The Baby and the Battlefield

Chapter Sixty-Three: With Apologies to Anton Chekov

The baby mewled and laid her head on Mulberry's shoulder.

"Shh, Aurelia, go to sleep," Mulberry said, reaching to place another of the plump, brown mushrooms in her basket. The baby hung, comfortably heavy, in a sling made of a rectagle of cloth and tied around Mulberry's back. It was warm today, warmer than any day had been in weeks, and the hillsides were covered in orange leaves that occasionally shook raindrops down in a gentle cascade. It was nice to be so free, to feel safe wandering the woods, knowing that Marcus was within yelling distance, and that the Florae had confirmed that they were alone here. Mulberry bent to reach for the mushrooms, enjoying the satisfying sound her little double-edged knife made as it snicked through the stems. She was pleased with the knife. It had been beautiful when she bought it, and it was beautiful still. She wished she had the opportunity to do this sort of thing more often. It was nice to be out here, quietly collecting mushrooms.

A bird called out in alarm somewhere behind them, and the baby whimpered again.

"It's just a naughty birdie," Mulberry soothed. Casting her mind back to her childhood, she began to sing. The song was an old, Estavacan lullaby, one Mulberry's mother had sung to her when she was a little girl. She sung it quietly, crooning the song no louder than a whisper. The baby again settled onto Mulberry's chest, no longer straining against the confines of the sling.

"That's a good girl," Mulberry murmured. Then she stopped completely still, and listened.

There was a sound, right behind her. It was a rustling noise, and for a moment she thought a small animal was scurrying through the underbrush. Then she realised that the rustle was accompanied by another noise, the harsh, ragged sound of someone breathing, someone who had run a long distance, perhaps. Or someone who was exerting a lot of strength to maintain magical concealment. Without looking away from the baby, Mulberry stepped away from the bracken, and returned to her singing. Her grip tightened around the handle of the little knife as she looked around the clearing. Her eyes took in the trees, the bushes, and, most importantly, the spaces between them. Still not looking away from the baby, she checked to make sure that the sling was secure, that Aurelia wouldn't slip if Mulberry had to run. She would run, she decided, run and then in the next moment scream. That, she hoped, would bring Marcus and the Florae to her before the person in the bracken could catch them.

With that thought, Mulberry broke into a run. Almost instantaneously, a rough hand seized her wrist, sending her spinning and almost crashing to the ground. She turned to look for the man who had grabbed her, but to her horror she saw nobody. Her assailant was utterly invisible. Desperately, Mulberry tried to pull her wrist from his grip, but instead the invisible assailant managed to slip a foot behind her ankle, sending her crashing painfully to the ground. Aurelia wailed, screaming in what Mulberry feared was pain, not surprise, and a second invisible hand began to scrabble at the knots holding the baby's sling in place. Desperately, Mulberry grasped her little knife, and stuck out deliberately, if wildly, not towards the sling and the crying baby, but in the direction of the foot that had tripped her and the hand that only now let go of her wrist. At first, she knew she was hitting nothing. The knife sliced downwards through the air, meeting no resistance.

Mulberry listened for the man's ragged breathing, and struck for it, suddenly earning for her efforts a satisfying harsh gasp of pain, and a cessation of the attack on the baby. She felt the knife slice through perhaps cloth, perhaps skin - something tough enough to resist the blade, but not tough enough to stop it altogether.

She was surprised to notice blood on the blade, and then on her fingers. Apparently the power to be invisible did not extend to the interior parts of the body. Before the hands could come to grab her again or take the baby, Mulberry finally did what she had been intending to do all along. She hugged Aurelia close, the blade of the knife flat against the baby's back, and ran, screaming for Marcus, for Tsuga, for Salix, for anyone.

                                                                                       ~*~

Once Aurelia was fast asleep in her egg basket, Mulberry found herself wrapped in a blanket. Marcus pushed a cup of hot water in which mint leaves had boiled into her hands, then rested his own hand on Mulberry's shoulder. Tsuga and Salix, in bird form, were perched just within view, but none of them felt safe, not really.

Mulberry looked up at Marcus' touch, and he tried to smile, murmuring, “I'm sorry.”

She shook her head, uncomprehendingly, and he explained, “You were frightened, and Aurelia was nearly taken, and I ought to have been there to protect you, both of you. I'm sorry.”

“Marcus, don't be. You came when I called. You beat the Florae there, even.”

He sat beside her, “Yes, but you still – you stabbed a man you couldn't see, with a little pen-knife. You shouldn't have had to do that. I should have been there.”

“But, Marcus, you can't expect to be there every time something goes wrong. Unless you're going to be beside us every moment, watching out for Aurelia and me.”

Marcus nodded, his expression serious. “If this sort of thing keeps happening, that may be what I'll have to do.”