Warsworn

Those were the only words I could force out. The babe lay so limp in Marcus's arms, her entire body flushed, as if burned by the sun. Isdra, breathing hard, held her cold, wet hands to Meara's cheeks. "She's on fire."
    "Lotus?" Marcus asked.
    I shook my head. "Not for babes. Too dangerous."
    I'd brought the feeding cup, and Isdra filled it with water, trying to get her to drink. But the little lips were limp, and she did not swallow.
    "Here, let me try." Marcus switched Meara into Isdra's arms. The wet tip of Isdra's braid, Meara's favorite toy, brushed against her cheek. Meara opened her eyes to look at Isdra. The woman warrior crooned to her. "You'll be fine, little one."
    Meara closed her eyes, hiccuped and drew a last breath.
    I knew, oh Goddess, I knew. One so small, so tiny. I reached out and grabbed Marcus's arm as he lifted the feeding cup. He looked up startled, staring into my face as I shook my head, unable to speak the words. Then he knew as well, and the pain tore though him. "Skies, no." He raised his head, and let out an anguished cry.
    Isdra threw her head back as well, wailing to the skies.
    An answering lament rose from the shore. The crowd that had gathered raised their voices as one, sending a mournful cry like I had never heard into the air. For all the warriors that had died, I'd seen no outward grief. But for a tiny baby of a Xyian village, these hardened warriors raised their voices in sorrow, tears in their eyes.
    But the sight of Marcus's head thrown back, his neck taut, his pain raw filled my soul with rage. I snatched Meara from Isdra's arms and flipped her over, cradling her chest in one hand. "No, no, no." I denied this was happening even as I slapped my hand down on her tiny back. This can't happen, I won't let it happen, Goddess, please, Skies, please . I struck her again, and again, turning as Marcus reached to stop me, calling out to any power that would hear, begging—
    Meara took a breath.
    I froze as I felt the movement of her chest, holding my own breath as I waited for more, turning again to avoid Isdra, hoping—
    Meara took another breath, and then my heart leapt as a cry, a wonderful, angry cry filled the air.
    Isdra and Marcus were beside me, and helped me lift
    Meara up onto my shoulder, crying and coughing and spitting her outrage. Joyous voices rose from the beach, and we staggered back through the water, supporting each other. Many hands reached out to help us as we drew near, pulling us onto the shore, taking great care not to disturb the crying babe in my arms. As one, we sank to our knees, as those around us knelt as well. I lay my head on Isdra's shoulder, crying, as Meara's keening continued and the crowd swirled around us.
    Meara was furious, her eyelashes thick and dark with tears. Someone handed us a drying cloth, and Isdra took the babe to get her dry. I reached to cradle her cold foot in the palm of my hand, trying to warm her perfect little toes, never so happy to hear a baby cry. With one arm around Isdra's shoulders, I closed my eyes, and we rocked her gently. Just a babe, the last of her village, whose name I'd lost. The scent of lavender still lingered on her skin. So close, so very close.
    What's a babe, amidst all the dead about us? Yet all hovered about, enjoying the miracle of a child almost lost to us. I drew a ragged breath, wishing I could voice my joy. But I was so exhausted, all I could do was lean against Isdra, and try to stifle my sobs.
    "So this is what comes, of being accursed." Iften's voice cut through my sorrow. He was standing there, outside the mourners, his hands on his hips. "This city-dweller's filth threatens children."
    Marcus glared at him. "We are not accursed."
    "Cover yourself, cripple." Iften's lip curled in a sneer. "You offend the skies, and the very waters of this lake."
    I caught my breath, expecting an explosion. But Mar-cus flinched back, and sagged to the ground, flinging one arm up over his head.
    "We are not accursed." Isdra spat. "It is an illness, as the Warprize has said." There was a rustle in the crowd about us, and from nowhere a cloak appeared. Marcus grabbed for it, and was soon wrapped in its folds. He said nothing.
    "As the Warprize has said." Iften scoffed, pointing off in the distance to the smoke rising on the horizon. "Such a comfort, her brave words. But one less body to add to her tally, eh? One more she sickened so she could claim to have healed?"
    Marcus struggled to his feet, but I grabbed his arm,