Earth Vein Saga: Volume I, Chapter III

The Queen Gretchel laid in her bed with a maiden devoted to each palm and foot. They tenderly massaged the Queen’s skin, trying their best to help her keep her mind off of the pains of her pregnancy. The contractions were getting closer, pain was excruciating, but the Queen welcomed it. It had taken her ten years to get pregnant. A few more hours of agony seemed worth it.

Leonid took Gretchel’s hand from a maiden and held it close to his chest.

“I have called for the Healers. They have crushed opian petals for the pain. Do you want some?”

The Queen’s head shook.

“Stubborn as always,” the King joked. He mustered a weak smile, despite the high anxiety he felt.

“We’re one in the same, my Love. I want the Healers out of the room,” the Queen demanded.

“You know how I feel about this. Let them stay,” the King pleaded. He noted the Queen’s neck. Her milky white skin was dark with the blue veins of Hiretusk blood. The veins appeared to become darker and darker during her pregnancy, until they distracted all from the Queen’s beautiful face.

“Men give their blood and pain on the battlefield, and women give it on their birth beds,” interrupted Hannah, the midwife. “Women have no place on the battlefield, just as men have no place here.”

Hannah was a broad woman with wild red hair, a flattened nose, and a flat mouth that seemed incapable of smiling. The King was never fond of the woman, but when she had successfully birthed Dansil some fourteen years ago, Leonid was so happy with Hannah’s work that he kissed her on the lips. That was the first time anyone had ever seen the midwife smile.

The King ignored the midwife. “If you were any other woman who bore any other child, I would agree with you. But you’re my wife and you bear my son. Hiretusk blood flows within you,” the King said.

“All the more reason for your Healers to leave. The Queen needs her full concentration,” Hannah said. “We don’t want to have a mishap.”

“The Healers stay!” the King commanded.

The large outspoken midwife seemed to shrink at the King’s words. Leonid drew closer to his wife, until his lips just hovered over her glistening cheek.

“These Healers are the best in the kingdom, my Love. There potions can keep a man alive until he’s well over two hundred.”

The Queen gazed lovingly into her husband’s eyes.

“Let’s hope they can keep a woman who is about to birth a Hiretusk Prince alive,” she said, still smiling.

“A Prince?” Leonid asked. His words choked in his throat.

“I had a dream about him last night,” the Queen struggled. “He swam through a sea of light. His skin shined like the sun.”

“My son,” the King said.

A pain like none she has ever felt filled the Queen’s body. The fear gripped her then. Something was wrong. Gretchel could barely breathe. Gods, I will not survive.

She did not speak it, but the thought was written on her face for her husband to read. Leonid squeezed his wife’s hands. He felt faint.

“Healers, come,” he said.

The Queen hushed her husband and brought his hand to her lips. “Our son will be great,” she said.

“I don’t doubt it. Can you imagine when he’s older? The girls will be flocking to him by the dozens,” the King said. This made the Queen smile.

“Did you have any names in mind?” the King said, smiling bitterly. The tears had formed a glaze over his eyes.

“I always liked the name Gabriel,” the Queen said.

The name sounded like nails on glass to the King.

“After my brother?” he asked. He wished she wouldn’t have said the name. “It’s bad luck to name a child after a murdered man.”

And the King was in Murrow’s Pass, seventeen years of age and standing before Blitzius. The Latetral’s white mace was dripping red. Gabriel laid at his feet. His helmet had a devastating dent on top. The blood cascaded down his face, completely covering his skin. All that was visible was a dead white eye that stared up at Leonid.

“No one will murder this child,” the Queen said with confidence, and the King was returned to the birthing room.

“Is it true, my Queen? Your son will be born of no blood?” asked a maiden.

“I think so. I can just feel it. He’s so warm inside of me,” the Queen said. She paused. “That’s it,” the Queen said. Her face twisted with the pain of a contraction that came quick and hard. “Vandren. That will be my son’s name.”

This name pleased the King. Vandren, after Vandren the Gold, the hero of the Songsmiths. The name alone filled the King with pride.

“Prince Vandren,” he said, testing the name. It was perfect. If Gretchel’s visions were correct, the prince would be the greatest gift the Kingdom had received in over three centuries. Leonid pressed his lips against his wife’s forehead.

The birthing bed became drenched with the Queen’s fluids. Leonid went into a panic and turned to his Healers for aid.

“My Lord, please let me work,” said the midwife. The King meekly nodded and stepped aside so Hannah could work. “Keep her safe,” he said. It was more a plea than a command.

The pains of the labor raised the veins in the Queen’s neck and made her face cherry red. She exhaled with a pained scream.

“Breathe, my Queen,” Hannah said. “As we had practiced.”

The Queen had not expected to feel this much pain. The birthing was so different when Dansil had been born. She could hardly breathe. “Healers!” the Queen cried out. “Leon, give me the opian petals.”

The King looked at the Healers. “You heard the woman!” he yelled.

There were three Healers in the room. The eldest, Martin Blester, known more simply by the people of Hiretusk as Medicine Man, stood with two of his high apostles at his flank. Martin was a dark skinned man with thick white hair that stood as if he was indefinitely stuck in a wind tunnel. His skin was smooth and well kept. He looked to be in his late 50’s, but this wasn’t the case. Martin had been present during King Leonid’s birthing, where the King’s mother passed away from birthing royal blood. Leonid had never forgiven himself for his mother’s death, and neither did his brothers.

No one was sure of exactly how old Martin was. The stories said that he kept himself preserved with potions and an assortment of rare stones and herbs, and that with these potions and items he could live indefinitely. As of recent, the old man had acquired a hoarse cough that made some of the other Healers suspect that his years of life were coming to an end. To Martin’s left, holding a blue ceramic bowl that matched the color of the Healer’s robes, was Plasius, a Latetral who defected to Hiretusk to join the Order. Plasius had wide, dark eyes that were fixed beneath thick eyebrows. He was a man of little words and, like Hannah, Plasius rarely smiled. To Martin’s right was the young Richard, an adept Healer who was in his early thirties. Richard’s black hair grew short on top. What he lacked on top he made up for on his face, chest and arms.

Martin dipped his index and middle fingers into the mixture of ground up yellow petals. Gretchel cried out in pain. The urgency of her scream threw Leonid into a rage.

“Hurry up, you fools!” the King screamed to the Healers.

Martin moved beside the Queen and massaged the opian petals into her temples. The mixture worked instantly, and the Queen was able to breathe freely again.

“You’re going to be okay,” Leonid told his beloved. “I won’t allow what happened to my mother to happen to you.”

The Queen’s sedated eyes looked up drearily at her husband. “I love you,” she said.

“Gods,” Hannah muttered. The midwife’s stone face had grew long, her mouth opened and eyes wide in fascination. A single beam of gold light graced her face. Martin touched the King’s arm.

“My Lord, I think it would be in your and your wife’s best interest if you were to leave now. You may just be adding stress to the situation,” the elder Healer said.

The King’s face had reddened from anger. “Tell me, Martin. When did it become a Healer’s place to tell a King what to do.” The anger grew. “And Hannah! How dare you tell the King of Hiretusk where he is allowed to walk! I swear by the gods, if anything bad happens to my wife or my child, I will have you killed!” The King’s rage was sweltering.

The good Queen had never seen her husband talk so harshly before.

“Leonid, stop,” the Queen said weakly. In her highly sedated state, Leon could see that his words had upset her. He felt ashamed.

“I… I’m only trying to help you. I want the best for you, my Love,” he said.

“I have the best. Please wait outside, my King. I will see you shortly,” Gretchel said.

“Yes. Yes, okay,” the King said. He gave his Queen one last kiss on her forehead. The corner of his lips touched the opian petals on her temple and began to tingle. “I will see you soon, Gretchel. I love you.”

“I love you so much,” she said.

As the King walked towards the birthing room’s door, he could see the intense presence of a gold glow which was bright enough to cast shadows on the wall. Over his shoulder, the King heard the maidens swearing to the gods. He exited the room and closed the door without allowing himself one final look into the room.

The sun had set and the moon was well in the sky. Leonid waited outside of the birthing room for some long minutes. The seconds felt like decades. The King felt a stiff pain in his stomach that he blamed on nerves. In the dark hall, the birthing room’s door was outlined with brilliant gold light that penetrated through the door’s keyhole and cracks.

“Gods,” Leonid said. The gold light was becoming even brighter. A warmth that penetrated through the doors and had begun to make the King sweat accompanied the light. What unnerved the King even more was the silence in the birthing room. Why wasn’t anyone talking? The King couldn’t help but think the worst.

The door opened and golden light poured into the dark hall. It took the King a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the intense light, and when they did he saw a young maiden standing in the door way. She looked angelic, her slender body and flowing hair outlined by gold. When his eyes focused better, the King could see that the young maiden had a bewildered look on her face.

“My Lord,” she muttered.

“What? How’s the Queen?” he asked.

The girl slowly shook her head, trapped in a dreamlike state.

“What’s wrong, damn it!” the King yelled, grabbing the girl by her shoulders and shaking her.

That’s when he heard the cry come from within the room. No one else spoke or stirred. The only noise was the soft cry of a newborn baby.

“It’s a boy,” the maiden said, her voice a dry hiss. “Just as the Queen had said. And his skin…”

The King shielded his eyes from the bright light as he ran into the birthing room. There was an unnatural heat in the room that was inescapable, as if someone had set a large fire at every corner of the room. By the birthing bed was a small figure. The baby was as bright as a star, just as how the Songsmiths had recorded the hero King Vandren centuries ago.

“Gretchel!” the King said. The boy was too bright for the King’s eyes to focus on his wife. “Is she okay? Somebody say something, damn it!”

The light suddenly dimmed. Hannah had the newborn Prince cradled in her arms, wrapped tightly in a soft blanket. Only the boy’s face showed. He was a beautiful baby boy, with full lips and large blue eyes just like his mother. His face was round and sleepy, and thick blue veins lined his necks.

Hannah looked over at the King, bewildered, and spoke no words. Her eyes panned over to the birthing bed where the Queen had laid. The front of the Queen’s flowing white gown had vanished, save for the a dark black circle of burnt fabric which revealed the Queen’s stomach area and lower abdomen. The Queen’s stomach, which had been smooth white skin that was full of baby was now a hollowed charred husk.

Martin was the first to speak. The King noted the elder Healer’s face. It was the first time in his lifetime that Leonid saw Martin with a look of confusion over his face.

“My Lord… We had no idea,” he said.

The salty tears that came were hot and relentless. They drenched the King’s cheeks and clung to his lips. For those in the room, the events of that night would raise many questions that would go unanswered, but there was one thing that was obvious to all - the King would never be the same.