Chapter 2073: A Dangerous Birth (Part One)

The second child had turned.

Heila kept her hands where they were, and she kept her face very still, because Olwyna was watching her and Olwyna could not be allowed to see what she felt.

In the hours before dawn, the child had lain head-down beside their sister, exactly where they ought to be. Now, with their sister gone and room to move at last, the babe had shifted. Their head was high beneath Olwyna’s ribs, and their little feet were pointed down toward the world.

Every midwife in every village in the Vale knew what that meant. Babes who came feet-first came hard, and slow, and far too often, they didn’t come alive. Sometimes they took their mothers with them.

"Lady Heila?" Morwen whispered, her face creased with worry.

Heila didn’t answer her. She was listening to the second heartbeat. It was quick, still, but she could feel the strain in it, the way a bird’s wings beat faster when it’s frightened.

The child didn’t have long.

"What is it?" Olwyna asked. Her voice was thin and frightened. "Heila. What’s wrong?"

"Your daughter’s sibling is impatient to be born," Heila said, and she was proud of how calm she sounded. "They’ve decided to come into the world feet-first, like a soldier marching into battle."

"Is that... is that bad?"

"It’s harder," Heila said honestly. "But I’ve done it before. And I’ll do it now," she said more confidently than she felt.

What she’d said was true, but only after a fashion. She had helped deliver countless children all across the Eldritch world... in the visions of her Trial of Witchcraft. During her trial, she’d followed a previous Willow Witch, Cecile, as the witch from the Ancient Clan tried to convince her to follow a pacifist’s path as a healer.

Much of what she knew about healing had come from those visions. She’d learned more since then, from Amahle and from the brutal lessons life taught her in the Healer’s tents after the Battle of Hanrahan and elsewhere.

But delivering children... She had far less experience in the real world than she wanted, and none of it had involved delivering a child feet first.

Olwyna caught her wrist. Her grip was weak, but her eyes were fierce.

"Lady Heila," she whispered. "If it comes to choosing... If you can only save one of us..."

"Don’t," Heila said.

"Save my child," Olwyna said. "Promise me. Not me. Protect my sweet babe..."

"I said don’t," Heila said, more sharply than she’d ever spoken to a mother in labor. She took Olwyna’s face between her small hands and made her look. "Listen to me, Olwyna Belvin. I didn’t carry you across half the March and brew you potions since the banquet and stay up all night on this ridiculous step so that I could choose between you and your youngest. I’m keeping all three of you. Do you understand?"

Olwyna stared at her. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Good," Heila said.

She knew what she was doing. She’d practiced countless times on mothers from half the clans in the Eldritch world. By the end of her time in the vision, she lost very few. Cecile said that it was a reminder that not every life could be saved, even by a Great Witch, but Heila pushed the thought away.

"What can I do?" Morwen asked. Her voice was very small. "Lady Heila, tell me what to do."

"Emmie," she said. "Pass the little one to Morwen. Then bring me the warm oil, and the willow salve, and stand ready with the linens."

"Yes, Lady Heila," Emmie said, rushing to do as Heila asked.

"Morwen, hold the baby close against Lady Olwyna’s shoulder, where she can see her," Heila instructed. "Lady Olwyna, look at your daughter. Not at me. Look at her."

Olwyna turned her face toward the small, squalling bundle in Morwen’s arms, and some of the terror in her eyes softened into wonder.

Heila drew a deep breath, and she reached for her magic.

Willow was not a tree of strength. It didn’t stand against the storm like an oak, or hold the mountain like a hemlock. Willow bent. Willow yielded. Willow’s roots sank deep beside running water and held the riverbank together when everything else washed away.

That was what Olwyna needed now. Not strength. Softness. Yielding.

"By Willow’s touch where gentle branches sway," Heila whispered, and the silver-green glow brightened beneath her palms. "Sweet rest and comfort wash all pains away."

The magic sank into Olwyna like warm water. Heila felt the knotted muscles beneath her hands begin to loosen and soften, to give, the way a willow switch bends without breaking.

And then the pain came back to her. Doubled.

It wasn’t just the ache of labor now. It was the stretching and the tearing, the deep, grinding pressure of a child coming the wrong way into the world. Heila took all of it. She drew it out of Olwyna’s body into her own, because the alternative was to leave Olwyna to bear it alone.

Her vision went white at the edges. Her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.

Ashlynn would know what to do.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and selfish. Ashlynn would know. Ashlynn always knew. Ashlynn would lay her hands on Olwyna and the earth itself would answer her...

But Ashlynn was in the grove, kneeling beside her sister in the frost, and she had been for six long days. And if Heila faltered now, if she failed here, she would have to walk back into that grove and tell her friend that the first new lives of the Bloodroot Empire had been lost while she was away.

No. She wouldn’t allow it.

Somewhere in that grove, beneath the frost and the mist, Jocelynn was fighting too. Fighting for her life, the same as this tiny babe, against something none of them could see.

Heila had spent six days telling herself that she didn’t care whether the woman who’d betrayed Ashlynn lived or died. That she would mourn only for her friend’s sake.

It wasn’t true. She knew that now, with Olwyna’s child struggling beneath her hands. No one deserved to lose that fight alone.

Live, she thought, and wasn’t sure which of them she meant. Both of them. She meant her prayer for both. Please. Live.

"Lady Olwyna," Heila said through her teeth. "When I tell you, push. Not before."

Olwyna nodded, sobbing.

Beyond the oak door, the pacing had stopped.

"Lady Heila?" Sir Carwyn called. His voice had gone very quiet. "Why has it gone so quiet in there? Where’s the baby? I heard the baby..."

"Friend-Carwyn," Barsali rumbled, low and steady. "Sit. Let the Willow Witch work."

"But..." Carwyn said, anxiously pacing toward the door.

"Sit," the serpent repeated, gentler this time. "Barsali is here. Sit."

The boots went still.

Heila waited. She couldn’t pay any attention to the men on the far side of the door. She felt the pain building, gathering like a wave far out at sea. She waited until it crested.

"Now," Heila said.

Olwyna pushed. Heila guided, her small, oiled hands working with the skill of every birth she’d ever attended in her trial and the instinct of every willow root that had ever wound its way through stone. One small foot. Then the other. Then the narrow hips and the curve of a tiny back.

"Again," Heila said. "Again, Olwyna, push!"

The shoulders. One arm. The other.

Then the hardest part of all. The head.

Heila’s arms were shaking. The pain she’d taken was a wildfire in her belly, and she could barely see through the tears that streamed down her face. But she kept her hands steady. She kept the willow’s softness flowing.

"It’s a boy," Morwen said, hoping to lift Olwyna’s spirits, but when she looked from the child to Heila’s face, her enthusiasm immediately waned. "Lady Heila, is he... Is he all right?" Morwen whispered.

"Not yet," Heila said. "Emmie, warm linens. Now."

"One more," Heila whispered to Olwyna. "Just one more push, and he’s here."

Olwyna screamed and pushed, and Heila’s hands guided, and all at once, the boy slid free into the world.

He didn’t cry.

He lay limp and still in Heila’s hands, tiny and blue-tinged and silent, and the room went utterly, terribly quiet.

"Heila?" Olwyna said, her voice trembling. "Heila, why isn’t he crying?"