Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

Sick to her stomach, she performed her task quickly, deliberately breaking the shoulder of the babe, then turning it with her hands to whisk it free. It slid into the air, blue and lifeless and still. Quickly she cleared the mucous from the throat, rubbing the infant's chest to stimulate it into taking a gulp of air. The moment it began a thin wail, she passed the babe off to Laurena, turning her attention quickly to cutting the cord and attending Lissandra.
    Now it would be a matter of controlling the bleeding. All the while she worked, she was nauseated at the thought of what she had done to a helpless infant. She was sick at the knowledge that even if she saved Lissandra this time, her husband would insist on another babe immediately, and, child that she was, Lissandra would not take the potion Nicoletta had secretly given her to allow her more time to grow before she became pregnant. She would obey her husband, and she would certainly die.
    Nicoletta was sick, her stomach lurching at the vast quantity of her friend's blood that covered her, still sick at the thought of what she had been forced to do to the babe. Most of all she was sick to death at the waste of a young, vibrant woman whose life should have been just beginning.
    Nicoletta fought to stop the inevitable. She called on her special gift, her hands moving over Lissandra, letting the healing warmth flow out of her and into her friend, attempting to direct the energy where it was Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    most needed. The effort was draining, mentally as well as physically. No one watching could say precisely what she did, yet they could not deny that it worked.
    Finally Maria Pia entered the house and immediately went to work beside her. They were both exhausted by the time Lissandra drifted into sleep, still alive but terribly weak.
    Nicoletta left it to Maria Pia to impress up on Lissandra's husband her need for fluids and bed rest until she was healed properly. Maria Pia would not say the cutting, angry words that burned inside Nicoletta.
    All Nicoletta wanted now was to run back to the safety of her mountain, far from the weariness and sadness and guilt pressing in on her. But she turned her attention to the newborn next, her hands finding the terrible crack in the bone and aligning it perfectly, bandaging it tightly to keep it from shifting. She again used her special gift, the touch of her hands spreading warmth and healing to the babe as it had to Lissandra. The effort was exhausting, draining, some element she couldn't define flowing out of her and into her patients to aid recovery, but she used it nonetheless.
    Finally she washed Lissandra's blood from her arms and slowly, wearily, daubed at her bloodstained blouse. Laurena hugged her tearfully, then quickly wrapped some bread and cheese into a scarf and thrust it at her, a token of her gratitude. Too tired to protest, Nicoletta shoved the meager meal into the pocket of her skirt. Exhausted from her sleepless night and the ordeal with Lissandra, she explained softly to Laurena that the babe would need special care while his shoulder healed, lit a candle to the Madonna in thanks, and left the farmhouse without saying a single word to Lissandra's husband. She never wanted to look at him again.
    "Nicoletta!" Aljandro hurried after her, attempting to catch her shoulder with one hamlike hand. He nearly crushed her bones there in the darkness. She could feel his anger at her, barely leashed, and his eyes were still hot with greed for her body even as his wife lay near death after giving birth to his child. It sickened her.
    Steadfastly she kept her gaze on the ground, fearful of lashing out at him. She didn't dare cause any more hostility between them when she wanted to remain Lissandra's friend and on good terms with all the villagio. "I am very tired." She twisted her shoulder out from under his grasping fingers. His touch made her stomach lurch.
    Aljandro dropped his hand as if she had burned him, his stare a mixture of anger and shame. He handed her payment but hissed something crude at her.
    Without once looking back, she walked slowly to the closest stream, feeling a hundred years old. She stood with her bare feet in the ice-cold water and stared up at the leaves of the trees blowing to and fro above her head. She cried then, for Lissandra and all the young girls like her, while the crystal-clear water rushed around her and on down the stream