"I was fourteen," Eiah said. "How many months has it been since you bled?"
"Six," the woman said as if it were a badge of honor. Eiah forced
herself to smile.
"Is the baby well?" the man asked. Eiah considered how his hand wrapped
his wife's. How his gaze bored into her own. Desperation was as thick a
scent in the room as the vinegar and herb smoke.
"It's hard to say," Eiah said. "I haven't had the luck to see very many
pregnancies. Few of us have these days. But even if things are well so
far, birthing is a tricky business. Many things can go wrong."
"He'll be fine," the woman on the table asserted; the hand not being
squeezed bloodless by her man caressed the slight pooch of her belly.
"It's a boy," she went on. "We're going to name him Loniit."
Eiah placed a hand on the woman's arm. The woman's eyes burned with
something like joy, something like fever. The smile faltered for less
than a heartbeat, less than the time it took to blink. So at least some
part of the woman knew the truth.
"Thank you for letting me make the examination," Eiah said. "You're very
kind. And I wish the best of luck to you both."
"All three," the woman corrected.
"All three," Eiah said.
She walked from the room while Parit arranged his patient. The
antechamber glowed by the light of a small lantern. Worked stone and
carved wood made the room seem more spacious than it was. Two bowls, one
of old wine and another of fresh water, stood waiting. Eiah washed her
hands in the wine first. The chill against her fingers helped wash away
the warmth of the woman's flesh. The sooner she could forget that, the
better.
Voices came from the examining room like echoes. Eiah didn't listen.
When she put her hands into the water, the wine turned it pink. She
dried herself with a cloth laid by for the purpose, moving slowly to be
sure both the husband and wife were gone before she returned.
Parit was washing down the slate table with vinegar and a stiff brush.
It was something Eiah had done often when she'd first apprenticed to the
physicians, all those years ago. There were fewer apprentices now, and
Parit didn't complain.
"Well?" he asked.
"There's no child in her," Eiah said.
"Of course not," he said. "But the signs she does show. The pooled
blood, the swelling. The loss of her monthly flow. And yet there's no
slackening in her joints, no shielding in her sex. It's a strange mix."
"I've seen it before," Eiah said.
Parit stopped. His hands took a pose of query. Eiah sighed and leaned
against one of the high stools.
"Desire," Eiah said. "That's all. Want something that you can't have
badly enough, and the longing becomes a disease."
Her fellow physician and onetime lover paused for a moment, considering
Eiah's words, then looked down and continued his cleaning.
"I suppose we should have said something," he said.
"There's nothing to say," Eiah said. "They're happy now, and they'll be