Page 146 of Devil's Deal

Regardless, my escape route is cut off. If I try to go past Darobor, he’ll catch me and drag me to Sara, because that’s what parents do when their children are dying.

He’ll never let me leave.

I close the door with a soft click and slowly turn to take in Maja, who has a contraction. Her teeth grit together, face scrunched up with pain. Her stomach is tense, pushing against her pale dress, and she groans in pain just as the contraction eases. She takes in quick, shallow breaths, her brow glistening with rain and sweat.

“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping inside the room. “A lot is going on. Can you help her onto the table? Now when she’s between contractions is best.”

My hearth is laid, ready for a fire. I just need to light it, so I go into my bedroom, fetch the flintstone and iron knife from my pack, and move my belongings aside so they aren’t visible from the patient room.

Maja has two more contractions before I get the fire lit. I wash my hands in my basin, soaping them up well, and then check how far dilated she is.

“You’re almost there,” I say, forcing my voice to be calm. “Everything is in order, and the baby should be here soon.”

Thankfully, it looks like an easy birth. The baby is turned the right way, and Maja seems strong enough to push soon.

“If she wants to change position or get off the table, help her,” I instruct the two women who hover over Maja like mother hens. I know it will be Roza’s first grandchild. “I need to fetch water.”

But when I go out with the bucket, Darobor takes it without a word and heads for the well. I clench my fists. This is my chance. I lift my skirts, getting ready to run, but my gate swings open.

Milka rushes in, her kerchief askew, dress splattered with mud.

“Jaga, he’s worse! And my children have it, too!”

She braces against the gate, coughing horribly. Again, my way is cut off, and at the next moment, Darobor comes back, bearing a full bucket.

“Go home and stay where it’s warm,” I tell Milka, my voice strong despite the panic rushing in like a flood. “I’ll see to you later today. Don’t go out! And take the medicine I gave you. The children, too.”

I take the water and go back inside. Maja screams in pain, her mother fussing over her. I clench my teeth and feed the fire dry wood before I hang a cauldron of water over it. Maja is on her knees on the floor, forearms leaning on a stool. She’s shaking, but she looks comfortable in this new position, so I leave her to it. Women always know instinctively how best to position themselves for this part.

I wash my hands again and check her while she has the next contraction.

“You’re ready to push,” I say, relieved.

I don’t know how the curse in my brand works, but I hope it won’t affect Maja and her baby if we don’t spend too much time together. If she gives birth soon, I’ll be able to leave with Darobor, and when Maja’s family take her and the baby home, I’ll get my bundle and leave.

It’s a solid plan.

Maja screams, her stomach growing hard. I kneel behind her and feel between her legs, her muscles tensing as she pushes instinctively. The baby’s wet head is right there, soft to the touch and so fragile.

I take my hand away, helping Maja calm her breath when the contraction ends.

“Just do as your body wants now,” I say soothingly, repeating the words I heard Wiosna say so many times while I stroke her lower back. “It knows the way, even when it’s your first child. Your body will guide you. So push when it wants to push. Breathe how it wants to breathe.”

She doesn’t seem to hear me, wrapped up in her own pain and instincts, but that’s fine. It looks like she’s ready, and this position is a good one for a quick labor. The floor is hard, though. I look up and tell Roza quietly to take my towel that hangs on a hook by the basin and roll it up. We both help Maja lift her knees enough to put it under them.

She’ll hurt all over after this. No need to give her bruised knees, too.

Another contraction hits, and she howls like a tortured animal. I keep my hand between her legs, because the baby will come any moment now, and I’ll have to catch it.

I chant prayers to Mokosz in my head, the touch of the baby’s head against my fingers visceral and powerful. It’s my favorite moment of every labor—welcoming the tiny new being into the world. Yet now, despair rides my thoughts.

Goddess of fertility, please, let this baby be well. Let it live. Let all be well. Please, let Maja be healthy and have milk. Please, Mokosz. Please, save us.

Maja’s next scream is broken and half-choked. Her entire body trembles, and the baby finally moves.

“You’re doing it,” I say calmly. “Very good. The head is out. You’ll push out the rest in a moment. Breathe now. All is good.”

She heaves in ragged breaths. It doesn’t take long, and another contraction tears through her. The baby slides out, a little shoulder turning, the rest of the tiny, slippery body following until it’s in my palms.

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