The Record of the Saints Caliber (95 page)

Britina felt her breath stick in her throat. She couldn’t bring her legs to move toward the door.

There was a terrible crack and the door burst open and smacked so hard against the wall that it cracked and broke off its hinges. Britina fell down into the rocking chair, clutching the screaming babe to her chest. A tall, lithe figure in Star-Armor stepped through the door, star-metal boots clomping loudly—threateningly—upon the wooden floor.

Saint Ophelia of the Many Tears looked upon Britina with those large, round eyes of polished obsidian. Her hair of that same black gemstone was long and straight and draped down the sides of her face and to her shoulders, curling out at the ends. Her narrow face held a pallid cast against the blackness of her eyes and hair and armor. Her breastplate was narrow and round, upon her shoulders were pauldrons that swept up with wing-like flourishes. The armor upon her arms and legs were similarly smooth, but curled up with elegant, crested embellishments. At her side, in a scabbard of polished black leather, hung a sword of star-metal.

Those sparkling, black eyes of Saint Ophelia fell upon Britina. “Your name was drawn. Your duty to Valdasia comes due.”

“No… No… Please…”
Britina pressed herself into the rocking chair, curling her legs up beneath herself. It wasn’t even her own baby, yet she could hardly give it up to such a cruel fate. The babies taken to Queen Loretta were never seen again. It wasn’t spoken about, but everybody knew what happened. Loretta was known in whispers as the Dire Mother. Her womb and breasts were as barren as her heart.

Behind Saint Ophelia came a number of knights in black, lacquered armor. They wore red capes bearing the raven crest of Valdasia. In their arms they held bolt-thrower guns. Upon their sides hung swords. They took up positions around Saint Ophelia.

“Please,”
pleaded Britina. She had no idea why she was crying. This wasn’t even her child. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t even human, that she was just handing over somebody else’s unwanted doll. But her heart knew better.

Ophelia walked over to her, letting each of her footfalls sound with heavy finality. She leaned into Britina and took her face in her gauntleted hand. Britina could feel the absolute cold of the armor upon her cheeks. “Give. Me. That. Baby.”

Britina closed her eyes, squeezing tears from them. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t give it up. She squeezed the screaming babe tightly to her chest.
“No… No… Please…”
she squeaked.

Britina’s eyes went wide and she released a blood-curdling scream as a cold, piercing pain erupted in her crotch. Ophelia held the tip of her sword between Britina’s legs. The fabric of her blouse ripped as the star-metal eased its way in. Blood began to paint the blouse and the chair.

“Give me the baby or you’ll never have another.” said the Saint as coldly as her star-metal sword felt forced inside her crotch. “I’ll even wait for your husband and see to it that you match down there.”

Britina wailed horrifically as she gave the child up. “Aeoria forgive me! Aeoria forgive me!”

“That’s better.” said Ophelia, taking the child into her own arms.

Britina wailed. “Aeoria have mercy on her! She’s just a helpless baby!”

Ophelia tossed a small coinpurse and it chimed heavily as it landed in Britina’s bloodied lap. “The King and Queen thank you for doing your duty. You’re a true patriot.” Ophelia huffed a laugh and walked out of the house with the baby in her arms.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The dank chill of the castle room goose-pimpled Loretta’s breast as she exposed it from her black, silken gown. It was a large breast, full and firm and ample to please a man, but it was no more than an empty vessel. Her mangled nipple was red and raw, looked fiery to the touch, and blood formed a pink ooze upon it. Loretta adjusted the infant in her arms, hiked him back up to her breast. He wailed a deathly, feeble, fading sort of cry. She stroked his bald head. His sunken eyes were closed. His hands balled into tiny maces upon arms as emaciated as autumn twigs.

“There, there, now,” whispered Loretta. She moved his head so that his mouth was upon her nipple. He began to suck and Loretta cringed from the burning pain it brought to her raw nipple. It was a short-lived pain. The child spat it out and made that same failing whimper. “Come, drink, child. Drink from mama.”

The child flailed its arms angrily. Kicked with its withered legs, tearing off the linen it was wrapped in. Rows of ribs shown like sticks against thin, pale skin. Its belly button still looked fresh upon its sunken abdomen.

“Drink, child. Drink from mama.” She smashed her breast into the babe’s face and its breath snorted and stuck. He flailed and fussed, chewing on the nipple before spitting it back out again.

“Drink!”
Loretta’s terrible shriek echoed off the dark, gray stones of the chamber and even caused the light from the gaslamps to waver. She smashed her breast into the babe’s face, forcing it into its mouth. Its wails became choked and in a moment the child fussed no more.

Loretta stood up from the padded chair she was seated in, letting the dead child fall to the floor. It had so little mass to it that it scarcely made a patter upon the cold stone. Her hands went up and gripped at the long black hair that fell from beneath her lithe, golden crown studded with rubies.
“No!”
she shrieked.
“No!”

From behind her, a ragged breath drew in. “There, there, Loretta,” said a voice that sounded much older than the man it came from. He coughed a hoarse, sickly cough. “It’s alright, my dear sister. Ophelia is bringing you a new one.”

Loretta turned around.
“It’s never all right!”
she shrieked, pulling at her hair. Long strands of black came off between her fingers. Her eyes were like the storm clouds that circled the castle and they became tiny beads as they focused on the withered husk of a man who sat in the wheelchair before her. “I’m barren! I’m barren! It’s your fault! I’m barren because you can’t give me a child of our own!” She grabbed her exposed breast in her hand and squeezed so violently that the torn, raw flesh of her nipple blossomed outward and erupted into a giant ooze of blood.

Her brother, King Verami, drew in a ragged breath and coughed. The golden crown on his head shifted upon the sparse, black hair that was left. Despite the heavy black and red robes of his high station, he looked but a frail skeleton sitting in that cold, iron wheelchair. His pale face turned up to his sister, eyes as dark as her’s staring out from sunken pits. “Loretta,” he rasped. He sucked in another ghastly breath. “I am sorry.”

Loretta was young, full and pleasing to look upon, yet in that moment her face twisted into a cruel and terrible nightmare.
“You,”
her voice growled with such venom as to give even a mongoose pause.
“You impotent, worthless, withering excuse of a man!”
Her hand flew and slapped him hard across his black-bearded cheek, nearly toppling him off his wheelchair. From within his robes his boney legs curled up.

Loretta grabbed his robes and tore them open, exposing the supple flesh of a man in his thirties, but the sunken chest and frail form of a skeleton. She reached down and tore at his pants, exposing his shriveled genitalia. “Give me my child! You disgusting, sickly, worthless man, give me my child!” She hiked up her silken gown and tore off her underpants and got on top of him.
“Give me my child!”
she shrieked.

Verami drew in a terrible breath and wheezed it back out. His boney hands went to her bleeding breast and squeezed. She began rocking on him, his wheelchair making rusty squeaks like cemetery gates. His hand went to her cheek and caressed its sharp angles, his breaths coming more frantic, more ragged. His eyes began to close and his head began to tilt to one side.

“Get it in me!”
she shrieked.

Verami’s head fell limply on his shoulder. His chest was heaving with every rasping breath as he struggled to open his eyes. Loretta got off him and cast him a hateful look. She reached her fingers up into her crotch and tore them out. She looked at them as they glistened in the gaslight. She rubbed them together. “Your seed better take root this time.”

Loretta went over to the mirror and straightened up her gown and her crown. She brushed her raven-black hair down with her hand. Blood from her bleeding nipple oozed through her gown. She sniffed and turned and walked over to the floor where the dead baby lay. She picked the naked thing up and cradled it in her arms one last time, stroking her soft hand upon its bald head.

“I am sorry, dear sister,” croaked Verami from his wheelchair. “I’m sorry my seed is as rotten as the rest of me.”

Loretta sniffled. “It’s not your fault.”

She took the dead babe and went to the wall where racks of large, glass masonry jars were lined by the dozens and many deep. Upon the highest shelves tiny, pale bones and skulls leaned upon the cloudy glass. Lower racks were heavy with jars containing boney protrusions from rotting flesh and sunken, milky eyes staring out. Loretta grabbed an empty jar and sniffled as she placed the dead babe within it. She held it up and looked upon him one last time. She kissed the jar and placed the lid on and secured it tight by latching the metal bar over the top.

She walked across the dark chamber to where a lone cradle sat upon the stone floor, next to an old, tattered stuffed bear. She reached in and grabbed out a baby. Its limp arms and legs—nothing but skin and bone—dangled over her arms. A tear ran down Loretta’s face as she stroked its sunken cheeks. She sniffled and walked over to the shelves and placed that one within a jar as well.

“Loretta,” croaked Verami again. “One day your love will find a child. I promise.”

Loretta walked over to her brother and sat upon her knees, hugging her face against his chest. She could hear his erratic heartbeat, hear the liquid bubble and spit within his chest and lungs. Tears fell from her eyes as he stroked her hair. “When will Ophelia be back?” she asked softly.

“Soon, my love. Soon.” rasped Verami.

They sat like that for a time until there was a soft knock upon the nursery door. From beyond could be heard the muffled cries of a baby. Loretta’s head shot up from her brother’s chest. She looked at him, a smile brightening her face. She ran to the thick, wooden door and swung it open. Saint Ophelia of the Many Tears was standing in the gaslight of the dank, dark hall beyond. In her arms she cradled a dark-haired baby that was red in the face, screaming and wailing.

Loretta’s hand went to her mouth and she gasped. “Oh… She’s… She’s beautiful!” She scooped the baby out of Saint Ophelia’s arms. “Thank you, thank you so much, Ophelia! I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Ophelia smiled. “You’ll take good care of this one. I know it.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” said Loretta, and she dismissed Ophelia and shut the door. She ran over to her brother. “Oh brother, look! Look at our new child! Isn’t she perfect!”

“She has your hair and eyes even,” said Verami, smiling. His boney finger reached out and wiped the tears from the babe’s red cheeks. “I think she’s hungry.”

Loretta cooed to the child as she ran over to the padded chair and sat down. She fumbled with her gown and exposed her breast, still oozing blood. “Shh,” cooed Loretta. “Mama’s here now. Drink, my child. Drink from your mama.”

She brought the babe’s head to her breast. Its mouth immediately found the nipple and settled into sucking. Loretta watched for a moment. The child calmed down. It made smacking sounds as it sucked upon the oozing blood. Loretta gasped. “She’s… She’s drinking! Brother, she’s drinking!”

The wheels of Verami’s chair squeaked as he slowly rolled himself over to her. He looked down and watched for a moment. He looked his sister in the eyes and stroked her cheek. “She looks like you. She’s…she is really our baby.”

The baby sucked for a few long minutes before spitting out the nipple and starting to cry. Her face was smeared with blood.

“She’s still hungry,” said Loretta. Her nipple was no longer bleeding. She tried to place it back into the babe’s mouth, but it would just take a few sucks and then spit it out and cry. “She’s still hungry,” she said more frantically.

Loretta shot out of her seat, carrying the babe in her arms. She strode quickly over to the large dresser against the wall and opened one of the drawers. She pulled out a long, silver knife. She looked at her brother, then she looked down at the crying babe and her exposed breast. She ran back to her brother and handed him the child.

“My dear, what are you doing?” asked Verami, holding the child.

She looked at him, then she took the knife and sliced deeply into her nipple. Blood flowed forth in thick globs. She dropped the knife and it clanked upon the stone. She grabbed the child back from her brother and brought it to her breast. The baby began sucking, began
drinking
.

“There, there,” cooed Loretta, stroking the child’s black hair. “Mama’s here. Mama will always be here. Drink my child. Drink from your mama.”

“It’s a miracle.” rasped Verami. “Aeoria has blessed us at last, my dear. We have a child.”

Loretta smiled softly down at the baby. Her eyes were closed as she suckled contentedly. Her little hand smeared at the blood around Loretta’s breast, playing with it. “She’s so precious. So peaceful.”