“Originally, the greatest danger to a mage was him or herself followed by other people then followed by dragons," Alvah began the morning lesson with a lecture. "Dragons are no longer such a threat but mages at the heights of their hubris might have disturbed a dragon’s lair when transforming their domain. Dragons being creatures of instinct have by nature quite a force of will to match a spellcaster and undo the spells of novices or the undedicated but worse had a means to teach their young. A dragon that survived a mage might teach its offspring the limits of a spell while a mage that survived a dragon might train dragonslayers. Offspring that survived their encounter with dragonslayers would educate their young on the strengths and weaknesses of such people until matters escalated to outright war. Now, the greatest danger are aberrations.”

Alvah continued his latest lesson by listing out times mages were caught in their own spells or assassinated by those jealous of them before going into disturbing detail how they were hunted by monsters.

“To avoid such dangers, the easiest and safest solution is to simply abstain,” he noted. “I dislike that I taught you a skill only to tell you not to use it but that is the best option. Do as you did when we first met and use the sciences to battle such things. A powerful mage could defeat an aberration but in doing so might draw the attention of another one then another until overwhelmed by attrition or faced with a Great One.”

"I would prefer to be able to use every tool I can," Itxaro replied. "My grandmother casts spells at times but sparingly. I would like to be able to avoid the attention of aberrations like you are able to. Even if I'm careful, I must still take risks all the same."

"If you are unsatisfied with simply never using magic, there are a number of options I am aware of. First, that you limit your number of uses and practice in a safe, secluded area like you just mentioned with your grandmother. Second, that you develop an art similar to mine. Third, you limit your own presence when casting spells."

“What about gaining a familiar, like you claimed to have? Would a familiar be able to accomplish the same as Desdomena?”

“Do you want something like me?” Desdomena teased. “Because I do not think there all that many friendly aberrations left in this world. Humanity’s terror has caused even the most beineign of existences to sprout claws and fangs to bite.”

“Desdomena is correct. If there are aberrations left that can still be tamed, they are few and far between and likely of similar nature to her. You would have to make one for yourself if you do not wish to venture out to find such a rare existence.”

“Is that possible?”

“Conjuration to the point of creating even a facsimile of life was one of the most difficult of arts. It is simple enough to make an illusion but to give something an identity outside the caster was both ambitious and dangerous. That was why priests relied on the populace in the maintenance of gods. But yes, it would be possible, you would need to dedicate yourself to the making of an art that could create your familiar.”

Creating a spell to allow herself to cast more spells seemed a fair exchange but somehow did not fit with her. She wanted to preserve life, not create new life. She could consider it but it seemed quite an undertaking. Where would she even begin.

“If I wanted to create a familiar, what would I need to do?”

“The simplest route would be to not create something entirely new. Observe a person or animal until their every mannerism was dedicated to heart and create either an illusion or genuine replica of them.”

“Very uninspired,” Desdomena commented.

“And if I wanted to make something unique?”

“You could use someone as a model or basis and build a new personality and features around them within your mind. If you have great self control, you could construct such an image entirely within your mind without a muse but it helps to have something there to solidify it to you.”

She could at least consider that an option. “How do I accomplish the fourth choice?” she moved on. “How would I hide my presence in my casting?”

"The more emotion you put into a spell the more noticable you are to those like Desdomena and it is difficult to approach art in a cold and distant manner. It is possible but very difficult," Alvah explained.

"That approach would be nearly impossible to study and practice without a friendly aberration like me to tell you whether or not you are successfully suppressing your emotions enough to avoid detection."

"How noticeable was I yesterday?" Itxaro inquired.

"The first time you casted a spell, you put a lot of passion into it. The second time, there was a giddiness to it." The aberration kicked her lips. "They were both quite delicious. That would have drawn the interest of others if I was not there."

So, Itxaro likely had along way to go but that did not discourage her except she needed Desdomena around to practice further. The aberration would hopefully no longer be there after a few weeks.

The main subject became safety from oneself. Alvah described spells gone rampant and reminded her that it was wise to let spells be short-lived rather than let them linger. He was in the middle of a list of accidents when there was rapid knocking at the door.

Itxaro answered it to find that one of the other village youngsters stood before her, the boy. He was the only boy the village had and he was similar in age to her with a gap of a few years with him the younger. “Why are you here?” Itxaro asked. “Shouldn’t you be helping your charge?”

“That is why I’m here,” he replied quickly. “The baby is coming.”

He explained frantically that one of the mothers had entered labor.

Itxaro said nothing to reject that possibility no matter how improbable it was. The other three youngsters cared for the potential mothers based on how far advanced their pregnancies were. His charge was at the time supposed to be the one that was not due for two or three months.

“Stay there,” Itxaro instructed before quickly turning to the pair of outsiders behind her. “I need you to leave,” she politely informed them.

“Someone else needs it more than us? Congratulations are in order then,” Desdomena began. “But where does that leave us? Do we sit outside the door?”

Itxaro envisioned the two lurking by the entryway. No one would be happy and it would only invite greater distress. “You will stay in my home,” she invited. “I am sure my grandmother will keep you company.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Desdomena replied in what Itxaro assumed was sardonic but sounded genuinely excited. “I am certain she will have a means to amuse us. Wasn’t she the one that brewed that wonderful potion? I can not wait to see what she has for us this time.”

Itxaro eyed Alvah’s encased leg. “How long before it is completely dry?”

“Just a few hours if I am right,” he assumed. “I think it is safe to walk with.”

“I will still ask someone to carry you anyway.”

He seemed ready to resist but likely got caught in the flow of things and said nothing against it when the village man other than Zorion helped carry him so he did not move his leg too much. Desdomena was nowhere to be found, having retreated into her host.

With the outsiders gone. The boy helped Itxaro prepare while the other two youngsters were likely caring for the mother. They had some time before active labor would begin. They needed a for lack of a better word a breathing pump and special tube for feeding. The lungs would not be developed completely and the premature child would not be able to eat and breathe at the same time.

They purified the room with incense to chase away whatever malignity that might have been left behind by the outsiders. With that complete, the boy went out to return with his charge.

Birthing had become a routine for Itxaro. The greatest problem was that the child was premature. Itxaro and even her grandmother had lost such children. If necessary, Itxaro’s mother might have to cut the child from the womb but that was considered too dangerous in most cases.

Itxaro began by asking when the contractions started, which according to the mother, they began an hour beforehand. Itxaro then tracked the time between contractions and found that they were still in the beginning of early labor. This was the easiest stage, the contractions were mild in comparison to what came next and infrequent. This was the time Itxaro used to prepare her supplies, comfort her patient, and check for other complications such as the baby being ready to come into the world feet first. It was then she found an additional problem, the child was weak even for one coming so early.

If this had been the mother’s first delivery, Itxaro might have had anything from a quarter or even half a day for her to enter active labor but this was not the woman’s first child. The child would arrive earlier than a first child, and no matter what, it would arrive without warning. Even an experienced midwife could not predict the beginning of active labor.

Itxaro called for her mother and her mother arrived. The youngest Itxaro explained the situation and her mother examined the woman’s belly. “The child will likely not survive even if I were to cut it out. It is not worth risking a woman’s life when the birth is no longer immediately necessary. If you can not deliver it with your own hands, then it is an acceptable loss.”

“But…” Itxaro began, remembering the tiny corpse she buried just a week before. Someone else would die. “This would be the second one I lost in a week.”

Her mother suddenly hugged her. “A stillbirth is not your fault,” she whispered as she patted the back of her daughter’s head. “Just do what you can.”

The mother departed and left matters in the daughter’s hands. Itxaro kneeled to the woman and provided her fresh water. “Everything will be alright,” Itxaro promised to everyone there.

She rushed back to her home, darting past her grandmother sitting across from their guest as she made her way to the storage room. She searched for additional herbs, anything that might help. If she could deliver the child safely, maybe she could nurse it to proper health. She perhaps had hours but even if she found the ingredients she needed, she would still need to brew whatever medicine or potion might be necessary.

“You’re not allowed in there,” she heard her grandmother’s muffled voice slip through the wall just as there was a series of knocks at the door.

She opened it out of habit and found Alvah standing there. “I do not have time for you!” she tried to dismiss him politely but in the moment exclaimed it in a half shout.

His right eye turned blue. “What is wrong?” he asked calmly, tilting his head.

“The child is coming too early. They are too weak to survive. I need to find a strengthening tonic or something,” she explained before slowly shutting the door on him.

The door did not completely close, holding it open was Alvah’s walking stick.

“You will need to explain to me,” he communicated through the gap. “Is it the mother that needs more energy or is it the child that is too weak?”

“It is the child,” Itxaro answered, pushing the door closed as Alvah dropped his walking stick.

Itxaro’s grandmother said some unkind words regarding the guest’s manners and there came a short apology from Alvah. Itxaro cursed as she remembered his leg was still healing. She was lucky he did not decide to use his cast to block the entryway. But why did he let go of the staff he used to support himself?

“I believe I have your solution!” Alvah shouted before knocking again.

As she opened the door an outstretched arm was the first thing to enter her field of vision. “Here,” he said, holding out a familiar green glyphstone in his palm. “It is incomplete but if it is a child we speak of and not an adult, it should be enough.”

He tried to take a step but lost his balance. Fortunately, he caught the door’s frame before he could fall.

Itxaro knelt and picked up his walking stick on the other side. “Just because I have a new charge does not mean you are exempt from our arrangement,” she kindly informed him as she passed it to him. “No walking until that cast of yours is dry.”

His eyes became uniform. “It is in its final hours. Even if it is still pliable, the disturbance should be minimal,” he replied with a crooked grin. “I thought this was more important than a misshapen cast.”

Itxaro faltered. He was not wrong but he still went against her advice. To acknowledge him as right would invalidate her authority as a healer. He was restless enough when he tried to walk from nearly the start. However, pressing any further would be petty. She had a choice, to confront him or ignore that behavior.

“Do I have to bring you into the room for you to cast your spell?” she asked rather than choose either.

“I will not be the one casting the spell,” he elaborated as he wrapped his spare hand around his walking stick, struggling to stand straight as he could. “You will.”

“Please return to your seat,” Itxaro told him. “Even if the child is not due just yet, I can not leave the mother alone for long. Please explain but do it quickly if you can.”

Itxaro led him back to his place. “As much as we appreciate your aid,” Elder Itxaro commented, reminding them that she was still there. “If you hurt yourself, it would have caused more harm than good when you could have asked me to perform your inquiry.”

“Again, I meant you no disrespect Elder Itxaro,” he continued some conversation they had on their side of the wall. “I saw an opportunity to repay my debt to you and your family.”

As he took his seat, he began to speak at a brisk pace. “An aspect of my art is that others can use my glyphs. The spell is already prepared.” He placed the glyph in front of himself. “It was last filled yesterday, it should be safe for you to use even without Desdomena nearby. All you must do is place this as close to your desired recipient as you can and imagine your ideal of vigor and the energy will be passed on.”

Itxaro took the glyphstone in her hands and examined the conifer design. “I must warn you that it is incomplete. I can not promise that it will work," he added.

“I will save it as a last resort then,” Itxaro concluded. She looked to her elder. “Elder-“

“I know what you are going to ask, dear,” her grandmother interrupted. “You need me to see if I can concoct some alternative while you watch over the pregnancy. Your mother described the symptoms, I will see what I can find.”

The elder practically read her mind. Itxaro bowed her head in thanks and parted.

Midday gave way to afternoon and her grandmother had nothing to provide that could be made in such short time as active labor began. Itxaro explained the situation to the mother and glyph as an option while they were still in early labor. The mother claimed she accepted the aid of magic, hoping it might actually help in enduring what was to come.

They had an idea the child might have had complications but they hoped it might have been resolved as it developed in the womb. If not, they would have prepared something sometime closer to the expected due date.

The contractions grew more frequent and painful. Itxaro’s role now was to watch her charge’s breathing. Her charge screamed and cursed while Itxaro acknowledged and sympathized with the pain. Itxaro allowed anything her patients said or did at that time to be, short of them hurting themselves. Trying to calm them might make the situation worse. The process could be short as an hour or last a third of a day,

“Excuse me,” Itxaro spoke between contractions. “I am afraid I will need to use this. Do I still have your permission?”

“Do whatever you have to!” she yelled. “Do not make me suffer this in vain!”

Itxaro placed the glyphstone on the woman’s belly and began to concentrate. She tried to imagine vigor. She envisioned Zorion readying his bow but that gave way. No, that was more akin to her idea of patience. He was strong but disciplined. She needed something energetic and spontaneous.

Suddenly the moment when Desdomena in her lionlike form leapt onto her grandmother came to mind. The sheer savagery, the swiftness with which the aberration moved to save Alvah.

The glyph flashed and the woman winced in pain. The green light within the stone faded as it seeped into her flesh and for a moment an outline of the baby was visible, ringed in a verdant glow.

Itxaro bit her lip as she repressed any other reaction. She did not mean for that. Did she cast the spell correctly or incorrectly?

Fortunately, whatever new discomfort the magic brought passed. If anything it did seem to have the effect of an anesthetic after the initial reaction. This was new territory for Itxaro. Magic was involved. Would it delay the child’s arrival or accelerate the process? Her curiosity was answered as night rolled over them and the baby had yet to emerge.

Finally, it came. The time for the mother to push. There was little for Itxaro to say in regards to the position the mother took for the final undertaking. The position varied between women and Itxaro allowed whatever made them feel most comfortable. Some squatted while others laid on their side.

Itxaro’s job was now to tell the mother when and when not to push and to catch the baby. If a woman began to push too early, she could exhaust herself. Most villagers were experienced in such matters so the midwife’s main concern was catching the child.

She watched the baby’s head crown and instructed the mother to push. Each push lasted a few seconds each with a short break in between as the child gradually emerged. Itxaro only provided support, cradling the baby’s head as it came out, never once pulling. Next came the shoulders then the rest of the body, Itxaro moving a hand over to hold the torso before the legs finally made their way through.

The baby cried as his skin met air for the first time. The newborn was of course slippery and still attached by the umbilical cord. “It is a boy,” Itxaro commented before wiping his face with a cloth. As she did that, she froze as she noticed the tips of his ears. They were slightly pointed at the top like a feline’s. The image of a lion returned to her mind. Now that she thought about it, his facial features were sharp especially for a newborn that were normally rotund.

What also disturbed her was that his skin was not thin and veiny while the healthy sound of his crying made her doubt there was any issue with his lungs. Other than his smaller size, she would think he was a fully developed baby.

Tiny follicles of black hair dotted his otherwise bald scalp. His barely open eyes suggested grey irises similar to her own.

Itxaro said nothing as she brought the baby to the mother’s chest. The mother also said nothing, not even holding him. Itxaro placed a blanket over him and the mother so he would remain warm.

Now came the most dangerous time. A few minutes after the child came through, there would be a gush of blood before the placenta followed after. In that time, Itxaro clamped and cut the umbilical cord, leaving a small stump attached to the bellybutton. After the final stage was complete. Itxaro massaged her charge’s stomach to help treat the bleeding.

“Once you are rested, you may go,” Itxaro informed her.

“Thank you,” the woman replied, placing the baby into Itxaro’s arms.

As he left his mother’s hands, the child began to cry. Itxaro rocked him gently and tried to shush him but he remained crying until she stepped out into the darkness. With the mother out of sight, the child went silent.

Lit by starlight, Alvah sat between the hut and her home.

“What did I say about our arrangement?” Itxaro reminded him.

“My cast is now dry,” he pointed out as he stood with the help of his staff. He brushed his encased foot against the ground as demonstration. “Do you see my leg moving any?”

“No,” she admitted. “If you can keep it that way and promise not strain yourself, I suppose you are free to leave the chamber and move about.”

“That is good to hear,” Desdomena replied as she emerged and looked at the baby in Itxaro’s arm. “So, that is who drove us out?”

Itxaro turned to the side reflexively as if to shield him. “Yes, it is,” she replied, looking at the starlight in the newborn’s eyes, his grey eyes focused on her. “He came early. His eyes should still be developing,” she noted before looking to Alvah. “Did your spell do this? He is… too… healthy.” She did not want to make it sound like a complaint or accusation but there was a strangeness to it all.

“Most likely,” he answered. “I did not make that spell for that exclusive purpose. It was very generic, meant to be connected to the idea of life itself. Depending on my own thoughts while making it and yours from when you casted it along with this very land influencing those born here, there are many factors to consider that led to this.”

Itxaro brushed her finger over the pointed tip of one of the baby's ears but said nothing. She thought back to when she casted the spell. She was not about to tell them she thought of Desdomena. The aberration might make a joke of it all and she was not sure of Alvah’s reaction but she wanted to spare him any guilt he might feel for his partner’s involvement in it all.

“How old were you when you first took on this role?” Alvah asked, watching how she held the child.

“Five,” Itxaro replied.

“I was not even half as productive at your age and not even remotely as responsible as you were then,” he informed her.

“He was a noble of sorts, easily spoiled and away from it all,” Desdomena chimed in. “Became even more pampered with age.”

Itxaro hesitated to reply as she remembered her grandmother’s suspicion of his alleged name of “Zibin '' and the comment she eavesdropped from Desdomena when the two first settled in the hut. “Were you a king, Alvah?”

“King? Certainly not. I could have been but that was before the downfall.”

“Could have?” Itxaro stared down at the baby so no one but her latest charge could see her face. “Would you say you were a prince then?”

“Yes, I would have been a prince.”

Itxaro’s eyes widened. Was he the same Prince Zibin her grandmother knew about or was he simply a prince under the name of Girin that Desdomena mentioned when the two thought they were alone?

Itxaro did not expect to sleep much if at all for the next few days. A newborn needed to be fed up to twelve times a day. She was feeding him with false milk so she had to ration how much he drank.

Babies were surprisingly capable of understanding when they were full so overfeeding was primarily a problem only because breastfeeding was no longer involved. They did not seem to have the time to process that their stomach was filled if they ate too fast but slow suckling was the ideal pace.

As much as the lack of sleep took its toll, the first few days were the ones that required the least cleaning. As they grew older, they would eat less frequently but those meals would be larger so there would be more for them to excrete. For the moment, she would need to clean him three times a day but later would need to do so twice as many times a day.

By then, it would no longer be Itxaro’s sole responsibility. After a week, if nothing occurred, her mother and grandmother would serve as night nurses so the youngest could rest and prepare for the next one. She would still care for the child during the day until either a month had passed or a new child was born.

*****

When Itxaro returned home with the outsiders following her in, the elder took the news in stride. That the baby might have been altered by the spell did little to bother her. The same could not be said of Lady Itxaro who returned to see Itxaro feeding the child normally.

“It can eat!” the mother exclaimed after the three Itxaros retreated to the privacy of the elder’s room. She knew as well as the others that such a thing should not have been possible. Itxaro had been prepared to use the feeding tube but the elder spoke against it, encouraging to take advantage of what providence they had received.

“It is an effect of the spell I used,” Itxaro informed her.

“What spell did you use?”

“One of the outsiders’.”

“How did you learn such a spell from them so quickly?”

“He can have others cast his spells,” Itxaro tried to explain.

“A rather interesting technique,” the elder critiqued. “I must wonder what kind of mindset led a mage to create an art others could use so easily.”

“Foreign magic,” Lady Itxaro muttered as if it was a curse. “We never should have let them teach such lessons. There is something wrong with the child.” She pointed at the baby in Itxaro’s arms. “Look at it. It has the ears of a predator, like a wolf. It has been with us this whole time yet I have not heard it cry.”

“It does not matter so long as it lives,” the elder dismissed.

“I would still wish to speak with them about the influence they are having on those around them,” Lady Itxaro informed the elder.

“I will not stop you but do not make enemies of them. We still want them here.”

“I will say what needs to be said,” the lady replied.

Itxaro reached out as her mother began but was interrupted by the elder. “Stay with me dear. Your presence might stifle their choice of words.”

*****

The exchange in the main chamber was civil enough for Itxaro and her grandmother to not be able to overhear.

“I would ask if you learned anything new but I think you were interrupted and I was there for his instruction on casting his spell,” the elder acknowledged. “An interesting detail that others can use his craft like that.”

“Maybe if he made glyphs for us, he could contribute,” Itxaro proposed.

“Maybe,” the elder considered, not immediately rejecting the idea. “But the aberration remains the problem. He said you did not need it around in order to use those glyphs of his. Do you think he would remain friendly towards us if we disposed of it?”

Itxaro did not answer.

“I thought so. I am afraid he is too far gone. No matter how useful he is, he is still tied to that thing.”

“Do you mind if we talk about other things for now?” Itxaro asked, her fingers clinching around the baby’s blanket.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything other than this like…” She tried to think of a new subject and recalled a recent mystery. “Who is Girin?”

“That is an odd name. I heard it before though. Why do you ask?”

Alvah was already on unsteady ground, if this was revealed now that he had another name and that name was also suspicious, who knew what would happen. “Alvah and Desdomena mentioned him in passing when talking about his home.”

“Ah, he was a minor deity from around the same region our guest is from. It is good that you pay attention to even such matters. An important detail that might slip through their conversation.”

So, Alvah could not be that Girin.

Itxaro bit her tongue as she tried to find a way to phrase her question. “So, he was minor,” Itxaro acknowledged before leading further. “So, he was not one of the progenitor gods?”

“Most certainly not. You ask me of a pantheon that is not our own but I would know every origin story. No, Girin was just one of the many offspring of a lunar deity.”

That left Alvah as Prince Zibin.

“Zibin, that prince you mentioned,” Itxaro brought up. “If he was still alive, how old would he be?”

“Curious about our guest’s namesake?” the elder asked.

“He said he was a noble,” Itxaro informed her. “Maybe he is that Prince Zibin.”

“Prince Zibin would be ancient. His time had been thousands of years before I was born. Hence why I suspected him to be foul.”

“How did that Zibin die?”

“It is rather strange. He did not die of old age as he disappeared around the time his father died. That was why I remembered the recounting of it so well. I thought perhaps he fell victim to competition for the throne but he simply stopped being mentioned.”

What if Zibin never died, then? How old was Alvah? Desdomena described any spellcraft to be “modern” compared to his.

“Do you think they are done yet?” Itxaro asked. “I would like to return to my room.”

“Go check,” the elder instructed.

Itxaro slowly opened the door and slipped out. She peeked around the corner.

The conversation was still ongoing. It was just Alvah and her mother with no sign of the aberration.

The topic at hand was her forbidding him from giving further instruction in the arcane. “I am not your daughter’s keeper, it seems to be quite the opposite so I can not control what she might deduce for herself while in my presence,” he defended himself. His features were stern at first but they softened.

“However, I can appreciate a parent that took the time to oversee her child’s upbringing. I will keep that in mind. If it is dangerous to learn my ways, would it more acceptable if I spent my stay learning of yours?”

“I see no problem with that.”

“Is it alright for me to speak of history? If my ways are dangerous, she might have something to learn from the mistakes of the past.”

“That is reasonable but no more spells,” she pressed. “As for where you will sleep. You will be staying the night again, until the chamber is cleaned once more.”

“But please sometime soon teach her proper safety in my stead,” Alvah requested, bowing his head. “I taught her how to cast but I did not teach her how to protect herself.”

“As I said you should have taught her safety first. That is why there is procedure and tradition. There is an order to things. But thank you for at least acknowledging that mistake.”

Itxaro slipped back in with her grandmother as the host and guests concluded their conversation.

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened slightly. “Come, it is time for bed,” Lady Itxaro instructed her daughter.