"Fetch the buckets, and quickly girl, go find the midwife". The Old woman mumbled a silent prayer, as she passed the courtyard. Her steps were slow but precise, countering any shouts of the madame, for two nights she has labored and still the babe refuses to come.
The Old crone opened the wooden door, entering the many passageways and shortcuts to the back entrance of the castle. She had a long walk ahead of her due to the precaution the grandmaster delegated amongst them.
All she could feel was the coldness of the stones and the steepness of the steps weighing a heavy burden on her legs. By the end of tonight she will be sore and swollen at the ankles. If not already, she thought. The babe must come quickly or else another must be mourned and buried.
She lost three boys in her time. Strong as steel like they're father but he had wits about him something they didn't instill in theirs. A regret for another time perhaps. The only child that remained to them both is their daughter. She gave them three grandsons. The irony that presented itself did not go unnoticed. She had her fair experience on the matter.
She could only hope that the child would pass, they would mourn of course but another can be had. If it is to go down the path she feared, the child's future will remain bleak. His father is not a forgiving man. And the worst punishment to a babe is a neglectful father full of spite even envy if it came to that.
The madame must live, she thought, she hoped, she prayed, eyeing the courtyard, as if pleading with it to listen, to heed.
She was almost there to the top. So lost in thought she was, a thing that has been happening a lot at her age. She wondered if her mother ever felt this way when she was with child.
As soon as she reached the top quarters, she began stretching her limbs to ease the pain. The madam screams were loud even with a sore throat she had a voice like an opera singer. Oh, how it wailed back and forth, breaking and rising all in one.
The girl must hurry so that not a drop of water can be wasted on those dingy steps. The Old woman walked to the door with strength. Now was not the time to show her unsteadiness, her unease, nor her fright.
"Grandmaster, the girl is making haste I assure you. Please, take leave at the door. I shall try my best to bring comfort". He nodded, not making much fuss on the matter. Haggard and battered he may be but he had the strength of a bear and the fear of a fish. To combine the two was a match to be seen, the inner battle clear as day on his face.
The door closes softly. "Oh, you sweet thing. Can you stand, dear?"
A bleak nod was all she could muster. The strength left her swiftly, but she steadied herself like women do when the time calls for it.
"Good. You've laid on that bed long enough. The midwife will be with us shortly. I need you to breathe, your body is not accustomed to this since it's your first. Now listen to me as best as you can. If the midwife calls it quit and is unable to help you bear this child, you will be given two choices.
The first is to kill the baby and the second is to sacrifice you for the sake of the child.
Tell me what it is that you want while you still have your wits about you?"
"I, I, …. I, she breathes in between, want my… child to live". The rest she mumbled as she grabbed the old crone arms with an iron grip.
"Aye, I hear you child. We've both killed many, and none of it matters if we choose to blame ourselves for what is occurring now. It will do you no good. Believe me, I've seen our people kill themselves for less. Some are not cut out for our line of work against the spawns of evil themselves. And they have the nerve to call themselves human beings". She was going on a rampant rage, but she found her focus once again.
Murmuring to herself.
"To speak their names is evil. To speak of their agenda is an abomination".
The Old woman held her tight, steadying her as they moved across the room. She took deep heavy breaths.
"You won't believe this but giving birth is like taking a shit. When you're in the hull and your stomach churning like needles and pins sticking at ya. That's when you have to steady yourself and breathe, in-between when you feel like it's coming then you push".
She was speaking nonsense, but it worked to ease the madam mind. She went on and on about incoherent past times of her youth. Stories that bore the hell out of her grandbabies but intrigued the madam.
She didn't know how much time had passed but the girl came with two heavy buckets on her back. Each full to the brim and behind heaved the midwife.
A woman old like herself but still had some youth left in her.
"Glory to the almighty. In name alone does he seek out the poor burden souls". The midwife recited her chant. It was effective 50% of the time.
"She must stand, to lay her back in bed would kill her for sure". The Old crone told the midwife. They agreed that the only option was to retrieve the baby. In silent whispers they spoke. "Alright dear we must at least try. Do you have any strength left to push?"
All that they received was hollow screams.
As she stood open and bare the color of her skin turned paler. Flushed red cheeks she adorned, the sweat on her skin felt like a fire. She was dying and there was nothing to be done. Without question they prepared her for what is to come.
She bit down hard on the leather belt as they cut into her. The girl and the crone held her as best they could. The madam had a tolerance for all sorts of pain but this felt like hell fire, the pain was never ending and the deeper she cut the more she stumbled. Until finally she fell to her knees. No longer did she call out only tears remained. She gave out then and there silently like a whisper.
They knew and they were certain that the bear knew too. Gone she left this world's eyes open and with it another came. A cry so mighty it could make all hearts melt.
The midwife cleaned the babe as best she could. The girl trembled as she looked over the madam's body. "Leave it, I will tend to her. Go inform the grandmaster, tell him he has a son".
That the girl could do.
They expected a shout, a broken wall perhaps, but nothing came. All they could hear were the deep sighs of the bear. The heavy falls and rises it took. When he finally entered his face was streakened with tears. He did not look upon his wife, instead he took the babe in hand and left.
They understood that he wished to remember his wife and not the lifeless remains of the madam.
Quickly and quietly they descended down those steps. Wrap in linen they carried her to be tended and mended by the grievers in the catacombs.