Olivia (62 page)

“Perhaps not immediately.”  He bent to nuzzle at the side of her neck, and that was all right, that was all the way back to here and now in the real world, and she was even able to relax some and enjoy it.  “You’re still shaking,” he observed, in a tone that suggested he meant to take the credit for it.

She let him.  Even the best sex in the world lost a lot of its appeal when you realized you’d been having it with a crazy woman.

11

The first thing she wanted to do the following morning, once Vorgullum had left her (still thrumming to himself in a satisfied way), was find Murgull.  Whatever she had seen—or thought she saw—was not something she felt comfortable speaking of with any gullan, but it had sat in her heart all night like a fishbone stuck in her throat, and it was either tell someone or choke on it.  A part of her knew that the tribe’s
sigruum
would be a better choice of confidant, that he might even be able to tell her what it meant or (and this terrified her) help her to summon the vision back. 

These were precisely the reasons she did not go to Kodjunn’s lair.  She didn’t need to be believed and she didn’t want anything explained.  She just wanted to pull the memory of that otherspace and its man-shaped radiation out of her so that it could be crushed and forgotten.  If it meant submitting to Murgull’s open hand upside her head for getting girly over nothing, so be it.  She would welcome that (so she could tell herself, knowing full well that nothing of the kind would happen), but when she reached Murgull’s secret room and worked its ingenious door open, all the words she’d been planning how to say went tumbling out of her head.

Murgull was not looking well.

She sat on her throne of bones, her face turned toward the fireplace where nothing burned, and everything about her seemed sagged and labored.  Her eyes were closed and did not open, even though she must have heard the door grinding over its rails.  Her hand squeezed and scratched endlessly at the dead, scarred flesh of her neck, but the movement was somehow devoid of life, like the shambling walk of a zombie.

“What do you want?” Murgull growled, startling her. 

Dread worse than anything her vision could inspire punched in through her guts and gave her heart an icy squeeze.  “Are you sick?” she blurted.

The old gulla sneered, then sighed.  “Murgull is old, little sister.  Just old.”

Olivia came inside, the door hanging open with all its secrets revealed, to lay her hand on Murgull’s brow.  She refused to be shaken off, but pursued the thin patch of hairless flesh beside the gulla’s pointed ears and found it hot; pursued the pulsing vein at her scarred throat and found it shallow.  Alarmed, she realized that Murgull’s skin seemed oddly loose; the body beneath, diminished and somewhat slack.  “When did you last eat?” she asked.

“Ah, you pest!  You biting flea!  Horumn sets a bowl aside every night!  Enough, eh?  Let old Murgull be.”  She glanced at her, made a face, then heaved a sigh and struggled onto her feet.  “Down, then.  Let me have a look at you.”

Olivia started to protest, but Murgull gave her a smart slap on the shoulder, so she scooted to the edge of the bench and lay back, spreading her legs and hitching her heavy robe up around her hips.

“Have to bite at Horumn’s ears, eh?” Murgull mumbled.  “Find a birthing bench and make it ready.  Too soon is better than too late.”  She used her right hand, the claws of which were kept round and very dull, to gingerly probe inside Olivia.  Her other hand prodded her belly from the outside, turning the baby this way and that so that Murgull could feel it.

Olivia closed her eyes and tried to tune it out.  As often as Murgull demanded these examinations, she had never gotten used to them.  Murgull had given her instructions in sex that could make a sailor blush, but having a baby embarrassed her.  She shook her head minutely, disgusted with herself.

“All is well,” Murgull pronounced, limping over to the table to splash something acrid and unpleasant-smelling over her hands.  “Strong life is growing stronger.  The soul is fast inside him.  If he had to, he could come out today, and maybe he would survive.”

Olivia struggled to right herself and pull her robe back over her naked thighs.  “When will it happen?” she called

“Old Murgull says, oh…three cycles hence, when the moon is at its fattest.  A very good omen, to birth the same night as Urga above.  Perhaps you truly will bear the Great Spirit’s son, eh?  Now come with me, little sister.  Come to see Amy-maggot.  Olivia will learn how to feel inside a woman.”

Olivia pulled a face.  “Oh, ugh!  Do I have to?”

Murgull nodded, patting her on the shoulder.  “No one else but Olivia.  Come on, then, be brave.  Old Murgull thinks the other maggot will be more horrified even than you.”  She cackled, and led the way from the room.

12

Amy tracked Murgull with her eyes while Olivia counted off her pulse quietly.  “No, I haven’t been bruising any worse than usual, and why is Olivia still here?”  There was new steel under the suspicion in her voice that said she was done answering questions until her own got answered.

Up until now the interview had gone rather well.  Murgull had asked several questions regarding Amy’s general health and the health of her family.  Amy answered them, looking perplexed, remarking once or twice that they’d already discussed this, and why was Olivia here?

Heaving a sigh, Murgull finally gave in and told Amy that Olivia was here to learn how to midwive, and Amy came as close to losing it as Olivia had ever seen.

“You want a woman my own age, with no experience at all, testing her skills on me and my baby?” she said, astonished.  “Absolutely not!”

“I told you so,” Olivia said.

“You hush,” Murgull commanded, pointing at Olivia.  To Amy, she said, “Murgull is old and could die any day.  Do you want to birth alone?”

“No,” Amy admitted.

“Do you want Horumn to help?”

“God, no!”

“Then help me teach Olivia.”  She reached into her pouch and pulled out a clear plastic soda pop bottle.  “Fill this.”

Amy glanced back and forth between them for several seconds, and then with an air of despair, she took the bottle with her into the entry room of Kurlun’s lair and filled it.  She returned, holding it as far from her body as she could.  “Well?” she said challengingly.  “Are you going to run it under a microscope?”

Murgull glared at her fiercely to disguise her complete ignorance of the word, then took the bottle and held it up to the light.  “Pregnant women need to drink water.  If the urine is dark yellow, they are not drinking enough.  If it is cloudy or foul-smelling, make a tea of goldenspray leaves, one good pot each day, eh?  But this is good.”  She passed it back.  “Pour it out.”

From the look on Amy’s face, Olivia knew just where she wanted it to go, but in the end, she took the bottle back into the other room and poured its contents into the bucket of ashes that served as her toilet.  When she returned, Murgull was ready.

“Lie back,” she commanded, and Amy did, looking at her suspiciously.  “Olivia,” Murgull began, gesturing.

Amy’s thighs snapped together.  “Why?” she said warily.

“She is learning to examine you,” Murgull answered, her expression growing thunderously dark.

“Uh-uh, no!  She can examine me from back there!”

“Open your legs and keep your flapping lips silent!” Murgull snapped.  “Pretend you are back at the conception!  Olivia, come here!”

Olivia threw her friend an expression of abject apology, lowering herself ponderously between Amy’s knees.

“This is so humiliating,” Amy grumbled.  “This is a part of me I never ever wanted you to see.  God in heaven, I haven’t shaved in months.”

“Ignore the little frog’s croaking,” Murgull commanded.  “Look for sores and bruising.”

Olivia checked, somewhat squeamishly.  “I don’t see anything.”

“Put your hand here.  Feel.”

Olivia massaged Amy’s belly, until, with Murgull’s help, she could identify what was either the head or the buttocks of the baby.  “It’s very quiet,” she observed after prodding the protruding lump for several seconds.

“When was the last time your baby kicked?” Murgull asked immediately.

“This morning,” Amy grumbled.  “Stomped on my bladder.”

“See if you can provoke it,” Murgull suggested.  “Reach inside and find the baby.”

“Inside?” Olivia and Amy said together.

Murgull slapped them both in the side of the head, one with each hand.  “Murgull does not need a voice for each ear,” she snapped.  “Murgull’s ears work just fine.  Now reach inside and move the baby!”

“Oh God,” Olivia whimpered, hesitantly prodding Amy with two fingers.

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Murgull exploded.  “Better results you get by reaching down her throat, you little goat!”

“Good Christ, what a life I’m having,” Amy muttered.

“Rub her belly and try to move the baby towards your hand,” Murgull ordered, glaring at Amy.

Olivia attempted to comply.  The bulge against both of her hands twitched, and then tumbled over.  A little hand poked her incuriously.  “It’s moving,” she announced.

“How big?”

Holding her fingers against the baby from the inside, Olivia used her other hand to move Amy’s uterus from side to side.  “About…two fists.”

“Good,” Murgull said, sounding pleased. “She is six moon-spans along.”

“We already knew that!” Amy said angrily.

“And now she knows what it feels like,” Murgull replied, unruffled.  “Now use your thumbs.  Feel the bones of her hips, there.  Too soon to tell how big the child will be,” she added in a mutter.

“What exactly am I feeling for?” Olivia asked.

“Practice.”

“Welcome to my nightmare,” Amy intoned, closing her eyes.

“When the child is bigger, you will be able to get an idea of how easily it will be delivered, and be ready for difficulty.”

Olivia closed her eyes, trying to picture a baby’s head sliding through Amy’s pelvis.  It seemed an awfully cramped passage.

“Good,” Murgull said shortly.  She ran her hands over Amy’s hair, lifted her lips to examine her teeth, prodded her swollen breasts, and checked her fingernails briefly.  “Need milk,” she mumbled.  “Olivia, tell your mate to trap a she-goat.  New mothers need milk.”

With an eager sound that was more relief that the examination was over than actual agreement, Olivia stood up, eager to leave and find a place to scrub her hands.

“Now you know how,” Murgull declared, looking smug.  “Do it to all the other mothering maggots.”

13

Vorgullum and Olivia slept together that night, buried beneath sleeping bags, animal skins and stolen sleeping bags.  Vorgullum even snored softly, twitching a little in his dreams as he chased dream-elk into the night.  Olivia slept a while herself, but was roused by the touch of a hand on her arm.

“Mm?” she said fuzzily, blinking and looking around.

There was an exceedingly ugly creature standing in front of her.

At first, Olivia’s eyes had trouble taking the sight in, or even focusing on any one aspect of her body.  It was a female, that much was clear.  There were small breasts and a hairless sex, anyway.  The hips, waist, and torso all flowed solidly into one another; the arms and legs were straight and solid and strangely androgynous.  She had vaguely hand-shaped lumps at the end of her wrists, but no fingers; she had blunt hoof-like appendages in place of feet.  The head was even worse, hairless even for eyebrows and lashes, with cavernous eyes and a lipless slit for a mouth.  The nose was downturned and split like a goat’s, and the ears came off the head at an awkward angle and stuck out like open doors.

Her skin was white and made of stars.  There were wings stretching out behind like moonbeams.

Urga reached out and extended her hand.

Certain she must be dreaming, despite the vividness of the image, Olivia placed her hand in Urga’s and felt a curious sense of detachment as she was pulled to her feet.  Looking back over her shoulder, she saw her own sleeping body lying in Vorgullum’s arms.

Without a word, Urga wrapped her arms around Olivia’s waist and flew up and out of the mountain.  Olivia was aware only of darkness for a long time, and then they broke out of the rock, hovered for a moment in the air, then arced lazily about and streaked towards town.

Olivia felt no urge to speak.  She held on to Urga and looked back over her shoulder at the ground as it went whizzing by beneath her.  The wind blew in her air and she felt snow falling against her cheek, but there was no sense of cold, so she knew she must be dreaming.

Still, it was a beautiful dream.  Olivia saw tiny cars and trucks crawling along the highway far below her, twin rivers of light in red and white.  She saw the glow of life pouring out of a thousand windows.  She saw people, small as ants, scurrying across parking lots and down sidewalks in the halo of streetlamps, their heads tucked down into their winter coats and boots skidding in the wet snow.

Urga flew faster than any gulla, and in minutes they were flying extremely low over the buildings in the upper side of town.  After a moment, Olivia realized they were pointed towards the hospital, and sure enough, Urga flew in through the wall, coasting to a stop in the soft, soothing halls of the psychiatric division.

Urga set Olivia gently on the ground, and they walked together across the hall.  Snatches of conversation came at Olivia from all sides.  Nurses and patients, doctors and specialists.  It sounded so real.  No one seemed even to notice them, these two naked beings walking through their hospital.

Urga came to a door and walked through it, so Olivia followed.  She saw Urga standing behind two men, one older with a beard, and one younger and balding.  There was a woman here, too.  A woman Olivia knew.

The madwoman who had been Bundel’s mate was seated in an overstuffed chair, clutching a stuffed bear instead of a saucepan.

The bearded man was talking in a soft, friendly voice, and after a moment, Olivia realized he was hypnotizing her.

“Amanda, do you hear me?”