The prologue is done, and I finally have a clue as to where the story is going next.  It’s funny, I can only see a little ways ahead, but as I keep writing, I learn a little more.

* * * * * A powerful wrenching of her abdomen brought Melindea back into the present.How long had she been in this room now? A day? Two days? Between the storm raging outside the narrow slits of windows and the smoke seeping into every nook and cranny, Melindea could not tell the passing of day into night and back again. It was as if time no longer existed outside their ever strengthening contractions. She sat up and gripped the hand opposite even harder. She felt the other maid’s corresponding pain course through her own hand and back toward her belly. As the last of her resistance ripped away, she saw dark curls appear in the opening of the woman before her. As in synch as their bodies were now, she supposed the same sight appeared beneath her. Instinctively, she reached forward to cradle the head that now pushed toward her. The other maid did the same. With one last mighty push, each woman held the other’s baby.

Melindea lay back, exhausted, but the other woman would not let her be. She grasped Melindea’s hands and pulled her up. She held up a silken thread and a silver knife. She showed Melindea where to tie the thread and then used the knife to cut the babies from their mothers. At the sight of the knife, Melindea tried to gather both babies to her chest. Was this madwoman going to sacrifice her baby right now? Seeing Melindea’s fear, the woman hid the knife in her skirts and motioned for Melindea to push again and again. At last both women were free of the afterbirth and turned toward their babies.

The two girls, for both were girls, lay on the mattress, breathing quietly. Melindea traced her finger down the side of first one face and then the other. She marked identical curves around each chin. Two noses wrinkled at the same moment before each sneezed. Both faces were framed with dark curls that were just like Ivan’s. As Melindea took in the miniature Ivan’s lying before her, she panicked. Which child came from her body? She looked at the other woman, who smiled and waved at both infants. “Choose yours,” she seemed to say. Melindea placed a hand on top of each head. Which child would live? Which would become a sacrifice while her mother rotted in the dungeon below–or in this very tower? Who cared what became of the mother as long as the WolfRiders had their sacrifice? Melindea shook her head and reached for the baby on the left. She picke her up and cradled her to her breast. The other woman did the same with the infant left lying on the mattress,

Stealthily, Ivan stepped out from behind the flames in the fireplace, placing his finger in front of his lips. In his arms he carried a bundled blanket. Behind him stood a frightened housemaid. Melindea watched as he handed the blanket to the young maid and pushed her onto the bed. He motioned to the other woman, who gently sat beside the maid with her own child. She wrapped the baby in an identical blanket and smiled at Ivan as he tucked the rough cotten sheets over the both of them. Ivan then motioned for Melindea to follow him through the flames. The heat from the fire seared her skin, but she did not burn as she stepped in each place Ivan stepped around the fire and stooped through a low door hidden behind the flames. Once through the door. Ivan straightened up and turned to Melindea with a soft blanket. He took the child from her arms and gently wrapped her in it before kissing her forehead. With his finger before his lips, he motioned for Melindea to follow down the twisting, narrow steps. Melindea bit back the questions burning in her throat. She clutched her child to her breast with one hand and reached for Ivan with the other. Ivan grasped her hand and squeezed as they descended. Melindea held onto that hand as if it were the promise to keep her safe Ivan had given her that morning in the village square.

After endless steps and spirals, they reached the bottom. A heavy oak door with iron hinges blocked their way to escape. Ivan turned and held Melindea close. Very little light seeped through the cracks, but Melindea could just make out the faint tracks of tears glistening on his cheeks.

Ivan whispered, “I cannot go further with you. I must return to the ranks of the WolfRiders before I am missed and before they realize the births have occurred. I promised to keep you safe, and I will not send you away empty-handed.” He let go of Melindea with one hand and reached behind him with the other. He brought forth the long red cloak Melindea had first seen him in. Ivan draped the cloak around her shoulders and buttoned the clasp around her throat. “This is not a WolfRider cload as you first guessed. It was given to me by my Gram and has magical properties. Wear this cloak at all times until it brings you home to my Gram. She will care for you and tell you what is to happen next. I do not know if we will meet again. It will be dangerous for you and the girl if I would lead any to you. Please, call her Rosa, and keep her safe. My love goes with you as you travel through this dark night. Outside the door waits a horse with provisions for a week. If all goes well, you should reach Gram by then. If not, you know how to find food from the woods. Remember mint and sorrel. County to five hundred before you move.”

Ivan pressed a heavy key into her hand, kissed her cheek, and fled back up the stairs. Melindea stood motionless, numb with shock. She was being cast out into the stormy night with nothing but a horse and provisions and a cloak. Magic or not, it wasn’t going to provide much protection from the storm. She bit her lip as if by doing so she could bite back the fury building in her heart. This was the safety Ivan promised? As she debated which way to flee–back up the staircase or out into the stormy night–, she counted steadily to five hundred. By the end, she made up her mind. She would not go crawling after Ivan. She would disappear into the world beyond the reach of the WolfRiders.

Gripping the key with white-knuckled fingers, Melindea inserted it into the lock and turn. The door opened slowly and silently on well-oiled hinges. Outside the wind shrieked through the trees and lightening lit up the sky. Melindea could hear the WolfRiders chanting the prophecy in the distance between peals of thunder. It would not be long until their frenzy could no longer be contained. Melindea swung a leg into the stirrup and leaned her daughter, Rosa, against the horse’s neck. She pulled herself up, clambered into the saddle, and picked up her daughter. Holding the reins with one hand and her daughter with the other, she kicked her heels into the horse’s side and fled into the night. The red cloak rippled and swirled behind her, but no one took any notice.

The storm spent itself out by morning. Melindea stopped by a clear brook for a drink for herself and the horse. As she nursed Rosa in the wavering sunlight, she undid the clasp of the red hooded cloak. An immense weight fell off her shoulders with it. Maybe Ivan had been right about the cloak being magical. Now that the storm was over, Melindea wanted nothing more to do with Ivan or his cloak. She certainly did not want to show up at his Gram’s doorstep. She was worse than empty-handed. She came with a child, claiming it was the daughter of the General himself. Who would believe it? And what danger would she be in if they did? No, it was better to hide the cloak and find her own way in this world. She had nearly completed her training with her own Gram. Surely she could find a village in need of a healer, a village where people didn’t ask too many questions.

She considered dropping the cloak in the stream and letting the water carry it away, but in the end she folded it and placed it in the saddlebags beneath the loaves of bread and cheese and water skins. “With my luck, the stream would wash it straight back to the WolfRider castle,” she thought. “Besides, I will need to make Rosa some clothes before long, and it is good material, hardly worn at all.” She ran her fingers through her hair, untangling the snarls in her firey locks. She splashed the cool water on her face and straightened her skirts the best she could. Once she felt more presentable, she remounted the horse and turned down the least traveled path, into a new future