Page 176 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Carrie

T he atmosphere in the village is jubilant following the arrival of little Marsal, all animosity between Darran and Gregar’s tribe forgotten in the face of such good news.

Jaskry spends a long time handing her round to every one of her tribe brothers and sisters, enduring heavy claps on the shoulders from the warriors and boisterous hugs from the hunters, the smile never dropping from his face.

I try to get swept up in it all. Try not to let any trace of my turmoil onto my face.

It’s not hard to forget about everything but the baby for a little while.

She’s such an adorable little thing. Probably bigger than the average human baby, but I’ve never seen a human baby.

I have nothing to compare her to besides Ahnjas, and next to him she is tiny.

She has the cutest little tuft of dark brown hair on her brow, her eyes a soft brown colour.

When she blinks up at me, everything else fades out, and I’m just captivated by her.

But I can’t hold on to her forever. Everyone wants their turn. I can’t begrudge them that.

“I can’t believe I’m growing one of these,” Ellie says, running her fingers over Marsal’s little cheeks as Anghar cradles the baby in his arms.

And if the raskarrans weren’t already good looking enough, watching them melt over a baby takes it to a whole new level. Even Mattie seems to be defrosting a little towards the idea of babies and mates as she watches each of them hold Marsal in turn.

Endzoh doesn’t come forward to hold the baby because of course he doesn’t. But I can picture it. His enormous arms wrapped around a precious little bundle, holding them just as safe as he held me. The image makes something deep in my gut clench with want. Want for a child of my own.

A grandchild for my mother that she’ll never see. That she’ll never know existed.

Guilt scrapes over me like a blade. Guilt for something I haven’t even done.

I’ll save up and bring you out to join me. I promise.

I didn’t break that promise, either, but that never stopped it hurting.

The sharp edge of my anger starts to cut at my throat. I try to swallow it back down.

“Bibi,” Ahnjas says over and over, pointing to Marsal wherever she goes in the crowd.

“That’s right,” Lorna says, scooping him up into her arms. “Your baby sister. You’re going to be such a good big brother, aren’t you?”

He seems a little unsure about the whole thing, but when Jaskry gets his daughter back, he comes to sit next to Lorna, taking Ahnjas into his arms as well, and Ahnjas immediately reaches his grabby little hands towards his sleeping sibling.

“Hasha,” Jaskry says, holding Ahnjas back just a bit. “Hasha.”

With great carefulness, Ahnjas touches little Marsal’s face.

“Bibi,” he says again, and his smile is as loved up as everyone else’s.

I look at the little girl’s adorable squashy features, the roundness of her cheeks and the tiny perfection of her mouth. It would be hard not to fall in love with something so precious.

“I go back to Sally now,” Jaskry says to Lorna. “I take him.”

“Okay,” Lorna says. “I’m here if you need me.”

I don’t know if Jaskry understands her words, but he nods to her before rising, Ahnjas in one arm, Marsal in the other. Jassal runs over from where she was talking with Molly, and the four of them head back to their hut.

I look to Lorna. She has a hand pressed to her own belly, definitely thinking about her own child and the day in the future when she’ll get to meet it. I know it’s something she’s always wanted, and I’m so happy for her that she is getting to live that dream with Shemza.

I look round for the village healer now, wondering if he’s with Sally still.

Instead, I spot him standing by Endzoh, looking tired but jubilant.

Lorna said he’d been fretting about the birth, worrying over his lack of experience with such things.

I’m glad it all went well. For Shemza, for Sally, for all the girls who are pregnant with babies of their own.

I look over to where Rachel is standing, Vantos’ arms wrapped around her, his hand caressing her still flat belly. Ellie and Anghar are wrapped around each other, too, Anghar’s forehead pressed to hers, a huge grin on his face.

I want that kind of happiness. Bright, deep. Uncomplicated.

There’s a sudden burst of activity - a group of raskarrans clustering round the fire, holding great bowls of food they’ve brought out from the store.

“I think maybe Hannah is fed up of preparing feasts,” Liv says, hands on hips as she looks at the giddy raskarrans.

If they’re at all put off by her tone or the severe arch of her brow, they’re far too excited to show it, just grinning at her instead, as if they’ve already had a cup or two too much of Torfen’s home brew.

“I don’t mind,” Hannah says, pushing out of her seat and heading over to the fire. “If we’ve got enough supplies, I’ll make a feast. We should celebrate.” She looks to the rest of us. “But you’re all helping.”

The others laugh, and soon we’re chopping and slicing and peeling and mixing under her instruction.

And maybe one day we’ll get tired of feasts, but for now, having anything to celebrate is still an enormous novelty, as is having plenty of food.

It will be a while yet before our enthusiasm starts to wane.

Another night with a full belly, while Mom hungers.

My thoughts are like barbs firing at me.

I try to push them away, but it’s like Endzoh’s kiss has cracked something open inside me, allowing all the poison to burst out.

I want to run back to him, to bury my face in his chest again and feel his arms around me.

But I don’t want the poison to taint that.

To turn the thing that’s brought me such happiness sour.

How can I make you happy?

What if he never can?

Grace appears part way through the prep, her curly hair tied back from her face with a headscarf, her hands recently scrubbed clean, the smell of her skin cream drifting around her almost masking the copper tang of blood.

She looks both weary and elated, and as soon as she reaches us, her raskarran is beside her, ushering her into a chair, kissing her forehead and finding her a cup of water to drink.

She beams at him, tugging him down to sit beside her, smiling contentedly as his arms wrap around her, drawing her into him.

A jolt of hot jealousy courses through me at the sight and I wrench my gaze away, hating the whirlwind of emotions that’s crashing about inside of me, making me think things I never normally would.

“Did you have any luck finding more flowers?” Liv asks, sitting next to me, dragging me out of my self-loathing.

I show her the bag full of flower heads, the various different colours, but she doesn’t look, instead catching my eyes and giving me a searching look.

“You were gone a long time.”

Her words are carefully non-judgemental.

I try to shrug nonchalantly, but my face is burning.

Liv raises a brow, a hint of a grin on her lips.

And I wish I could tell her that she’s right in what she’s thinking, but also so wrong.

The words line up in the channel of my throat, trapped there.

I’ve hated my silence before, but never more passionately that I do in this moment.

Wanting to unburden myself of all my feelings, talk them through with someone who might understand, who might help me make sense of them, but being utterly unable to.

“I’m happy for you,” Liv says. I know she means well, but it makes me want to scream.

The tribe feasts and celebrates. Many toasts are raised to the baby. Too many. Almost all the raskarrans are staggering by the time we head back to our huts for the night.

I look for Endzoh one last time before I head to my bed and spot him helping a very drunken Namson to his feet.

He must sense my gaze, for he turns to me, giving me an exasperated look, though there’s plenty of affection for the elder in the slight curl of his mouth.

My chest aches for him, but I just make the ‘sleep well’ gesture, before turning away.

I don’t get changed into my bed clothes, instead lighting my little fire.

I know I won’t be able to sleep until my head stops spinning and spinning.

Sewing helps, sewing always helps, but tonight I reach for the purple threads in my bag and the leather scraps in my box.

I cut some thin strips, then tie them together with the threads at one end and begin working on designing a pattern of weaving that will both be pretty and strong enough to be durable.

At first, the level of concentration required doesn’t allow much room for other thoughts, but as I get into the flow of looping one thread around another, pulling them snug against each other, repeating the motions to make a pattern, my mind starts to wander.

Wander back to that day when the Mercenia Agents came for me. Standing with Mom in my bedroom, a tiny little bag packed on the bed before us. Mercenia knocking on the apartment door. Mom’s eyes going over my shoulder, so milky as to almost be grey. I doubted she could see out of her bedroom.

You better go.

Tears drip down my cheeks now, as they did then.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave you here alone.

I know, but you must. This is your chance, my Carrie, my darling girl. The opportunities you’ll have - far better than the ones you have here. I want you to take them.

I don’t know if I can do it without you.

Even now, my mind flashes through everything we used to do together.

Learning to sew buttons onto garments, telling stories under the cover of the sheets, casting shadow puppets on the wall by candlelight.

Working on extra commissions, braiding each other’s hair, dancing round the apartment to imaginary music.

In a world where everything else was against us, we were always blessed to have each other.

I don’t know if I can do it without you.