Prologue

A few dozen sisters crowded around the bed, forming an inner circle with the closest sisters beside the bed and diminishing in familiarity as one moved outward. The single sister on the bed screamed intermittently. Her round belly swelled even larger with each breath. Fistfuls of the bedding kept her knuckles white as her nails dug into the coarse fabric.

“Lurelai,” Issa said as she patted the woman’s wet forehead. Issa’s willowy fingers wrung out the rag into a nearby bucket. Her eyes were squinted in concentration; otherwise they would be the largest eyes in the room. Because of her stature, her eyes seemed to top a lighthouse, watchful and alert. Her hair was cropped so they framed her face only up to her earlobes. As stress makes some people’s hair lighten into white, it made Issa’s hair curl at the ends.

“Don’t scream too loud.” Issa said, pursing her thin lips together. “We don’t need Ianos waking up. Don’t want to lose this child.”

“It’s his child!” Lurelai shouted back between contractions. “Bringing me into his chambers for not satisfying a man. Pah! Couldn’t think up a better lie. Couldn’t even bring himself to face me when he did the deed either! Covered my face and chest. He likes them boys. He doesn’t know the body of a woman. Don’t know how to do it with a woman without giving her a child. Watch this be a girl. Watch him still take her into the trade. His own daughter! Damn this. Damn it all!” Her face squeezed, making her look like a wrinkled cherry.

“Oh!” Someone shouted. The crowd turned to the woman sitting beside her. She gripped her belly, not as big as Lurelai’s, but large enough to hold a babe.

“Not now Deryr.” Naraya pleaded, her high nose bridge wrinkling anxiously. Her darker skin contrasted most of the other women, an exotic color like that of wet sand. Her hair was wavy and coarse, held in place with a tight braid she rarely unraveled.

“Your babe is too early to show.” Naraya touched Deryr’s stomach gingerly. “You are not yet seven months, and we have to deal with Lurelai first.”

But it was too late. The sympathy pains become Deryr’s own as a loud gush filled the room. The once silent sisters now cried out in horror.

Lurelai continued to cry as Deryr squeezed into the single bed with her.

“Truly, we’re sisters.” Deryr said with a laugh before she had to gasp.

They were like sisters, having taken a bad batch of root soup together. (The concoction would have helped them avoid this situation in the first place.) Both had hair, soft as cotton, black as coal. The only way to tell them apart from behind was Deryr’s height. She stood a good nose above the others, an eye above some of the men.

“Forgive me Deryr,” Lurelai whimpered as her eyes closed. “I made the bad soup. I have brought on your child’s early arrival.”

“Bah!” Deryr smacked Lurelai’s cheek with a limp finger. “He was a Wizard, I know it. I drank twice the soup that week because I could feel myself heading into danger. Only a Wizard could pose such a danger, bring such trouble. I am glad I am early! His child will die and the world will be nicer.” The other sisters tried to hush her, but she continued.

“This is a boy. Just like the other ones. When he grows, he’ll rape us, sisters. Or he will suffer from being deformed at this early birth. He’ll be a Wizard too I bet.” Deryr turned to Lurelai with two liquid diamonds on the corner of her eyes. “He’ll rape your child, girl or boy.”

“Do not curse the child!” Soyinka hissed, her dark eyes sharper than ever. Her green-gold hair hid under a black bandana. Her well-built bone structure showed in her sturdy shoulders and rough jawbone, mighty like the rough tongue it surrounds. “It could be a normal girl for all you know!”

“Bah!” Deryr patted her swollen belly. “If it were a girl, we must protect her. But I see no good in this.”

“You aren’t a gypsy to see your child’s fate.” Chatelet whispered as her rosary beads continued to click. Her fiery hair was tucked behind her ears, though some curls escaped to dance on her forehead. Freckles line her cheeks, almost directing watchers to the light green eyes above them. Her eyes, like the rest of her, were stern and small. “The heavens will protect both children.”

“Not a Wizard’s son, no!” Deryr shouted. “Let him die.”

A cry from Lurelai brought the argument to an end. Lurelai clung to Deryr, or was it Deryr to Lurelai? Both were taking deep quick breaths as their children raced forward. The sisters shouted their encouragement. “Push! Push! Push!”

Finally, one child’s head appeared. The crowd stilled. Naraya crouched before this mother while Issa was her reflection beside the other. Chatelet’s beads clicked faster as the second head appeared. The mothers ended their agony with a simultaneous thrust. The babies slid out like mirror images, exactly alike in their shiny red softness. Wet hair clung to their scalps, black and soft as a dark sheep’s wool.

Soyinka took a reed and severed the babes from their mother.

“Their noses!” Someone shouted. “Clear their noses.”

Naraya and Issa wiped the noses and patted their backs, but still no cries. Frantically, the babies were hung upside down by their ankles and smacked across the temple.

A giggle. A babe was giggling while swinging back and forth in midair. Mucus dripped from the mouth and nose. The other was silent. Smack! Smack! Smack!

The laughing babe was righted, wiped clean, and wrapped in a sheet. The infant watched the other with unblinking eyes.

A wheeze. “Is the babe breathing?” Someone asked hopefully. Another wheeze. But no fluid was expelled. Silence. Words were too much, too difficult to sound the harsh reality. The babe was wrapped in a sheet. Soyinka took it out of the room, up the stairs, and out the back door into the alleys.

The sisters turned their attention to the mothers. One was silent. Her lips were pale and agape. Her eyes were open, staring at the remaining babe. The child stared back, unwavering.

The living mother held out her hands for the child, her body calling for what it had just given up. Silently, the babe was placed on her breast. This would not last long, however. Days later, after a high fever, the second mother left this world. The babe was discovered on her chest, suckling on a cold, dead breast. Those who did not know the mothers called the child death personified.

But Chatelet rubbed the babe with her rosaries and hidden holy oils, and prayed for it; Soyinka taught the child to talk, not just to speak; Naraya pulled the child from a crawl to a stumble to a walk to a speedy run; and Issa taught the child to read, despite the laws. Finally, all the sisters broke the rules and placed their dreams of freedom upon the child’s shoulders. They called her Zorana. One who escapes destiny. One who escapes death. Last hope.

I failed them, and now, I await my death. Listen closely to this story, my story. Perhaps that will make the difference.

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