Warcry

escape.
    Atira laughed weakly. The Warprize had explained that Xyian men did not normally aid at the birthing. Which made little sense to her.
    She sighed again, then yawned. Healers always seemed to make it worse before they made it better, but she had to admit that paste and the cloth had eased her pain. Now, if she just didn’t have to move for a month or so . . .
    “I see the head,” Eln announced as he took his position between Lara’s legs.
    Atira blinked and focused on the scene before her. That seemed fast, although one never knew with first babes. Still, it was good to know that Lara’s time would be short.
    Lara was breathing hard now, following Eln’s instructions, and pushing as best she could. The women were gathered with warm clean cloths in which to take the babe.
    Eln was reaching now, his long, thin fingers encouraging the babe’s progress. Atira got a quick glimpse of a mass of dark hair as the healer started to smile. “Oh-ho, what have we here?” He lifted the bloody pink mess that wriggled in his hands. The tiny face screwed up, and then a cry rang through the room.
    The room echoed with joy as everyone smiled and laughed. Atira smiled, too, but there was an odd tugging at her heart. An old sorrow hovered over her as memories crowded in.
    “A boy, and a fine one,” Eln announced.
    Anna was standing there, cloth at the ready, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, he’s lovely, Lara,” she said as she took the babe and waited as Eln tied the cord.
    “Let me see, let me see,” Lara said, sobbing and laughing at the same time and reaching out. Anna obliged, leaning over the bed to display the babe. “Welcome to the world, Xykeirson.”
    Amyu stepped away from the bed, averting her face from Lara and the babe. She caught Atira’s eye and drifted over to the bench to sit beside her.
    Lara groaned again and started to pant. “Eln, the afterbirth? That felt more like—”
    Anna drew the babe back in alarm, but Eln just started to laugh. “Push, Lara. Push!”
    “It can’t be.” Lara started laughing then and straining again. As Anna and the rest of the ladies looked on in wonder, Eln worked swiftly, then lifted another babe with a head full of dark hair. He took a cloth from one of the women, used it to cradle the child, then stepped around to place the bundle in Keir’s hands. “A Daughter of Xy!”
    Lara burst out into happy tears.
    Keir looked down, astonished. A little hand appeared, waving in the air as the little girl squalled at the top of her lungs.
    Eln returned to his place. “There’s still work to be done here, Lara.”
    Lara panted, propping herself up on her elbows. “Two? Twins? Let me see, Keir.”
    Keir held the bundles close, and Lara started crying again. “Oh, beloved.”
    “They are perfect,” Keir said in awe. “But she needs a name, Lara.”
    “Kayla for the girl,” Lara said, easing back onto the pillows to finish the business. “Her name is Xykayla.”
    Atira watched as Keir was overcome, tears forming in his eyes.
    One of the women offered to take the babes, but Keir was having none of that. He took the children over to Anna, and together, they started to clean them.
    Atira stifled a sob, sorrow welling up within her, remembering all too well performing her duties for the tribe. One did not speak of the pain that life-bearers carried, except for. . .
    Keir and Anna were placing the babes on Lara’s chest, letting her touch them and exclaim in delight. The Warprize had made it clear from the very start that she would not follow the ways of the Plains in this. She would nurse and rear her own children, according to Xyian custom. Those of the Plains would guard and aid, but she would be as thea to them.
    As mother to them.
    It was too much. Atira dropped her eyes, unable to watch.
    Amyu’s head was down as well.
    Grief shared is halved. Atira reached over and touched the back of Amyu’s hand. “We are the life-givers. Life-bearers of the Plains.” Atira whispered the words that were chanted at every birth on the Plains. “This is our burden. This is our pain.”
    Amyu stiffened. Her sorrow was of a different kind, she who was unable to bear. How many births had she witnessed; births of babes that she alone could not bring forth. But she nodded, acknowledging the shared grief. “The tribe has grown. The tribe has flourished,” she responded, her voice meant for Atira’s ears alone. “This is our burden, this is our pain.”
    “Our babes