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“Stop pacing,” Sarai signs. “You’re stressing yourself out.”
“ I’m stressed out? Me?” Amaya jabs herself in the chest at the beginning and end of her sentence before turning an accusing finger on Sarai. “ You’re the one who’s been in labor for three hours!”
“You pacing doesn’t help.” Another contraction makes Sarai grimace. Nadav takes her hand and squeezes it so hard his knuckles turn white.
“Listen to your sister,” says the midwife. Amaya scowls, instinctively grating against the woman’s word choice. Sarai signs a translation, turning “Listen” into “pay attention” and adding “extremely cool” before “sister.”
“I lipread what she said just fine,” Amaya snaps. “You shouldn’t be interpreting right now.”
“It’s not too late to call an official interpreter.”
Amaya shakes her head. She refuses to leave her sister even for the few minutes it would take to run to the local clinic and ask them to send someone. If she asked Nadav to do it for her, he’d go, but she can’t do that. She can’t send Sarai’s husband away just as the child he helped make is about to be born. If she’d been thinking, she would have asked for an interpreter when she dashed into the clinic earlier to tell the midwife that Sarai’s water had broken. All she could think at the time was that the baby was a week early and Sarai needed someone who knew something about babies right fucking now . She hadn’t even remembered to bring stuff to write with. If the nurse on duty hadn’t recognized Amaya and given her paper, she would have been forced to use her voice to explain the situation. That would have meant extra delay while the staff either called the interpreter themselves or tried to work out what she was saying.
Seeing another gasp from Sarai shocks her out of her thoughts. Nadav flinches, so it’s probably a loud gasp. He’s gone at least two shades paler than he was this morning, and he’s a pale-skinned guy to start with.
The midwife looks unimpressed. She conducts a professional check between Sarai’s legs and shakes her head.
“Push,” she advises.
“What the fuck do you think -” Sarai grits her teeth against another contraction and finishes her statement in sign language. “-I’ve been doing for the last three hours!”
The midwife glances from Nadav to Amaya. “Was that anything I need to know?”
“Probably not?” Nadav’s grasp of KSL is still shaky. He looks at Amaya, who shakes her head.
“Didn’t think so.” The midwife asks Sarai if she wants another dose of medication for the pain. Sarai nods weakly. Amaya helps her sit up to swallow. After that, there’s nothing she can do but wait and pace. Nadav takes the job of sponging off Sarai’s forehead. Which is fine, Amaya reminds herself. He’s her husband. He should be here helping. He’s a good man, even if he doesn’t have a fraction of Sarai’s fire and can’t tell the difference between the signs for “depressed” and “naked.”
She’s caught off guard when the baby’s head emerges, even though she’s had several hours to anticipate this exact outcome. It doesn’t help that the baby’s skin is tinged blue.
“It’s blue. Why? Is that normal?” she signs, but Nadav and the midwife are both totally focused on Sarai. Sarai, based on her expression, is focused on not dying. Her eyes flutter open and she gestures vaguely at Amaya. Possibly “I’m okay,” but her hand is trembling so bad it’s hard to tell. The abnormally blue baby slides out fully. It’s slimy and wrinkled and Amaya almost takes a step back when the midwife shoves it at her.
“Hold him,” the midwife orders. Amaya’s military instincts kick in. She obeys. While the midwife fusses over Sarai, she stares at the tiny, fragile thing in her arms. The baby’s eyes open in its - his - scrunched up face. Later, Amaya will realize that the first face Callum ever saw was hers. Right then, all she realizes is that the baby’s eyes are the same shocking green as Nadav’s. Not brown like hers and Sarai’s.
The baby’s mouth opens. He inhales. He releases his damp breath directly into Amaya’s face. The blue color starts to clear from his skin.
The midwife taps her arm. She says something, pointing at the baby. Amaya hands him back. The midwife carefully lays the baby in Sarai’s arms. Sarai gently cradles his little head.
Nadav leans closer and asks a question. The baby turns toward the sound of his voice.
Oh, Amaya thought. Hearing. She pushes the thought aside. To the midwife, she signs, “Why is he blue?” The midwife shrugs and rummages for a piece of paper. Amaya stops her, points to the blue blanket on the bed, then at the baby, who admittedly is looking a much more normal color for a human now.
“Oh, that? Lack of oxygen. Very common,” said the midwife. “Now that he’s out and his lungs clearly work, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Lack of oxygen seems like something very much worth worrying about, but Amaya drops it. She sits on the opposite side of the bed, watching Sarai pass the baby to Nadav.
“He’s beautiful,” says Nadav. He looks awed.
Sarai nods. She’s still breathing hard. Her eyes are barely open.
“Looks like you,” she says, but she signs the last word in Amaya’s direction.
“Nadav is there,” Amaya signs, pointing. She wonders how strong that pain medication is.
“I know.” Sarai opens her eyes fully, fixing them on her sister. “His dad’s eyes, but your face.”
Amaya can’t see much of a resemblance between her face and the baby’s. He looks red now, not blue, as he gulps down air. Still, the image of Sarai’s upraised palm stays in her mind. Sarai’s hand, still shaking, but determinedly forming the flattened possessive pronoun: “Your face. Yours.”
Ezran’s birth is completely different from Callum’s. For one thing, Sarai is older, tougher. She has six years of child-rearing, a miscarriage, and several military promotions to her name. Nadav is long dead. King Harrow is the father this time. He's the one who sits at Sarai’s bedside.
The biggest difference, from Amaya’s point of view, is that she isn't there with her sister. By sheer bad luck, her leg is broken from the last elf attack. The doctors refuse to let her travel back to the capital. Both her escape attempts fail. She stays in the hospital, alternating between raging at the doctors and rereading Sarai’s letters. She nearly faints from relief when she gets the letter telling her that everything went well. Sarai and the baby are healthy.
She is there for Ezran’s first full medical exam. The exam is another difference. Sarai and Nadav never called a doctor for Callum unless something was obviously wrong. Military pay is good, but not that good. But Ezran is the king's heir. That means an hour of poking and prodding and peering by the royal physician. Ezran bears it with a tragic nobility far past his age.
“Healthy weight. Good reflexes,” Sarai translates. At a request from the physician, Harrow places Ezran on his lap and covers his eyes. The physician moves from side to side, speaking at different volumes. That’s what Sarai says. Obviously, Amaya can’t tell. Each time he speaks, Ezran turns his head, trying to follow the sound.
“Hearing is normal in both ears,” the physician says.
Amaya would rather die than admit to being slightly disappointed. She knows an enby who’s fourth-generation Deaf. She also knows that the enby is unusual. Most born-Deaf people are like her: random flukes, no family history. Anyways, her nephews are perfect just as they are. That’s what she tells Sarai and Harrow whenever the two of them worry about the kids. Nothing can stop her from loving them. Not Callum’s tantrums or Ezran’s frequent illnesses. Not watching Ezran drift into sleep while Harrow sings to him. Not Callum talking so quickly she can’t read his lips and has to remind him to sign. Even Sarai’s death, when it comes, doesn’t lessen her love for the boys. It just changes it.
Amaya’s pregnancy is planned as meticulously as a battle strategy. Janai stops taking her hormonal medication for months. Amaya tracks her cycle and reminds Janai of the right time to fuck by using increasingly lewd pick-up lines. Even then, it takes several tries before a pregnancy takes. Janai proves to be surprisingly superstitious, advising Amaya to avoid everything from cold weather to spicy foods for fear that these things might somehow hurt the baby. Amaya humors her. To be honest, she’s a little paranoid too.
The paranoia ramps up into a frenzy when she goes into labor. Amaya is convinced that the baby will be stillborn, or die minutes after birth, or that it will refuse to be born at all. When the baby finally defies her fears, emerging fully alive, Janai signs, “She’s yelling.” Amaya is disoriented from forty-eight hours without sleep and several doses of pain medication. She has no idea who is yelling. Not until Janai sets the baby in her arms and Amaya looks down into a tiny face, mouth distorted in a furious cry.
Apart from the five fingers on each hand, the baby looks fully Sunfire elf. She has pointed ears and dark skin. Her horn buds harden hours after being born. Her eyes are a blazing golden brown. Amaya can’t stop looking at her. It seems impossible that this child - her child - really exists. She expects the baby to disappear every time she blinks.
They name her Khessa. She doesn’t disappear. She grows at a speed that is almost alarming. She shrieks and coughs and laughs. When she cries at night, Janai nudges Amaya awake and Amaya rocks their baby until Khessa goes back to sleep. Janai says Amaya is better at getting Khessa to calm down. Amaya says Janai is better at making Khessa giggle.
Khessa turns into a fussy six-month-old. She jams things into her mouth when she starts teething. She rubs her head on every surface she can reach to itch her growing horns. Often, when Amaya falls asleep on the floor due to her busy schedule, Khessa crawls into her arms and falls asleep too. She’s laying in Amaya’s arms one evening while Janai washes dishes. They’re on the couch instead of the floor, for once, and Amaya is still awake. She watches Khessa’s little fists twitch as she dreams.
Amaya notices movement in the doorway. She twists her neck to look, keeping her arms immobile so she won’t wake Khessa. Janai leans against the doorframe, looking worried.
“I dropped a dish,” she signs. “Did it wake her?”
Amaya carefully frees her left hand, keeping her right under Khessa’s head, so she can sign back, “No. You okay?”
“I’m fine. You stay there. I’ll clean it up.”
“Okay.”
Janai disappears back into the kitchen. Amaya watches Khessa’s chest rise and fall. A scowl creases Khessa’s face, but only for a second. Then she relaxes. No doubt in her dream, she has valiantly fought off the dreaded monster known as Bath Time.
A thought prowls into Amaya’s mind. If Janai had dropped a dish, and Khessa hadn’t woken up, that might mean she hadn’t heard it. Which might mean…
Amaya keeps staring at her daughter. She is so unbelievably perfect. The gorgeous darkness of her skin, the contrasting paleness of her fingernails, the dark hair that frames her face in wild curls. A good sleeper, like Callum as a baby. Cheerful, like Ezran had been and still is. But by six months, Ezran and Callum had already started imitating the sounds they heard. According to Janai, Khessa doesn’t.
Moving a fraction of an inch at a time, Amaya adjusts her position. She moves her right arm away from Khessa as slowly as she possibly can, stopping any time her daughter so much as twitches. Khessa half-wiggles, half-slides into the nook between her mother’s chest and the back of the couch. Her eyes stay closed.
Amaya holds both hands above her daughter’s head.
Janai is going to be so pissed if this wakes her up, she thinks. Then she claps her hands. Khessa continues sleeping. Maybe she hadn’t clapped loudly enough. Amaya tries again, bringing her hands together with enough force to make her palms sting. Khessa sleeps peacefully on. Amaya checks the doorway to see if the sound has gotten Janai’s attention. Sure enough, her wife stands frowning in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” Janai signs.
“Could you hear me clapping?”
“Yes. Did you need something?”
“No.”
“Then what -”
“I think Khessa is Deaf,” Amaya signs.
Janai blinks. Her mouth forms the word “Oh.” She walks to the couch but does not sit down. The “oh” turns into a smile.
“What?” Amaya signs.
“Nothing. It’s just… I’m glad she’s like you. Is that strange?”
Amaya shakes her head. She brushes a stray curl out of Khessa’s half-open mouth.
“I should have known I would end up outnumbered,” Janai jokes.
Amaya smiles but can’t think of a witty rebuttal.
“Amaya?” Janai signs her name tenderly, holding her hands close to her heart.
“What if she wants to speak instead of sign?” Amaya asks. “I can’t teach her.”
“I can,” Janai points out. She sits on the floor beside the couch.
“Have you noticed how often Khessa moves her hands?” Janai asks.
Amaya has. Until now, she has chosen not to read into it.
“She’s learning from you already,” Janai continues. “Like Callum and Ezran did.”
Right on cue, Khessa opens and closes her fists. Ironically, the movement resembles one of the signs for “sign.”
“I’m the one who should be nervous,” Janai remarks. “You have more experience raising children than I do.”
“Sarai and Harrow did most of the work with Callum and Ezran.”
“There’s more of you in those boys than you realize.”
Khessa’s eyes open into a squint. She grabs Amaya’s hand and shoves it into her mouth. Janai chuckles.
“But not as much as there is in Khessa. Do you think she’s going to be as stubborn as you are?”
Khessa proves Janai’s point by refusing to release Amaya’s hand. Luckily, Amaya only needs one hand to sign, “Yes.”
Janai grins. “I hope so too,” she signs.