On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5)
Read On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5) Online
Authors: Travis Simmons
Tags: #new adult dark fantasy
Sneak Peak of The Turquoise Tower
Copyright © June, 2014 by Travis Simmons
The Revenant Wyrd Saga Book Five:
On Wings of Chaos
Published by: Wyrding Ways Press
Cover Design by:
Najla Qamber Designs
Formatting by:
Wyrding Ways Press
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, and people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The candle flickered, weak and insubstantial against the raging storm outside. Shadows gathered in the corners of the small stone chamber like pools of ink — dalua perhaps, coming to watch the birth of the four children Sylvie LaFaye carried in her belly.
Anakim. Half-breeds. Those beings with angel and human blood mixed, granting them power far beyond that of mere mortals.
Sylvie shivered, pushing aside the thoughts of dalua. Dauin misinterpreted the tremor and grasped her hand tightly, nodding encouragement to her. He was nearly as tired as she was, his blue eyes dull and wreathed in shadows, but she knew there would be more tired nights ahead of him, after she was finally able to rest.
Between contractions, Sylvie’s eyes fell on the nervous slip of a girl in the corner, shuffling her feet. She was the midwife’s apprentice, and scared stiff. Sylvie tried to smile at the teenager, to allay some of her fears, but she couldn’t catch her eye, and didn’t have the energy to try.
Sylvie didn't need Clarence, the midwife now crouched between her legs, to tell her what was so painfully obvious. Days ago she had felt four consciousnesses stirring in her belly, as she had since her children came to reside in her womb. But today it was different. One of them had grown stronger — the first to be birthed. With the child’s gathering strength, the two smallest, one boy and one girl, had slipped away, and were now nothing more than husks of the children they should have been.
Sylvie closed her eyes against the tears and pushed her brown locks away from her wet face. The children were close to being born. She needed to focus now, and not give in to the sorrow she felt coming to claim her.
Clarence looked up at her, and Sylvie nodded at the unspoken instruction. She pushed with all the strength her slight frame could muster. She shuddered, a scream tearing from her throat as she felt skin give way in her lower regions. Flesh tore and blood painted the floor, mingling with the feces and urine from her previous struggles.
In a ripple of thunder, the door burst open, sending candle flames around the room dancing on their wicks. An older lady stepped in, still wet from the storm outside. She took her cloak off, shook it a few times, and hung it on a peg beside the door.
"Grace," Dauin said, relief heavy in his voice.
"I came as soon as I heard," she said, coming to stand beside Sylvie. "The litter will be born tonight." It wasn't a question. Grace knew.
Sylvie nodded, taking the old lady's hand and squeezing it affectionately. Another contraction hit her body and she tried breathing through it, but it was a strong one. She cried out in pain, and then pushed again when the midwife nodded in her direction.
Human births were so painful. How could they go through with it?
Her skin tore more.
"Keep pushing. I can see the head of the first one," the midwife told her.
Sylvie pushed through the pain, took a deep breath and pushed again, her arms shaking, her grip tight enough to break bones in the hands she held. Before she knew it, a cry filled the air, rising higher than the tumultuous rumble of thunder outside the window.
"A girl," the midwife said. A deluge of rain peppered the thatched roof and shuttered windows. Lightning flashed, casting staccato shadows about the room as if welcoming the child into the world. It was an ill omen that Grace recognized as much as Sylvie did, though neither made comment on it.
Grace shook her hand free of Sylvie's grip and gathered the baby to her. The midwife snipped the umbilical cord, and Grace carried the child to the basin of water, rinsing her clean. She gave the child the five-point sign of the Goddess, blessing her with a long and safe life free of sickness. It was little more than ritual, to be honest. All gathered, except the midwife and her assistant, knew that the children were half angel, and therefore above most banes and illnesses that plagued children.
"Alright," Clarence said. "Are you ready for the next one?"
"Do I have a choice?" Sylvie tried a feeble smile.
"No," the midwife said, the joke obviously lost on her.
Sylvie nodded.
"Alright, push."
Sylvie pushed.
An hour later, the next child was born.
"Another girl," Clarence told them, handing the black-haired child off to Grace, who repeated the actions she’d taken with the first one. "No time to rest, the next one is right on her heels.”
Sylvie tried to smile, but she knew that was where the happy tidings ended. The next two children were dead.
One more daughter, and one son. The midwife tried to act like nothing was wrong, bolstering Sylvie's spirits until all the children were out. In her profession, she’d learned giving bad news during delivery would often harm the will to continue.
"And the last. A girl," Clarence said, handing the last, still form off to Grace, who looked at the child with sad eyes, but smiled encouragingly to Sylvie. In the old lady's eyes, Sylvie could see that Grace already knew that she knew her last two children were dead.
Clarence nodded to her assistant, who knelt between Sylvie's legs and started the process of sewing up the split skin. Sylvie thought the process would hurt more than it did, but if it wasn’t for the fact she could see the assistant moving, Sylvie wouldn’t have even known she was being patched up.
As the apprentice finished her chore, the light-haired midwife came back to the bedside, drying her hands on a new, clean apron.
She rested a hand on Sylvie's shoulder and kneeled down beside the bed. "There's no easy way to tell you this," she started, her voice quiet, as if that would soften the news she was about to give them. "But the last two children are dead."
Dauin's hand went slack in Sylvie's grip, but she tightened her hold on her husband’s hand and pulled him closer. She pressed her lips to the back of his knuckles and kissed them. Even though Sylvie had known they were dead, it didn’t make the words any easier to hear. After a few moments of letting the reality sink in, she nodded to the midwife.
"Can I see them please?" Sylvie asked.
"Of course," Clarence answered.
As the midwife stepped away, Sylvie pulled Dauin close. He pushed the bedding aside and lay down beside her, pulling her head into his chest. Tears leaked from her eyes.
"Will the Goddess take them into her arms?" Dauin asked quietly.
Sylvie nodded.
"Then they are where they need to be." The pain in his voice was unmistakable. He was trying to make it easier for Sylvie, when she needed to make it easier for him; when she should be making what was to come easier for him.
It wouldn't be easy.
Grace and Clarence brought the children back to them. The babies were swaddled in soft blankets against the draft of the room, as if that mattered now. Sylvie knew it was all a front to help comfort her mind, ease her suffering.