Magic and Loss

Chapter 29

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Tate,” Hexe said as he helped me into the hansom. “The Daughters will see to everything—it’ll all be over soon.”

“Where to, Serenity?” Kidron asked.

“The Temple of Nana—and watch the potholes!”

The centaur snorted his understanding, breaking into a brisk canter.

“How do you feel?” Hexe asked, eyeing me cautiously.

“Like I’m trying to lay an egg,” I grunted. “Honey, I should have said something before now—but I thought we had more time than this. There’s something I need to tell you about the baby. When I had an ultrasound . . . I found out our baby is human. He only has ten fingers and toes. I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner . . . but I was afraid. . . .”

Hexe merely laughed and wrapped his arms around me. “It doesn’t matter to me if our child is human or Kymeran. I don’t even care if he’s born a norlock. The only thing that really matters to me is that he arrives in this world safe and sound. That’s it. I surrendered my right hand because trying to keep it would rob me of the woman I love; you gave up your inheritance because keeping it meant giving up everything that makes you happy. So what if our child doesn’t have magic? He’s not going to have a million dollars, either. That just means he’ll be like every other kid that comes into this world. And you know what? I’m good with that.”

“You know why I love you?” I managed to smile, despite the contractions. “Because you can make chopping off your hand and getting disinherited sound like the best decisions we’ve ever made.”

The Temple of Nana was located, appropriately enough, on Maiden Lane, home to Golgotham’s self-segregated female communities, such as the Amazons, Valkyries, and fauns. It was a neoclassical rotunda, its façade of brick covered in stucco, with a roof of slate and lead. The central rotunda stood a hundred feet high, with a domed and balustraded roof. The main entrance was an oval-shaped door that was so narrow Hexe and I had to enter single file. The foyer of the temple was long and equally claustrophobic, its walls barely three feet apart. There was no light at all in the corridor, save for the glimmer at its farthest point.

Upon reaching the end of the hallway, we found ourselves in the rotunda of the temple, which had ten separate interior stories that opened onto a central atrium capped by a rose-quartz skylight that tinged everything slightly pink.

At the heart of the temple stood a fifty-foot statue of a triple-visaged, four-armed woman. The far right face was that of a young girl, the middle face that of an adult woman, while the far left face belonged to an old woman. Both her breasts were bared, the right full and pert, while the left teat hung withered and flat. The goddess’ first hand wielded a pair of shears, her second cradled an infant, the third held a length of umbilical cord, while the fourth and final hand held a jug from which water eternally poured forth into the fountain pool in which the idol stood.

At the foot of Nana was a receptionist desk you’d expect to see in a medical clinic tended by a jade-haired Kymeran woman dressed in a shell-pink sleeveless robe. As Hexe helped me approach the desk, she left her seat to greet us.

“The Daughters of Nana welcome you to her temple,” she said with a warm smile. “My name is Miri. How long have you been in labor?”

“About an hour, I guess,” I replied.

As she drew closer, a look of surprise flickered across Miri’s face. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid the Daughters of Nana only accept Kymeran mothers.”

Hexe stepped forward, his golden eyes flashing in anger. “She carries my child—is that not Kymeran enough for you?”

The priestess lowered her head in ritual obeisance. “Forgive me, Serenity. I did not realize.” She quickly turned back to the desk and spoke into an intercom that echoed throughout the temple. “Sister Tipi, please report to the reception desk. . . .”

Within seconds an older Kymeran woman with hair the color of sunflowers and dressed in salmon-colored robes appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “Welcome, Serenity, to our temple. I am Sister Tipi, midwife emeritus of the Daughters of Nana. I shall be the one tending the birth of your child.”

Without warning, I suddenly found myself doubled over in pain. As I cried out, I was dimly aware of a splashing sound, followed by an abrupt dampness on my thighs, and for a brief second I was afraid I had wet myself.

“Her water has broken. Page Sister Zena and have her report to birthing chamber three fifteen,” Tipi said, checking the clipboard she was carrying.

“Right away, my sister,” the priestess replied.

Tipi led us to an old-fashioned birdcage elevator that took us to the third floor of the temple, which was lined with numbered doorways, like a hotel. I wasn’t sure what to expect in a temple dedicated to a goddess of childbirth, but was pleasantly surprised to discover the birthing chamber contained a bed, rocking chair, and a bassinette, as well as a foldout chair that converted into a bed, and an oversized Roman bathtub.

“This is your birthing chamber,” Sister Tipi said. “Please make yourself as comfortable as you can while I prepare the birthing pool.”

“You want me to give birth in the water?”

“It is the Kymeran way,” the midwife-priestess explained. “It is a ritual that ties us to the island that birthed our race, millennia ago. It also has the added benefit of greatly reducing your pain, supporting your weight, and taking the stress off your perineum during labor.”

“Now you’re talking,” I grunted as I eased myself into the rocking chair. “Anything that keeps me from getting stitches is A-okay with me.”

Just then another Daughter of Nana, this one with moss green hair and dressed in candy pink robes, entered the room.

“Hello, my name is Zena,” she said as she took my hand. “I’m going to be your Pain-Taker.”

I frowned and looked at Tipi. “But I thought you were going to be my midwife?”

“Yes, I am,” the priestess replied. “Sister Zena is here to alleviate your pain during labor.”

“You mean she’s an anesthesiologist?”

“Something like that.” Zena smiled. “Save that we Daughters of Nana do not utilize drugs of any kind.”

Before I could ask any more questions, I was hit by another contraction. And this time it was a doozy. It felt like everything below my breastbone was in a giant clamp that was being gradually, but mercilessly, cranked shut. I gripped the armrests of the chair I was sitting in so hard I was surprised they didn’t splinter. Zena quickly stepped forward and knelt before me, so that she could look into my eyes, and placed her hands atop my own.

“Take a deep breath and then let it out, slowly,” she instructed in a calm voice.

I did as I was told, focusing on Zena’s scent, which smelled of almonds and violets. The priestess tilted back her head, and her eyelids fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. As I exhaled, she inhaled, and the pain I was experiencing abruptly diminished, as if someone had turned a dial.

“How do you feel?” Zena asked, her pale gray eyes seeming a little less focused than before.

“Much better,” I said gratefully. “Thank you.”

As Zena stepped away, Sister Tipi came forward and placed her hand on my stomach. “Premature birth is common with children such as yours,” she said matter-of-factly. “But your baby’s heartbeat is strong. All is going well.”

The attending Daughters of Nana helped me change out of my street clothes into a lightweight linen gown, and for the next few hours I lay propped up in the bed, riding out the contractions with the help of Zena. That’s not to say it was a walk in the park. Although the Pain-Taker was able to reduce my discomfort considerably, she did not erase it entirely. Hexe stayed with me the whole time, doing his best to try to make me comfortable by putting cold compresses on my forehead and coaching me on my breathing, or bringing me tea or ice chips whenever I got thirsty. Whenever the pain got to be too much, Zena would quickly step in and “take” it from me by placing her hands on me.

Throughout all this, Tipi monitored the progress of the delivery by her own laying on of hands. The light in the room was kept subdued, and hidden speakers piped in natural ambient noise, like the sound of rain, wind chimes, and birdsong. This, combined with the calm, self-assured manner of the attending priestesses and Hexe’s presence, helped prevent me from feeling stressed. Still, although I wasn’t in a lot of pain, I was exhausted by the start of my sixth hour of labor, and eager to get the whole thing over with.

“You’re dilated to six centimeters,” Tipi announced in her no-nonsense voice. “The child will be coming soon. It’s time to get in the water.” She and Zena lifted me off the bed, one to each arm, and guided me to the waiting tub, which was large enough to accommodate three people. As I eased into the warm water, I grasped the handholds molded into the tub to anchor myself.

“You, too, Serenity,” Tipi said, motioning to Hexe. “Your job is to catch your child as he shoots free, and bring him to the surface and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the stump where Hexe’s right hand should be.

“And do what?” Hexe prodded.

“...hand him to his mother.”

“Don’t worry, Sister,” Hexe said as he stripped down to his boxers. “I might be missing a hand, but I still have both arms. I’m perfectly capable of catching my son when he makes his appearance.”

As Hexe climbed into the water, Zena positioned herself behind the head of the birthing tub, within easy reach of me, while Tipi stood at its foot. The midwife-priestess held up her arms, her palms open and turned outward, and began chanting in Kymeran.

“What’s she saying?” I asked.

“It’s the Invocation of Nana,” Hexe explained. “I’ll translate; it won’t be exact, but it’s close enough:

When racked with labor pangs, and sore distressed,

We, your Daughters, invoke thee as the soul’s sure rest;

For thou, Nana, alone, canst give relief to pain,

Which the healer attempts to ease, but tries in vain.

Nana, Protector of the Child-Bed, venerable power;

Who bringest relief in labor’s direst hour;

We beseech thee: Deliver this woman.”

“What good is that supposed to do me—? Ahhhhh!” I cried out in agony and alarm as my entire body from the shoulders down suddenly pushed of its own accord. Zena leaned forward and placed her hands on my temples, pulling the pain from me as it crashed down like a wave from an angry sea. Tipi’s chanting became louder and more urgent than before, and I became dimly aware that the cadence of her voice now matched the timing of my contractions.

“Nana’s face is turned to you, now,” Zena whispered, her lips pressed close to my ear. “You and your child are under her protection—now push!”

I gritted my teeth and bore down as hard as I could, struggling to jettison my precious cargo. I was so exhausted, I felt as if I were trapped in a Möbius strip—that I had, somehow, always been in labor, and would always be in labor; that there was no baby, no future, just the eternity of striving to push something that was and, yet, was not, of myself from myself. I looked in the direction of Tipi, who was still at the foot of the tub, invoking the name of her goddess, and saw standing behind her the shadowy outline of a woman. As I struggled to bring the figure into focus, her face changed from that of young woman, to matron, to crone, and back again. As different as each visage was, one from the other, each face bore the same smile and the same pair of golden eyes.

I heard Hexe excitedly call out, as if from an impossible distance, “I see the baby’s head! I see his shoulder!” I took a deep breath and bore down a final time, forcing our baby out of my birth canal and into the arms of his father. “I’ve got him!” Hexe shouted, splashing about like a hillbilly trying to catch a catfish by hand.

As he brought our son to the surface, Tipi finally halted her chanting and stepped into the tub, using a ball syringe to suction the plugs of protective mucus from the baby’s nostrils and mouth so he could breathe on his own. Only then did he begin to cry, giving voice to a lusty, insistent squall.

“Is he okay?” I rasped.

“He’s more than okay, Tate—he’s perfect,” Hexe grinned as he placed our newborn son, still attached to his umbilical, onto my belly.

I had never been as exhausted and elated as I was at that moment. Esau, Boss Marz, the Maladanti, Hexe losing his hand, my parents disinheriting me—all those things lost their meaning as I gathered my child into my arms. I wept and laughed in equal measure, covering the top of his still-damp head with kisses as he waved his fists like a tiny boxer at the brave new world he now found himself in. I was so happy and relieved, I barely noticed the sorrowing look exchanged between Tipi and Zena as they noticed the number of fingers on my baby’s hands.

Hexe climbed out of the water and put his clothes back on, allowing Sister Tipi room to deliver and dispose of the afterbirth, and then sever the umbilical cord. The priestess handed the baby over to Hexe, who proudly cradled him in his arms as she and Zena helped me out of the birthing tub and back onto the bed.

I propped myself against the headboard and reached out to take our son from Hexe, so I could breastfeed him. Suddenly Tipi and Zena gasped out loud in surprise and dropped to their knees.

“All Hail the Blood of Arum!” the priestesses proclaimed in unison. “All Hail the Heirs of Adon!”

It wasn’t until I looked down into my newborn son’s tiny, wrinkled face, and saw him looking up at me, that I understood the reason behind their adoration. For while my child might have his mother’s hands—he had his father’s eyes.