Children of Fire Read Free Page B

herself being rent asunder. The world dissolved into a veil of blind suffering, and suddenly she understood the final warning of the hag in the woods. Now she knew the true toll exacted by the power of Chaos.
    She heard the wailing cry of her son being born, the midwife’s shouted, desperate orders, the hurried rush of the assistants to save the mother, and at last Nyra wept. Wept at what she had seen, at what she finally understood. Wept with joy and sorrow and terror at the price of her son’s life, even as her world went dark and her own life oozed out between her legs in an ever-expanding pool of blood.

Chapter 2
    The baby girl coughed once, spewing forth a ball of phlegm and blood that had blocked her breathing. She choked. She gasped. And then she began to cry. Her screams ripped through the heavy silence of the room at the back of the Golden Circlet, and Methodis muttered a quick prayer of thanks to the New Gods that the child had survived what the young, malnourished mother had not.
    The little girl was strong; stronger than he would have imagined possible, given the circumstances of her birth. Had he believed in such things he might have called it a miracle … or a tragedy.
    Her mother dead, the father unknown,
the healer thought.
Only seconds old, and she’s already alone in the world.
    He tied off the cord and handed the newborn to the terrified scullery girl who had been pressed into service as his assistant here in the back rooms of the pleasure-house. Like the dead mother, Methodis didn’t recognize her. She must have been one of Luger’s newest catches.
    â€œUse the soft cloths to wipe the child clean,” he explained slowly. “Be very gentle. Then wrap her in the blankets.”
    The wide-eyed girl nodded, gingerly taking the tiny baby’s squirming form in her outstretched arms. She glanced down at the mother lying in a bed usually reserved for more carnal pursuits, then snatched her eyes away from the corpse’s torn, bloodstained midsection.
    â€œWhat about Ilana?” the serving girl asked in a trembling whisper.
    Methodis wondered briefly if the serving girl had known the mother well. Had they perhaps been friends?
    â€œLeave her to me. I will clean her up and arrange for a proper burial. After I speak with Luger.”
    Methodis made no effort to clean himself up before going to speak to the owner of the establishment. He wanted Luger to see everything: the blood smeared on the front of his smock, the gore covering his hands and arms all the way up to his elbows where he had reached in to rip the child free of the dying mother’s womb. He left a crimson handprint on the handle of the door as he pulled it open.
    Luger was leaning casually against the wall in the corridor beyond. His one good eye momentarily went wide, but otherwise he showed no reaction to the doctor’s gruesome appearance. As always, the ugly scar and the empty socket staring back from the left side of Luger’s face reminded Methodis of that night nearly two years ago when he had stitched the knife wound closed in this very same hallway. He had known better than to ask Luger about the fate of the customer who had inflicted the injury.
    â€œI heard that baby crying, so I know it’s alive,” Luger said, then spit a wad of chewing leaf onto the floorboards. “Didn’t think the whelp would live. Not being born under the Burning Moon.”
    For the past week the sky above Callastan had been dominated by a full moon the color of fresh blood, an incredibly rare phenomenon not seen since the days of the Purge over twenty years ago.
    An old saying sprang unbidden into Methodis’s mind.
Children born under the Burning Moon are touched by Chaos.
There were many, the doctor knew, who would consider the little girl cursed.
As if she doesn’t have enough problems already.
    â€œHow ’bout Ilana?” Luger demanded, interrupting the healer’s thoughts.