Listening to the woman's screams had become almost unbearable.
She'd been in labor for what seemed like days, and every time she screamed, he felt his gut wrench. This child simply couldn't die. He knew there was a good chance of it - the mother had never been strong, and the pregnancy had been hard. Her husband was dead, and she in turn had nearly died from grief. It had only been the impending birth of the child, and his presence that had helped her this long. He feared that if the child wasn't born within the next hour it would simply be more than the young woman could take.
He stroked her hair gently, and wiped the sweat from her eyes with a cool, damp cloth. He kept his voice low, and the undercurrent of worry firmly out of it.
"You're going to be fine, Triessa. I pr - ...You'll be fine." His hand found hers, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Her hand, damp with sweat, shook, but she managed to squeeze his fingers in response.
The midwife pulled him to the side, and he reluctantly let go of Triessa's hand. "What do you think?" she whispered frantically.
His eyebrows rose. "Good lady, I suspect you've helped at far more births than I. Most women aren't as comfortable with a man attending."
A note of despair entered her voice. "Sir, I know a lot about babies, and this is one of the worst births I've ever seen. Isn't there something you can do for her?"
He shook his head. "Not until the child is born... You can't risk the overflow of that kind of magic on an infant. It would kill the child. It's risky to even use a spell on a newborn."
An ominous pause. "You might..." She stopped, then resumed. "You might consider whether either one will live if you don't do it..."
His voice was harsh. "Get out, old woman. I will call you when you are needed."
"But, I..."
"I said GET OUT!" he roared. His fist slammed onto the table. He tuned away from her, and after a moment he heard the door shut softly.
He made his way back to Triessa. "What..." she panted, "What happened?"
He forced his voice back to soothing tones. "Nothing, dear child. Pay it no mind."
She gripped his hand tightly, and he didn't wince as her fingernails pierced his skin. He understood pain, as all sorcerers must, and barely noticed the feel of the tiny rivulets of blood wending their way down his skin.
Another scream ripped through her throat. "Grandfather!" she wailed. "I can't..." Her screams faded into sobs.
He touched her swollen abdomen with the tiniest wash of white magic, and bit his lip. It was time.
"Midwife!" he called. Strange, he couldn't seem to remember ever having heard her name. The door opened almost immediately. She must have been waiting just outside for his call. He simply sat by Triessa's side, and held her hand. That was all he could do.
He monitored her closely with a small white spell. The baby... It had to live. It might be his very last chance.
"Push!" the midwife commanded. "Push!"
No.
He felt it through his monitoring spell only an instant before her felt her grip seize. She pushed one last time, then her muscles went lax. The spell whipped back on him; the life it was monitoring had flickered and died. Somehow, sounds still made their way through his shock. The slap of the midwife's hand against the child, the sharp gasp from her when no sound issued from the baby.
He was rising. I can save her. I promised her husband I would look after her, and I will. His elegant fingers spread over her still form, and he felt power begin to rush through him.
A rough hand on his shoulder nearly made him sob in frustration as he lost the power for the intricate spell. Then he heard what the midwife was saying. "The baby! It won't breath!" She shook him, for the first time uncaring of his power or position. "Save the child! I know you can!"
His mouth was dry. "Right now... I'd be surprised if I could manage one large spell right now, let alone two."
She pushed the infant's lifeless body into his arms. "Choose."
He repeated the word as though it was totally alien. "Choose... ?"
"Choose. Between your granddaughter and her baby." She paused, then tacked on in a whisper, "It's a boy."
His hand strayed to his granddaughter's flushed cheek, then touched the top of the child's head. Triessa...
If the child lives... The curse may finally leave me and go elsewhere... None of my descendants have been male before. This may be my last chance. I don't have the heart to take a wife or lover again. I can't bear outliving all the ones I love. Oh, Triessa...
Choose. That blanket can be the first warmth the child knows in this world, or it can be his death shroud.
Choose.
Choose.
His hand passed over Triessa's face, shutting her eyes. Forgive me, child. He laid the child on the bed next to her, and without wasting any further time, began the spell.
He used no words. They were merely a focus point, and a skilled sorcerer didn't need them. Instead, he simply let his magic course through the infant's body, suffusing him with power for the upcoming spell. He touched the child's chest. Beat. He passed his hand over it's mouth and nose. Breath. He spread his long fingers so that they stretched over the entire unmoving form. Live. The child sucked in a single sharp breath, then let loose a wail.
The midwife cried out, brushing past him to take the baby, and he cut her off sharply. "I'm not finished."
This would be the truly difficult part. It was easy enough to make a heart beat again, but now he had to put the child's soul back in it's body. The spirit escaped at the moment of death, and had to be called back with magic. He placed his fingers on the infant's temples, the drew back with a gasp. What?
The child's spirit had never left his body. It had hung on, refusing to leave.
In all his years he had never heard of such a thing.
But... If the soul has been there since I forced him back to life, then my eyes should have opened by now if the curse had truly passed to the new generation. He swallowed. He was used to disappointment; it was no new feeling. He shouldn't have expected it to work, even if it was a male child. Apparently the curse shall end with me. I should be glad that it will trouble my family no longer, but I had always hoped... I'd always hoped that I should be able to see one day, even if it meant that my descendant would be unable to see until he had a child of his own.
Triessa... Dear child, I'm sorry.
He moved back slightly, allowing the midwife to take the child from the bed. He... He needed to rest... Find a bed somewhere and sleep. How long had it been since he slept? He sagged, using the wall to support his body as he stumbled from the room. He would sleep a little, then see to Triessa's body.
"Master Rezo?"
He sighed, and turned to face the midwife. "Yes?"
"The child... ? I've got to put a name down for it for the village records. What do you want him called?"
He considered a moment. A name? It was the last thing on his mind, a name for this child whose birth had killed Triessa. Don't lie. I killed her by choosing her son. It was greed. He sighed. "Call him... Zelgadis. It means stubborn willed."
He left without waiting for her reply, and staggered down the hall to the room Triessa had set aside for him. Next door was the nursery she'd decorated so painstakingly. He stood at the door to the nursery, then turned away. The child wouldn't reside in the room for long. He had to be on the road soon. He was Rezo the Red Priest.
He still had miracles to perform.