People of the Owl(185)

“Aaiiiahhh!” she cried. Her legs were trembling.

Pine Drop saw the change, the difference in the swell of Anhinga’s belly as the infant moved lower.

“Soon, now.” Water Petal smiled. “The tissue down here is swollen. Night Rain, be ready to hand me that moss.”

Anhinga’s jaw worked like a beached fish’s. She kept blinking against the sweat as Pine Drop wiped her brow with the damp cloth.

“Deep breath. Push!” Water Petal ordered, as Anhinga contorted with another contraction. “Hold it! Keep pushing!”

Pine Drop bent to one side in time to see Anhinga’s red vaginal lips peel out and part as the blood-streaked globe appeared. “Push!” she cried. “The head’s almost out!”

“Araghhh!” Anhinga gasped a lungful of air, curled up, and tightened her muscles. Her eyes were wide, staring, as the mound of her belly deflated.

Water Petal smiled in delight as the infant slid into her hands. Pine Drop could only stare at the wet thing, splotched in red, its unsightly blue color picking the odd memory of fish guts from her memory.

Night Rain thrust handfuls of hanging moss out, looking oddly cowed by the sight of the squirming infant, slick with fluid, its thick umbilical trailing back into Anhinga’s vagina.

With practiced hands, Water Petal wiped the mouth clean. She turned the infant facedown, lifting the hips and massaging the lungs. Fluid dribbled from the mouth, and Pine Drop watched the baby take its first breath. It coughed, expelled more fluid, then drew its lungs full and squalled.

“A girl,” Water Petal told the exhausted Anhinga. “Your lineage has an heir.”

Anhinga lay panting, her hands knotted into fists. She had fixed her eyes on something beyond the dark roof. A weak shudder ran through her.

Water Petal used a white chert flake to sever the umbilical. She tied it off with callused fingers. Mindless of the infant’s squalls, she continued to wipe the now-pinking flesh dry. “There, there, little one. You are safe among us. We want you to know that you are welcome here, and we hope that good souls come to fill your body.”

Pine Drop sat back, one hand on her belly. “I pray that it will be that easy for me.”

“Easy?” Anhinga rasped. “My guts are pulled in two.”

It was Night Rain who said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t think I’m going to let Salamander’s manhood ride in my canoe again. It isn’t worth it. I can find my pleasure in some other way than with a man.”

“You’ll take Salamander back to your bed.” Water Petal chuckled dryly. “Having been through this, I can tell you that the body forgets the pain, remembering only the pleasure.” She arched an eyebrow. “Night Rain? Could you go find Salamander? He’s atop the Bird’s Head, praying. Tell him he has a daughter, and that his wife is healthy, too.”

“I’ll be right back.” Night Rain ducked out the door into the windy evening.

Pine Drop sighed, smiling down at Anhinga. “How do you feel? The afterbirth still has to come out.”

“In its own time.” Anhinga raised her arms to take the tiny infant to her breast. As the little pink mouth found the nipple, Anhinga closed her eyes. “By the Panther’s blood, that feels good.”

“Is she sucking?” Water Petal asked. “Are you making milk?”

Anhinga nodded, and Pine Drop noticed the wetness around the baby’s mouth. “She’s doing fine.”

Water Petal grinned. “Well, women, that’s that. No complications. We’re off to a good start.” She reached up, massaging her own breast. “It brings a tenderness to me.”

“You will have more children,” Pine Drop said evenly. “We pray for you.”

Anhinga’s breathing turned shallow. She blinked, tears hidden behind her eyes as she said, “Thank you. Thank you all for staying with me.”

“We are a household,” Pine Drop said, speaking for all of them. “You would have been there for us.”

“If I survive this”—a faint smile crossed her lips—“I’ll look forward to watching your expression as I repeat all the things you told me.”

Pine Drop laughed as she handed Water Petal the damp rag to clean her hands. So, somehow, in the face of looming disaster, we have become a household. What a delight it would be if forces were not gathering to destroy us all.





Forty-seven

Salamander crouched in the darkness, his bone stiletto driving into the dark soil. He laid it to the side and used his fingers to pull the loosened earth from the hole. In his other hand he held the baked silt effigy recovered from under Anhinga’s bed. The hard part had been wiping the fetish with the afterbirth. It had taken all of his wits to accomplish that before Water Petal took it out beyond the rings for a proper burial.