It felt as if seconds passed from her eyes sliding shut to when they shot open again in alarm. The source of the alarm was a sudden and violent shaking, along with the sound of raised voices. Still groggy and very confused she made a move to stand only to find herself restrained. Being unable to move sent panic surging through her and she struggled harder against her bonds. What was going on? Where was she? Her mouth opened and she attempted to call for help, but the only sound that came was an odd cry like an infant.
Finally her brain fully kicked on as the memory of where she was flooded back. Turning her head she saw the basket, which had previously housed three including herself, was now far more crowded. Taking a quick headcount she found that there were seven of them in total. Had their mother really given birth to four more kids? Just how long had she been asleep? Those questions were cast aside at another crash. A few of the other infants were awake and starting to cry.
She did her best to tune them out, craning her head to view the room as best as she could. Several pieces of furniture were toppled over, including the table the midwife had used for her tools, loose paper, broken bottles and various knickknacks were scattered around the floor. Shouting drew her attention to the far side of the room. In front of a doorway with some sort of cloth covering it stood their mother and the midwife. Their mother's stomach was far smaller than it was the last time she saw her, and it appeared she had also changed into a fresh robe. All in all the gold eyed woman looked remarkably well for having just birthed seven children as she stood tall, stance wide facing the other woman.
The midwife on the other hand looked extremely haggard. Her deel was stained and disheveled, there were bags under her eyes and a good portion of her braid had come loose. But the most concerning thing was the twelve inch knife she held in one hand. The stocky woman shouted something, spitting on the floor and waving the dagger in the direction of their basket. Their mother shouted back, looking nearly incandescent with rage as she stood between the midwife and the children.
Panic shot through her now tiny body. Was the midwife trying to kill them? She was waving a knife at them, there weren't many peaceful explanations for that. The way the older woman had looked at them before came to mind, the disgust and contempt plane to see. She hated them. But why? They were only babies, all they had done was be born. Whatever the reason it was clear she meant them harm and their mother was protecting them. A feeling stirred in her chest, she couldn't quite identify, but along side it was fear for the safety of the woman who was now their mother.
The golden eyed woman was unarmed, but showed no sign of fear. In fact she took a step closer to the older woman, and shouted at the top of her lungs, voice powerful enough that the midwife took a few steps back from her. She wasn't entirely certain, but she thought the room was starting to feel a few degrees hotter. The expression on the stocky woman was now anger attempting to mask fear, she held her empty hand up and spoke again. This time her voice was softer, almost pleading, as she gestured between their mother, the room, and the basket.
At this their mother softened too, but her eyes still blazed. Her response sounded cold and measured, the undercurrent of rage still present. The midwife made one more desperate attempt to argue but she was cut off as their mother raised a hand and spoke in a clipped tone and gestured at the door. She didn't need to know the language to understand she was kicking the woman out. At this the midwife ground her teeth together, tucked the knife into her belt and turned to exit, but paused with the flap raised. One final comment left her lips and she was gone.
After a moment the golden eyed woman finally relaxed her stance, all the fight and fire gone, her shoulders sagged and she almost seemed to shrink. Their mother walked briskly to the basket, where several of the newborns were still crying. Gently she rocked the basket, whispering in a soothing tone and feeding them from the small pot. Now that she could see her mother close up she noticed her skin looked paler than before, her cheeks were slightly hollow and there were heavy bags under her eyes. There was a pang in her chest. This woman had just birthed seven children, then faced off with someone threatening them with a knife, and not only had she done so unarmed but won without raising a finger.
It was impossible not to admire her sheer strength of will, but the tole this had taken was obvious. Was she alone? Did they not have any other family? She hadn't seen anyone else and it looked like she had used what little energy she had left in that stand off. What if the midwife came back? As if on cue she heard the flap of the door open, but their mother did not turn her head, her expression distant. She struggled in her wrap and let out a sharp cry, trying to warn her of the approaching danger. Heavy footsteps padded closer, seaming to echo despite the fur covered floor, growing closer each second. Still their mother made no effort to move or show any sign she heard the intruder.
There were no options and even less time so she did the only thing she could think of, she opened her mouth and screamed as loud as her small lungs would allow. It had the desired effect and snapped her mother out of her haze, but also woke her other siblings who began to cry too. The footsteps grew louder, she should have heard them by now, but their mother did nothing to address their would be attacker. Instead she busied herself shushing the others, rocking the basket and feeding them from the little pot. Confusion, anger and fear did a fast paced tango in her chest. How had she not noticed? What else could she do? But there was nothing, she played her one and only option and it failed.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The lumbering steps came to a halt behind their mother. The massive figure of a man towered over her, burnt orange skin covered bulging muscles, tusks twice the size of their mothers protruded from his lower lip. If she had thought the midwife was a monster she had been nothing compared to this behemoth. She shrieked in fear, trying in vain to warn her mother, who simply leaned over and shushed her, forcing the feeding pot into her mouth. A massive meaty hand reached out and clasped their mothers shoulder and the monstrous man spoke.
His voice was a deep baritone, it radiated a surprising warmth and his words were clear and well spoken. Their mother let out a sigh and rested her hand on top of his, in response the man knelt down next to her. Her voice sounded strained as she spoke to him, her brows knitted together and her eyes looked glossy, appearing on the verge of tears. Her mother reached down and stroked the side of her tiny face, she felt her chest tighten and desperately wanted to comfort her somehow.
She squirmed, and by some miracle managed to work her tiny hand free from the tightly wrapped cloth and grabbed hold of her mother's finger. The corner of the woman's mouth quirked slightly and the man chuckled, said something in a light hearted tone and gently rubbed her little hand with a massive fingers. It was a small gesture but the warmth in it was unmistakable. This man had to be their father.
He pulled his hand away and returned his attention to her mother, his expression and tone growing serious. The smile on her mother's face dropped and she looked away for a moment before facing him. Her expression hardened and her voice steadied as she spoke, sounding as if she had decided something. Her father nodded, stood and headed toward a far wall. She lost sight of him but heard the sound of cloth moving. There must have been a door to another room.
They sat in silence, their mother rocking the basket and keeping them calm for roughly twenty minutes before she heard a dull clanging sound. The unseen door open again and heavy footsteps approach. Their father towered over them, he had swapped his simple deel for ornate metal plate armor, decorated in spikes. A pair of massive axes hung at his side and he had several belts covered in pouches and glass vials. Their mother stood to face him, or at least as much as she could, as the man towered over her by a good two feet.
Words were exchanged, and she could almost hear a note of worry in her father's voice. At this her mother gave him a wry smile, took a few steps to a table that had not been overturned and held up a scimitar with a blood red blade. The metal looked as if it glowed in the dim light of the room. At this the heavily armored man chuckled and shook his head and she returned to him blade in hand. Her mother's expression turned serious as she spoke to him, and he simply nodded in reply before kneeling down beside the basket.
He gently stroked each of their foreheads with the tip of his middle finger and muttered something as he went. When he reached her she extended her hand and grabbed hold of his finger, or tried to at lease, it was so thick in comparison to her tiny hand she could barely wrap her fingers half way around. Despite this she held on as hard as she could. There was so much about this situation she didn't understand, she wished for the millionth time in her short new life she could understand their language. To talk to them, ask them questions, but she couldn't. All she could do was hold tight to her father's finger, filled with an inexpressible dread that something awful was going to happen.
The massive man smiled down at her and gently stroked her hand before pulling away and standing once more. Together the two of them made their way to the door he had initially entered from and faced each other. Standing close together they exchanged a few words in hushed tones before he leaned down and they pressed their foreheads together. Her father then pulled away, dawned a helmet adorned with spikes and left as her mother watched him go. She stood there for several minutes, a far off look in her eye, before making her way to the far side of the door frame.
There were two large tapestries hanging on either side, woven with intricate geometric shapes that appeared to combine together into different creatures. She managed to pick out what looked like a wolf, a rabbit of some sort that appeared to have horns and a large bird. Pulling the tapestries aside she revealed a pair of immaculate looking doors made from a deep red colored wood. Her mother quickly pulled the doors closed, then reached behind the tapestry again and pulled out a wooden beam. She placed the beam in front of the doors, it slid into a pair of metal brackets, preventing the doors from opening.
What she did next though was surprising. Her mother made her way to a far corner of the room, rummaging through one of the doors. When she returned she had a lock, but it was unlike anything she had seen before. The lock was shaped like a wolfs head with its jaws open wide, placing the open jaws around the door handles, then pressing the side of the lock a metal bar clicked into place. The bar firmly connected the wolfs upper and lower jaw, as if it was biting down onto the door handles. Then her mother raised and open hand and pointed it toward the lock.
A stream of words, unlike anything she had spoken before, left her mouth. The wolf head glowed ever so slightly as in the air before it a multi tiered circle of red light, filled with crisscrossing geometric shapes and odd symbols appeared. The shapes sunk into the metal of the lock and a pattern was scorched into its surface. Her mother let out a sigh and made her way back over to them. She glanced into the basket, her expression blank and unreadable, then from a table nearby she picked up a small wooden box and removed what looked to be an incense stick. She placed the tip in the flame of a nearby lantern and once it started to smoke placed it upright in a small holder on the table.
Plumes of smoke coiled and twirled in a hypnotizing pattern, almost as entrancing as the scent. It was both sweet and musky, making her think of warm blankets, cozy fires and hot soup. Visions of comfort flooded her mind and she once again felt her eyelids growing heavy. The stress of what had, in all honesty, been a very short day melted away. Warmth filled her and she had no energy to fight as her eyes slid closed and sleep took her once again.
