Chapter 2: Chapter 2: A Curse
In a small house made of dark stone and mud, its roof covered in thatch and damp moss, screams of labor could be heard.
"We're almost there, Irvetta." A midwife said encouragingly to a mother in the midst of childbirth.
"It's alright, Irvetta." The husband of the mother said, his hands holding her left one. The mother yelled and gasped in pain. Her grip tightening fiercely on her husband's hands.
With a loud shout and a surge of strength Irvetta fell to the surface of the cot exhausted. Her husband, Phylip, stroked her dampened brown hair from her face and kissed her forehead sweetly.
"It's a boy!" Had already been proclaimed by the midwife and both parents were overjoyed at the news. Their plans were all falling into place. Irvetta smiled weakly at her husband's attentiveness.
"Phylip." The midwife said, her voice quiet and holding a tremor. The happy father rose from his seated position next to his wife and walked to where the midwife was.
"What is it, Vanora?" He asked a little tiredly.
The midwife, Vanora, glanced behind him at the weary figure of Irvetta then back at the father, "It's the child," She whispered, "His eyes, they're…"
"What's wrong with his eyes? Surely he inherited his mother's…" Phylip's voice dwindled when he saw the baby in the midwife's daughter's hands. Instead of his brown irises or his wife's green ones they were a frightful greyish white. Phylip stared at the baby aghast.
"Vanora, what have you done?" He said, doing his best to keep his voice hushed; the baby's cries were helping to keep him unheard.
"I've done nothing. This-" The aged woman gestured to the wailing baby, "This is the product of black mantra users."
He glared at the woman, "How?"
Vanora shrugged, "That I do not know. But I do know this, it is not a spell easily conducted."
"Phylip?" The father turned at his name and saw his wife looking at him with her green eyes; confusion was written all over her face, "Phylip, what's wrong? Can't I see my son?" She asked, a smile lighting her face.
He heaved a sigh, his demeanor turning stoney, "Irvetta, my dear. Something has happened." He hurriedly finished when saw her grow pale, "Our son has been cursed by black mantra weilders and… and his eyes are white."
"Why, Phylip." She said, her face crestfallen, "What do you mean?"
"I mean that this child is useless. His eyes are blank and he will never see out of them."
Irvetta's face darkened, "How? This child was supposed to be our route to power. Get rid of it."
Phylip nodded, his expression grim.
"No, you can't just kill him." The midwife's daughter said, her hands clutching the baby protectively.
"Why not?" Irvetta asked, "He will never be of use to anyone in this world. He's cursed and we'd be doing him a favor by ending his life quickly."
"How could you say that when he's so innocent?" The wide eyed daughter said, her blue eyes shifting to her mother's for help. The old midwife merely shook her head. She knew why Irvetta and Phylip Jones had wanted a son so badly. They wanted power. They wanted influence. The Lord and Lady of the Fable Manor had recently had a daughter. Irvetta and Phylip had hoped to have their daughter marry their son, but their son--as it was now revealed--was without sight.
"Just give him here." Phylip said, taking a step closer to the newborn baby's protector.
"No!" She screamed and ran out the door, "I won't let you hurt him!" She yelled as she ran, both her hands cradling the fragile baby who was still crying, asking for his mother's, or even his father's touch.
Her feet flew swiftly through the night, her lungs burning from overuse but her mind was terrified for the child in her arms.
Arriving at her destination she kicked the door with her muddied moccasin repeatedly till it opened. When the latch finally clicked and the door parted open the girl rushed in.
"Willa!" A feminine voice exclaimed, "What are you doing here at this hour of night?"
"Oh, Ceri, you must help me, please." Willa, the poor baby's defender pleaded.
"Alright, alright I will." Ceri said, raising her hands to placate the girl, "First tell me what is the matter. Is that a babe?" She asked upon realizing the heart wrenching wails coming from the small bundle in Willa's arms.
Willa nodded, "Yes, the Jones had their baby tonight but they didn't want him. They wanted to kill him." She said, her voice breaking.
Ceri's mouth parted open in shock and sorrow, "Oh dear, why?"
"See for yourself," The girl carefully turned the newborn babe to face the woman and Ceri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Oh, he cannot see, can he?." She exclaimed, "Not at all." She muttered.
Willa shook her head, "No. And they wanted to kill him for it."
Ceri clicked her tongue in anger, "Here, give him here. He needs to be fed or else he'll be starved."
Willa delicately handed the abandoned child over to Ceri and the older woman held him in her arms, her voice cooing at the baby in an attempt to soothe his desperate cries.
She began humming as she cradled him but his wailings would not cease, "Willa." She said as she continued to sway, "Would you fetch some milk from the cow."
The girl immediately got up and fetched the milking bucket.
While Willa was gone Ceri sat down on an old wooden chair, saying softly, "Shh, shh, it'll be alright. What to name you my little baby, eh? What to name you?" After pondering over the question for a few moments she said in a cheery voice, "Cecil. That's a fitting name, isn't it my Cecil?" She said as she pecked the wailing baby's soft pink head, "Aye, it's a fitting name."
Willa soon came back inside and put the milk bucket down on a wooden table, grabbing a carven ladle, she dipped it into the bucket and handed it to Ceri. Ceri thanked Willa and carefully tried to make Cecil drink the warm milk.
The days passed and Cecil grew into a young boy, a young boy filled with mystery.
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