Mercadian Masques

Chapter 7

"Orim!"

Weatherlight's healer turned on her bed of leaves and woven moss, murmuring inarticulately. "Orim!"

"All ri'. All ri'. I'm 'wake. What is it?" She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Dim light shone through the window, illuminating the small room and its simple furnishings: the bed, a small hearth, a rough table, a chair. Before her squatted one of the Cho-Arrim whose name she did not know. He touched his forehead in salute.

"Is-Meisha's time comes. You must help her now." Orim threw off the rough blanket that covered her and, without giving any thought to her nakedness, pulled on a simple shift. "Is Ta-Karnst with her?"

"Yes, but he wishes you to be there as well." He paused and added, "Cho-Manno and Is-Shada are already there."

Orim nodded, scarcely looking at him. Her mind was racing ahead. "Can you heat some water?" she asked, pushing back the door. She left, not waiting for an answer.

Orim made her way easily through the settlement. Many of the villagers' huts were grouped around the clearing in which the central fire burned. Others were tucked back within the trees, some nearer to the waters of the lagoon. A few, indeed, were built out over the lagoon itself, supported by wooden stilts, with narrow causeways connecting them to the land and each other.

The hut Is-Meisha shared with her mate was one of these. It took Orim only a few minutes to traverse the causeways to reach it. By the entrance, a small crowd had gathered, anticipating the new addition to the tribe. Is-Shada was among them, eager to help but uncertain what to do.

"Don't fear, everyone," Is-Shada said. "Orim is here. She will know what to do."

As Orim pushed her way through, she smiled nervously at her friend. The tribesmen respectfully gave way.

Inside the dwelling, she strained to make out the identity of the people. The executioner Ta-Spon, Is-Meisha's mate, was crouched next to the bed, on which lay a recumbent figure. TaSpon rose as Orim entered. A giant of a man, almost seven feet tall, his head brushed the top of the hut. Orim made a quick bow to him, feeling more than a little intimidated. Gratefully, she saw Cho-Manno standing motionless in one corner. He caught Orim's eye and smiled reassuringly at her.

Ta-Karnst was kneeling at the other side of the bed, his hands busy kneading Is-Meisha's muscles. He glanced up at Orim.

"The youngling is coming hard."

Orim joined him, putting a hand on Is-Meisha's swollen belly. She could feel contractions running along the smooth skin, straining the exhausted muscles. She lifted Is-Meisha's shift, already damp with sweat, and glanced beneath it. "How long has she been in labor?" "Four hours."

"Why did you not call me earlier?" "There seemed no need to disturb your rest. I have birthed younglings many times before." He added, "I have seen this too. The mother strains and strains but cannot give birth. At last she may give birth, but the child is always dead, and often the mother dies as well."

Orim nodded. "I've seen it too, but it's a problem with a solution. The baby is breeched, turned in the womb. It's coming out wrong. We'll have to try to move it around inside." She looked about the hut and caught sight of the tribesman who had awoken her, bearing a large bowl.

From his place in the corner Cho-Manno stepped over to the man, placed his hands above the bowl, and murmured a word. Steam rose from the surface, and Orim plunged her hands into the hot water, almost scalding but barely tolerable.

"You too," she said to Ta-Karnst. "We don't want to cause infection."

The healer shrugged, immersing his hands. Then he knelt on one side of the struggling woman, holding her legs apart while Orim slowly forced her wet fingers inside. Is-Meisha cried out, a shudder convulsing her limbs. Ta-Spon growled something unintelligible and took a heavy step forward, but Cho-Manno put a hand on his big shoulder, restraining him.

Orim probed delicately. Only once before had she delivered a breeched baby, a number of years ago during one of Weatherlight's journeys. Now she touched the baby's tiny limbs, feeling it stir. She withdrew her hand and looked at Ta-Karnst.

"Definitely a breech. The baby is feetfirst."

"Can you suggest anything?"

"Let's try to rotate the child in the womb. But it's tricky, and it will hurt Is-Meisha."

The last phrase penetrated Ta-Spon's anxiety, and he tensed.

Cho-Manno tightened his grip on the big man's arm, saying quietly to Orim, "If you do nothing, will the child die?"

"Probably."

"And Is-Meisha?"

"Ta-Karnst is right." Orim washed her hands in the hot water, rubbing the blood and mucus off. "Often in such cases the mother dies as well."

Ta-Spon groaned, sweat dripping from his forehead. He bent over his mate, rocking back and forth in an agony of indecision. Is-Meisha shuddered as another contraction seized her, and a soft cry escaped her lips. Ta-Spon clutched her tiny hand in his enormous paw and nodded his assent to Orim.

The healer once again plunged her hand into the hot water, while Cho-Manno motioned to the big man to move back. He positioned himself behind Is-Meisha, stroking her head, murmuring a soft, slow chant. Outside the hut, the chant was taken up by the waiting crowd, filling the room. It washed away tension like a cleansing rain dragging dust from the air.

Again Ta-Karnst pushed apart the young woman's legs, and Orim reached in with her hand. She touched the tiny feet, pushing them gently back while at the same time her other hand pressed against the woman's belly, carefully manipulsting the baby's shoulder.

Another contraction came, nearly crushing her fingers, and her involuntary cry matched that of Is-Meisha. When the contraction subsided, Orim tried to will away the pain as she again worked her hands around the small body.

There! She pushed on the feet, while from the outside pressing on the upper torso of the child. For an agonizing second she met resistance, and the thought flickered through her mind that perhaps this was too much, perhaps the best thing was to remove the child in any way possible, to let it die and save Is-Meisha… but then, the fetus turned.

She withdrew her fingers with a gasp and plunged them into the bowl of water. "All right. Now let's try again, shall we, Is-Meisha? The next time there's a contraction, push. Push with all your might!"

The pregnant woman gave a scream as a fresh wave of contractions wracked her body, yet in the scream there was now a note of triumph. It was Ta-Karnst, leaning forward, eyes alert, who caught the tiny form as it emerged. He made a quick slashing motion, cutting the umbilical cord that bound baby to mother, and proudly lifted the newborn aloft.

Orim sat back, gasping for breath. Then, a second later, she realized something was wrong, very wrong. She turned to Cho-Manno. "Why isn't she crying? Why isn't she crying? What's wrong?"

Is-Meisha lay back, completely spent, her eyes closed, her mind oblivious to the fate of her child. Cho-Manno looked sadly at Orim, touching her hair gently. Orim felt the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.

Ta-Karnst ignored both of them and showed no signs of mourning. Holding the child's body with one hand, he spread his other over the bowl in which he and Orim had washed their hands. His voice snapped out a command. Then, without hesitation, he plunged the child into the water.

Orim started forward in protest but was brought up short by the baby's squeal of outrage. The noise seemed to arouse Is-Meisha, who moaned and reached out her arms. Carefully TaKarnst wrapped the baby in a blanket and deposited her in her parent's arms. Ta-Spon, whose great hand had been pressed to his mouth during the birth, rushed forward to join his mate and baby daughter. He lay close by them, cradling them in his arms.

Orim rose and almost fell. Black spots swam before her eyes. She felt hands catch her arms, Cho-Manno on one side, Ta-Karnst on the other. Together they gently led her from the hut.

At the entrance, Cho-Manno halted and lifted his arms for silence from the crowd of Cho-Arrim. "She has come," he said. "Another soul to join the Great River of our people." There was a murmur of acclamation from those assembled, and they began to sing a welcoming song.

Cho-Manno looked from Ta-Karnst to Orim and said, "You did well. Both of you."

Orim turned to the Cho-Arrim healer. "I thought the child Was dead."

Ta-Karnst shrugged. "Sometimes the child has a hard birth and will not breathe. But a little cold water helps."

"Of course," Orim chuckled. "You turned the hot water cold and then immersed the baby." She laid a hand on the healer's arm, but he pulled away as if embarrassed, touched a hand to his forehead, and slipped silently into the darkness beneath the trees.

Cho-Manno put an arm about Orim's slender shoulders. "Tired, chavala?"

She shook her head.

"Then come with me. We will sit by the waters and talk until our souls fall into the everlasting river that races through the sky."

He guided her footsteps over the causeway, over root and branch, until before them Orim saw the soft glint of distant moonlight on the still waters of the lagoon. Cho-Manno sat down on a low stone. The water rippled about his dangling feet. He motioned for her to join him.

Orim did. Listening to the murmur of night noises, she felt a sense of peace such as she had never experienced.

Beside her Cho-Manno was silent, but she could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Orim watched his face in profile, the strong line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his brow, the thick, dark hair braided with countless coins.

He looked at her, his eyes gleaming. "You are strong, Orim, yet gentle. I admired you as you brought that child into the world tonight."

"As I helped," Orim corrected. "Ta-Karnst deserves credit."

"You are two sides of the same coin, chavala. Ta-Karnst is the head, while you are the heart. He himself has come to see this." Cho-Manno bent, his fingers barely touching the surface of the water. From his outstretched hand, a ripple of light ran away across the surface, flashing, diving, recombining in a hundred different forms. At last it faded away.

Orim, in her days among the Cho-Arrim, had become used to such water magic, but it never ceased to delight her.

Cho-Manno leaned back against her and slumped wearily.

"You are tired."

"Yes. The watchers reported today, and I spoke long with them."

"Who are the watchers?"

"Those who watch from the eaves of the wood. They speak with the trees and the water and watch the people of the mountain."

"And what do these watchers say to you?" Cho-Manno flicked another light pattern across the water. "They say there have been dust clouds on the horizon. Mercadians returning. The watchers will attack as soon as invaders harm the forest. The Mercadians haven't yet, but they will. They always do-and now, especially. They come for the soul of the Uniter." He motioned to where Weatherlight lay at anchor.

Orim felt a painful jolt, as if cold arms had suddenly embraced her. "What will you do?"

"Fight, again. Mercadians are not the children of Ramos.

They would destroy the soul of the Uniter before it could be joined with the mind and body."

"Tell me of the Uniter," Orim said, her eyes searching his. "Tell me."

"Your arrival on this ship, flaming through the nighttime sky, was foretold in the Sixth Prophecy of the Uniter. You saw the tale performed in part by the separi. It is the story of our creation and of our future. We came to this world riding on the back of a great god-Ramos. This great god carried us in an argosy-like this ship here-but the Mercadians flung it from the sky. It fell in three parts-soul, mind, and body-and so created Cho-Arrim, Saprazzan, and Rishadan. The Sixth Prophecy tells that the soul of Ramos will return again, blazing in the sky. Should his soul be reunited with his mind and body, he would live again and unite the people. Now, we Cho-Arrim have the soul of Ramos. The Saprazzans have his mind-called by them the Matrix. And in the ghoul-haunted Deepwood lie the Bones of Ramos. Unite these all, and the folk who possess them, and we shall drive off the evil of the land forever."

Cho-Manno rose abruptly and pulled her to her feet. "Come. I wish to show you something."

He found one of the small canoes the Cho-Arrim kept alongside the lagoon and boarded it. Orim sat in the prow, while Cho-Manno, with swift, sure strokes of his paddle, guided them across the still waters. The lights of the settlement dimmed behind them.

Orim felt sleep pulling at her. The journey became a dream in which she floated endlessly on a glass sea. There was no wind, and from time to time the trunk of a mighty tree thrust up high out of the waters. The trees were silver shafts in absolute blackness.

At last, before them, Orim saw a slender line of light that seemed to grow out of the water itself. As they drew nearer, she saw it was a small island, some fifty yards in breadth, ringed by trees. Unlike the other trees she had seen, these were mere saplings, no more than eight or nine feet in height. Curiously, their trunks shone with a brighter sheen than the larger trees, as if they were more vital, more aliveyounger.

Cho-Manno carefully grounded the canoe, jumped out, and helped Orim come ashore. Between the water of the lagoon and the trees was a wide swath of moss. They paced across it, up the gently rising ground, and to the trees.

The light in the center of the circle was bright after the dim light of the forest. Orim stood still for a few moments rubbing her eyes. When she could see again, she observed that at the very center of the circle was a short stone pillar with a broad top and narrow bottom. As they came closer, she saw the pillar was carved with runes, many of them worn with age. From a broad, shallow bowl at the top bubbled a spring of clear water. It coursed over the edges of the disk and down to the earth in a sparkling mist. From there it ran through the circle of trees to the lagoon.

"This is the Fountain of Cho," Cho-Manno said. His voice, after such a long silence, rang strangely in Orim's ears. "It is the Navel of the World, the place from which we began, the place to which we return. It is the point around which all things revolve. It is here that our souls pass away from this world into the Great River."

"What is the writing on the stone?" the healer asked.

"It tells our story. The story I have just recounted to you." He smiled wryly. "I cannot read it, but its memory has been passed down from Cho to Cho."

"May I look closer?" Without waiting for an answer, Orim released his hand and neared the pillar. The characters on it had been deeply carved and wound around the stone in a spiral, but many of the carvings were faded, worn by the ceaseless action of the water. She reached a hand out to touch them.

"Orim, no! No one may touch the Fountain of Cho." He remained where he was, watching her intently.

Orim stared at the characters. Like the separi's performance around the village bonfire, they stirred a memory within her.

Cho-Manno advanced to stand by her side. He said, "I brought you here because I wish you to understand my people. This stone tells all our history. It tells us that once, long ago, our forest stretched from the base of the mountain of Mercadia all the way to the sea. All that vast forest was filled with the singing and light of the trees, and the waters of the Great River flowed freely.

"Then, gradually, the mountain people pushed back our boundaries, cut down trees, scarred the land. The plains of dust arose around their city, and only dust clouds lived on them." He shook his head sadly. "We live here, clinging to a tiny portion of what was once ours. It may be that a few generations hence, there will be nothing left of the ChoArrim. Do you see now why the Uniter is so important to us?"

Orim looked at him thoughtfully. There were depths to him that she never entirely appreciated. "Yes. All this-" she waved her hands about the sacred grove- "all this is somehow what I've looked for all my life."

Cho-Manno cupped her chin in his hand. "I was about to say the same of you." Their kiss warmed the chill morning.