“Bad, my Lady?”
“Very bad.” Rohana felt for a moment that the hot bitter brew would choke her. “She is not-not a woman who could ever have borne children easily; and here, without skilled help, after so much suffering-after this hard journey-without care or comfort . . .”
Kindra’s sigh seemed to come from the very depths of her being. “I am sorry, truly sorry. It is cruel that she should suffer so much for freedom, and never live to enjoy it, after so much courage. It must add greatly to her suffering, to know that even if her child is born alive, there will be none to suckle him or care for him.”
A resentment she had not known she felt, against these women who had chosen to spare themselves the pains of womanhood, surged up in Rohana, out of control. She had forcibly to restrain herself from flinging the scalding contents of her cup at the older woman. She said bitterly, “You! What would you know of that fear for a child?”
“Why, as much as you, Lady,” said Kindra. “I bore four children before I had turned twenty. I was given in marriage very young, and my first child died before I could bring him forth; the midwives said I should not try to bear another, but my husband was eager for an heir. My second and third children were daughters both, and he cursed me. I came very near to death with my fourth child-he was three days in the bearing-and this time, instead of curses, when he saw our son, he showered me with gifts and jewels. And then I knew a woman’s lot in our world was wholly accursed. I was of no value; the daughters I bore him at risk of my life were of no value; I was nothing but an instrument to give him sons. And so when I could walk again, I left my children sleeping, one night, and cut my hair, and made my way alone to the Guild of Free Amazons, and there my life began.”
Rohana stared at her in horror. She could think of nothing to say. Finally she stammered, “But-but all men are not like that, Kindra.”
“No?” Kindra said.4″I rejoice you have not found them so, Lady, but that is luck and good fortune, and no more.” She glanced at the reddening sky, and said, “Hush,” listening to the sounds that had changed, in the last few minutes, from long, patient sighs to harsh, gasping breaths and hoarse short grunts of effort. She said quickly, “Go to her, Lady. It cannot be long now.”
There was enough light in the sky now so that Rohana, coming to kneel beside Melora, could see her kinswoman’s face, strained and swollen as she fought, panting, for breath.
“Rohana-Rohana-promise me-”
Rima said, imperatively, “Don’t talk, dear; pay attention now. Take a good deep breath, and hold it. Come now, dear, that’s right, another nice long breath. Now, bear down- come on, hold on tight, just push-”
Rohana let Melora take her hands, cling to them with agonized strength as the inexorable process of birth seized her body, wrenching her into spasms. Rima said, in the singsong that Rohana supposed was common to all midwives, “Come on, now, sweet, that’s a good girl, another nice big push, hard now. That’s right, that’s a good girl, come on now, just a little bit more-”
Rohana felt Melora’s nails dig into her hand; the contact wrung her with agony. Wide open to her cousin, she felt the tearing pain wrenching at her own body, gasped with the weight of it. Too much, too much . . . worse than when Kyril was born . . .. She felt the smothered scream Melora was fighting back, thought in dismay, Gabriel stayed with me; now I know how he felt . . . 1 know now he felt all I was enduring. I never knew . . . too much, too much . . ..
She felt the pain ebb away, felt Melora relax for a moment. Rima said authoritatively, “Come on, now, breathe deep, get ready for the next one; a few more good ones like that and it’ll be all over.” But Melora ignored her, clutching at Rohana’s hands. She gasped, “Rohana, promise-promise-if I die-care for my children. My baby, take my baby-“