Elphame's Choice. P.C. Cast

the word lift the women raised their arms to the domed ceiling and spun, humming the melody together. The silky clothing they wore drifted around their bodies like falling leaves, framing them in shimmering rays of changing light. All of the women were smiling, as if they were taking part in an event filled with such wonder that it was impossible to contain within them, and the happiness came spilling out of their bodies. As Fiona helped her mistress settle back into the cushions of the chaise longue they could clearly see formless glitter outlining each dancer like spiritual halos.

      “Magic,” Etain whispered.

      “Of course,” Fiona responded in her no-nonsense tone. “Would ye expect less at the birth of a goddess?”

      “Of course not.” But the truth was that although Etain had been Epona’s Chosen for almost a decade, she still found it easy to be awed by the power of her Goddess.

      The song ended and the dancers stepped gracefully out of their circle. Some of them approached Etain, each with a smile and a kind word.

      “Epona has richly blessed you, Chosen One.”

      “This is a great day for the Goddess, Epona’s Beloved.”

      Seen separately they lost a little of their magic and once more became what they were—simple human women who were there to support and encourage the birth of a much-awaited child. They ranged in age and beauty, but they were of a single mind.

      The next contraction started high on Etain’s abdomen. She felt herself tense. The pain peaked. The contraction caught her, trembling through her body. It was a wave in which she was drowning.

      A young woman cradled Etain’s shoulders with her hands.

      “Do not fight it, Goddess.” Her voice whispered softly into the laboring woman’s ear. “It is not a battle to be won. Think of it instead as the wind.”

      Another woman’s voice spoke earnestly when she paused. “Let it fill you, Chosen One.”

      Yet another woman added, “Yes, fly with it, my Lady.”

      “And breathe with me, Etain.” Fiona’s reassuring face swam back into view. The Goddess Incarnate struggled to slow her breathing as she was swept into the vortex of the contraction.

      After a series of endless moments the pain flowed temporarily away. A cool, damp cloth wiped the sweat from Etain’s forehead. Fiona held a goblet of clear, icy water to her friend’s parched lips.

      “Let me check the progress, my Lady.”

      Etain opened her eyes to peer up into the calm aquamarine gaze of the Healer. She was a stoutly built, middle-aged blonde who carried with her the unmistakably confident air of a woman who knew her job intimately and performed it well. The Chosen One nodded and obediently raised her knees. She was wearing only a cream-colored cotton chemise so fine it felt like it had been spun from clouds. The Healer pushed it up around Etain’s nonexistent waist. Her touch was gentle and thorough.

      “It goes well, Beloved of the Goddess.” She smiled encouragingly and patted her thigh before rearranging Etain’s clothing.

      “How much longer?” she asked wearily.

      The Healer met the Goddess Incarnate’s gaze, understanding her impatience. “Only the Goddess can tell you that for sure, my Lady, but I do not think it will be too much longer before you will greet your daughter.”

      Etain smiled and nodded at her before the Healer faded back into the group of women, whom she ordered about with a voice made of velvet steel. Fiona bent to stroke an escaping curl from her friend’s damp face.

      “He’s not going to be here in time, is he?” Etain couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice.

      “Of course he will,” Fiona said firmly.

      “I should have never insisted he go. What was I thinking?”

      Fiona tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter as she answered. “Let me see… Ah, yes! I think I remember what you said. Something about if he didn’t get out from under your feet and stop asking how you were feeling every moment you were going to flay the skin from him.” She mimicked Etain’s tone so exactly that it made several of the nearby women laugh.

      “I’m a fool,” Etain moaned. “Only a fool would send her husband away when she is so pregnant she could give birth at any moment.”

      “My friend.” Fiona sat next to Etain and squeezed her hand. “Midhir will be here in time for the birth of his daughter. You know Moira will find him.”

      And she did. At least the Goddess Incarnate’s mind told her that of course Moira, the Lead Huntress of Partholon, would be able to track and find her husband, whom she had shooed away yesterday in the company of several of his comrades for an all-night (and, she cringed as she remembered the crisp annoyance in her voice when she had told him to make it all day, too) hunting trip. But her heart and her laboring body said that this baby was coming soon. With or without her father’s presence.

      “I need him here, Fiona.” Tears made her vision shimmer.

      Before Fiona could reply another contraction began to build, and she tightened her grip on the other woman’s hand.

      “Oh! This one is bad.” Etain gasped, feeling a little nauseous and panicky.

      And then the Chosen One was blanketed with the cool, soothing voices of women as they hummed the melody of the birthing song. In harmony with the rhythm, several of them spoke joyously, one at a time.

      “We are with you, my Lady.”

      “You are doing well!”

      “Breathe with Fiona, Chosen One.”

      “Relax, Goddess. Remember each pain brings your daughter closer to this world.”

      “We cannot wait to greet her, my Lady!”

      Their voices became Etain’s rocks and she used them to anchor her concentration as she again matched her breathing with Fiona’s calm breaths. She slid down the bottom side of the contraction and managed to smile her appreciation to the surrounding women.

      The women laughed with a sweet sound that was infectious. Etain rested one hand on her taut stomach as a giggle slipped from her lips and she closed her eyes, willing her body to relax and rest.

      Oh, please, please let him arrive in time.

      Patience, Beloved. The voice tickled within Etain’s mind. Her lips curved upward at the gentle admonishment. The shaman will not miss the birth of his daughter.

      “Thank you, Epona,” she whispered. Reassured by her Goddess’s promise she felt a new surge of energy. “Fiona! Let us walk again.”

      “Are you quite sure, Etain?” Fiona’s brow wrinkled in worry.

      “You said walking would make the child come more quickly.” Etain held out her hands and Fiona helped pull her awkwardly up from the chaise. “And quickly sounds wonderful to me at this moment.” She winked and the concern in Fiona’s face lightened. The Chosen One tossed her head and smiled at the attending group of women. “Ladies, please sing for me while I hurry my daughter’s arrival.”

      The women clapped their hands happily. Some of them broke into a little celebratory dance that caused magic to sparkle in their wake. Linking her arm through Fiona’s, the two women walked slowly through the diaphanous curtains.

      Etain inhaled deeply. “This is something I will miss about being pregnant.” Fiona looked at her quizzically. “My incredible sense of smell. All through this pregnancy my sense of smell has been amazingly acute.” She lumbered to the nearest rosebush and gently passed a finger over the velvety petals before continuing down the path.

      “Yes, this is amaz—” The word ended in a grunt as the next contraction took her by surprise.

      “Slowly, remember not to fight it, Etain.”