ran a cool, damp cloth across her forehead.
“No need to run anymore,” he said, his voice, ancient, reassuring, as if he had seen it all before. “I am here now.”
She shrieked and groaned as another pain ripped through her. She felt as if she were being torn in two.
“Lean back!” he commanded.
She did as she was told – and a second later, she felt it. A tremendous pressure between her legs.
There suddenly came a sound that terrified her.
A wail.
The scream of a baby.
She nearly blacked out from the pain.
She watched the apothecary’s expert hands, as she went in and out of consciousness, pulling the child from her, reaching out with something sharp, cutting the umbilical cord. She watched him wipe the baby with a cloth, clear its lungs, nose, throat.
The wail and scream came even louder.
Rea burst into tears. It was such a relief to hear the sound, penetrating her heart, rising even above the slamming of the villagers against the door. A child.
Her child.
He was alive. Against all odds, he had been born.
Rea was dimly aware of the apothecary wrapping him in a blanket, and then she felt the warmth as he placed him in her arms. She felt the weight of him on her chest, and she held him tight as he screamed and wailed. She had never been so overjoyed, tears gushing down her face.
Suddenly, there came a new sound: horses galloping. The clanging of armor. And then, shrieks. It was no longer the sound of the mob shouting to kill her – but rather, of the mob being killed itself.
Rea listened, baffled, trying to understand. Then she felt a wave of relief. Of course. The noble had come back to save her. To save his child.
“Thank God,” she said. “The knights have come to my rescue.”
Rea felt a sudden burst of optimism. Perhaps he would take her away from all this. Perhaps she would have a chance to start life over again. Her boy would grow up in a castle, become a great lord, and perhaps she would, too. Her baby would have a good life. She would have a good life.
Rea felt a flood of relief, tears of joy flooding her cheeks.
“No,” the apothecary corrected, his voice heavy. “They have not come to save your baby.”
She stared back, confused. “Then why have they come?”
He stared at her grimly.
“To kill it.”
She stared back, aghast, feeling a cold dread run through her.
“They did not trust the job to a mob of villagers,” he added. “They wanted to make sure it was done right, by their own hands.”
Rea felt ice run through her veins.
“But…” she stammered, trying to understand, “…my baby belongs to the knight. Their commander. Why? Why would they want to kill it?”
Fioth shook his head grimly.
“Your knight, the baby’s father, was murdered,” he explained. “Many moons ago. Those men you hear are not his own. They are his rivals. They want his baby dead. They want you dead.”
He stared back with a panicked urgency and she knew, with dread, that he spoke the truth.
“You must both flee this place!” he urged. “Now!”
He had hardly finished uttering the words when there came the crash of an iron pole against the door. This time it was no mere farmer’s sickle – it was a professional knight’s battering ram. As it hit, the door buckled.
Fioth turned to her, eyes wide in panic.
“GO!” he shouted.
Rea looked back at him, terror-stricken, wondering, in her condition, if she could even stand.
He grabbed her, though, and yanked her to her feet. She shrieked in pain, the motion pure agony.
“Please!” she cried. “It hurts too much! Let me die!”
“Look in your arms!” he cried back. “Do you want him to die?”
Rea looked down at the boy wailing in her arms, and as another smash came against the door, she knew he was right. She could not let him die here.
“What about you?” she moaned, realizing. “They will kill you, too.”
He nodded with resignation.
“I have lived for many sun cycles,” he replied. “If I can delay them from finding you, to give you a chance for safety, I will gladly give up what remains of my life. Now go! Head for the river! Find a boat and flee from here! Quickly!”
He yanked her before she had a chance to think, and before she knew it he was leading her to the rear entrance of his fort. He pulled back a tapestry to reveal a hidden door carved into the stone. He leaned against it with all his might and it opened with a scraping sound, releasing ancient air. A burst of cold air rushed into the fort.
Barely had it opened than he pushed her and her baby out the back.
Rea found herself immersed in the snowstorm, stumbling down a steep, snowy riverbank, clutching her baby. She slipped and slid, feeling as if the world were collapsing beneath her, barely able to move. As she ran, lightning struck an immense tree close to her, lighting up the night, and sent it crashing down too close to her. The baby screamed. She was horrified: never would she have believed that lightning could strike in a snowstorm. This was indeed a night of omens.
Rea slipped again as the terrain grew steep, and this time she landed on her butt. She went flying, and she cried out as the slope took her all the way down toward the riverbank.
She breathed with relief to reach it and realized if she hadn’t slid all this way, she probably could not have made the run. She glanced back uphill, shocked at how far she had come, and watched in horror as the knights invaded Fioth’s fort and set it ablaze. The fire burned strongly, even in the snow, and she felt an awful wave of guilt, knowing the old man had died for her.
A moment later knights burst out the back door, while more horses galloped around it. She could see they’d spotted her, and without pausing raced for her.
Rea turned and tried to run, but there was nowhere left to go. She was in no condition to run, anyway. All she could do was drop to her knees before the riverbank. She knew she would die here. She had reached the end of her rope.
Yet hope remained for her baby. She looked out and saw a tangle of sticks, perhaps a beaver’s nest, so thick it resembled a basket. Driven by a mother’s love, she thought quickly. She reached over and grabbed it and quickly placed her baby inside it. She tested it, and to her relief, it floated.
Rea reached out and prepared to shove the basket into the calm river’s waters. If the current caught it, it would float away from here. Somewhere down river.
