I CLEAN BAZUR’S WOUND THE NEXT morning before we set off for Lady Myren’s.
As we make our way through the snow-covered streets there’s something different in the air. A shift has taken place over the night between Bazur and I. The distrust is still present from both sides but there’s a closeness now too. A tentative understanding that wasn’t there when we took this routine commute yesterday.
There’s nothing unremarkable about you.
That sentence rings in my ears as he drops me off. What did he mean by that? What did I want him to mean by that? Why did I turn even more slippery between my thighs when I glimpsed his muscles yesterday? My lack of experience with men and males once again makes me unsure. He probably was just being polite. I was oversharing and he was uncomfortable.
Something tells me that’s not it. I caught him looking at me several times throughout the morning. First, while he pulled his dark hair away from his face. Then again at breakfast before he tucked into his meal of broth and bread. And now, as we make our way down the road I can feel his eyes on me, taking in my face, even my body. Before, his staring annoyed me but now I find I rather enjoy it. It makes my stomach tingle in an odd yet not wholly unpleasant way.
We make it to Lady Myren’s house, typically this is where Bazur growls his I’ll-pick-you-up-this-evening-don’t-try-anything speech but he’s strangely quiet. I turn and crane my neck to look up at him, the morning sun illuminating his hard face. There’s something pleasant about it. He’s not handsome, not in a classical sense, but the hard set of his jaw covered by a short, dark beard does something to me. His tusks, deadly and sharp, don’t seem so threatening to me anymore. Even with the knives and swords strapped to his hip, I don’t fear him.
Now that I think about it, I’ve never feared him.
We stare at each other for another moment. Whatever this change is that happened last night makes us both uncomfortable. It is unsettling as much as it is intriguing. I wonder if Bazur feels the same.
I gesture at his injured side to break the silence.
“Take it easy today. If you rip open your stitches, I won’t be happy.” I narrow my eyes in mock-sternness. “More importantly, Lady Myren won’t be happy.”
“I wouldn’t mind having you stitch me up again.” The skin under his eyes turns a darker green and . . . oh gods is he blushing? My lips tip into a small smile. His face hardens in an instant. “I just mean you have gentle hands.”
I nod, my own cheeks warming, not trusting the words that would come out of my mouth.
Bazur shakes himself slightly, strands of black hair escaping his tie.
“I will collect you this evening. Don’t—”
“Try anything and listen to Lady Myren,” I finish for him, rolling my eyes. He lowers his dark brows and tips his head to the side.
“You have a bad habit of interrupting me.” My mouth falls open at his serious expression. Before I can stop myself a laugh bubbles out of me. Bazur offers his own small smile.
“Did you just make a joke?”
“If I have to explain it was a joke, it obviously isn’t very funny.”
I smile and bite my lip.
“Okay, now you’re just mocking me,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m still smiling. Bazur’s face grows serious, returning to its stony frown.
“No, I’m not, I wouldn’t—”
“Bazur,” I stop him and reach out to touch his arm. “I know you weren’t actually mocking me. It was funny, your joke. With some time, you may actually become good at them.”
“I doubt that.”
We both stand smiling at each other. That is until we both realize I’m still touching his arm. It is the first time I’ve touched him when it wasn’t necessary. We stare at my hand on his forearm, so small in comparison.
I drop my hand and look away, my face warming once again. Bazur clears his throat and I hear his feet turn in the snow. Is it just me or does it seem like he can’t get away from me fast enough? Males are so confusing.
Or maybe that’s just Bazur.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he calls over his shoulder. I turn myself and stomp up Lady Myren’s front steps. Something makes me pause and look back. Bazur is much larger than everyone else, so spotting him is easy. He cuts through the crowd of villagers, and each one nods a greeting at him as he makes his way to the training yard all alone.
This new comfortability between us is confusing but it could be useful. If we can form some sort of mutual respect, he could help with my mission to find my brother. The more he trusts me the more freedom I will have.
There is nothing to our relationship beyond that, there can’t be.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I push into Lady Myren’s house and hang my cloak by the front door. Lady Myren is sitting at the worktable, a steaming cup of peppermint tea beside her. A fire is roaring and I soak in the warmth before joining her at the table.
“Good morning,” I say. She nods at me, looking up from her book.
“There are more seeds that need to be cataloged this morning. Then, we’ll make some more elixirs for Frost Cough.”
I pull the tray of unmarked seeds towards me as well as the large leather-bound cataloging book. Another day of tedious work. None of the other human women are coming until later this week so my quest for information about this place will be halted until then.
I had just cracked open the book and grabbed the first jar of unmarked seeds when the front door slammed open. Expecting it to be someone needing some healing I barely look up. But then I hear breaking glass. My head jerks up. Lady Myren’s face is as white as a sheet, and the cup of tea she was drinking was in shards on the floor.
I look toward the door and see a young woman standing aghast in the doorway. I recognize her as one of the other healers in town who helped make tonics. Her dark curly hair is pulled back from her face with a scarf. She’s wearing a gray dress with a white smock. And it is covered in blood.
“It’s—it’s Jessica.” Her voice is shaky. Both Lady Myren and I rise at the same time. “Her baby, it’s stuck. It’s—”
“Kaethe, grab as much clean cloth as you can carry. Antiseptic and clean thread too. We don’t have much time.” Lady Myren’s voice is quiet, but I move quickly. I package up everything we could need to assist with a birth. I stuff a bag with linen cloths, numbing herbs, and a few sharp knives that Lady Myren keeps for bloodletting.
When both of us are packed, we follow the other healer down the snowy street. I’ve never been this way before. We pass several shops and vendors selling the last of winter’s harvests. A few passersby take one look at us, at the blood on the midwife’s apron, and their faces pale. Moving quickly down the road, my boots crunch loudly on the snow and the hem of my dress is soaked.
The butcher’s looms up ahead, an old wooden sign proclaiming it as such, with a closed sign hanging in the front window. We follow the woman through the front and enter the cold butcher’s shop. There are a few rows of fresh meat laid out behind glass panels and I can see a carcass hanging in the backroom that still needs to be carved up. It’s eerily quiet as we enter.
Until a scream pierces the air and the three of us look up the old stairs in front of us.
“Quickly, this way,” the healer says, our feet creaking on the steps.
“How long has she been in labor?” Lady Myren asks.
“A few hours. She called for me just after dawn.”
We make our way to the second level of the butcher’s shop and barge into chaos. There are four other healers here. Two of them are kneeling at the foot of the bed wearing identical white smocks smeared with blood. One of them is steeping herbs in a bowl of water, while the other soaks clean cloth in the concoction.
Old sheets cover the wooden floor and the bed has been stripped of blankets and pillows. In the center of it is Jessica, sweating, her red hair braided down her back with stray pieces plastered to her forehead. At her side is her mate, Pardak, his own green skin pale as he holds her hand and rubs her back. His eyes meet mine and his look of despair and desperation makes my knees buckle.
Whatever the situation is, it’s clearly not good.
“Have you given her something for the pain?” Lady Myren asks, setting down her bag and getting out fresh supplies. I do the same, unpacking my own linens and finding a clean tray to put the knives and herbs on.
“Yes,” says one of the midwives on the floor. “The baby is breech.We’ve tried turning it but it’s stuck.”
The bowls of water on the floor are pink in color. This much blood isn’t unusual but if the baby isn’t delivered soon, it could prove fatal. Pardak kisses Jessica’s forehead and whispers something in her ear. Jessica’s kind face is twisted in pain, her chest heaving.
“Is this,” Lady Myren pauses, “is this like the others?”
The others?
The midwife on the floor nods, her face grave. “Yes.”
“Please,” Jessica wails. “Please, I just want my baby.”
Leaning down with the other midwives I assess the problem. Jessica is dilated as much as a human can be, and leaning in closer I can just glimpse one pale green foot. Much larger than a human baby’s foot should be and therein lies the problem here. Jessica is too small to deliver a half-orc child naturally. They all must know that! It is a strange practice to even try this approach in the first place.
“You need to push Jessica,” Lady Myren says. “Lest you both die.”
Jessica does indeed push but it’s of no use. Tears run down her cheeks as she uses all her strength to force her child through the birth canal. Her moans echo through the room, and her blue eyes are wild as they land on me. I don’t think she even knows I’m here.
This is madness, there’s no need for all this pain. In Myrkrovin this would’ve already been dealt with at the first sign of the baby being in the improper position for delivery.
I watch Lady Myren retrieve one of her own sharp knives. I breathe a sigh of relief. Except I seem to be the only one as everyone’s faces pale. The midwives between Jessica’s legs lift them up and lock them into a bent position, leaving her completely exposed.
That’s not at all the proper positioning to accomplish. . .
Lady Myren isn’t about to perform the birth technique that I was trained in at the Royal Academy. I know this to be true when I watch her kneel between Jessica’s legs, knife angled to slice through her there.
“Wait!” I shout. Lady Myren freezes with her knife centimeters away from flesh, and all heads whip toward me. “What are you doing! You can cut the baby from her.”
“I just want my baby,” Jessica cries. “I don’t need anymore, please just let me have this one. Please!” Tears roll down her cheeks and Pardak whispers something to her again.
“That’s what we are doing, Kaethe. Now bring more sheets, the blood will come fast.”
“No, you need to cut the baby from her stomach.”
Shocked cries erupt in the room adding to my confusion even more. Pardak’s eyes harden as he looks at me.
“We,” Lady Myren growls, “do not kill women in this village.”
Kill women? This saves women.
That’s when it hits me. They don’t know the method used in Myrkorvin. I rush over to Lady Myren and kneel beside her with my tray of supplies, grabbing her hand and pulling the knife away from Jessica before she can make contact. Lady Myren’s green eyes blaze with fire as she rips her hand from my grip.
“Listen to me,” I say carefully, “there is a way to cut the baby from her stomach that will not kill her. In Myrkorivn, this problem is common. Dark elf males are much larger than their females, therefore their offspring do not always fit through the birth canal. Especially when the baby is breech. They solved this issue over a century ago.”
“Myren we need to act now—” I hold up a hand at one of the midwives. I am the expert here, not them. If they don’t listen to me Jessica could very well die. Or be left in unnecessary pain for the rest of her life.
“We need to give her these.” I pluck a few white oak seeds from my tray and place them in a jar with hot water.
“Those are poisonous to children in the womb,” Lady Myren spits. I grit my teeth.
“The baby isn’t staying in the womb. This will slow down her heart, slow down her blood flow enough for me to make the incision, remove the child, and sew her up without her bleeding out.” I gesture around the room. “She’s already lost a lot of blood, so we have to move fast.”
“I’m not sure that—”
“We don’t have time for this!” I snap at her. I’m done with her questioning. Every moment that passes is precious. “Your method will end in death for the mother or the child. At the very least, you will damage Jessica in a way that cannot be undone.”
“Please Kaethe,” Jessica murmurs from the bed. “Please save my child.”
I look at Lady Myren and she nods once. That’s all the approval I need. I spring into action, handing the jar with the steeped seeds to Pardak.
“Make sure she drinks this, all of this.”
He nods and tips the glass to Jessica’s lips, watching as she consumes every last drop. While I wait for the medicine to start working, I shove back the sleeves of my dress and scrub my hands and fingernails in warm water with soap. Next I douse my hands and forearms in antiseptic and pluck the tools I need from the tray. I grind a paste together of numbing herbs that will numb the area of incision and help protect the wound from infection.
“Lie her on her back. And get a sheet to cover her lower half, she won’t want to see this.” The midwives and Lady Myren move as a unit. Jessica moans a little at the discomfort, but they prop her back with a pillow as she lies on the bed. A fresh sheet is hoisted over her lower half.
“Heat up a knife, I’ll need it to stop any internal bleeding once the baby is out.”
I peel up Jessica’s sweat-stained nightgown and take in her pale, freckled stomach. My hand with the knife is steady. Lady Myren comes to my side, holding fresh cloths and warm water. Truth be told I am nervous, it has been a while since I performed this procedure. But I can’t let Jessica suffer, not when I can help her.
“Try and keep her still as best you can. Once I remove the baby, I will need to act fast to get the incision sewn back up.” The healer who collected Lady Myren and I stands with a needle and thread on a tray in her hands. I nod at her and at Lady Myren.
With a prayer to the gods, I sink my knife into Jessica’s lower stomach and begin. The crimson color is such a sharp contrast to Jessica’s fair skin and blood oozes from the wound as Lady Myren wordlessly wipes it away. I find myself succumbing to muscle memory once more. My mind is blank, focused squarely on the task at hand. I recalled where my instructor had placed his hands, where to check for bleeding, where to cut to make this as efficient as possible.
I barely register what I am doing as I cut through layers of skin and muscle. I make sure to avoid her protective organs and it’s not long before I see it. With another gentle slice I cut through the last barrier separating me and the child in her womb. I don’t register what I’m sticking my hand in—if I do my knees will fail me. I feel for the child’s leg and I grip it gently, pulling it through the incision.
After cutting it free from the cord and removing the afterbirth, I hand the child to one of the midwives. There are things I’m willingly not registering as I go about the last steps in this procedure, especially as I am handed the hot knife to seal the wounds. The smell of burning flesh should swamp me with old, horrible memories but it doesn’t. I’m too focused on getting this done.
My mind isn’t registering anything beyond the next task. The next step to finalize this procedure. The ringing in my ears drowns out all other sounds around me. The world is a blur, what my hands are doing is a blur, but somehow I know everything is going right. By the time I realize what’s going on around me, I’m finishing the last stitch of Jessica’s incision and smearing it with antiseptic.
A baby’s wail reaches my ears and suddenly I’m sucked back into the room with everyone else.
Pulling her shift back down, I motion for them to lower the sheet. Their baby, a small half-orc male, has a good set of lungs. He cries with gusto as he takes in his surroundings. He’s wrapped in Jessica’s arms, and she coos at him softly as Pardak, still a little pale, kisses her forehead and tickles his son’s cheek. Lady Myren hands me a cloth to wipe my hands and I nod at her in thanks.
Jessica and Pardak’s eyes find mine, shining with so much gratitude.
“Kaethe, thank you doesn’t seem to be sufficient enough for what you’ve done for us,” Jessica says softly, tears shining in her blue eyes. My smile is small, and I nod my head.
“The incision will scar, no way to avoid it, I’m afraid,” I explain, gesturing toward her lower stomach. “But it shouldn’t be a problem if you want to have more children.”
Jessica and Pardak’s heads snap up, as does everyone else’s in the room.
“More children?” The words tumble from Jessica’s lips. My brows lower.
“Yes, we can use the same incision sight a few times but if you want to have more than four, we may have to open a new one. The scar tissue can be hard to cut through.”
Jessica begins to cry softly, a wide smile gracing her lips.
“Thank you, Kaethe, thank you, thank you, thank you.” I nod, feeling like I’m missing something. In fact, I know I’m not understanding the full scope of this situation when Pardak rises and walks toward me. There’s so much respect and adoration in his eyes. So much hope that it should make me uncomfortable, but I don’t balk from it. I don’t balk when he places a warm hand on my shoulder, either.
“You saved my mate’s life. My child’s life. I owe you a debt.”
“It was nothing, I’m just happy I could help.”
He squeezes my shoulder again, his yellow eyes soft. He makes his way back to the bed and gathers Jessica and their baby to his side. I advise Jessica on wound care and one of the healers says she’ll check in on the incision later today.
As Lady Myren and I make our way from the bedroom, my shoulder is patted, and many thanks are given by those we pass. In truth, I’m still a little high on adrenaline and don’t really grasp what’s going on around me. It isn’t long before we are back at Lady Myren’s house and I collapse in a chair by the fire.
My energy leaves me in a rush and now all I am is tired.
“Would you like tea?” Lady Myren asks from the stove.
“Yes, thank you.” My voice is scratchy. A warm cup is placed in my hand and I take a sip of the hot liquid. Lady Myren and I both stare at the fire, the flames licking the side of the hearth, snapping and popping every few seconds. The silence is welcome after all we just went through.
“What you did today was a miracle,” Lady Myren says after a while. “It has changed everything.”
I shake my head while taking another sip of peppermint tea.
“It was science and training. I can teach some of the other midwives the procedure while I’m here.” Lady Myren shakes her head, staring into the fire for a long moment.
“It was a miracle.”
I have nothing to say so I take another sip of my tea. I think we will remain in our usual silence together, but she surprises me when she continues.
“Human women who mate with orcs are given one chance to have a child.” Lady Myren’s voice is barely above a whisper. It is laced with such devastation I have no choice but to turn and look at her. “The size difference between mother and child makes it so that either the mother dies in labor, and we save the baby after she bleeds out, or we make cuts that damage the birth canal beyond hope of her having another.”
Lady Myren’s eyes return to mine and for the first time since I met her, she actually smiles at me. “I wish you’d been here when I gave birth to my son.”
It all clicks. The devastation on the women’s faces today when they asked if Jessica was like the others. The blood, telling her to keep pushing…how many women have they lost here? How many orc males have children with no mothers? There’re so many children of all kinds, but now that I think about it, I’ve never seen a human and orc pair with more than one child. Now I know.
My chest tightens as understanding dawns on me.
“Targoc is your only child then?” I ask softly and she smiles wistfully.
“Yes, what happened to me in my childbed is what would’ve happened to Jessica.” Lady Myren reaches out and lays her hand on mine. Her long fingers curl around my palm and she gives it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Kaethe, for what you’ve brought to our village. We are lucky to have you.”
My heart tightens and my own smile is watery. This would be the time to ask more information about the humans and where they come from. To seize this opportunity when Lady Myren feels grateful toward me. Perhaps grateful enough to not report my questions to Bazur.
But as I sit there, her hand cupping mine, I find I don’t want to ask. Not today. Today I was Kaethe, the healer. Someone with no secrets and no agenda, just there to help others in her village. Tomorrow I will refocus on my mission, but today I need rest.
We stay like that in front of the fire for a few minutes, the warmth from it making my eyelids droop. Lady Myren squeezes my hand one more time and takes my teacup from me.
“You’re exhausted. Why don’t you head home for the day? We can pick up tomorrow.”
I yawn as I rise from the chair, nodding at her, and putting on my cloak. So many things have happened in the last day. If I felt changed from my conversation last night with Bazur in bed, now I feel like a completely different person. Who I was when he dropped me off is not who I will be when he gets home.
My feet crunch along the icy path as I stagger back to his house.
It’s chilly inside when I arrive but I don’t even bother with a fire. I’m half delirious as I climb up the rungs of the ladder, solely focused on getting under those warm sheets. I shed my dirty clothes and shoes until I am just in my shift and slip beneath the blankets.
I am asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.
