Nature's son: Prologue

The moon shined brightly, illuminating the shabby cottage at the edge of the forest. The night was cold and bleak, threatening to rain. But still the moon shined as if wanting to shed some light into the events going on the cottage. Round, bright eyes blinked in the forest, staring with surreal focus at the trembling house. Inside, a lonely candle burned, and the fireplace roared with flames, a pot of boiling water resting on the burning planks of wood. 

Nasia screamed, the pain in her body too much to hold in.

"Come now dear, one more psuh," the midwife said hurriedly.

Nasia took in a deep breath. her baby, she was doing this for her baby... hers and her dear Milek's. Her leg muscles spammed as another contraction heaved her body to push. She had the rewarding sound of a baby crying to appease her. She sighed happily and let her body rest.

“’Tis a wonderful baby boy,” the midwife said, her voice soft and caressing.

“Can . . . can I hold him?” Nasia’s voice was brittle, a small wavering blade of grass ready to be blown away by the raging storm.

“Of course, m’dear. He is yours, after all.” The midwife placed the small and warm body of her baby in her arms. Nasia smiled down at the beautiful baby. He had small tuffs of black hair growing in his small head. His eyes were a golden brown, a current of light pulsating in their depths. Nasia wasn’t concerned by the strangeness of her child’s eyes: she could only see the baby’s face—a face that looked exactly like her dear Milek’s.

“What are you going to name the child, daughter?” the midwife’s voice woke Nasia from her reprieve.

“Luzbell . . . my little bell of light,” Nasia whispered. Her body seemed heavy and the act of speaking was becoming too great an ordeal for her to handle. Her mind was blurring and her vision was failing her. She knew she didn’t have long to live.

“Are you going to take care of him?” Nasia whispered to the midwife.

“Child, I’ll do what I can.” Nasia understood. The woman had a large family of her own. She could not blame her if she didn’t take care of her child.

“Give him this, when he is ready.” Nasia grabbed a string hanging from her neck and pulled. The string broke and Nasia gave the necklace to the midwife. A small, heart-shaped diamond hung from the string. The light jumped off the smooth surface, bringing out the colors of the rainbow.

“I will,” the midwife said, but it was too late; Nasia was dead. Slowly, the midwife, whose real name was Mary, took the sleeping child from the dead mother and dropped the precious necklace into one of the many pockets her coat contained. Outside, the threatening rain had finally broken loose, but the harsh wind blew the droplets away towards the forest.

“Child, you chose a bleak day to be born,” Mary told the baby. She looked back at Nasia. There was nothing she could do for her, but to take care of the child. She had three mouths to feed already and she worried that another one would be too much. Perhaps she could nourish him a year or two, the she would have to leave the child at an orphanage. It was all she could do. Sighing, she left the sad cottage, leaving the dead body of Luzbell’s mother to the mercy of nature.

 

Inside the cottage, the small flame that burned in the candle suddenly went off, and the four shadows that had been surrounding the bed where Nasia laid disappeared.

“Where do you think the woman is taking the child?” The speaker was shrouded in darkness, the only hint of identity in her feminine voice.

“It doesn’t matter. Wind will not lose him.” This speaker was a male, his voice like two rocks grating against each other.

“We should leave. I do not like the way father treats his fallen children.”

The four figures exited the cottage silently, but the last silhouette stopped and looked back at the stilled body that was Nasia. The female human was not beautiful; she wasn’t even pretty. Her face was too plain, her hair limp and colorless, her skin rough and cold . . . and yet, she was special. An all too human emotion welled up inside the dark figure. It touched the wall with a dark finger. Instantly, spidery webs of fire ran through the wall from where the inhuman finger had touched the wood. Soon, the whole cottage was on fire.

 

Half a mile away, Mary turned as the smell of burning wood reached her. She could only see a ball of fire where the cottage had once been and tail of smoke raising from it. She remembered the candle she had left burning by the table. The wind must’ve knocked it over.  The baby in her hands started to cry because of the smoke. When Mary looked down at the infant, she didn’t see the child of a large fortune or a great love. She didn’t see the child of a hateful jealousy or a deep betrayal. She only saw a hungry baby that needed a warm place where it could eat, then sleep.