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It’s that you see your wife and child are in the water too, and you realize you can’t save all of them.
Tears sting at my burning eyes as I watch Ellie writhe. Sweat coats her forehead. Her screams are becoming more pronounced now.
Again, Ellie asks for a cloth to bite down on, worried her wails will attract the Others. As if the blood isn’t already doing that.
And there is so much blood.
Amity does as asked, though I suspect mostly to give Ellie something to do, a way to calm her anxieties.
Ellie pushes, and I squeeze her hand and tell her I love her, though that hardly seems enough.
“It’s too early. It’s too early,” she keeps whispering, and each time it chisels away bits of my heart. By the end of this, there will be nothing left except a cavity inside my chest where our joy should have been.
All the while, Amity keeps at work, tending to Ellie’s wound and checking on her progress. Marcus keeps watch. I’m not aware of a time when he lowers his bow, feeble as his poisoned muscles must be.
The Others don’t come.
There are moments when my vision blurs, and all I can see is that vital moment. The mere crashing into Ellie’s back, slamming her to the ground on top of Amity. I can hear the crunch of her ribs, the sound of her cries of agony.
It wasn’t her shattered bones she’d wept over.
And then there were my vines, not long enough to reach, not powerful enough to protect.
All because I don’t enjoy doing things I’m not good at.
Olwen could have saved her, and talented as my sister is, the same blood runs through our veins, the same magic at its core.
I just simply refused to tend to mine. Didn’t care enough to bother.
And then, when Ellie said she wanted to come along with me to the Rip, I didn’t consider it then, either—that I hadn’t practiced long enough to protect her. I’d relied on the skills of Blaise, Lydia, and even Marcus, sick as he is, sure that any of them could best our enemies in a fight.
I hadn’t bothered to train. I’ve had two hundred years to hone my skills, to prepare for this moment, the hour I’d need to protect my family, and I simply never cared to try.
Because I didn’t let myself think about it. Just like I never let myself think about the fact that one day, Ellie will grow old and die. Just like I didn’t let myself think about what would occur if the Rip were opened and the beasts got to Ellie, assuming we’d be long gone before that happened.
All I was thinking was that if I left her behind, I would miss her like I would miss my own eyesight. That I couldn’t stand to be parted from her smile, her melodic voice again. I thought I needed her, and I did. But had I considered what she needed? She wanted to come, and I let myself be convinced so easily, sure that having her and our unborn child by my side would ease my anxieties. Would relieve me from worrying about whether they’d come to harm, because I could lay eyes on her any time I wanted. Hear our baby’s heartbeat as I pressed my head against her belly. See the smile on Ellie’s lips.
But that’s always been my problem, hasn’t it? For some reason, the immediate has always felt so much more real, more concrete, than the future.
But the future has a tendency of coming whether I care to consider it or not, and now I’m reaping the consequences of not taking it more seriously.
Ellie’s sobbing now, the rag in her mouth soaked through, and I can’t stand it. Can’t stand to watch her in so much pain. Can’t stand the helplessness that aches inside me.
“I can see the baby’s head,” Amity says matter-of-factly. Nausea washes over me.
I don’t think I can stand to look, stand to watch our baby die, exposed to the elements too early, before its organs have a chance to properly develop. Will Ellie want to hold our child as it dies? I think probably so, and if she does, I’ll make myself stay, planted beside her. For Ellie.
My head spins, shadows speckling the edges of my vision.
“I think it’s coming,” says Amity, and the blood drains from my face. I feel as though I’m going to pass out.
Amity peers up at me. “You should probably look away.”
I feel weak, ridiculous, but I do as I’m told as Amity delivers my and Ellie’s child.
I’m not sure if it takes minutes or hours, but there’s a moment when the world goes numb.
And then a tiny voice creaks out into the shadows, piercing the darkness, and though it’s the sound of anguish, it’s also the sound of life. A first breath stolen from the air. A life wrangled from the wind by a tiny hand that flails as I make myself look into Amity’s arms.
