Chapter Nine

 

Two months later…

“Push, damn you!” Someone screamed in her face. Probably her husband. Then he slapped her. Most definitely her husband. “You're going to lose this baby if you don't do your job and push.”

Lake felt like she'd been screaming for days. Probably had. When had she gone into labor? She couldn't remember. There’d just been days of red haze and pain. Days where she pushed and pushed, but nothing happened. Now, now she was just tired. Her husband's slaps didn't even faze her. Didn't he know she'd already been severed in half? She was beyond his abuse. Now all she wanted to do was sleep.

“Maybe give her some water, Elder Syon. She's been in labor for days. She needs a little food, a slight rest, before going at it again,” said a woman’s soft voice in the dark.

Lake had forgotten her midwife was even in the room. A group of Elders, a bunch of old sunspotted men with yellow teeth, had come in with her husband for the birth. At first, she hadn't wanted them there, too embarrassed to have a handful of men examining the development between her legs. Now she didn't give a damn.

Someone gave her some water, wetted her forehead with a cold cloth. The room was dark and stank of sweat and blood.

“Fine, rest,” Syon said. “Gather your strength. This is the last push. Your last chance.”

She didn't even nod just let her head lull to the side. Rest, yes. That was what she needed. She tried to find the quiet space where nothing but blackness and numbness existed. Her mind threw images against the back of her eyelids of a little boy with white hair and blue eyes. Of a man's laugh that sounded like flowing water over smooth rocks. Of rows and rows of green plants waiting to be harvested.

“She's out cold again. I'm not sure she's going to make it,” said another voice in the distance. Everything sounded so far away, it was hard to know if she was dreaming or not.

“This is a hard birth,” said the midwife. “Most women wouldn't have made it this far. The boy's too big, and her hips are too narrow.”

“It’s a girl, and she'll make it!” Lake recognized the voice. Her husband. Well, not her real husband, but her husband now. “This baby is the one mentioned in the Prophesy. This baby is the symbol the people are looking for. If we control the symbol, we control the people.”

“If it's a female,” said a harsh voice that had deepened with age. “You've been wrong before Syon. We've all suffered under your zealous fanaticism. That’s why the Rebellion started in the first place. People were beginning to question the mortality rate of female infants. If they knew there was truth to some of these rumors, we’d have a full scale revolt on our hands. One we’d never be able to quell.”

“Trust me. It will all be worth it,” Syon said. “This has to be the baby. The time for the Prophesy is correct. Look at the mother, white hair, blue eyes. The brother had the same coloring. Almost unheard of in this day and age. The girl child must come from this line. We can't afford to be wrong.”

There was some rustling farther away. The sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath. “We could always cut her open and get the baby,” said another man. “Stop all this nonsense.”

“I would prefer to keep my wife alive or have you forgotten she’s the only one who's been able to formulate the microbiotics. If she dies, we’ll get the baby, but I'm not willing to cut until there's no other option.”

Lake tried, tried really hard to get her strength. She was going to tell them they couldn't take her baby, but it was hard to know if they were real or just voices in the mist. Was this really happening or had she died already?

She’d sleep just for a moment, just enough to gather her strength.

A sharp smell stung her nose. When she opened her eyes, her husband was waving a small capsule under her nose. “Wake up, Lake, it’s time to push. This is it. This time, I'm sure the baby’s ready.”

Two men pulled her into a sitting position, each one grabbing a leg. A pressure that had been like a fire fist-deep in her back finally traveled lower so she could get behind and push her baby out.

“Bear down. There you go. One more time just like that,” said the midwife as she gave her hand for Lake to squeeze.

Lake dug deep, closed her eyes, and saw the light wavy hair of Hudson, the same autumn gaze she'd fallen into more than once. “Please be a boy,” she whispered, “please be a boy.” And pushed with everything she had left.

A baby's cry filled the air, cementing a connection that went bone deep inside of Lake.

“It's a...boy,” Syon said, bewilderment coloring his words.

“A boy?” Someone else asked.

Lake's heart lurched, and she lifted her arms toward her baby. “Let me see him, please let me have him.”

Syon's face was drawn, his mouth slack as he stared at the screaming baby boy in his hands. “I don't understand. I thought...”

“You thought wrong, Syon.” The oldest man with the sunken in face and sharp eyes wagged his finger at Syon. “You thought wrong again.”

The three men shook their heads and left in disgust. Lake couldn't have been happier.

“Please,” she whispered. “Let me see my son.”

Her husband's face went red, jaw clenched, and for a moment she thought he’d harm her baby, but whatever violence went through his mind, he quickly got it under control. He wrapped the infant in a blanket and placed him in her arms.

Then as if he couldn't stand the sight of the domestic bliss of mother and son, he turned in disgust and left the room.

Lake's hand shook as she pulled back the blanket to take the first peek at her son. His faced was scrunched up and a red, tiny fist waved around, trying to find his mouth. Lake could already tell who he would take after, with dark, maple eyes, a strong chin, and a pair of ears she hoped he’d grow into, he was the spitting image of his father. His tiny, red mouth opened and closed as he rubbed his face against her breast. Quickly, she undid her shirt and watched in wonder as her child's mouth found its way around her nipple. It wasn't until drops of water wetted the soft brown tuff on his head that she realized she was crying.

It was in that moment she finally found what she believed in. It wasn't the Rebellion and a chance at the New Republic. It wasn't in a husband, new or old. Not in romantic love or those soft feelings she still longed for at night. It was the hope in her new child and the absolute, iron-forged desire to protect him.

Eight months had gone by since the siege. It was time she accepted the fact that Hudson and Vonn were dead. There was no one coming to get her. It was her and her baby boy against the world. Time she started acting like it.

“The boy is special,” the woman said.

Lake startled. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone. She looked up into the light gray eyes of the midwife. Her skin was pale and loose, lips creased with a thousand worries.

“Of course he is. He’s beautiful.”

The old woman smiled. “That husband of yours is a cruel man. That’s why I didn’t let on that the baby was a male at first. I was afraid of what he’d do. But he’s also smart. I had no idea he knew as much about the Prophesy as he let on. But he was wrong about one thing. The boy is connected to the Prophesy, just not in the way that he expected.”

Lake shook her head. “No, I’ve been brought up in The Way. I know the hope is in a female child.”

The woman nodded as she busied herself cleaning up Lake and setting out fresh linens. “A female child yes, but I doubt any woman, even the Chosen, could bear the weight of the world alone. Everyone needs friends.”

Lake put out her hand to ward off the rest of what the midwife had to say. “Stop. I want to hear nothing about the Prophesy. Nothing about the Rebellion or sacrifice or anything at all that has to do with the New Republic. The Rebellion has died out. We’ve lost. I’ve lost. I’ve given everything. I will not give my son.”

The midwife bowed her head in acquiesce and busied herself with the fire.

Lake looked down at her son. He’d stopped feeding and fallen into blissful unawareness. She couldn’t resist examining each wrinkled little finger. After she counted to ten, she went in search of his toes.

The midwife tucked a clean sheet around Lake, and then sat on the corner of her bed. “You know, every journey has an end, and thus a new beginning. The Rebellion’s not dead; we’re just patiently waiting for the right time. You’ve sacrificed a lot. We all have. I lost my daughter to an Elder who thought it was his right to come into my house and steal her from her bed. I lost all three of my sons to the killing fields. You are not the only one with a terrible story, but the terrible stories will only continue if we don’t do something.”

Lake closed her eyes. This was not something she wanted to hear.

The woman stroked the baby’s head, and a softness settled along her features. “Every dawn needs a champion. Every dawn needs a knight.”

Lake shook her head. With the reality of her life crashing in these last few months, Lake wanted no talk of a champion. “No, every dawn has a night. My only hope is that one day he’ll leave this place for good.”

“A hard path for any mother, but best for the child. Then give him the name Rider. It means knight. A boy with that name will go far. When he does, make sure to bring him back to me when he’s of age. You can fight it or accept it, but either way, he will bear the Mark for the One.”

Lake swallowed. “You could be wrong.”

“And I could be right. You could be the mother of our greatest leader. Isn’t it time for all your sacrifices to be worth it? Deep in your heart, you’ve always known that this was where your path was headed. This was who you were supposed to be.”

A chill broke over Lake’s skin that had nothing to do with her loss of blood or the slight breeze from the opened door. She’d always known she’d be instrumental in the Rebellion. The Cause had called to her on some deeper level than most people could ever understand. Even she had never quite understood. Now she did. But that didn’t mean she would give up her son without a fight. She’d protect him. Give him a strong name, one that would send him far from here, hopefully to somewhere safe. Lake gazed down at her beautiful, baby boy. “From my darkest hour will come my greatest triumph. Agon Rider—Dawn’s Night.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, Dawn’s Knight.”