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Harry and Silna’s child came in the middle of a storm on the darkest night of winter.
Up to the moment of actually realizing it was time, and even for some time after that, Harry had considered himself prepared for the moment. It had been his idea to settle down for the season and build the ice house a few weeks early, reasoning it was better to do than to be caught off-guard while traveling. He and the captains had then set about hunting for extra furs and skins that Silna could use during the birth. He briefly longed for his long-lost medicine chest, thinking he might have had something to ease her pain when necessary. But she patted his cheek and gave him the small smile that was her way of telling him not to worry.
He couldn’t quite help himself, especially when the storm first hit. The winds howled against the wall of their ice house, and the cold seeped in through every miniscule opening. There would be no chance of venturing outside, no chance of running to James and Francis for help if things took a turn for the worse. But Silna’s composure managed to soothe his own nerves for a few hours. Even when the moment itself finally came -- when Silna placed a hand on her belly, then abruptly squeezed his arm and gave him an urgent look -- he only choked on his seal meat for a second or two.
Now? he asked her, trying not to tremble.
I can feel it , she said. Light another lamp and place the furs.
He had thought himself prepared then, and he did not dwell on his lingering fears. Even in the darkest hour of the night, when Silna’s brow was drenched in sweat and she groaned in pain with each push, Harry had refused to allow himself to panic.
Indeed, he failed to realize how woefully unprepared he was until he saw the end result for himself.
When the baby’s cry broke through the silence, Harry’s first instinct was to recoil from the alien sound. His mind ground to a halt, unable to attach a word to the tiny, glistening creature he was suddenly holding in his hands. It kept on wailing and tried to wave its lumpy arms and kick its legs at the air. It was a boy, Harry realized. A son. His son.
Just like that, the trance was broken, and he found himself scrambling to grab hold of the nearest length of fur. Once he had severed the cord binding the child to its mother, he wiped it clean and wrapped it in the small fur blanket that he and Silna had sewn. The baby soon began to grow quiet, content for now to be held and submerged in soft warmth. When Harry was satisfied that it would not freeze in his arms, he began to calm down. As he gathered the bundle close to his chest and examined it, the trance crept back over him once more.
The boy looked so much like Silna, he observed. There was her brown skin, her straight nose, the thin and stoic line of her mouth. It had opened its eyes by now, and it was staring back at him with curiosity, as though it already recognized him somehow. And there were his own eyes and the tufts of curly dark hair. It babbled and chirped at him as it nestled deeper into his arms.
My son , he thought again. It was an incomprehensible pair of words. And yet it was a thing true and tangible, existing in defiance of all he had lost and endured. It knew nothing of the forces that had brought it into this world and left so much death in their wake. It was blessed in its innocence.
Harry didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the tears sliding down his face. These were not the sharp, stinging tears that welled in his eyes as he darted awake from nightmares. They came from a much deeper well, a sense of endings within beginnings and grief within joy. He could do nothing but let them fall and overwhelm him.
Harry . Silna was sitting up now, tired and bedraggled, her expression fearful. Is something wrong?
He shook his head, then moved to her side and handed her the bundle. Look at how wonderful he is.
The winter storm raged on, but the three of them were safe and warm in their fragile oasis. And Harry Goodsir, still broken but no longer lost, thousands of miles from his old world with his new one at his side and in his arms, had never felt more at peace.