Sorrows of Adoration (34 page)

I decided to head
southwest, thinking I would inevitably run into some town or other.
I thought perhaps I might even find Maellorn if I was fortunate,
where I knew Lady Aelwin would help me. I strode forth, inspired by
having an idea of where I was. I envisioned myself returning to the
palace to fall into Kurit’s dear arms. He would be overjoyed to see
me and would kiss me and hold me and likely never let me out of his
sight again. The happy thought gave me cause to smile, though I was
of course still concerned for my safety and especially that of my
child.

The days passed as I
walked, and though I lost count of them, I am fairly sure it was
the tenth or eleventh day that I saw buildings in the distance. My
heart sank somewhat as I realized there was no tower or other
indication that it would be Maellorn, but I was confident I would
be home soon once I found someone to help me.

The buildings turned
out to be quite small, so the town was closer than I had realized,
with mountains looming perhaps a day’s walk south of them. I
approached the homes eagerly, anticipating a meal and a bed before
being taken to Endren. A woman worked to pump water near the
outermost building, and I swiftly approached.

“Please,” I called to
her. “Please, I need help.”

She stopped her work
and stared at me with reservation. I came to stand near her, and
she cast an eye to my belly, her face turning hard.

“I am the wife of
Prince Kurit. Please, I was abducted from Endren, and I need to get
home.”

She looked at me in
disbelief. “The Prince is not wed,” she stated as if it were
fact.

“But he is! I am his
wife. I am Princess Aenna.”

“Who?”

I saw others come out
of their homes to see what was occurring. They stared at me
suspiciously once they noticed I was with child.

“I am Kurit’s wife. I
married him last summer. Surely, this cannot be unknown to
you?”

“We have heard of no
royal wedding,” said a gruff old man.

“Granted, it takes a
long time for news to reach us,” said the woman who had been
pumping the water, “but we would have heard, had there been a
wedding.”

I was dumbfounded. They
didn’t know who I was. They had never heard my name. I decided to
appeal to their decency instead. “I speak the truth, but even if
you doubt me, please, I need help. I am far from home and close to
birth.”

“You’ll not have your
bastard child here, harlot!” cried an old woman from her porch.
Murmurs of agreement swept those who gawked. There were perhaps
fifteen people now.

“Bastard child?” I
repeated, aghast at the idea. “This is the son or daughter of your
future King! This child is the next heir to the throne after
Kurit!”

“You speak treason with
your lies!” cried the first woman. She bent to the ground, picked
up a pebble and hurled it viciously at me.

Cries of “harlot” and
“whore” rung out as the others joined the stoning. I covered my
head and turned my back, trying to reason with them. It was clearly
to no avail, so I hurried away. They pursued me some distance,
casting stones and screaming at me that I would not bring my
immorality to their town.

Finally they stopped
their pursuit when I was clearly heading away from their homes. I
sobbed in fear and anguish. How could they be so cruel? I was not a
whore!

I found a seat by a
great tree and wept for a long time. I was weak, tired, sore,
filthy, and so very hungry. In my fatigue, I wondered if I would
meet the same fate at any town and decided I could not risk it. I
remembered Cael’s invitation to Staelorn, but I was afraid to head
directly west and end up crossing through further populated areas.
Even if I did, how could I be sure that I would be allowed to see
Cael when I arrived? I had no doubt that he would recognize me and
help me in an instant, but what if his guards or the guards even of
Staelorn refused me admittance?

I wept desperately,
unsure what to do, knowing only that my desire to be at home was
overwhelming. I am ashamed now to remember how weak I was, but the
truth of it is I was alone and afraid. I cried myself to sleep at
the foot of that tree, waking only when the sun was down and a
chill settled in. I rose and walked again, afraid I would freeze to
death if I did not keep moving.

Two days later, I was
very close to the mountains and came to a wide river at their feet.
It was obviously the Great Kal, and I knew I could follow it almost
entirely to Endren. So I walked along the shores, my belly growing
bigger despite my hunger, and I worried in every moment that my
poor child would die inside me because I was not feeding either of
us. Every time I felt a kick or movement, I breathed a sigh of
relief.

My weariness and hunger
soon made me delirious. At times I thought I heard Kurit’s voice
calling my name, and I would look frantically about for him, only
to realize I was alone. Knowing I was going mad, I took to talking
to my baby, telling him or her about Kurit and Jarik, stories of
our wedding and how happy we were. I spoke of how good King Tarken
was, and how delighted he would be to behold a grandson or
granddaughter. It soothed me to speak out loud, though my paranoia
increased nonetheless. Had I actually come across a living soul, I
would have hidden myself unless I saw that them to be my husband or
Champion.

In a sad attempt to
feed myself, I gathered handfuls of last summer’s grass and twisted
it together, braiding the twists into a snare cord. I worked at it
as I walked and completed it in good time. Then I realized I had no
bait to lay in the snare, nor did I have a knife to gut the carcass
of whatever fanciful beast would be attracted to the lack of bait.
I screamed out curses in anger and depression and flung the rope
into the river, watching in depression as it was carried away by
the swift water.

The days passed, and
soon I knew I was close to the time of birth. I wept continuously,
certain my child would die as I was far from help, food, or
shelter. When my pains and the first flows of birthing fluid began,
I knew the time was upon me. I prayed to the Gods to please let my
baby live and let me live long enough to take the child home
safely.

In a rare moment of
clarity, I gathered together a large pile of grass and old, decayed
leaves and set it at the foot of a tree near a part of the river
that was reasonably calm, with access to the frigid water. I
removed my lower underclothes and tore out the lower layer of my
dress. I took several strips from it and laid them to the side, and
then I laid out the cloth carefully as well.

I knelt facing the
tree, the pile of soft refuse under me, and gripped the tree hard
when the pains hit. As they came closer together, taking with them
my remaining energy, I squatted in what was surely an obscene
manner and leaned on the tree, letting the weight of the child help
me to birth it. Hours felt as months as the pain wracked my whole
weakened body.

I remember little but
excruciating pain and hearing myself cry out weakly throughout the
birth. I felt helpless and afraid, and I shook with pain and sobs.
When finally it was over, I looked down to see a wrinkled, bloody
baby boy there, writhing in the soft grass pile.

Weeping such that I
could hardly see, I groped blindly until I felt two of the strips I
had torn. I managed somehow to tie them tightly around the cord
that protruded from my child’s stomach and then picked up my baby
for the first time. I cradled him in my arms but then realized by
some miracle of wit that he was not crying. I turned him over and
soundly pounded his tiny backside until he spat out fluid and let
out a great yell. I had thought him to be dying, and his robust cry
was a delight to me. I smiled through my tears as I cradled him and
laid myself down on the cold ground once I had passed the placenta.
He howled in the cold, so I reached for the cloth I had torn and
dried his skin as best I could and then unlaced my dress and put
him up against my chest, between my breasts. I wrapped my arms
around him in an attempt to warm his tiny body without smothering
him. Then I fainted away.

I awoke some time later
in darkness, feeling wet. My infant son had urinated on me, leaving
me even filthier than I already was. My legs were wet as well. I
panicked when I saw how much blood there was around me. Then I
recalled having read a book of midwifery during my biological
studies—a book Kordos had condemned as unsuitable for a lady’s
reading, which was of course precisely what made me want to read
it. The book had said a great deal of blood was to be expected
after the placenta had been delivered, and I managed to convince
myself I was not bleeding to death. This was easier once I
considered the fact that I wouldn’t have been able to do anything
about it, even if I was.

Recalling the book also
made me realize I had more to do. I had to find sharp stones with
which to cut between the ties I’d made on the cord, and I had to
clean up the area before we were smelled by beasts of prey. It was
reasonable to assume there might be wolves in this area of
Keshaerlan.

It took great effort to
sit myself up against the tree. I found some stones by the river’s
edge and used them to do a ragged but complete job of cutting the
cord that had bound my son to myself in my womb. He cried in the
cold, breaking my heart with the shrillness of it. I cast the pile
of refuse, which held the placenta and most of my blood, into the
river, hoping the moving scent would distract any predators.

While at the river’s
edge, I washed the cloth I had torn and wiped some of the blood
from myself. I rinsed the cloth again when I was done and then
placed it under one of my arms to warm it. When it was no longer
freezing cold, I tried again to wash the poor little infant as I
lay by the tree with him once more.

The washing made him
cry again. I cooed at him softly, moving his little mouth to my
breast when I was done. I could not recall from the book if there
would be anything there for him yet or not. I hoped simply that I
had eaten enough that there would be nourishment for him
eventually.

His skin felt so cold,
and I panicked as to what to do for him. I put my dirty, matted
hair over him and pulled the cloth I had used to clean him over him
as best I could. His mouth found my nipple and began to suckle
immediately, and I slept once more.

FOR SEVERAL DAYS I
remained where I had given birth to recuperate, fearful that if I
began my journey home again too soon I would be too weak to
succeed. I ate what I could of old grasses strewn about, knowing I
gained no nutrition from them, but just needing something in my
empty belly. I began to menstruate, which made me an even further
mess, as I had nothing with which I could properly tend to it. I
suffered from a depression unlike I’d ever known at being so
filthy, helpless, and alone.

Though I was still
tired and sore, after the sixth day I forced myself to continue on.
I stumbled along with my son cradled in my dress. I don’t remember
most of it, for I believe I was barely conscious, driven by the
need to take my baby to his father. I heard voices around me and
learned to ignore them, for there was never a human in sight. I
forgot at times even that I had the child in my arms, waking from
my stupor only when his shrill cry reminded me to put him to my
breast to be fed.

After two or three days
of this nonsense, I saw a farmhouse in the distance. I wanted to
ask for help, but I was fearful to do so. Instead, I waited until
darkness and then crept to the house. I peeked into the window and
saw an older couple with a young girl, seated at a table together.
I envisioned them cursing me as the townsfolk had and decided not
to risk exposing my baby to them. I crept to their barn, where
there was no horse and only one cow. There was a barrel of grain
there, and I stole greedy handfuls of it, filling my mouth and
choking the stuff down dry. It scratched my throat raw, but I
didn’t care. I ate until I thought I would be sick.

I saw a large woollen
blanket hanging on a hook. The material was dirty, damp, and
unpleasant to touch, but I stole it anyway. After wrapping it
around myself and my son, I stumbled back into the night. I wanted
to cry for what I had done, what I had been reduced to, but I was
too tired. I had long forgotten what it was to be warm,
comfortable, free of pain, or to taste a good meal.

The next day I passed a
waterfall in the distance and knew by its great height that I was
close to where the river would intersect with the King’s Road.
Though I had become convinced that anyone I saw would either be in
league with Sashken or think me a harlot, the prospect of reaching
the road that led home eased my spirit for the first time since I
had been stoned. My pains somehow seemed lesser at the thought of
being close to home.

As the sun fell the
next day, I saw the window lights of what I assumed to be Ashlen,
the closest Aleshan town to Endren. I went wide around it in my mad
fear but was further comforted by the knowledge I would soon be
home.

When finally the
afternoon came that I reached the well-travelled King’s Road, I
took stock of my situation. My shoes had worn almost completely
away, one of them with barely enough whole material to keep the
worn sole to my foot. My clothes were torn, stiff with filth, and
smelled abominable. My hair was matted such that I wondered if it
would all have to be cut off—a sad thought, since it was its length
that had saved me and my son. We were wrapped in a dirty barn
blanket that smelled terrible and made my skin itch.

As I walked down the
road, I realized that I would be as an unrecognizable beggar to all
whom I passed. I kept the hood of the blanket hanging over my face,
paranoid with the idea that anyone who saw me would alert the
wretched Sashken and she would have her hideous plans finally
carried out.