Frances heard a shriek as she approached the cottage door. Joseph hovered outside the threshold, twisting his cap in his hands. \u201cShe\u2019s bad, Frances. Says she can\u2019t take the pain.\u201d<\/p>\n
The old woman gave him a dismissive wave. \u201cAh, she\u2019ll be fine, lad. It\u2019s nature\u2019s way.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cWhat should I do?\u201d He was barely more than a boy, less than a year married. His face, normally nut brown from working in the fields all day, had a grey cast to it.<\/p>\n
Frances shouldered past him, Margaret right behind her. \u201cJust stay out of the way, boy, and let us work. I\u2019ve never lost a baby nor a mama yet, and I don\u2019t intend today to be my first.\u201d<\/p>\n
Inside the cottage was dark, air thick with the smells of smoke, sweat, and urine. Frances could dimly make out Essie\u2019s form writhing on the small bed against the far wall. \u201cMargaret, get the window open and put on water to boil,\u201d she said, rummaging in her bag of supplies. The packets of powders and herbs went on the cottage\u2019s rickety table; Margaret would know without being told how to mix them. <\/p>\n
Frances carried the birthing stool and linen to the bedside. \u201cNow then, young Essie, let\u2019s have a look at you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Essie\u2019s round face glistened, her cornsilk hair flattened against her scalp. \u201cOh, Frances, it hurts something terrible. I think something\u2019s wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances pushed back the blanket and peered between Essie\u2019s legs, pressing one hand against the swollen belly. \u201cNonsense, girl. Your mother said the same thing when she birthed you, and you were no trouble at all. We\u2019ve time yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
While Margaret boiled water and brewed the herbs, Frances got Essie out of bed and on her feet. At first she resisted, but Frances eventually got her to walk a circle around the small room. When Essie\u2019s next labor pains struck, the old woman helped her sink into a squatting position on the low birthing stool. \u201cMargaret, hold her up.\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret set aside the cup of brewed herbs and moved to support Essie\u2019s lower back. She was a thin, fragile-looking girl, but Frances knew she was far stronger than she seemed, and holding up Essie\u2019s limp weight posed no challenge. Frances eased down onto one knee, wincing at the stiffness in her bad hip. Pushing up Essie\u2019s skirt, she leaned down to check her again. <\/p>\n
At first glance, it appeared to be the start of a normal crowning. The lips of the vulva were stretched over a round, smooth surface, one a little bigger than a balled-up fist. Then Frances frowned and took a closer look. It was the right size to be the baby\u2019s head, true, but it was too dark, too shiny. Even if Essie had been bleeding, it wouldn\u2019t have stained the scalp that deep, gleaming black. <\/p>\n
When Frances leaned up, Margaret\u2019s sharp brown eyes were watching her. Breech? she mouthed from behind Essie. The midwife shook her head. <\/p>\n
\u201cEssie, bite down on this, now. I\u2019ve got to reach in.\u201d She passed Margaret a leather strap and smeared her fingers with goose grease from a small jar. <\/p>\n
Essie tensed and let out a groan when Frances slipped her fingers past the mass. Frances felt around the sides of the object, pulse quickening with each moment that passed. The shape her fingers traced was a smooth ovoid. No limbs, no face, no bones. In place of soft, yielding flesh was a slick carapace or shell, hard as stone under Frances\u2019 fingers. As she explored, there was a flutter, some tapping from within, a pulse or a kick. <\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it? What\u2019s wrong with him?\u201d Essie\u2019s voice came out shrill and garbled around the strip of leather.<\/p>\n
Frances forced herself to meet Essie\u2019s eyes. Poor girl, she thought. And it\u2019s her first. \u201cWe can\u2019t know till you\u2019ve birthed,\u201d she said, and could see that Essie was too scared to ask again.<\/p>\n
The rest of the labor Frances handled like any other, instructing Margaret to rub Essie\u2019s back when the pains came, applying salve to prevent tearing and blood loss. When the time came to push, Margaret moved to ready the linens. Frances watched her face, could see the shock pass over her features when she saw what was coming out. But then the girl steeled herself and looked away, busying herself with preparations. Frances took Essie\u2019s hand in her own arthritic fingers, not allowing herself to wince no matter how hard the girl squeezed.<\/p>\n
It came out smoothly, and Frances could see right away that Essie was in no danger. Margaret caught it as it slipped from between Essie\u2019s legs, a perfectly even, black shape, like obsidian with the edges smoothed away. There was no cord, nothing attaching it to Essie\u2019s body. Margaret\u2019s hands trembled as they held it, her throat working as she swallowed convulsively. <\/p>\n
\u201cWhy isn\u2019t he crying?\u201d Essie gasped. \u201cWhy isn\u2019t he crying?\u201d<\/p>\n
She leaned forward and saw what she had delivered into the world, and the scream that ripped from her throat seemed to pierce Frances down to her bones.
\n<\/p>\n
By the time Frances and Margaret emerged from the cottage, Father Godfrey and the steward had arrived and stood waiting with Joseph. The sun, which had been high when Essie\u2019s labor began, touched the horizon. \u201cWell, is it true?\u201d the steward demanded.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs what true, Master Hugh?\u201d Frances asked, unable to conceal her irritation. <\/p>\n
\u201cThat there has been a demon born here.\u201d He was a short, stocky man with rough peasant\u2019s features but an immaculately trimmed beard and a fine wardrobe. His pale face reddened when he was angry or nervous; at the moment he appeared nearly purple. <\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about Essie? Is she ill? Can you not help her, Frances?\u201d Joseph pleaded. <\/p>\n
Frances patted the young man on the arm. \u201cShe\u2019s had a shock, but she\u2019ll live. We gave her medicine to calm her and help her sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n
Joseph shifted from one foot to the other, eyes darting toward the cottage door. Father Godfrey cleared his throat. \u201cAnd what of the… the birth?\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances turned to Margaret. The girl held a basket in front of her, awkwardly, not letting it touch her body. She set it on the ground and took a hasty step back. Frances reached down and lifted the soiled cloth to reveal what lay inside. <\/p>\n
\u201cMother of God,\u201d the steward breathed. Father Godfrey made the sign of the cross, eyes wide. Joseph, seeing it for the second time, let out an anguished gasp and moved a short distance away from the rest of them. <\/p>\n
It lay cushioned by linens as though it were a real child. Dotting its surface were flecks of blood and mucus, residue that Frances would have cleaned off of a normal baby but could not bring herself to do now. As she pulled more of the cloth away to reveal it entirely, it gave a little twitch. <\/p>\n
Hugh darted back as if it had sprung at him. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d <\/p>\n
Frances pursed her lips, shifting to her good leg. \u201cYou think I know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re the midwife. You delivered the thing. How can you not know what it is?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I know it\u2019s no baby,\u201d she snapped.<\/p>\n
Father Godfrey inched closer and bent over to inspect it. The hem of his cassock trailed in the dust before his feet. \u201cHas it been moving since the birth?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSince before,\u201d Margaret murmured. \u201cWe attended to Essie throughout her pregnancy and always there was kicking. What we thought was kicking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cClearly, it is of the devil,\u201d the steward interjected. <\/p>\n
\u201cYe\u2019re an expert on devils now, are ye?\u201d Frances muttered. <\/p>\n
Hugh shot her a poisonous look and turned to Father Godfrey. \u201cWhat is your opinion of it, Father?\u201d<\/p>\n
The priest bit his lip, eyes fixed on the thing in the basket. He was a tall, thin man with a face younger than his years. His sandy hair and large grey eyes always reminded Frances of a skittish fawn. \u201cI have never heard of its like,\u201d he said at last. \u201cIt looks like an egg, but seems to made of some stone or mineral…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, we can see that. Could it be that the woman fornicated with a demon, producing this?\u201d the steward asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shut your foul mouth!\u201d Joseph shouted, rushing toward Hugh. Father Godfrey managed to get between the two men before blows were exchanged. Frances glanced at Margaret, who eyed the steward with undisguised contempt. <\/p>\n
\u201cYou are obviously under duress, so I will forget that this incident occurred,\u201d Hugh said, adjusting his jerkin. \u201cBut it is plain as day that that thing is a source of evil. If it is an egg, then it will one day hatch, and I do not wish to see what is inside. \u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cThat does not mean it was Essie\u2019s doing,\u201d Father Godfrey replied, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. \u201cIt could be the result of an evil committed against her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho could perform such a curse?\u201d the steward asked. <\/p>\n
None of them spoke. The only sound was the clucking of Essie\u2019s hens as they pecked in the dirt around the wood pile. \u201cWould you have any knowledge of how to perform such a spell?\u201d Hugh stared at Frances as he asked the question. Father Godfrey\u2019s eyes widened and he bit his lip.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be daft. I know nothing of spells,\u201d Frances said, lowering herself into a sitting position on the chopping block next to the woodpile. She forced herself to sound bored, secretly wondering if the day had finally arrived, as she always knew it would. <\/p>\n
The steward folded his arms. \u201cIt is said that no mother or child you have attended has died. Surely the villagers exaggerate?\u201d<\/p>\n
To her left, Frances felt Margaret\u2019s body tense. \u201cTis no exaggeration,\u201d Frances answered calmly. \u201cAll have lived, although some do not show due gratitude.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh\u2019s face darkened further. Frances remembered the day he slid into her arms, blue and still with the cord wrapped around his neck. Two breaths into his sticky mouth and a slap to the arse had forced air into his lungs and set him squalling like any other newborn. Francis wondered now if she should have slapped him harder. <\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d wager that such success is unknown, even for the most skilled midwife. One might be forgiven for suggesting it might even appear to be sorcery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrances is a godly woman, Master Hugh. It is not her doing,\u201d Father Godfrey interjected quickly.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh,\u201d the steward said, raising an eyebrow, \u201cyou are certain of this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSurely you are aware, Master Hugh, that all midwives must receive the approval of the bishop himself.\u201d Margaret\u2019s voice came out low and mild, but her glare was like frost. \u201cFrances has had permission renewed by three successive bishops, one just last year during his visit to the manor. Do you suggest that the bishop is incapable of identifying a witch?\u201d<\/p>\n
The steward\u2019s eyes widened. \u201cI suggest no such thing! I simply–\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, then, let us stop wasting time and discuss what to do with the abomination.\u201d She folded her hands primly in front of her apron. Frances had to feign a fit of coughing to hide her laughter. <\/p>\n
Joseph stared at the basket with loathing. \u201cWe destroy it. We break it open and kill whatever is inside and burn anything that remains.\u201d<\/p>\n
Father Godfrey picked at the front of his cassock. \u201cWe are not yet certain that it is of demonic origin…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am.\u201d Joseph strode to the woodpile and seized his ax. The priest and the steward took several steps back, giving him wide berth. <\/p>\n
Hefting the ax in both arms, Joseph paused, a hint of doubt in his eyes. Then, shaking his head once, he lifted it over his head and brought it down on the egg. <\/p>\n
There was a clanging sound, like the church bell, and the ax bounced back into the air. Joseph staggered back, nearly dropping it. From where she sat on the stump, Frances peered into the basket. The thing appeared untouched. <\/p>\n
\u201cHere,\u201d the steward said quietly, holding out his hand, \u201clet me try.\u201d<\/p>\n
He met with no better result. \u201cIt\u2019s like trying to cut an anvil!\u201d Hugh gasped, rubbing his right hand in his left. <\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps…\u201d Father Godfrey fished a small vial out his pocket, recited a prayer, and dribbled holy water over the black shell. <\/p>\n
They waited. Margaret reached down and nudged it with one knuckle. \u201cI feel no movement.\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances hauled herself to her feet and touched it with the toe of her shoe. It immediately began to twitch, rocking back and forth within the basket. <\/p>\n
\u201cIt seems to respond only to you.\u201d Hugh said quietly, eyeing Frances. Nobody replied.<\/p>\n
By the time full night had descended, they had determined that neither blades, nor fire, nor the touch of a crucifix could kill what had emerged from Essie\u2019s womb. Frances\u2019 back ached from sitting so long, and she shuffled back inside the cottage to check on Essie again. The girl still slept; Frances had given her enough tincture of opium to ensure that she would not wake until morning. She had no signs of fever or infection; Frances wondered what illnesses could arise from birthing such a thing, and if she would be able to help if Essie showed symptoms. <\/p>\n
Back outside, the steward and the priest argued about what to do with the thing overnight. \u201cIt cannot come into the church!\u201d Father Godfrey protested. <\/p>\n
\u201cWell, it cannot be left here. And it certainly will not be taken to the manor,\u201d Hugh objected.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe should have the bishop\u2019s counsel,\u201d Father Godfrey fretted. <\/p>\n
The steward sighed. \u201cA message will not reach him for two days.\u201d<\/p>\n
Finally, they agreed that it would be locked in a chest and buried until they received instructions from the bishop. Father Godfrey set off to the church to fetch a chest while Joseph and the steward stood guard. \u201cWe\u2019ll be on home, then,\u201d Frances announced, climbing to her feet with a groan. Hugh looked like he wanted to object but held his tongue.<\/p>\n
Margaret laid a hand on Joseph\u2019s shoulder. \u201cWe\u2019ll be back early to tend to Essie.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded, defeated stare fixed on the egg. <\/p>\n
Margaret and Frances said nothing on the walk back to their hut. Once inside, Frances settled in front of the fire with a long sigh. The hut was small but well-built, with bundles of dried herbs hanging from its low ceiling. It smelled of rosemary, onions, and the rabbit stew they had left simmering in the hearth when they left. Margaret lifted the lid of the stewpot and stirred its contents with a ladle. \u201cPerhaps it is not wise for you to anger the steward so,\u201d she murmured without looking at Frances. <\/p>\n
\u201cHm. I could get on my old knees and kiss that bastard\u2019s boots, and he\u2019d still think me a witch.\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret said nothing until they finished their meal. \u201cHe was right about something. It responds only to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAye,\u201d Frances said quietly, adding a stick of wood to the dying embers of the hearth.<\/p>\n
\u201cCould it be,\u201d Margaret began slowly, \u201cthat it is not Essie who is the target of malice, but you? How better to strike against a midwife?\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances said nothing. Half of her hoped that Margaret\u2019s wits failed for once and led her to the wrong conclusion. The other half wanted to tell her.<\/p>\n
Margaret continued. \u201cBut there is no one in this village who you have angered, besides the steward, and I doubt that such a boorish fool would have the knowledge for magic. And no one could find fault with your midwifery; everyone knows that many children and mothers would die without your skills.\u201d Her sharp features radiated intensity. \u201cSo the question is, who would benefit from stillbirths and women dying in labor?\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances gazed into the hearth. She could feel Margaret watching her. \u201cIt\u2019s not all skill,\u201d she said at last. \u201cA lot of it is, mind. I learned my trade well, from one who knew it well. But there\u2019s more to it. These hands…\u201d She smiled bitterly and gazed down at her fingers, gnarled and twisted as the roots of a tree. \u201cThese old hands, they can conquer demons.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe first time was me fourth birth. I remember it well…<\/p>\n
I was still young then, still apprenticed to Old Hannah. I knew much already, all of the herbs and elixirs, knew when it was proper to use feverfew and ground willow bark. I could see when there be twins and know the place of the unborn babe in a mother\u2019s belly. But I had not yet delivered a baby on me own, and the thought of managing without Old Hannah scared the life out of me.<\/p>\n
This time was a hard labor of a woman who had birthed five times before, with only one baby living. Her pains lasted through the night and into the morning. By the time she was ready, she was almost too spent to push, wouldn\u2019t until Old Hannah gave her a good talking to. <\/p>\n
I myself hadn\u2019t slept. Bone-tired, I was. I didn\u2019t even know the baby was coming out until Old Hannah gave me a slap and told me to pay attention.<\/p>\n
It was without breath when it came out into Hannah\u2019s hands. But I could see it had no cord around its neck, knew it had moved only hours before. Knew it should live. Old Hannah tried to bring it back, flipped it over onto its tum and gave it a smack on its back, but it still didn\u2019t breath.<\/p>\n
When Old Hannah turned the little body over on its back, that\u2019s when I sees it. At first I thought it was a caul, but a caul wouldn\u2019t be black. It was something alive, something black fixed on the baby\u2019s face, like a little patch of black fog. There were no eyes or arms that I could see, just a wee mouth, and it had it around the baby\u2019s. <\/p>\n
I was scared out of me wits, I don\u2019t mind telling you. I screamed like a fool and backed away, but Old Hannah didn\u2019t even see it. She just yelled at me to bring the bag, stop being such a ninny.<\/p>\n
I knew why she wanted the bag. She\u2019d given up on the poor thing, needed the holy water to say the sacraments since there was no priest. Well, I wasn\u2019t having that. I didn\u2019t even think about what I was doing, I just stepped over and ripped that evil thing from the baby\u2019s face. It fought me fierce, it did, tried to stay stuck to his little mouth, but I got the best of it. The moment I got it off the baby, it just broke apart, turned into soot and dropped all over the floor. <\/p>\n
\u2018What are you doing?\u2019 Old Hannah asks me, spitting mad. I ignores her, for once, and touched the baby\u2019s chest. Didn\u2019t know why, just that I had to. I felt something, something moving between me and it, and then its eyes opened and it started to cry. <\/p>\n
\u201cOld Hannah saw it happen. She looked at me like I was the Holy Virgin her own self. But we never talked of it, not once until the day she died. I\u2019m no witch, you see. There\u2019s no spells or deals with the Devil. But when a child is born dead, I can bring it back. And when it is born with one of those demons…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou destroy them.\u201d Margaret\u2019s eyes were wide. She was silent for a moment. Then: \u201cThis is not a skill that can be taught?\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances covered the girl\u2019s hand with her own. \u201cNo, child. I don\u2019t even understand how I do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret took a deep, shaking breath. \u201cAnd when you are gone and I am village midwife, children will start to die again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. Not many. Ye\u2019re a good midwife, Margaret, better than I ever was. Better than Old Hannah, even. But there\u2019ll be some with demons, or ones who are beyond teas and medicines.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019ll be powerless to save them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances was silent for a time. At last, \u201cYe\u2019ll save more than ye lose, girl. That\u2019s what you must remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
She waited while Margaret cried in silence, just a steady drizzle of tears trailing down her stony face. When the girl was finished, she let out one heavy sigh, wiped her cheeks, and began tidying up after their supper. \u201cYou believe the thing Essie birthed has something to do with the demons you\u2019ve thwarted?\u201d she asked, scrubbing one of the bowls.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t see any way around it. It don\u2019t look like one of em, but it has the same feel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut this one survives your touch.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAye. They found a way to send something I can\u2019t kill. I think it\u2019s the shell keeps it safe.\u201d Frances stood and shuffled over to her pallet. \u201cI\u2019ll sleep on the matter. Tomorrow we\u2019ll decide on what\u2019s to be done.\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances woke before first light. At first she thought it was the throbbing ache in her joints that had woken her, as happened most days now. But her heart pounded and there was the tang of fear in her mouth; she made herself still and listened for what had broken her sleep. <\/p>\n
There. Something rustled outside the door. Frances rose as quietly as she could, slipping past Margaret\u2019s pallet. She found their one carving knife and gripped it in her trembling fingers. Pausing with her hand on the latch, she listened for what lay beyond the door. All was quiet. <\/p>\n
Before she could lose her nerve, Frances lifted the latch and flung open the door, knife ready. <\/p>\n
The egg lay on the ground outside the hut. As Frances took a cautious step toward it, it began to rock back and forth. Even while standing several feet away, she could hear the sounds emanating from it. These sounds weren\u2019t weak clicks and stirrings, as before; now it was a hard, steady series of taps, a chisel on stone. <\/p>\n
\u201cFrances?\u201d Margaret\u2019s sleepy voice drifted out from the hut. <\/p>\n
\u201cAll\u2019s well, Margaret. Stay inside.\u201d Frances tore her gaze away from the thing, fixed her eyes on the smear of heather grey where the sun would soon spill over the horizon. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and held her arms closer to her body in an effort to ward off the morning chill. Winter was coming on fast, she knew, but at that moment she realized that she would never see another snow. That\u2019s something, at least, the old woman thought with a grim smile.<\/p>\n
Margaret appeared in the doorway. \u201cHow…\u201d she breathed.<\/p>\n
\u201cImpatient little thing, isn\u2019t it?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cShould we–\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d Frances cut her off. \u201cBreakfast first. We\u2019ll deal with this thing after we\u2019ve eaten.\u201d As she shuffled back to the hut, Frances aimed a solid kick at the egg, sending it rolling across the garden. <\/p>\n
As instructed, Margaret prepared a hearty breakfast, far larger than their usual meals. Bread with honey, cheese, bacon. Frances ate slowly but finished everything in front of her. Margaret merely picked at her food. <\/p>\n
\u201cThe steward will find the box unearthed and empty. Do you think he will think to look here?\u201d she asked at last.<\/p>\n
Frances shrugged. <\/p>\n
\u201cBefore, we could deny that it was anything to do with you,\u201d Margaret pressed. \u201cBut since it has come here… What if Father Godfrey changes his mind, begins to think you a witch?\u201d<\/p>\n
Frances let out a laugh. \u201cGodfrey\u2019ll never turn on me. He knows I know too much.\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret raised a quizzical eyebrow. Frances leaned close and lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. \u201cNext time you see young ones playing in the village, see if you can spot the one who has his eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret\u2019s mouth dropped open, but she said nothing. <\/p>\n
Frances continued. \u201cThat bloody Hugh, on the other hand…\u201d<\/p>\n
The tapping outside grew louder. Margaret rose and peeked outside, opening the door only a crack. \u201cFrances,\u201d she said, voice tense.<\/p>\n
Pulling the door all the way open, Frances squatted down to examine the egg. There was a tiny hole, scarcely bigger than a pinprick. Something sharp and white emerged from within, chipping and scraping until another tiny piece fell away. <\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019d be the egg tooth,\u201d Frances murmured. <\/p>\n
She stood. \u201cMargaret, Essie\u2019ll need checking. Go to her and make sure there\u2019s no fever.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll not be leaving you alone with this!\u201d Margaret protested.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll do as you\u2019re told, girl.\u201d Frances said the words sharply, though it pained her to be harsh with the girl. <\/p>\n
Margaret bit her lip and slowly started gathering her supplies. Frances watched her in silence for a moment. \u201cIt\u2019s Widow Cavendish. The one what had a child by Godfrey. He had me convince her to remain silent, but she\u2019d speak if the story needed telling. And Master Hugh bedded the lord\u2019s daughter. She came to me and I gave her what she needed to kill it in the womb. But you must speak of that only if Hugh makes an accusation, only if it means your life.\u201d<\/p>\n
Margaret slipped the bag over her shoulder. \u201cWhy are you telling me this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll my secrets are yours now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat will you do?\u201d she asked quietly.<\/p>\n
Frances crossed the room and embraced the girl. \u201cOnly what must be done.\u201d She patted Margaret\u2019s cheek. \u201cDon\u2019t you worry. This old woman\u2019s got a trick or two yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tears welled up in Margaret\u2019s eyes. \u201cFrances, please…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGo now. Off with you.\u201d She waved a hand at the door.<\/p>\n
Margaret hesitated, opened and closed her mouth. Finally, taking a deep breath, she walked out of the hut and started on the path to the village. Frances waited until the girl disappeared over the hillside before gathering her things. <\/p>\n
By the time Frances approached her destination, her lungs burned and her clothes were damp with sweat. \u201cRight pain in the arse, you are,\u201d she puffed, dropping the basket in the grass. \u201cMaking me walk all this way.\u201d<\/p>\n
She settled on the ground to catch her breath. Below her stretched the rocky valley north of the village. Just one or two paces from where she sat, the ground dropped away into a crumbling granite cliff face. Peering down, Frances caught sight of the stream running along the valley floor. She remembered walking there, once, when she was young. It had been a long, difficult journey to the bottom of the valley, but there had been sun and cool water and a boy she might have wed had things gone just a bit differently. Smiling, Frances let herself linger on that memory. <\/p>\n
The sound of the thing in the basket broke her out of her reverie. There was a crack as a large piece of shell gave way, revealing something darker moving inside. A black, jointed limb reached out, grasping, but it could not yet escape. <\/p>\n
\u201cFive hundred and fourteen,\u201d Frances said. \u201cThat\u2019s how many babies I\u2019ve helped to be born. And those ones grew up and had babies themselves. There\u2019s little ones today whose mothers and grandmothers I\u2019ve looked after. Never had none of my own, but I\u2019ve still brought more life into this world than you can imagine.\u201d<\/p>\n
There came a snarl from the basket, egg rocking back and forth as another piece of shell fell away. <\/p>\n
\u201cAnd that,\u201d Frances continued, \u201cis something I won\u2019t let anyone undo. I don\u2019t know where ye\u2019re from, but I know you was sent for me, and that must mean you can kill. <\/p>\n
\u201cBut ye know what else?\u201d She smiled. \u201cAn egg keeps a chick safe. Without it, the poor thing\u2019s helpless. If ye had to hide in such a strong shell, it must mean you can be hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n
One side of the egg crumbled. Another limb stretched out, dragging a leathery wing along with it. Frances rose to her feet. <\/p>\n
With one last, shuddering spasm, the shell broke apart. A dark, spindly shape launched itself out of the basket, speeding toward Frances. She caught sight of the wings, and teeth, and legs, too many and too long. Then it was upon her, serrated fangs sinking into the flesh at her throat. Run, her body screamed, fight! But she forced herself to take hold of its wings, squeezing them tight in her fists. A bone under the stretched skin cracked beneath her fingers, and the thing tried to push away, snapping its teeth and shredding the skin of her chest with its claws. Frances felt liquid warmth flowing from her neck down to the ground, knew the pain was soon to follow.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese old hands, they can conquer demons,\u201d she whispered, and, holding the creature to her breast like a child, she stepped off the edge. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Frances heard a shriek as she approached the cottage door. Joseph hovered outside the threshold, twisting his cap in his hands. \u201cShe\u2019s bad, Frances. Says she can\u2019t take the pain.\u201d The old woman gave him a dismissive wave. \u201cAh, she\u2019ll be fine, lad. It\u2019s nature\u2019s way.\u201d \u201cWhat should I do?\u201d He was barely more than …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":251,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,1411],"tags":[1412],"class_list":["post-46382","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-18-winter-2016","tag-the-colored-lens-18-winter-2016","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46382","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/251"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=46382"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46382\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139545,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46382\/revisions\/139545"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=46382"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=46382"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=46382"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}