Self-Made Scoundrel by Tristan J. Tarwater Read Free Book Online Page B

Ceric had already been born and Dershik was covered in scratches and berry juice. His brother had been a pink, scrunch faced little beast, a hint of strawberry blond hair barely covering the spot on his head pulsing like a heartbeat. His mother had looked pale and his father gripped his shoulder tight, too tight.
    Ceric’s eyes stared straight forward, visibly trying to control himself. Dershik was about to take his hand when a cry came through the door.
    Both Dershik and Ceric stood up, the whole room coming to life as another cry came. It was the cry of a woman, of Jerila. After a few breaths another cry came, louder, with moaning following the cry. The voices of the other women could be heard faintly through the door and some of the servants ran out of the room, probably to tell others something was happening. Dershik began trembling as another moan, louder and more painful came to his ears. He sat down on the bench, ignoring the words other people spoke to him, wishing he could comfort his brother but unable to do so, not with everyone here.
    The air seemed heavy and hot and he was having trouble breathing. He wondered how Jerila felt, how great her pain must be and if she was thinking about the lies she was bringing her child into and if it made it hurt more. He wondered if she wanted Ceric or if she hated him now, wishing he was birthing instead of her. Dershik remembered the nights he had slept alongside her, the discomfort she felt, the feel of something moving beneath her stretched skin, all alien joints with a mind of its own. Most of the time he had slept in a chair and let her have the bed. He would probably let her and the baby have the bed once she was able to leave the birthing room. Another scream came from the room and the hair on his neck stood up as his imagination filled in what was happening.
    The watch went by in a blur. His father came back, dressed in house clothes which made the setting even more tense. Dershik asked one of the lampers if he had his cards on him and if they could play. Every time another moan came from the room they would look up but they were helpless to do anything else but stare and wonder and pray. Ceric looked as if he might throw up so Dershik had him dealt in. It took the priest three games to finally understand the rules and he lost fifteen blueies in the process before refusing to play again.
    “How about you? Would you like to play?” Dershik asked his father. The Baron had been watching them whole time and everyone but Dershik was too busy counting and timing the sounds coming from the room to notice the Baron’s disdain. His father just narrowed his eyes at him and turned away. Someone brought up filled buns and he managed to eat one savory and one sweet roll while he waited. The moans died down and people expected the door to open and the seal to be broken, but no priestess came to the door. Dershik eventually laid on an empty bench, most of those who had been waiting around leaving to sleep or tend to their duties. Ceric sat at his head, hands in his lap and as Dershik nodded off he could hear him praying quietly under his breath.
    A hand on his shoulder roused him from a dreamless sleep, the sounds from the room making him bolt upright on the bench. People ran to get others as the cries and encouragements of women came through the door. Dershik pushed past those there and put his ear against the door, careful not to touch the rope making up the seal. He could hear the voice of the midwife and Jerila grunting, groaning and Sister Kiyla praying loudly, all of the noise finally punctuated by the small, lusty cry of a baby. Dershik stepped back from the door as if a shock went through him, turning to the crowd with a grin on his face. A cheer went through the room and more people poured in, all hoping to get a glimpse of the newborn who would be Baron one day. Ceric came up alongside Dershik, some of the color having returned to his face. There was the sound of a lock