Page 89 of Spring's Arcana
Leo crouched in the kitchen, his big capable hands laced over his head. He cowered against the old oven, cabinets opening and closing like hungry toothless mouths, drawers shaking as their cargoes clattered, voracious blue-white sparks popping from antique outlets, the entire yellow house shaking as its mistress raved and cursed, her voice finally breaking in a long final trailing howl of effort.
The last scream was the most terrible, and hail pounded the Drozdova’s new city. The mortals had names for every great storm, of course, but christening came later.
After they had survived its fury.
Silence fell. Leo, trembling, peered upward as if a mortal gaze could pierce the ceiling. His dark eyes rolled like a frightened animal’s, and he was sweat-sopping as well. In that thick, exhausted quiet, even the rain did not dare whisper as it fell against the Drozdova’s windows.
Not until another cry rose, thin and reedy, carrying the greatest of mysteries from a pair of tiny, brand-new lungs.
I am, the infant proclaimed. I am, I am, Iam.
And so it was.
In her bedroom, alone except for a tiny squalling bundle, its tiny legs stiffening and its face purpling with exertion as it howled, Maria Drozdova sagged against the pillows, her eyes burning-full of throbbing red. She stared at the object that had come forth from her, and her fair face was just as ravaged and twisted as its own. The maggot screamed as if it sensed the hungry thing now watching, as if it understood there was no safety in a cold, starving world, as if it already knew what she planned for its tender fragility.
Maria Drozdova reached for a pillow, staring at the tiny, plump-bellied child, perfect and ivory-pale though golden ichor clung in its deep creases. Maria’s belly deflated, sealing itself in triangular slices, and at least she did not have the detritus of mortal parturition to deal with.
All she needed was a few more moments. She lifted the snowy-white stuffed square, its linen woven in the old way from clouds and belief.
But there were unsteady footsteps upon the stairs, a man coming to see what his love had wrought. The Drozdova hesitated, shortsighted but intense hatred wrestling with a cold plan promising far more than temporary relief.
When Leo peered through the bedroom door he saw his beloved cradling a small howling child, staring at its furious little face with a curiously blank expression.
“It’s a girl,” the Drozdova said hoarsely. Her lover staggered, grabbing at the doorway to steady himself. A fear he had not been aware of carrying fled, for who can believe ill when gazing at mother and newborn?
Even one of the Eternal might well hold such a sight sacred, and suspect nothing.
DIFFERENT PROPOSITION
Nat gasped, her thighs hitting the crumbling stone well-side. Bright metal skated under her fingertips, the bucket swung crazily, and her throat was on fire. A flat metallic reek rose from whatever lurked in the bottom of the Well; its gleam brought a mental image of wide shimmering alkaline lakes that would either poison unto death or gripe a mortal so badly they longed for the Cold Lady’s touch.
You keep sending me gifts… you know I haven’t returned a single one, dearest.
The glittering golden goblet shrank as Nat touched it; she grabbed at the Well’s crossbar with one hand, leaning on tiptoes. The horse made a low chuckling noise, and as she snatched a golden gleam from the wet, wildly swinging bucket, its shadow fell over her.
Nat stumbled back, vaguely glad her ass was large enough to prove a counterweight. She brought what she’d come to find towards her chest, where its metallic sides quivered like a trapped bird. It changed shape, melting from a gem-encrusted chalice through a few other container-forms before settling in a speckled blue number very much like Ranger’s camping gear. Its glaze thickened, the cup became heavier, and glowing golden writing blazed across its side like a cheap special effect before it settled, with an almost-audible thump, into a familiar white coffee mug, its handle a gilt-gleaming unicorn’s head, white china sides painted with its golden body.
It’smyCup now,she thought, deliriously, and flinched awayfrom the horse’s shadow. The big black beast peered into the well’s throat, making a softhoomthat echoed all the way down to whatever rippled at the bottom.
Had it been trying to knock her in? She was fairly sure she could climb the crumbling sides, but still. If she hit her head on the way down, it wasgoodbye, Nat, don’t bother to write.
Was Leo worrying about her? Was he visiting Mom right now?
You could look again. It would probably tell you.
Nat clutched the mug close. Her knees failed and met sandy dirt with twin thumps. She wheezed, her lungs deciding they were definitely not okay with this goddamn program, and the golden afternoon turned into stutter-strobes as her eyelids fluttered.
Hoo boy. Helluva ride. “Wow,” she managed, turned her head aside, and retched.
“First one’s a lulu,” the horse agreed. “I thought I was going to have to drag you back.”
Sure you did. It wasn’t worth arguing about; it just went to show that even if you liked a guy, his horse was a different proposition altogether. “I’m fine.” The words wanted to produce another retch, repressed with an acidic burp containing a ghost of Ranger’s thick fragrant coffee. “Just a little… wow. Huh.”
“Good girl.” Still, the horse sounded disappointed. “Did you get what you came for?”
More than that. Which I suspect is going to be the rule from now on.“Yeah.” She’d read about hypnotic regression and people paying big bucks to supposedly witness their own birth; lucky her getting the show for free.
Her mother’s belly torn open in triangular segments, tiny baby-Nat wrenched free, and that familiar cold stare her mother wore…
