The Hallowed Isle Book Three Read Free Page B

This labor will go easier if I get as far as I can under my own power.” She knew that she was challenging the gods, but so long as she was moving, she could maintain the illusion that this process was under her control. Ignoring the shocked protest of the maidens, she started back along the trail.
    From time to time a pain overwhelmed her and she would pause, gripping Dugech’s shoulder until it passed. But it soon became apparent that this child was in a hurry to come into the world. By the time they reached the crossroads, the pains were coming swiftly. Morgause swayed, dragging in breath in hoarse gasps. The women were piling their cloaks on the grass beside the road. Dugech took one arm and Leuku the other, and Morgause could no longer resist them. Biting her lip against the pain, she let them help her down to lie with her back braced against the bank where the pale primroses grew.
    Her fingers clenched in the new grass as the muscles of her belly contracted and released again. She was aware that the litter had arrived, but by then things had gone too far for her to be moved.
    She fixed her gaze on the hollow moon, sliding down the western sky like a rind of pearl. She could hear the girls whispering. It was not right that the queen of the Votadini should give birth like a beggar woman beside the road. And at a crossroads too! At Beltain, when the folk of faerie moved from their winter quarters to their summer homes, more might be passing along that road than men. Morgause shook her head, denying her own fear. This pregnancy itself had been a challenge to the gods—it should be no surprise that the birth was the same.
    â€œDraw the circle of safety around me if you are afraid—” she grunted between pangs, “and then get ready to catch the babe.”
    The muscles of her belly writhed again, and she was unable to suppress a groan. Between birthings one always forgot the pain, but it seemed to her that the violence of the pangs that tore her now was greater than any she had known, as if the womb were trying to turn itself inside out in its haste to expel the weight it bore.
    â€œMother . . .” she whimpered, and then bit back the word. Blood trickled from between her thighs to stain the crimson gown. Igierne was not there—had never been there, really, when Morgause needed her, even when they were living in the same hall. Why should she call for her now?
    Morgause had always taken such pride in her ability to bear sons. But women died in childbirth, and she was no longer in her first youth. Am I dying? Her thoughts circled in confusion. Is the Goddess claiming my offering? Shadows danced before her eyes like dark wings.
    I am in Your hands, Lady . . . I offer my life if it will serve you, and that of my child . She let out her breath in a long sigh, feeling a dim sorrow, but no fear.
    Then another convulsion took her and she cried out once more. The rolling ache became a wrenching agony.
    â€œ Warrior, and mother of warriors — now you shall fight for your life!” came a voice from within. “ Cast the babe from your body, now!”
    Morgause drew up her legs and dug her heels into the soft earth and pushed with all the strength she had. The pressure increased, as if she were being split in two. Again her muscles clenched and she bore down. She felt the gush of birthblood and a burning pain in her sex as the child’s head crowned. Against her closed eyelids the sunlight was a whirl of red brightness. She sucked in air, and then with the last of her strength, pushed once more.
    There was a moment of pulsing relief as the babe slid, warm and slippery, between her thighs. She gasped for breath, and in echo, heard his furious challenge to the world. The babe was still yelling when Dugech tied off and cut the cord and laid him on her breast.
    Morgause lay in drowsy stupor, the contractions of the birth fading from her wracked body like the last tremors of love.