Forsaken: The Chosen Trilogy - Book One

Chapter One: Part Three

KRYSSA

13 Llares 565A.F.

My mother's screams woke me in the dead of night, and my mouth flooded with the taste of fear: bile and copper, which no amount of water could wash away. Our father fled the house in moments, leaving at a dead run for the barn. Several minutes later I heard the thundering of hooves as he forced our plow horse Renic into a reluctant gallop toward the village.

The agonized screaming went on and on; no matter how hard I tried to cover my ears, I could not escape it. The twins, too young to understand, howled in fear, red-faced and inconsolable. Lanya, Brannyn, and I did our best to comfort them, but Lanya was also crying, and Brannyn was deathly pale.

Janis opened the bedroom door after what seemed an eternity and crooked a finger at me. Her arms looked strange, and I thought at first that she was wearing gloves. As she ushered me in to the muggy, stifling heat of the bedroom and closed the door behind us, I realized that it was blood, already drying and flaking from her skin.

The bed was covered in more blood, the sheets nearly black with it. I froze in the flickering candlelight, horrified as I remembered what the Crone had said about my mother not surviving another birthing. "Mama-"

"Focus, girl," Janis muttered in my ear. "The baby's breech, and I can't get it turned. If we don't do something soon, we're going to lose them both."

I gulped, then nodded, and we set to work side by side. I followed Janis' instructions and ignored her half-mumbled prayers and curses. Pain flickered over my mother's face, but her screams had quieted to hoarse groans.

Janis explained that breech meant the baby was upside down, and something had been torn inside. She had tried to turn the child herself, but her hands were too large. I did exactly as she told me, and, though I was dizzy from the reek of sweat and blood and the awful heat, I somehow managed to get the infant turned so that its head would emerge first.

Only it didn't emerge. Something else was wrong, something was holding the baby inside of her. I stumbled back from the bed as my mother screamed again, her eyes rolling back in her head as she began to spasm. Janis swore, pinning her down by her shoulders. Numb with fear, I stared at the blood on my hands.

My mother's blood.

My father arrived in that moment, bursting into the room with wild eyes, followed closely by the Crone. His eyes passed over me quickly, barely acknowledging that I was even there. "Adelie?"

"We've managed to turn the babe, but something's wrong." Janis shot a desperate look at the Crone, ignoring my father. "And she's been seizing."

My father started forward. "Adelie-"

"No." The Crone took his arm, pointing toward the great room. She looked even more tired and brittle than usual, but her gaze was steady. "You'll be in the way here. Go tend to your other children."

He hesitated.

"Go, Malachi," she repeated.

He went.

The Crone and Janis set to work, redoubling their efforts. I was allowed to stay, and I hovered behind them, unable to see what they were doing. My mother's face was pale, her blue eyes blood-shot and bruised. I imagined I could see the mark of Sirius upon her, that I could feel the approach of the God of the Dead as he prepared to collect her soul and lead her to the peace of Ca'erlyssa.

"He's caught," the Crone said sharply. "I have to-"

"I know." Janis nodded and handed her something. "Here. Can you do it? I can't get my hand-"