The late winter snow continued to fall, slowly adding to the thick white blanket that already covered Jilda’s cabin. A plume of smoke billowed from the chimney, trying to offset the slivers of frosted air that slipped through the wooden shutters.
But the three women inside the cabin were worried about something other than the cold. Jilda had gone into labor, and, in the birthing manner of all Lakluun women, squatted over a soft bundle of wool and cloth during contractions, allowing gravity to assist in the delivery.
The circle of women surrounding a birth normally included all the important females in the new mother’s life. But even though the council had still not ruled on Jilda’s status, half of Lakluun had already decided that she was a coward and a traitor. Jilda knew that several of her friends would not stand by her, but she was shocked when her best friend Hulda, who was originally chosen as her midwife, turned down the honor. As a result, the only two people present were her aunt Reina, acting as midwife, and Jilda’s mother Herja.
That was enough for Jilda. Reina was her mother’s eldest sister, and she had been midwife to almost half of Jilda’s family. If complications arose and Jilda died, her mother was present to take over raising the child.
Jilda laid back down and chewed on herbal bay leaves to assist with the pain as Reina waved linctus-dipped peppermint leaves in front of her face. Despite Jilda’s attempts at disguising the pain, Reina had seen enough pregnancies to know that something was wrong. Most Lakluun women gave birth after an hour of labor, and Jilda was entering her fourth hour.
“Have you decided on the child’s name?” Reina asked, trying to distract Jilda. “I told your mother that I’ve delivered enough babes to know that this is a girl.”
“If it is a girl, I shall name her Aurora,” Jilda said, slightly wincing. “Her future will be as limitless as the sky itself!”
“Perhaps if it is a boy, you shall name it after his father?” Herja goaded.
“I’d rather name him Loki!” Jilda said, teeth clenched. “No civilized person would name a child ‘Remo.’”
As the chosen warrior for the Lakluun people, Jilda knew pain. Her life was built on the acceptance of pain as a path to greater skill. But the pain she now felt was different than anything she had ever experienced.
“I knew nothing good could come from a Chinee baby!” Herja finally said. “They are only designed to kill Lakluun warriors!”
“Mother, this is not the time!” Jilda said, concentrating.
She had attended enough births to know what was supposed to happen and how it was supposed to happen. Though she had tried to deny it, she knew that something was wrong.
Reina placed her fingers on Jilda’s stomach, which had grown very sensitive to the touch. Reina suppressed a frown. Jilda’s stomach was feverishly hot, but something else was wrong, too. Reina moved her fingers from place to place before finally reaching a conclusion.
“The baby’s not moving,” she finally said and stood to her feet, taking charge.
“Jilda, stop pushing. Herja, get Mother!” Reina said. “We need her now!”
Herja took one last concerned look at her daughter and left the cabin.
“The council has not ruled yet on your sentence,” Reina said with worry. “Mother may not come.”
Jilda gritted her teeth and tried not to push, but everything within her wanted the baby to come out. Reina tightened her grip on Jilda’s arm and began praying to the old Lakluun gods — to Odin, the giver of life, to Thor, protector of life, and especially to Freya, the goddess of fertility.
Herja returned with Mother Jaana within minutes. Mother had always held a special place for Jilda in her heart. She was the first woman to represent Lakluun in the Trials for a dozen generations and Jaana had cared for her wounds and injuries since childhood.
“You should have called me sooner,” Mother said, placing her hands on Jilda’s stomach. “The baby is weak. Take her to the bed.”
Jilda waved off any help and began staggering to the bed.
“Child, you will allow us to help,” Mother said sternly.
Jilda allowed Reina and Herja to help walk her to the bed. As soon as she laid on her back, the pain in her stomach exploded and Jilda screamed. This was uncharted territory. There was no foe to attack or defend from, nowhere to run from the pain, only endurance, and Jilda’s body could not contain any more pain. Either the baby was going to come out or she was going to die.
Mother moved toward the small fireplace.
“Herja, I need water,” Mother said.
“But mother, Jilda…she is…” Herja protested as Jilda moaned, drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Now!” Mother commanded.
Herja grabbed a bucket and headed to the well outside. Mother took the small pot hanging over the fireplace and opened her medicine bag. She pulled out several types of leaves, tearing them into pieces and adding them to the pot. Jilda’s moans began to get softer and Mother became worried.
“If she is not back within the next minute, go find her!” Mother said to Reina.
“Yes, Mother,” Reina said, dropping to her knees in prayer.
For a few seconds, the only thing that could be heard were Reina’s fervent prayers to Freya. Then the door burst open and Herja carried the wooden bucket to Mother, water sloshing over both sides. Mother reached for the bucket without looking and when she grabbed it, poured in enough water to almost fill the pot. She began frantically tearing leaves and adding small drops of liquid from the vials she always carried.
That was when Mother felt the spark on the bed behind her.
It was so tiny that at first she had not sensed it, but once she had noticed it, she became blinded by its power. The life glow emanating from the small point in Jilda’s womb was more powerful than anything she had seen or heard about. Mother abandoned the concept of potions and rituals and ran toward Jilda.
“Mother?” Herja’s voice asked as Jilda’s whispers had stopped.
Jilda was breathing shallowly and rapidly and she had given up pushing. Mother breathed in deeply and moved one hand over Jilda’s stomach and the other over her forehead. She began muttering the same six words until her voice reached a crescendo.
“Endelige vitne bøker er store opplevelser!” she cried over and over, her fingers dancing in the air, drawing power from the magic inherent in the ancient phrase. Mother leaned for support as strength began to drain from her into Jilda.
Jilda’s eyes opened slowly.
“Where am I?” she asked dreamily.
“Push, girl, push!” Mother screamed.
Jilda had never heard Mother scream before, but she knew that she felt stronger, so she pushed. With every ounce of her strength, she pushed until she thought she was going to pass out.
Herja watched her daughter’s face contort in a way that she had never seen before. For a moment, Jilda seemed soft…vulnerable.
Jilda’s eyes widened and she grabbed her mother’s hand. She began to push.
“Harder!” Mother screamed.
Jilda pushed until darkness began creeping at the corner of her eyes. Then the pain vanished and Jilda collapsed into unconsciousness.
Mother staggered back a step, shielding her eyes.
Herja looked at the bloody newborn girl that quietly lay between Jilda’s legs. The umbilical cord had been wrapped around her neck. The baby’s skin was a dull blue.
She was stillborn.
Herja and Reina held each other and began to sob.
But Mother was not crying. She was seeing. When the baby was born, it was as if the sun had ignited the room with light. The tiny dot of life flooded the room with its power, blinding her with its intensity.
“Freya be praised!” Mother said.
Herja looked at the baby, but the little girl was motionless and blue.
“Warm water!” Mother said urgently. “We need to bond her! Quickly!”
Herja walked over to Mother and looked her in the eye. Other cultures sometimes waited days before naming their babies, but the Lakluun believed that a spirit is bonded to the body once they are named.
“Mother, the baby’s dead,” Herja said softly.
Mother only took a moment to give her a glance before pointing to the pot.
Herja obeyed as Reina walked over to where the baby was and Reina gasped. The baby’s cheeks were gaining color.
“Freya be praised,” Reina said. “Water!”
Herja poured out some of the water in the pot so it could heat more quickly.
“We have to bond her,” Mother said.
“Jilda is not awake,” Herja said.
“But she did say that if it were a girl, she would name it Aurora,” Reina added.
“Did you not see what occurred here?” Mother asked dryly. She was spent. “You were praying to Freya. She answered your prayer. Her name is Freya.”
Herja brought the warm water to the table while Reina cut the umbilical cord and clamped the ends.
“Bring the child,” Mother instructed, standing at the head of the table.
The baby was now fully pink and slightly moving, but her eyes had not yet opened. The light that was once a small dot now filled the baby’s frame. Mother placed the baby in the pot, rinsing off blood and checking for defects. Satisfied, she motioned for Herja to stand at the other end of the table.
Mother held the baby before her and the baby’s eyes opened for the first time. Mother’s mouth dropped open as she made eye contact. The baby’s eyes were as black and deep as the night sky. Mother felt tiny in comparison.
Somewhere in the distance, chimes played.
Herja spoke first, in Jilda’s place.
“We thank you, Goddess Freya for delivering this child from Hel! Give this child your strength now and forever! Let her become a strong Lakluun warrior like her mother!”
Mother remained silent, lost in eye contact with the girl. Herja tilted her head in worry for a moment. This was not like Mother. The baby’s eyes finally faded to the natural color of her ancestors and Mother’s trance dissipated.
“Her name…in truth, is Freya,” Mother said, quickly handing the baby to Herja.
“Mother…what is wrong?” Herja asked as Mother headed for the door.
Mother took a quick glance at Jilda who was resting silently on the bed.
“Clean her up,” Mother said absently. “Jilda will be fine. There are extra bay leaves by the window for the pain.”