“What does that mean?” Isaac asked from the corner.
“It means,” Imo explained, “I will need to break the babe’s collarbone in order to deliver it safely.”
Imelda lifted her head. “No!”
Imo’s voice softened. “I know it’s not what anyone wants to do, my love. But it’s our only option. The babe will heal. If we continue on this way, we may lose you both.” Imelda collapsed back onto the cot, weakly waving them on. Imo looked toward Iyana and gave a slight nod.
One drop of a tincture under Imelda’s tongue helped her immediately relax into the cot. Her breathing evened out, and her eyes fluttered closed.
“What did you give her?” Isaac exclaimed, concerned.
“Only a sleeping draught of valerian and lavender,” Iyana said. “We want to make sure she doesn’t fight against us too much. She’ll wake in fifteen minutes or so.”
Imo cleansed her hands, then reached for the babe. With a quick motion, she broke the collarbone and pulled the arm through the birthing canal. Once the arm and shoulder were free, the rest of the babe slid out easily. There were a few tense seconds of silence, but after some swift slaps to the bottom of the babe’s feet, the hut filled with cries. Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Imo cut the umbilical cord once it stopped pulsating and wrapped the babe in a cloth, handing him over to his father. Imelda was still caught in the effects of the sleeping draught and would hold her newborn son later. For now, there was still danger. Imelda was hemorrhaging. Imo massaged her now deflated stomach and delivered the afterbirth. Once done, Iyana gave Imelda another tincture, this one made of the ergot fungus in order to constrict her blood vessels and help slow the bleeding. Imo continued her massage, and eventually the hemorrhaging slowed to an acceptable trickle.
Imelda roused from the sleeping draught, reaching for her still wailing babe. “It’s a boy,” said Isaac with tears in his eyes. Imelda gave a sleepy smile and cuddled the child to her chest.
Imo began to pack her equipment. “Keep the babe warm. It’s best if his skin is against yours. And start feeding him as soon as you can. It will help keep the bleeding at bay.”
“Thank you, Mata Imo,” Imelda said weakly.
“It was my pleasure, dear. Call for me if you need anything.” Imo patted Iyana on the shoulder. She would stay with the family awhile longer, while Imo went to rest. It was difficult being in this line of work in your eighties. Iyana beamed at the new mother and set about clearing up everything.
Idris cornered Iyana that night as soon as she left Imelda, Isaac, and baby Ian.
“What now, Idris?” she sighed.
Idris stalked towards her, backing her until she was up against a wall, his body far too close to hers. Iyana hated being short, forced to look up into the man’s face. His lips curled into a smirk. “I know what you did for Isaac’s family, and I wanted to tell you how impressed I am.” He twirled a lock of her dark hair around his fingers.
She batted his hand away. “I don’t need or want you to be impressed with me.”
Idris laughed, but to Iyana, it sounded forced. “Come on, sweetheart, we had fun before, right?” He leaned in so his lips were brushing against her ear. She fought the urge the cringe away. “I could make you feel good.”
Iyana peered up at him while batting her lashes and biting her lower lip, then placed her hand on his shoulder and slowly dragged it down to his chest. Idris’s grin grew, and he hooded his eyes. As he leaned in to kiss her, she pushed him away. Hard. The smile on his face was instantly gone, but had now found a place on Iyana’s instead.
“How many times do I have to tell you it was a onetime thing, Idris, before you can get that through your thick skull?” she said, making sure her voice sounded overly sweet. “Besides,” she added in an exaggerated whisper. “I faked it the whole time. You overestimate your greatness.”
Idris was now fully frowning at her, which only made her grin so widely her cheeks hurt. “You’re getting beyond marrying age, Iyana. Soon, none of us will want you. You’ll be too old.”
Iyana’s hand flew to her chest as she let out a gasp that was louder than it needed to be. “Oh, no! Whatever shall I do without a big, muscular man to provide for me?” The ire on his face only made her want to push him even further. She flicked her hair behind her and adjusted her medical bag. Looking him straight in the eye, she deadpanned, “Good,” and sauntered away. She didn’t turn back, but she really hoped Idris was fuming. The good mood carried her the entire way home.
As she returned to her home, there was a candle still lit in Grandmother’s hut and it sounded like she was brewing tea. “Good night, Mata Imo,” she called while passing by.
“Good night, Iyana. You did well today.”
Her heart warmed at the words; Imo wasn’t one to hand out praise easily. It made her hopeful she might become a full healer in a couple more moons. Iyana absentmindedly brushed her fingers over her bare wrist where her own ouroboros tattoo would reside. The snake devouring its own tail had been the sigil of the healers for millennia, and she was determined to study harder to join their ranks. Ducking into her hut, she let out a contented sigh, brewing her own cup of tea.
The hut wasn’t much, but it was hers and had all she needed—a small bathing chamber, a straw-filled cot, a cozy hearth for cooler nights, and plenty of shelving for all her medicinal ingredients. And she lived right next door to Grandmother, which was convenient if she needed help with any particularly difficult patients. She glanced at the night sky through the window.
“Do not stare at the stars, Iyana,” Imo chastised from next door. Iyana chuckled. Somehow, the old woman always knew when she peeked. Ever since she was a little girl, it was always the same.Do not stare at the stars, Iyana. The stars are not what they seem, Iyana.It only served to make her more curious about the flickering lights in the sky, and why her grandmother was so wary of them. Iyana had asked that question multiple times and never received an answer.
Soon she snored gently on her cot, the cup of tea forgotten.
Chapter 2
Emmeric
Emmeric lay on a dune, watching over the peaceful desert village below. There were subtle signs of life this late at night—a few lights in windows and a couple of people milling about. His eyes shifted to his friend Talon, who was lying beside him on the sand. He was a shadowy figure against the waning crescent moon, but the bright red of his hair still shone like a beacon.
