The Shattered Chain Read online

  Melora clasped her hand. “Better you than the evil crone who brought Jaelle into the world,” she said, clinging to her cousin’s fingers. “She would not even free my hands. … ” She ran her fingertips, as with a long-habitual gesture, along the jagged scars at her wrists. “Jalak swore if I bore a son he would give me whatever I asked, save my freedom; I had it in my mind to ask for her head.”

  Rohana shuddered, was grateful when Fat Rima approached them; she said, “Here is our midwife; she will do what she can for you, breda.”

  Melora looked up at her; she felt-Rohana sensed it-skeptical and more than a little frightened. But she said (and again, poignantly, Rohana was reminded of the lighthearted and gracious girl Melora had once been), “I thank you, mestra; I did not know any of the Free Amazons would choose such a womanly trade.”

  “Why, Lady, we earn our bread at any honest work,” Rima said. “Did you truly think we are all soldiers and hunters? The Guild-house in the city of Arilinn, where I was trained, has a specialty of training midwives; and we compare everything that is known about the problems of birth from Temora to the Hellers, so we are the best of midwives; even on the great estates, sometimes, women will send for us. Now, my Lady, let me see how far this thing has gone, and how long you must expect to wait-here.” She knelt, feeling all about Melora’s body with gentle, expert hands. “Well, it is a strong child, and a big one, too.”

  She broke off as Jaelle came running toward them. The child’s face was drawn and white in the firelight. “Mother-oh, Mother-” she said and burst into tears.

  Rima said firmly, “Come, my child, that will not help Mother. You are almost a woman now yourself; you must not behave like a baby and trouble us.”

  Melora dragged herself upright, letting herself lean heavily on Rohana. “Come here, Jaelle. No, let her come to me, I know she will be good.”

  Struggling to fight back her sobs, Jaelle came and knelt beside her mother; Melora seized her in a fierce embrace and said, not to any of them, “It was worth it all. You are free, you are free!” She kissed the small wet face hungrily, again and again; then laid her hand under Jaelle’s small quivering chin and looked at her a long time in the wavering firelight before saying, “You must go now, my darling, and stay with the other women. You cannot help me now, and you must leave me to those who can. Go, my dearest love, try to sleep a little.”

  Crying, Jaelle let Gwennis lead her away into the darkness beyond the campfire. Rohana heard the child sobbing softly for a long time; then she was quiet and Rohana hoped she had cried herself to sleep. The night wore on slowly. Rohana stayed with Melora, holding her hands, now and then sponging her sweaty face with cold water. Melora was still and patient, doing what she was told, trying to rest between the spasms; now and then she talked a little, and after a time Rohana, with a shudder, knew Melora had lost track of where she was and what was happening. She talked to her own mother, years dead; once she started up with a shriek, crying out curses in the Dry-Town language; again and again she sobbed and entreated them not to chain her again, or cried out, over and over, “My hands! My hands!” and her fingers went again and again to the long ragged scars at her wrists. Rohana listened, murmured to her soothingly, tried now and again to break through the delirious muttering … If Melora knew she was here and free, here with me. … She tried, with all her telepathic skill, to reach her cousin’s mind, but all she could feel was horror and long dread.

  Blessed Cassilda, mother of the Domains … Evanda, Goddess of light, Goddess of birth … merciful Avarra … what she must have endured, what horror she must have known. …

  None of the other women slept, although Kindra had ordered them all to bed; Rohana could sense, like a tangible vibration in the air, their awareness, their concern. At times like this it is a curse, to read the thoughts of others. …

  Once, when Melora slept for a moment, in exhaustion, Rima met Rohana’s eyes over the struggling body and shook her head briefly. Rohana closed her own eyes for a moment. Not yet! Don’t give up hope yet!

  Rima said, pityingly, “She has no strength left, I think, to be free of the child. We can only wait.”

  Rohana suddenly knew if she stayed there another moment she would break into hysterical screams and sobs, herself. She said thickly, “I will be back in a moment,” and rose, plunging away, around the campfire, toward the crude latrine the Amazons dug at their camps. She leaned against the harsh rock-face, covering her face, struggling not to vomit or scream. After a moment, controlling herself a little, she went to the fire, where a pot had been left with the hot drink of fermented grain, which the Amazons used in place of bark-tea or jaco, just simmering. She dipped herself out a cup and sipped it, fighting for self-control. Kindra, tall and almost invisible in the darkness, stopped and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “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. “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 … I 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-”

  She gasped, and arched her body again under the fierce, wrenching pain. Rohana could not speak; she reached for contact with Melora again, directly to her mind.

  -I swear it, darling, by the Blessed Cassilda and by the Lord of Light. … They shall be as my own children, may the Gods seize me if I make any difference between them and the children born of my own body. …

  Melora whispered, “Thank you-I knew-” She collapsed again. Over her head, dark with sweat, Rima looked up, and Rohana met Kindra’s eyes. Kindra said quietly, “I had better fetch Jaelle now.”

  Rohana looked up indignantly; looked at the swollen, unconscious body, the spreading bloodstains, feeling the wrenching agony seize Melora again, and herself flinched before the terrifying assault on body and mind. She said in violent indignation, “How can you? Is this any place for a little girl …?”

  Kindra said gently, but inexorably, “It is her right, Lady. Would you wish to sleep through your mother’s deathbed? Or are you still lying to yourself, Lady Rohana?” She did not wait for Rohana’s answer. Rohana, kneeling, letting Melora grip her hands with that anguished death-grip, heedless of Melora’s nails digging into her and drawing blood, was seized again by that moment of terror she had known at the climax of her own child-beds. … Breaking, tearing, splitting, coming apart… dying. … Rohana struggled to keep herself a little apart from Melora’s terror, to give her kinswoman some strength, something to cling to outside her own agony and fear. She held Melora, murmuring endearments, whispering, “We’re with you, love, we’re right here, we’re going to take good care of you.”, but she did not know what she was saying.

  For the first and last time Melora shrieked aloud, a long, terrible cry of anguish and dread; and then, just as the sun was rising, into the terrible silence there was another sound: a strange, sharp, shrill sound, the uplifted howling of a newborn child.

  “Praise to Evanda,” said Rima, holding up the naked, bloody child, feet first. “Listen to how strong he is! I didn’t have to slap this one into life-”

  Melora whispered, almost inaudibly, “Give him to me,” and reached out for him, her face changing. The never-failing miracle, Rohana, thought. Always, no matter how hard and terrible the birth, there was this moment of joy, when the face changed, alight and glowing. Melora looks so happy, so happy; how can she? Rohana wondered, not remembering her own happiness. Rima wrapped the baby in a fold of clean towel she had laid ready, and placed him on Melora’s flaccid belly. She said matter-of-factly, “He will do well enough.”

  “Jalak’s son,” Melora whispered, and the joyous smile slipped away. “What will become of him, poor little wretch?”

  Rima said sharply, “My Lady-”

  Melora reached out her hands. She said, “Jaelle-Jaelle, come here and kiss me-oh, Jaelle-”

  Rima cried out in consternation; blood came forth in a great gush, and Melora sighed and fell back, her face white and lifeless. And there was no sound in the sunrise except the crying of Melora’s motherless children.

  “Will you truly have Jalak’s son to foster, Lady Rohana?” Kindra asked.

  The sun was high in the camp. Jaelle had cried herself to exhaustion and was lying on the sand between them, limp, like some bedraggled little animal. Rohana was half sitting, half lying against a pile of saddlebags. She had wrapped the naked child and thrust him inside her tunic against her breasts, where he squirmed and nuzzled, already lively and seeking the nourishment he did not know would be denied him. Rohana patted the warm bundle tenderly. She said, “What else can I do, Kindra? I swore to Melora that her children should be to me as my own in all things.”

  Kindra said fiercely, “He is a male of Jalak’s blood; do not your kinsmen and your foster-brother’s blood cry out for revenge, that you should cherish him? Is there not blood-feud and a life between you and Jalak’s son, my Lady?” She bared her knife, handed it to Rohana, hilt first. She said, “He cost Melora her life, so she came never to her hard-won freedom; and he is Jalak’s son. Avenge your kinsmen, Lady.”

  Chilled, sick with horror, Rohana knew that Kindra spoke no more than simple truth. The men of the Ardais and Aillard Domains would have echoed her words: Jalak’s son must pay for Jalak’s crimes.

  She felt the child move against her body, warm and strong. Melora’s child; and I took him up from her dead body. She looked at Jaelle, who was curled tight beside them, her eyes shut in rejection. She is Jalak’s child, too. Must she pay?

  Kindra said earnestly, “Rohana, he will die, whatever you do now. There is no nurse for him, no food, no proper care. Don’t wring your heart for him; let him lie here beside his mother.”

  Slowly, Rohana shook her head. She handed back the knife, meeting the Amazon’s eyes. She said, “Blood-feud and revenge are for men, Kindra. I am glad to be a woman, and bound by no such cruel law. Let this child’s life, not his death, pay for my foster-brother’s death; Ardais lost a son in Valentine, so this boy shall be called Valentine.” She laid her hands, as if in ritual, on the small squirming body, “And he shall be foster-son to Ardais, in place of the one who died at Jalak’s hands.”

  Kindra put the knife away, raised her face with a grim smile. She said, “Well spoken, my Lady. An Amazon would say so, indeed; but I had not thought you were so free to discard the laws of your clan and caste.”

  Rohana said violently, “I hope I will always feel free to ignore any law so cruel! It may be that he will die, as you say; but not at my hands, and not if I can save him!”

  Kindra nodded. “So be it,” she said. “I will speak to Rima; she has fostered motherless babes before this. Our women sometimes die in bearing, too, and Rima is skilled in all the secrets of the Arilinn Guild-house.” She rose, saying, “There is another child of Melora’s who needs your care; look to her, Lady.”

  She went off to join the other Amazons, who were burying Melora in the hill behind the water hole. Rohana turned to Jaelle and began to stroke her hair gently.

  “Jaelle,” she coaxed, “don’t cry any more, darling. I know nothing can heal your grief, but you must not make yourself ill with crying. I swore that I would be a mother to you, always. Come, darling, look at me,” she pleaded. “Don’t you want to see your little brother? He needs someone to love and comfort him, too.” She added, “You had your mother for twelve years, Jaelle; this poor little mite lost his mother before she had ever looked into his face. He has none but his sister; will you not come and help me to comfort him?”

  Jaelle pulled away with a shudder of violent revulsion, her sobs rising again to a frenzy, and Rohana, in despair, let her go. Jaelle had not spoken since Melora’s death; Rohana feared that in those last few moments of Melora’s life, spent in terror and dread, in the fear of death, the child’s mind had been roughly opened to the terrifying telepathic rapport, her latent Gift wakened in that dreadful instant of shock and agony.

  No one could have blamed Melora for reaching out, with her last conscious thought, in the only way for which she still had strength-for one last, desperate attempt to touch her beloved child. But what had it done to Jaelle?

  As if he sensed Rohana’s desperate unease, the baby began to stir and fret and whimper inside her tunic again. She stroked him, thinking of the long leagues that still lay between them and Carthon, where she might at least find a wet-nurse for the child. For him it was a simple matter of survival; handled, fed, carefully cared for, he would s
urvive. But what of Jaelle? She would not die, but what had that shock done to her? Only time would tell.

  Perhaps the Amazons can do more for her than I. I am, in her mind, still part of that moment of terror and death. But perhaps they can comfort Jaelle and help her.

  She must leave it to them, at least until Jaelle was calm and recovered her senses. After that-Rohana looked longingly at Jaelle’s soft tangled hair, but dared not touch her-after that, only time would tell.

  Chapter

  FIVE

  Twelve days later, Rohana looked down from the top of the pass that led away into the valley of Thendara.

  “Jaelle,” she called, turning back, “come here and see the city of your forefathers!”

  Obediently the young girl rode forward, looking at the ancient city that lay in the valley below them. “This is the city of the Comyn? I have never seen so big a city; Shainsa is not half so large.” She looked down with fascination and, it seemed, with dread, at the wide-flung buildings, the Comyn Castle beyond. “Tell me, kinswoman; is it true that the Comyn are descended from the Gods? My-I have heard it said, and I have heard-I have heard it denied. What is the truth?”

  How deftly she avoids either her father’s name or her mother’s! In twelve days she has spoken of neither of them. Rohana said, “I can tell you only what I have heard myself. The story goes that Hastur, son of Aldones, Lord of Light, came to our world at Hali; and that he wooed and won Cassilda, daughter of Robardin, mother of the Domains; and thus all those of the blood of Hastur are kin to the Gods. If it be true, or only a beautiful fable, I know no more than you; but this much is true beyond question. All those of the blood of the Hasturs, all the kin of the Seven Domains, have the laran powers, the psi gifts that set them apart from all other men born on this world.”