Étude

[Tearen Wover]

The waves crashed against the distant shoreline, like rippled glass drawn across white silk. Somewhere a bullfrog croaked dolefully in the late afternoon sun, contemplating the opening strains of the evening's song. Nesheika walked up the plank-paved road from the stream with a fresh basin of water. It sloshed patiently within its vessel, artfully balanced on the veiled crown of the islander's head. The basin was a wide, terra cotta vase. Handcrafted, obviously, and scratched with decades of use.

Perhaps this village had a name. Maybe even the miniscule atoll that the village inhabited might have a designation in some rarely accessed Imperial shipping register. For all intents and purposes, however, the inhabitants of either simply had to call their home The Island, or The Village in order to know that it was home. On the matter of Imperial shipping, The Island never really saw any in a meaningful sense of the word. Oh, certainly, they could literally see the high-masted freighters cruising across the blue horizon, but they never served as more than a moment's distraction from the quiet bustle of the bucolic lifestyle.

As Nesheika reached her destination, a sudden cry of agony split the tranquility apart. It was long, drawn, and hoarse, and it was also accompanied by a string of obscenities that the young sand maiden could only fathom the meaning of.

"For all that is fucking holy will you sopping cuntwads just yank this fatherfucking bitch outta me already?!"

Nesheika's eyebrows bobbed upwards in a momentary, dull, look of surprise before dutifully pulling the beaded curtain back. The inside of the thatched, driftwood laden bungalo was warm, dim, and scented with the equally heady aromas of coconut and human effluence. Makeshift mannequins adorned the walls, along with bobbins of thread and skeins of yarn in more colors than can be responsibly listed here. Another teeth-grinding shriek issued out from behind a carved, teak partition. The scream was cut short by the soothing encouragement of Nesheika's mother and erstwhile instructor in the art of midwifery.

"Breath-breath-breath, deeeeep now." Assul said softly, mopping the sweat from her patient's forehead with an already soggy rag. No matter how many times Nesheika saw the woman currently writhing in her bed, Myla Wover would always be a fascinating oddity to the otherwise sheltered islander. Skin as pale as the coral sand, with tiny hornlets as dark as stained ebony...hair the color of the last mauve glints of sunset, and her eyes...orange and fierce. Candles in the night. Yes, it certainly had taken the villagers to get used to their newest member, but when the Angels had told them to take good care of the strange woman, they had no reason to refuse. Besides, despite her outwards appearance, Myla was still a normal woman in all the ways that mattered to the island's head medicine woman. Assul looked up, suddenly noticing her daughter's presence.

"Thank you, Neshy..." the midwife said, using her daughter's pet name, "...put it over on the stove, please, and bring the other."

Nesheika nodded softly and did as she was instructed, setting the warmed pot of water next to her mother. Assul dipped the cloth into the water and used it to clean up Myla's blood-crusted particulars. She tutted softly as she did so.

"We just might have to, k'ou aloha...but I'm afraid she's having trouble, comin' out kickin' first like she is. We'a have to cut the uh..." Assul said, scrunching up her face as she tried to remember the English word for perineum.

"Cut the what?!" Myla bitched, leaning up slightly before letting out a defeated groan. Her vaginal muscles clenched fruitlessly on the child half-way born. Everyone was exhausted. They'd been at this for almost twelve hours now, and to her credit, Myla's baby was still hanging to life. Assul's lack of a direct answer, but very apparent possession of a scalpel caused Myla's entire body to tense. The aging medicine woman nodded at Nesheika and then towards he bag, yapping something in the native tongue that the ex-succubus was still trying to learn. The younger attendant rummaged for a moment before producing a small, long tiki made of hardwood.

"For bite." Nesheika said softly, before cramming it Myla's mouth and imperiously grabbing Myla's sweaty forearms. The demoness's eyes went wild with panic, while she inwardly marveled at how such a delicate young lady could have a grip stronger than some of the road warriors she'd known in the Underverse. A strangled, gurgling scream tried to vibrate passed the tiki clutched in her teeth as a sudden eruption of white pain bloomed from her genitals. Myla's entire body contorted in confusion at the sequence of events, and the world spinned sickeningly. Nesheika lovingly cradled Myla's head as she dry heaved pointlessly off the side of her pillow, having already evacuated the last her stomach contents a few hours prior. She wanted to stop screaming, really, but the utter, unrelenting tedium and indignity of the entire birthing process was beginning to crack the last vestiges of sanity the demoness possessed.

When she was finally done with her hysterics, more due to exhaustion than adaptation to the howling pain, she weakly fixed her gaze out the open window towards the billowing palm leaves and sinfully blue sky beyond. Myla just focused on breathing for now, as he hearing gradually returned. Nesheika was no longer at her side. She could hear the two women speaking in hushed tones from the foot of the bed, and the intermittent clicking of medical implements. Myla swallowed dryly.

"Assul..." she murmured in a scratchy, distant tone. There was no immediate response. Myla's eyes drooped shut for a moment, and maybe some time passed. Maybe not. She couldn't tell.

"Assul...!" Myla tried again, still to no avail. A rising tension began to emerge in her throat. With great effort, she turned her head down to stare at the two women. Blood covered almost the entire lower half of her body, at least based on what she could see over her extended abdomen. A pale, yellow coil of flesh trailed over the foot of the bed, where Assul and Nesheika's heads bobbed up and down. More hushed murmurs came to her ears as the ringing in them subsided.

"Ladies...? What's going on? Talk to me."


"Is she okay?"



"Assul?! Wh-what's going on!?"