Page 14 of The Wand of Lore

“Hurry?” said the man, and he stopped crying. “I hope they live! I hope they take as long as they need to so my Cici survives. And little Matthew Junior.”

“Really? You’re going with Junior?”

The man gave him a quizzical look. “Where are you from, anyways?”

“No matter. If you’re so worried about Junior, perhaps you could locate thistle or milkweed.”

“I couldn’t, but I know someone who can help!” he said and took off running without so much as a farewell.

Rude, thought Vaylor. Well, at least he was relieved of his pointless duty. He meandered to a large clearing in the village center and planted himself under a tree to wait. From his spot under the tree, he could see the home into which Gwenneth and Cici had disappeared, and he could still make out most ofthe village, but he was far enough away that any objectionable sounds would be muffled or, better yet, completely inaudible. He would sit here for a bit and wait them out. How long could it possibly take for the baby to emerge, anyway? From what he saw back in the inn, the baby was all but out already. His stomach churned again as he envisioned the blood. He saw Matthew Sr. running back, fists full of purple and white flowers. Senior ran into his home, then emerged a moment later on the porch, face white. He stood on the porch, swaying in the evening air. Vaylor assumed he had been evicted from the scene.

Gods, what was happening in there? Even from his distant vantage point, Vaylor could see that blood stained the wooden porch of the home like some kind of gruesome mud rubbed into the wood. Had his own father been banished from the room when Vaylor was born? Had the great King Egar paced outside, like this man was doing, pulling his hair and scrambling to find the right color flowers? Unlikely, but how little he knew about that day that had defined his life. What could it have been like to grow up with a mother, instead of a father who despised him and a brother who wished him dead? He was not the praying sort, but he wanted with all of his body that this woman should survive. He closed his eyes and bowed his head and tried to think of a proper prayer.

“Gods, please, hear my prayer.” He stopped and remembered the gods had little to do with these matters. “Goddesses of the Earth and sky and sea, protect the woman and babe in that house over yonder. And protect the woman guiding the birth.” He immediately regretted the last part, thrown in as an afterthought. “Actually, don’t protect them too much.” Damn, he didn’t think it was good to take back part of a blessing while keeping the other part. “No, do as you please, but just help the mother and the baby.” Curses. He remembered why he didn’t like to pray.

He sat under the tree, hoping against hope, as the air grew crisp and the sun went down. He didn’t bother to go talk to Matthew Sr., who was still pacing and likely would have appreciated the companionship. Likewise, Senior didn’t come talk to him either. When night fell, Vaylor realized he had not eaten for hours, and only then did he consider leaving.

He shifted his weight to stand and go and find food, but his feet protested with a dull ache, so he relented and stayed put. Idly, he rolled up his pant leg to examine the offense and saw that the black curse had moved quickly from his feet to his shins over the course of the day. His skin was mottled and black and slightly tender to the touch. As he waited, he wondered again who would possibly want him dead. His father was the most obvious contender, but Vaylor wasn’t so certain. Though the king made his dislike quite evident, he also benefited from Vaylor’s obedient willingness to run around the kingdom and collect taxes, execute troublesome traitors, and capture the occasional witch, all for the mere cost of keeping Vaylor alive. Certainly, he had made enemies of surviving loved ones, and no few had cursed his name, but who amongst them had access to enough power for the curse to actuallywork? Nobody but Greyson knew his true identity as the king’s forgotten son, but still, anybody caught using magic to kill someone risked death. The kingdom was quick to burn a malicious witch, and slow to justify or forgive her.

He sighed, rolled his pant leg down, and returned to his previous pastime of staring anxiously at the door, awaiting news of a birth he had no business caring about. Surely, he thought, it’s an excellent sign that the birth is taking so long. After all, if Cici was going to die, why waste all this time getting there? The logic sounded crude even to Vaylor.

He must have drifted to sleep under the tree because he startled awake at the sound of a door opening just as the sunbegan to rise. Evidently, he had spent the night outside, and judging from the presence of Matthew Sr. across the street, there had been no news. Now the sky glowed orange as a pink ball glimmered on the horizon. Not quite the luxurious accommodations to which he was accustomed, but you couldn’t beat the view.

At the house across the street, Gwenneth emerged at the door and talked to Senior, who looked as though he had not slept at all. Vaylor could just make out in the dim light of the dawn that Senior’s fine blue tunic was now wrinkled, and he stood barefoot on his porch, boots resting near the door. Vaylor held his breath as he watched them chat, then searched Senior’s expression for a hint of the news. It was hard to tell from the distance, but Vaylor was certain the man was crying. Sobbing even. His hulking shoulders shook and tears flowed, and he followed Gwenneth into the house. Vaylor felt he had no choice but to approach the house and listen for any signs of what had transpired, for he had waited too long to not have an answer. As he approached the cottage, the door opened again and the witch emerged.

Though her hair was tied back in a loose braid, strands had escaped and flew around her face, which beamed brighter than ever under the orange glow of the rising sun. Her hands were clean, but she had specks of blood on her face and in her hair. She had that steely look in her purple eyes that Vaylor was growing accustomed to, and though she had changed into a black skirt, Vaylor guessed it too was likely covered in blood. Gwenneth’s eyes were partially hooded, and she leaned against the wall for a moment. Then, a hint of a smile appeared.

Somehow, tired and disheveled as she was, she was more beautiful now than ever. Her skin was flushed, her face glowed. She wasn’t quite smiling, but her expression reminded Vaylor of the easy confidence of the regents who visited his childhoodcastle. Her full lips were slightly upturned, her dimple just visible, her eyes bright in the rising sunlight even under her drooping lids. Her mussed hair and loosened bodice made her appear wilder and fiercer than ever.

“Well?” asked Vaylor as he approached her.

“Well what?” asked Gwenneth as she stood up straighter.

“Did they make it?”

Gwenneth furrowed her eyebrows, a question dancing in her eyes.

“The babe was born just an hour ago, and even now she suckles her mother’s breast. She is an impatient child and came before anyone was ready, and breech at that, but babies never seem to care about our schedules, do they? She’s a real beauty. The mother is tired, and the poor thing probably won’t get the rest she needs for a long while, but the innkeeper is her mother and will assist her through the coming days. ’Twas a difficult birth, but mother and baby are well.” Gwenneth squinted at Vaylor. “But why am I telling you this? Why doyoucare?”

Vaylor blinked away the tears welling in his eyes. “Gods bless you both,” he said, choking on a sob.

“The goddesses, need I remind you, but thank you for your kind words.”

The door opened, and Senior stood behind it. He grinned ear to ear, his dirty face streaked with dried tears. In his arms, he held a bundle swaddled in blankets.

“Stranger, I can’t say I’m surprised to see you on my steps. You’ve been lurking across the street all night. Matthew Jr. doesn’t quite fit for her after all, so we have decided to name her Gwenneth. She is perfect, and only alive because of this woman here, and I’ll never forget it.”

The witch smiled and her eyes gleamed. “You are very kind. Your wife did the real work of course, and she was amazing, but truly, you honor me.” She bowed her head.

“Would you like to properly meet my daughter? You’ve waited all night.”

Vaylor had never touched a baby before. Come to think of it, he had never even seen a newborn. He wasn’t exactly the newborn type. But there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to see the babe’s face and welcome her to life after how long the child had made him wait, and how hard it had been for him. He nodded, speechless for once, and walked over to the man. There she was, sleeping peacefully, and smaller than anybody had a right to be. Her body couldn’t be longer than the distance between his elbow and fingers.

“Hold her,” said Matthew, and before he could protest, the bundle was in the crook of his arm. The baby stirred just a little, let out a tiny coo, then snuggled into him.

“Welcome to the world, pretty girl,” he whispered, smiling at her minuscule face. Vaylor looked up at everyone watching him and scowled. “Congratulations,” he offered to Senior and gestured that he take the baby back. He was unsure how to lift her and hand her off while still supporting her tiny neck and head, and the man was equally awkward as he tried to take her, then shifted his body as he tried another way. Gwenneth smiled as she came over, took the baby out of his arms, and easily handed her to Senior.

“You’ll learn with time and practice. She will teach, but you and your wife ought to have help these next few months,” she said to Matthew, who smiled in return.

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