She didn’t stay asleep for long. Her mother’s shivering and soft moans soon stirred her, and she woke with relief at this sign of life from her. Anita knew death too well, and knew they were lucky to have survived this long. Her mother’s bleeding had worsened, and Anita knew her brother would be born too soon. Anita sat up and cupped her mother’s face with both hands, willing her eyes to open. They did, and though dull, Anita wept with relief. She helped get the small pack off her mother’s shoulders and shrugged it on to her own. Standing up, she helped her mother to her feet, and they moved once again through the forest, though the birthing pains kept their pace slow. Anita knew each step for her mother was excruciating, but she didn’t cry out. The most sound that came from her lips was a whimper as tears streamed down her face.
Somehow they kept walking until the sun began to rise ahead of them. Exhaustion would soon overtake them. Their pace had slowed to a crawl, and her fear for her mother and brother was rising with every step. They didn’t have many options. Her brother was coming, and he was going to come whether they were prepared or not. She could hear a stream nearby, and determined to stop when they reached it. She didn’t know much about birthing except what she’d overheard. Suddenly, she started to cry, remembering her mother and grandmother working together in the kitchen, preparing a big meal for the family to celebrate Anita’s 11th birthday. Her grandfather had come in from his shop and had kissed Anita’s mother on the cheek, chiding her playfully to get off her feet and keep that grandbaby of his healthy. Then he’d grabbed Anita under the arms, and grunted as he swung her up to his hip, announcing that he was sure she’d grown at least a foot since he’d seen her that morning. She’d laughed, and wrapped her arms tight around his neck. He whispered that he had a present for her, and she had grinned at him, her eyes twinkling, and he’d slipped it into the pocket of her apron. She hadn’t even gotten to open it, and it was probably ruined now from the river. It seemed like an eternity since that happy evening, but it had been less than three days since. Everything had changed so quickly.
“Needa,” her mother whispered, almost too weak to speak, “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry—“ she was cut off as another round of pains rolled through her. They had come upon the stream, and Anita kicked away some branches and helped her mother to the ground. She set the two packs on the ground beside her and dug through to find their near empty water jug. She gave the last of it to her mother, who was sweating with pain, and ran to the stream to refill it. As she crouched by the stream, she closed her eyes, and thought back to her grandfather.
When Anita had been very young, she had proudly showed her grandfather her new trick. She could blow out the candles from across the room, or knock things off high shelves she couldn’t possibly reach. It had frightened her grandmother, but her grandfather had just chucked and moved about the room righting things. When she was a little older, and calmer, he had taught her to relight the candles, and to lift things back up to shelves she couldn’t possibly reach, but these lessons were a struggle for her. When she was 8, a woman in her town had been put to death for being a “magic-user”, and that’s when Anita had learned that the things her grandfather had taught her were forbidden. He’d always told her not to do them around other people, and she hadn’t. When the woman was killed, she stopped doing the magic things all together.
She opened her eyes, and looked down at the jug she held. She dipped it into the water, and watched the tiny bubbles escape from the mouth as it filled. When it was full to the top, she lifted it out of the water, and closed her eyes once more as she touched the lip of the jug. She struggled at first to find the power inside her. It had been a long time since she used it, and had forgotten quite what it felt like to reach for it. She coaxed the power out, a tiny tendril of fog uncurling from its hiding place deep inside her, and she guided it clumsily through her fingertip to the jug. She saw the black stain on the water in her mind’s eye, and she forced it out with the fog. When the water was clean, she opened her eyes, and stood up again, swaying with fatigue. She rushed back to her mother, whose cries echoed through the forest, and began to pray.
Marge didn’t need to hear the faint cries to know the pain of the woman in the forest. She grabbed the large leather bag that lay on the table by the door and rushed outside, slamming the door behind her.
End of Chapter 1
NaNoWriMo word count so far:1374
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