White Blood Read Free Page B

squeezed shut, but allowed him to lift her to her feet and lead her away.
    She heard his voice, a dull rumble. “I found this one in the ruins. Poor girl, she lost her family; she’s out of her wits with grief. What should I do with her?”
    Another voice, weary and gruff. “Take her to the church. Nothing else we can do.”
    Maryn shrieked again to drown them out, but her throat hurt too much to keep it up for long. None of this was real. It couldn’t be. Any minute now she would wake up from the nightmare.
    After a while there was a smooth stone floor, and candlelight, and a blanket around her shoulders. They let her stop walking. She sank to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees, and buried her head.
    “This one’s not hurt, but all she does is scream.”
    “Leave her alone. She’ll get over it. We’ve got much worse to deal with.”
    After that there was merciful peace. People came and went all around, but they ignored Maryn, and she ignored them. She scooted over to where a wall met the floor and curled up with a wad of blanket under her head. Sleep was good. If she slept, she could wake up, and Edrich would tease her that she’d let a silly dream upset her…
    “Maryn? Maryn, dear, is that you? Wake up, child. I’m sure I can find you a warmer spot somewhere.” The voice was familiar and comforting.
    Maryn stirred and cracked her bleary eyes. “Siwell?”
    The midwife crouched beside her and helped her sit up. Her arm brushed Maryn’s breast; Maryn cried out in pain.
    “By the Holy Orphan, child.” Her experienced hands exploring Maryn’s hard, swollen breasts were gentle, but agonizing. “Where’s your little one? How long has it been since you nursed him?”
    “I don’t know!” Maryn slumped into Siwell’s arms. “I left Frilan with Edrich, in bed. I couldn’t find them; everything was burned. They tried to tell me that was my house, but I know they’re wrong. That wasn’t Edrich’s tapestry. They’re lying to me, trying to make me think Edrich and Frilan—”
    Maryn broke into frenzied sobs. Siwell held her close and rocked, humming and stroking her hair.
    At length Maryn’s wails quieted to shaky breaths, broken by hiccups. Siwell gave her a few minutes more before speaking. “I’d let you rest, but we must do something about those breasts. I won’t let you come down with milk fever if we can help it. Have you taken milk from your breasts by hand before?”
    “A little. And I’ve milked cows and goats plenty of times.”
    “It’s not quite the same, but close enough. Let me go find a container you can use.” Siwell hurried away.
    Maryn put her arms around her knees again and rocked. Agony hovered around the edges of her mind. It threatened to pounce on her and rend her apart, like a pack of stray dogs tearing the last shreds of meat from a bone.
    To hold them at bay, she focused on the soaring panels of stained glass that adorned the church’s high walls. The colors were jewel bright; Edrich would have bargained with the Vulture himself to obtain dyes so vivid. The story of the Holy One’s life was told in a series of scenes that ringed the building. Directly opposite her was the depiction of one of her favorite episodes, when he had transformed a single drop of blood from his finger into a feast for a hungry crowd.
    Siwell dropped to her side with one of the wooden bowls the healers used to capture blood. It was polished to a glossy shine and ornately carved with sacred symbols. She pressed it into Maryn’s hands.
    Maryn drew back. “I couldn’t. Wouldn’t it be sacrilege?”
    Siwell shrugged. “Just don’t let the priests see. I don’t think it’s inappropriate. Milk’s a lot like blood. White blood, some call it. It has its own power. Now, let me show you what you need to do.”
    Though Maryn’s shift was stiff with the milk that had leaked from her overfull breasts, it wasn’t easy to coax more out. But Siwell was a patient instructor. She showed Maryn