens. He helped you into a garment you had seen other mothers wear. The bodice was loose and open. The midwife placed Wei on your chest. Without a word, you shifted the infant against your arm. She turned with purpose to nurse.

The midwife served food a friend had delivered. She kissed you all, Makha as well, and left to enter the cold and the morning light. Leit secured the curtains around the bed. Your friends who were skilled with cloth and thread had made them, embroidered with animals, plants, and symbols. The gift was a traditional one. Leit peeked into the bed space. He asked whether you wanted to be alone.

You were exhausted, but you wanted him near.

Then the twins were in the room in cribs out of reach. For a moment, you were alone when you did not wish to be. Wyl hadn't been allowed in as you labored, only a brief visit after you had delivered. You had wanted him but were told it was better for each of you to rest apart.

Leit touched you. You knew where you were. He had been present every moment for every breath. He let you be. He let you cry moan scream with his full attention. Within, you had felt the fullness at the depths and edges of your flesh. What contained Wei, from which Wei would spill. You were aware of the being who liked her father's voice, rhythmic drums, and sunlight experienced through your skin.

He fell asleep before you did. He lay on his side. His arm cradled your neck. The other stretched over your stomach, under his newborn's back.

Wei slept. You wondered what she thought of the journey to your arms.

A QUARTER MOON OF SOLITUDE WAS WHAT YOU ASKED TO HAVE. Friends came with food and clean clothing and went with brisk warm kisses. You felt no urgency to leave the house. You felt no compulsion to leave Wei alone. Where you were, among the Guardians, you were willing to be Wei's mother because you didn't have to be.

Among the gifts you three received, one surprised you above all others. The gift was dolls within dolls.

A woman you didn't know had crafted them with her own hands. They were carved, painted, magnificent.

She said a meaningful encounter had occurred with you a few months after you arrived. You didn't recall. She did, vividly. She was learning to use a lathe. She was slow at the skill. You appeared at her side for a moment. You asked, Do you want to be adept? She said she did. You said, Then you will be. Your kindness touched her and encouraged her to find her confidence.

They nest within one another, said she.

She separated the two halves of the first one. You revealed the ones hidden.

We were both born away. I was a foundling, said she.

You asked if she remembered her life before. She did not, in mind. She had been an infant.

I made this to honor you and your child, those who came before, and those who will follow, said she. I made this for you because I did become adept at the lathe. I have you to thank.

You hugged the woman and kissed her cheeks. Thank you for sharing your own gift, you said.