The Second Spark Of Asha

Koda

Winter has settled hard upon the valley.

Snow lies deep between the trees, covering the familiar trails and gathering against the lodges. The cold has driven most of our people indoors, though the hunters have little choice but to brave it. The game must still be found, fires must still be fed, and children must still be clothed against the wind.

Talon walks beside me with a deer slung across his shoulders, his dark hair tied back from his face. I carry the smaller of our two kills, grateful for the weight of it against the cold.

“You will tell Carla she cannot help you split wood today,” he says.

I glance at him. “Why would I tell her that?”

“Because she will ask.”

“She can split wood if she wishes.”

Talon gives me a look. “And when she tears open the wound she has spent four months healing?”

“She will not.”

“You sound certain.”

“I know my mira.”

“You know a woman who nearly died and has since decided she must make up for every day she spent in bed.”

I have no answer for that.

Carla is healing well. The color has returned to her face, and she no longer tires from crossing the camp. Yet she has developed an unreasonable determination to do everything herself, as though the months she spent recovering have left her indebted to the world.

I have tried patience. I have tried reasoning with her. Neither has proved particularly useful.

“She is not made of glass,” I say.

“No. Glass is easier to keep in one piece.”

I turn my head toward him.

His mouth twitches.

“Perhaps I should tell her you said that.”

“Perhaps you should not.”

For the first time that morning, I laugh.

It is a small thing, a moment of ease between us, but I find myself holding to it as we approach camp. There was a time when I could scarcely imagine a morning like this. I had thought I would lose Carla, and the fear of it had changed something in me that I doubt will ever be the same again.

Now she is here. She is healing. She is forever finding some new task she has no business undertaking.

I can endure her stubbornness.

I can endure almost anything, so long as she remains beside me.

We have nearly reached the first lodges when someone comes running toward us.

Naya.

She is moving so quickly through the snow that she nearly loses her footing. Her dark braid has come loose over one shoulder, and her face is pale beneath the cold.

Talon drops the deer from his shoulders.

“Naya?”

She reaches us, breathing hard. Her gaze moves between us, but it settles on Talon for only an instant before she looks at me.

“Koda, you must come.”

Something in her voice strips the last of the ease from my thoughts.

“What happened?”

“It is Yani.” Naya swallows, struggling to catch her breath. “She fell this morning. She said she was well, but the pains began soon afterward. Asha has been with her for hours, and now there is blood.”

Talon goes still.

“How much blood?”

“I do not know.” Naya’s voice falters. “Enough that Asha sent me for you.”

I have never seen Naya look so frightened.

She has endured the destruction of her own people, the loss of nearly everything she once knew, and the burden of carrying her surviving family into a life she never expected to lead. She has learned to stand firm when others might have broken.

But now she is afraid, and the fear in her face tells me more than her words.

I turn toward the healing shelter.

“Come,” Naya says, already moving. “Quickly.”

Talon and I follow her, leaving our game in the snow.

As we approach the shelter, I hear a woman’s cry.

Yani.

My steps quicken.

Another cry follows, and Talon passes me, his face set. Neither of us speaks. We know what this means. Ralen’s child is coming into the world.

And Ralen is not here to see it.

We enter the shelter.

Carla stands beside the sleeping furs, her face pale beneath the dark strands of hair that have escaped her braid. Seya is near Yani’s head, holding a damp cloth against her brow, while Asha kneels beside her, her attention fixed on the labor she has been trying to guide for hours.

When Carla sees me, she comes toward us.

I have never been so relieved to see her standing on her own feet.

Until I see her eyes.

She is frightened.

“What happened?” I ask.

Carla shakes her head once, unable to answer. Instead, she looks back toward Yani.

Yani lies on the furs, her face damp with sweat, her hands clenched in the blankets beneath her. She has always carried herself with a quiet strength. Even after Ralen’s death, even through the grief that followed, she has found ways to keep moving forward.

Now pain has stripped away that composure.

She cries out again, gripping Seya’s hand.

“Please,” she gasps. “Make it stop.”

Seya bends over her, murmuring words of comfort, but her own face is strained.

Talon kneels beside Yani.

“Yani.”

She turns toward his voice. Her eyes find his, and for a moment I see relief pass across her face.

“Talon.” Her fingers close around his wrist. “My baby.”

He covers her hand with his.

“We are here.”

It is all he can promise her.

Asha looks up at us.

“She fell on the ice near the stream this morning. She struck her side, but she insisted she was unharmed. The pains began not long afterward.”

“Why was I not told?” Talon asks.

“You were out hunting,” Naya says quietly. “By the time we understood that the pains were not stopping, there was no time to send anyone farther.”

Talon looks at her, and I see the worry in his face soften for an instant. Naya has been here, helping Yani through every hour of pain. She has done what she could.

He says nothing to reproach her.

Instead, he turns back to Yani.

“How long has she been in labor?” I ask.

“Since before high sun,” Asha answers. “The labor isn’t progressing as it should.”

I look toward Yani. Her breathing is uneven, and sweat dampens the hair at her temples. She is trying to gather her strength, but I can see how much the labor has taken from her.

Then I see the blood.

There is enough of it to make my stomach tighten.

Asha follows my gaze.

“The bleeding has increased. I fear something more than a difficult birth is happening.”

“Can you save her?” I ask.

Asha holds my gaze.

“I will do everything I know.”

It is not an answer.

It is the truth, and that makes it worse.

Seya brushes the damp hair from Yani’s face. “Stay with us, child. Keep breathing.”

Yani shakes her head, tears slipping into her hair.

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can,” Seya tells her, though her voice trembles. “You have come this far.”

Talon lowers his forehead briefly to Yani’s hand. I know what he is thinking. Ralen should be here. Ralen should be standing beside his mira, holding her hand, telling her she is stronger than the pain.

Instead, his child may enter the world without a mother.

I have no words for that kind of cruelty.

“Is there nothing else you can do?” Carla asks.

Asha’s eyes lift to hers.

“I don’t know.”

“Dr. Bennett. I can get him.”

I look at Carla.

She is already looking at me.

I know what she is thinking. Elias helped save her life, his father has years of experience, and Margaret knows how to assist them. Together, they may be able to do what Asha cannot.

Carla reaches for my arm.

“Take me to town.”

There is no hesitation in her voice. No plea. She grips my sleeve as though the decision has already been made, and all that remains is for me to move.

I cover her hand with mine.

“Let’s go.”

She lets out a breath, and for a moment I see how badly she needs me to say it.

Talon remains beside Yani.

“I will stay with her,” he says.

Naya looks toward him, and something passes between them. She has been frightened for Yani, but she has also been carrying that fear alone. Now Talon is here, and she does not have to bear it by herself.

“I will stay too,” she says.

Talon nods. He does not tell her to leave or to rest. He knows she would not go while Yani needs her.

Seya takes Yani’s hand again, and Asha returns to her side.

I take Carla’s fur cloak from where it hangs near the entrance and settle it around her shoulders, drawing it close beneath her chin.

She catches my wrist.

“Koda, please.”

“I know.”

I press my forehead briefly to hers.

“We will bring them back.”

Then I take her hand, and together we leave the shelter.

***

The snow has thickened by the time we reach the Bennett house.

Wind drives it across the street in pale sheets, and the cold bites through my clothing. Carla has barely spoken on the journey. She keeps her eyes on the road ahead.

I have not asked her to slow down.

There is no point.

She is thinking of Yani. Of the child. Of Naya and Talon waiting beside her, while Seya and Asha do everything they can to keep her alive.

I am thinking of Carla, and of the terrible day I nearly lost her.

I remember how little there was between her and death. I remember holding her and wondering how I could go on in a world that had taken her from me.

Now she walks beside me, alive and warm beneath her fur cloak, and I must watch her rush into the cold for someone else.

I would not ask her to do otherwise.

The Bennett house stands dark against the falling snow, save for a faint light behind one of the windows.

Carla sprints up the steps before I can help her.

“Carla—”

But she is already at the door.

She pounds against it, her gloved hand striking the wood again and again.

At last, a light appears beyond the window. Footsteps approach, and the door opens.

Margaret Bennett stands before us in her nightclothes, a shawl drawn around her shoulders. Her gaze moves from Carla to me, taking in the snow caught in our clothing and the urgency that has brought us to her door.

Then she looks directly at Carla.

“Carla?”

“I need you all. Please, it’s Yani and her baby.”

Margaret’s expression changes at once. She does not ask why we have come so late or whether the matter can wait until morning. Years of tending the sick have taught her to recognize fear when she sees it.

“Tell me what has happened.”

“Yani fell this morning. The labor has not progressed, and she’s bleeding. Asha sent us for Dr. Bennett and Elias.”

Margaret draws a quick breath.

“The office should be closing by now,” she says, already turning toward the house. “Benjamin and Elias may still be there finishing with their last patients. I’ll fetch my medical bag and what supplies I can carry. Go to the office and bring them. I’ll meet you where the trail leaves town.”

Carla is already moving.

“Carla!”

I follow her down the steps, but she is running through the snow toward the street, her fur cloak slipping from one shoulder.

For one disbelieving instant, I can only stare after her.

She has spent four months fighting to regain her strength. She has only recently begun to trust her own body again. And now she is running through a winter night as though none of that matters.

Because to her, it doesn’t.

Not when someone else is in danger.

I catch up with her before she reaches the corner and seize her hand.

“Slow down.”

“Koda, we have to—”

“I know.” I draw her beneath my arm, keeping pace with her as we hurry toward the physician’s office. “But you cannot help Yani if you fall in the snow.”

She looks up at me, fear shining in her eyes.

“What if we’re too late?”

I have no answer that will ease her fear. I cannot promise Yani will live, or that the child will draw his first breath.

All I can do is hold her hand as we run.

And together, we disappear into the falling snow.