Sickening, Quickening pt 2

Harmony felt nauseated. Pain like roaring flames filled her mind; in an extreme effort, she rose up, off her forearms enough to be balanced on her knees, and then to roll herself onto her backside, propped up from behind by her taut arms and Muse's warm, slender form. The scent of grass and earth wafted up at her, and she realized, this must be what every mother goes through at some point... this feeling of being totally helpless, knowing that the pain has completely taken control. She shuddered and gasped, then closed her eyes, blocking out the fire, the trees, the stars–forced herself to think only about taking a breath

and then letting it out,

taking another,

releasing her mind from her body, giving up her control. 

That's it, Muse's thought came softly, Just let it go. Your body knows what to do. 

And Harmony breathed...one breath...two breaths...nothing but the living blackness of the inside of her eyelids, nothing but blackness and pain and

taking.

one.

more.

breath. 

I CAN'T! Harmony screamed in her mind, It's tearing me apart! 

The ripples of heat and pain became suddenly a sensation of pressure, grinding deep in her hips, and up her spine, making her move her legs involuntarily and arch her back. 

Her lungs filled with air; she screamed, a high, long, bestial shriek of pain and force, and--

The pressure became an object, a smooth roundness. The pain ebbed, and in relief, Harmony reached down, and felt with her shaking fingertips something hard and round, covered with the heat of her own blood. She smelled the sourness of body waste, involuntarily expelled; felt the overwhelming urge to be free of this object, this thing that was causing her so much pain. Leaning back again, and sucking in as deep a breath as she could muster, she wrapped her arms around the top of her belly and leaned into it, Muse pushing against her back, both of them pushing outward and down, down, as hard as she could bear, until she felt like her very guts inside would spill out of her.

 And the pressure released with a rush. The hard object became soft; caught, then popped out, slid forward, outward, with the force of her push. It slid out between her legs, a wet pile, pale and bloody and wrinkled, still connected to her by a long whitish strand. For a split second Harmony thought it was her own guts, thought she was dying, that she was going to really die–then she realized it was a baby lying there. Of course it was. The tiny, wrinkled thing moved, became a form, lifted its tiny limbs and squeaked, shuddered, gasping at the coolness of the night air and the grass against its skin. Muse crept forward and lifted it up with gentle elven hands. 

Welcome to the world, little one, Harmony heard in her mind. 

 Harmony realized she had been holding her breath; she forced herself to breathe out, her breath trapped inside lungs accustomed to a heavier weight holding them down... Blowing out, she felt an enormous relief. The pain dipped down and for a second, nearly vanished, replaced by a manageable throbbing, and a new, different wave crashed over her. Emotions, all at once, in a thundering rush of anger, joy, fear, relief, and nurturing. 

Tears flowed, and eyes wet, she reached forward and took the slippery, sticky baby from Muse's hands. It opened dark, new eyes, softly blinking at her and wriggling its limbs, tiny mouth open wide in a protest; but no loud cry--just a high squeak. Harmony wrapped the front of her tunic around the baby, the loose fabric allowing plenty of room for them both. She was glad that she'd fallen asleep without thinking; if she had known that the tunic was bunched up around her waist during her sleep, she'd have pulled it down to cover herself, and it would have been soiled when she gave birth. 

She lifted herself awkwardly, leaning back on one arm, using her legs to shove herself both up and back, further away from the blood and foul mess on the ground where she had just laid. Then carefully, she sat all the way up. A gurgling sound came from inside her and she quickly lifted the tunic up again as a rush of blood--and the thick placenta, with the rest of the baby's cord--came out, of her, gleaming redly in the firelight. Harmony felt too tired to even be disgusted anymore. Giving birth was such a gross, messy business. 

Dizzily, she knew she had to take care of the blood, because the scent of birth-blood could draw all sorts of things in a forest... She didn't even know what things there might be; she didn't even know where "this" was. So as soon as she was able, Harmony carefully lifted herself and the baby up, and stood. She reached out to Muse, who steadied her arm, and then passed Harmony the fish knife, gesturing at the baby's cord. Harmony steeled herself and quickly, before she could think about it too much, she looped the baby's cord around her fingers and pulled the knife's edge through it, hard. She dropped the knife and yanked a hair from her head, wound it tightly several times around the stump, and whispered a quick healing spell; the baby's remaining cord shriveled up and dropped off, leaving a soft, cute belly button instead. Muse nodded. Much better. Then Harmony cradled the baby in her arms for a better look. 

Look, Muse, she thought, It's a boy. 

Harmony's legs began to shudder almost immediately at the strain of standing up, and black dots danced before her eyes as her blood pressure dipped sharply. She sank back against the hillside for several moments, struggling to hold onto the baby. Muse rushed to hold her up. Trying to distract herself, she studied the baby in the dim light. He had a faint fuzz of pale hair, large, almond-shaped blue-black eyes....ten fingers, ten toes... two ears, one nose... all so tiny and fragile. 

His miniature fingers wrapped around her thumb and tugged it towards his mouth, and he blinked at her sleepily. Muse brushed a gentle hand across his head. 

What should we call him? she asked. 

Harmony stared at her, all scuffed and marked with Harmony's blood, black against the fire-light. Muse glanced away, and grabbing a stick began pushing some leaves and earth over the mess on the ground. A name rose unbidden to Harmony's lips, as if it had been waiting all along. 

Kyirtana....yes. I'll call him Kyirtana. Kyir for short. 

Muse finished burying the birthing-mess and rolled over, transforming into a large milk-white snake. She shed her skin, leaving the blood and waste on it; the "skin" shimmered and then vanished. Muse stood up tall, then, a perfectly white mirror image of Harmony herself, and picked up the discarded blanket. Harmony smiled, and handed Kyir to Muse, who took the baby, and carefully swaddled him in the blanket. 

I guess we'll call him Kyir, then.