The Spirit Keeper by K. B. Laugheed

their eyes. I was absolutely petrified. How could I possibly make Syawa’s Vision come true?
    I numbly turned to follow Syawa, who was following the young man, my thoughts racing far ahead of them both. If we all somehow survived the shame of my inevitable failure, would Syawa understand at last what a mistake he’d made? When he realized there was nothing at all special about me, would he send me home or have Hector dispatch me on the spot? I walked with head down, dreading the dismal end of my short, unhappy life.
    We came to a hut from which a few of the roof mats had been removed. Syawa and I entered to find a young woman clearly suffering the pangs of childbirth. She was wholly naked, sitting on a large hide, her belly huge and tight, her face pale and dotted with perspiration. Her eyes rolled in terror that instantly transformed into relief the moment she saw who we were. When Syawa smiled that smile of his and knelt beside her, I watched the tension in her taut muscles simply melt away.
    The woman’s husband remained outside, but his mother introduced us to the women attending the laboring girl. One explained how the young mother’s pains began shortly after we arrived in the village, and how she had suffered e’er since with little to show for her efforts. With the mother growing weak, the women hoped the famous Holyman could coax the baby out into this world.
    Syawa crooned a song the young woman could not possibly understand as he brushed the damp hair off her face. He gently laid her down before pulling some items out of a pouch he’d brought with him. As he began performing an incantation o’er her, I turned my attention to the young mother and the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. Everything was eerily familiar. I suddenly realized I’d been here before—dozens and dozens of times. I knelt beside the laboring woman, becoming strangely calm, confident, and sure. I didn’t know much about campsite cooking, but I knew a thing or two about having babies.
    From the day I, myself, was born, I had been exposed to childbirth on a routine basis. My mother was confined about once a year, and my sisters, sisters-in-law, neighbors, and acquaintances too numerous to mention gave me infinite opportunities to learn all the problems and solutions of difficult labors. In my seventeen years, rare was the month when I was not bathed in the blood of birth—if not from a human, then from one of our many animals. I knew all about the birth process. I knew how it worked and why it sometimes didn’t. If the subject of Syawa’s latest Vision was childbirth, I just might be able to make a contribution.
    Whilst Syawa sang and rubbed herbs on the young woman’s temples, I slowly and deliberately felt her belly. I expected her to tighten up when I touched her, but I was surprised to feel her actually relax beneath my hands. Then it occurred to me—if I were being handled by someone I sincerely believed to be the embodiment of a Holyman’s Vision, I suppose I, too, would relax.
    My examination revealed the baby’s backside was pressed down hard upon the top of the birth canal. On the other hand, the woman’s pains were still strong and productive, and when I laid my ear against her belly, a strong rolling movement assured me the little one still lived. There was, indeed, reason to hope.
    Hours passed as I tried to work with the pains to turn the baby ’round. Of course the women who’d been there from the beginning had already tried what I was doing, but they urged me on, sure I would have more success. I don’t know how the poor woman endured all my pushing and prodding, but by late in the day I myself was beginning to flag as frustration welled in me. Remembering how I broke that ax, I struggled to remain calm, but I’m sure I would’ve brought the poor mother to the brink of hysteria had it not been for the cool example of Syawa, who sang sweetly through all my futile efforts, ne’er tiring, ne’er