This past week I did a writing competition for NYC Midnight http://www.nycmidnight.com/ .
I was told to write a short story that was fantasy genre, that was about tradition, and had a doula as a key character. Check it out:
A Tale of a Beard
Sweat dripped down her temples as Gertrude massaged the pilfered oil into her beard in what had become a perfected habit. Did I remember that last pouch of herbs? The extra goat’s milk? The whiskey for my nerves? Oh bother; it’s in my pack or it’s not. And I probably won’t need any of it anyways. No! No! No! Gertrude began her breathing exercises while she twirled her fingers around her quite shapely mustaches and hurriedly fluffed her pointed beard from underneath her chin.
“For Adalstan’s sake, Gertrude, stop your fussing with that thing and come see to me!” The queen lay rotund and royally obnoxious in her bed, panting to the rhythm Gertrude had prescribed. “For someone so stubbornly opposed to growing her beard, you sure do dote on… aarrggghh,” she was cut off by yet another contraction.
While Gertrude had helped to birth hundreds of dwarves, she had never approached a birth with such trepidation. Normally so confident in her skills and competent in her tasks, she was now nearly crippled with bouts of anxiety. Her entire life was on the line.
Gathering her strength and pushing all non-birthing thoughts aside, Gertrude called “It’s time. Push! Push hard, your magnificence!”
Queen Ingrid bore down and with horrific cursing to impress even an ogreish pirate, birthed her son. For a son indeed it was, as any king would desire. But as Gertrude cradled the little body, she saw delicate pointed ears and skin the light green of peridot. Gertrude took a deep breath and masked her face while her brain screamed, a goblin abomination! How? Even so, Gertrude turned the baby over in practiced hands and rubbed his back till he cried out a healthy little scream.
“Gertrude, you blasted bearded wench! Is it...?” the queen’s voice caught, defying her stolid persona. Tears glistened in her eyes and ran down her stubbly cheeks. The ordeal of the last twenty-four hours didn’t allow for any more strength.
“I’m sorry, my Queen. I will take care of it.” Gertrude said it as if routine, but she could barely accept the truth. No woman she knew had ever left Mountain Home. The upper world was no place for she-dwarves, who were coveted by all the races and not equipped to fight the monstrous beasts roaming the open places.
Gertrude saw the queen’s chin jut up. “The prince was born dead. I will tell my maids the sad news once you are gone.” Queen Ingrid shook the tears away. “Now off with you. Out of my sight.”
Minutes later found Gertrude, dressed in warrior’s garb, shuffling through hidden dark tunnels with a hastily cleaned goblin-dwarf creature in her backpack. Despite the comfort of the tight dark tunnels, the prospect of her task had her teeth clenched and her heart palpitating. Gertrude felt dizzied, having not left the queen’s chambers in nearly nine months.
***
The shy dwarf girl sat in the queen’s audience chambers, twiddling her thumbs. Will Axel, the sturdiest of emerald traders, hear I talked to the queen? Will he be impressed?
“You may now enter the space of the most highly exalted one!” called one of the queen’s ladies.
Gertrude nodded her head respectively and entered the queen’s receiving room. Am I wearing the proper things? I just know I should’ve chosen my gray dress. I’m pretty sure this apron is all wrong. Oh fiddlesticks.
The queen sat in a wide bejeweled thrown, surrounded by tapestries hiding rough cut stone walls. “Girl, are you a dwarf of high moral standards, as I have heard? Are you to be trusted beyond the capabilities of man, elf, or beast, as only a dwarf can? Do you adhere yourself, with the strength of a tentacled leviathan to its prey, to your most sincere vows of privacy as a healer of our royal land, or let a long painful death be your just reward?”
Gertrude swallowed a toad-sized lump in her throat and was so bewildered she couldn’t fathom the appropriate answer. “Er, yes, your majesty, no, your majesty. That is, I have my healer’s vow, for always, or, um, that is, I want a most horrid death.” What am I saying?
“Gertrude. Listen. You are to send a letter to your family stating that the most noble of queens needs your assistance, day-in and day-out. She is with child. And Gertrude, you are to stay with me until my time. And while we await the birth, you will grow a beard, and…”
“A beard! Oh no, your majesty!”
“Silence! Gertrude, the happiness of your kingdom depends upon your utmost discretion. For if this child should not look as a dwarf prince should, I call upon you to dispose of his body far from here where no dwarf can find it. At risk of war, the death of thousands, and the destruction of Mountain Home.” The queen took an exasperated breath. “Now stop staring googly eyes at me Gertrude. You know now, so if you don’t help, I’ll simply have to kill you.”
***
Gertrude burst into a hallway many levels below and was about to head towards the main entrance when she was nearly plastered to the wall by charging warriors. Axes jostled a little too near to her face at bone-crushing speeds. Dwarf men could sure hustle when they wanted to. She mustered a deep, gruff tone and called, “What’s all the bustle?”
A dwarf called over his shoulder. “Another goblin attack! Grab your axe, brother!”
But Gertrude didn’t have an axe. She had a baby in her backpack, a deadly kingdom-destroying secret, and a severely imprudent beard beyond any conceivable dwarvish faux pas. Swallowing down her panic, Gertrude responded, “Ho!”. What did I say? And she took off in the opposite direction.
A woman wanting nothing other than to fulfill her purpose by bearing many strong dwarf boys for Axel was rushing towards secret entrances no decent dwarf woman should know about. But Queen Ingrid had made sure she studied all the secret ways out of Mountain Home. Counting doorways, the dwarf doula took a sudden turn, entering a storage closet. She ran to the back between shelves of baskets and rolled away a barrel, careful to keep her backpack level. Adalstan forbid I drop the cursed thing onto the stone floor. If he screams, I’m done for.
The clank of axe and armor and the tromp of many heavy feet approached from down the corridor. Gertrude scrabbled with her nails, found the edge of a false stone wall, and ripped it open. She dove in and performed breathing exercises until the warriors passed by. Pushing the bag and baby before her, she inched her way towards the edge of the mountain. Did I leave the tea kettle in the hearth? How can I worry about kettles? Goblins and my beard aren’t enough for me?
Gertrude reached another false stone wall and saw the cracks of sunlight. The baby made a faint cry, and she thought of goblins scrambling up the mountain like so many ants. “Hush, hush, baby.” There was no time to lose, she had to leave the safety of Mountain Home. Gertrude pushed open the panel and stared with awe and not a little apprehension. She had looked out windows before, but this was different. The world was at her feet. She wished she could gaze at the green and contemplate the bright sunlit world, but she had to scan for goblins instead. Seeing none on this face, she mustered up everything within her, aimed for a spot of greenery below, and ran!
What she accomplished was more like a scramble. Rocks slid along with Gertrude as she made her immensely clumsy way down the mountainside. She kept going like this for what seemed like hours until she reached the true edge of the forest, and then she rested. The sun was finally falling in the sky, and she knew that it got darker in the outside world at the end of a day.
She looked up at the branches of the looming trees and felt some comfort. The openness on the mountainside was like nothing she’d felt before, and she didn’t like it. There is clearly a reason she-dwarves do not venture outside!
Tucking herself beneath a wide tree, Gertrude opened the flap of her backpack and took out the little creature and some goat’s milk. “Little baby. I had no idea you would look so terrible, but I knew long ago I could never harm you. Don’t you worry now. I’ve heard it tell that humans take care of dogs, pigs, and any number of critters. If that’s the case, then surely they’ll take one as you.” Gertrude had studied the maps the queen provided and had made a plan to find the baby a new home.
Traveling throughout the night, for Gertrude felt the most at home in the dark, she made her way towards the human village. As used as she was to navigating tunnels throughout Mountain Home, following streams and hillocks was no task at all. She was getting close when she stumbled into a clearing and beheld an amazing sight. A deep red glow emanated from a black horizon with silhouetted trees. She stared dumbfounded until an idea occurred to her - a sunrise.
Gertrude could not take her eyes off the phenomenon. Knowing she might never see one again, she took off her pack and fed the little peridot creature again. “See that, little green monster? Isn’t it brilliant? A behemoth of a ruby coming right out of the earth.” A feeling of regret washed over Gertrude, but she quickly pushed it down. She’d soon be properly back at Mountain Home. It was no secret why her father had remained estranged. The only use of a daughter is to make grandsons.
Milk dribbled from the babe’s gray-green lips; she wiped it off with her sleeve. I’m sorry your mother couldn’t keep you. I know what it’s like to not fit into other people’s plans.
With a sigh, Gertrude set off for the human town to find a home for the child. Dwarf men traded there every day; she’d fit right in. She fluffed her beard, which she thought had grown to a respectable length, and headed down the slope. As she got closer, she saw what she immediately knew to be buildings. They would be like little miniatures caverns inside, man-made. Fascinating! She approached the gate to the man village, eyeing the guardsmen. Breath in, two three four, and out, two three four.
“Halt. Who goes there?” called a very disinterested human man.
“Ger…Gerhard! That’s Gerhard the Great to you, boy!” Ridiculous titles were just the sort of thing powerful dwarf men gave themselves. And apparently it sounded right, for they simply waved her through the gate. Gertrude thought she maybe peed herself a little.
Gertrude threaded her way along the streets and was suddenly struck by a panic attack. How can I know where the little baby will be truly safe? She saw a sign for “The Frothy Boar”, and Gertrude decided a tavern was the perfect place for her to sit down and think. She headed that way chanting her new mantra, I’m Gerhard the Great, I’m Gerhard the Great. She was nearly to the door, when she heard a deep rumble. Heads popped out of windows and doorways.
Gertrude heard the telltale clank of axes before she saw the troop of dwarf warriors pounding down the cobblestones. A deep dwarven voice demanded of a human trader, “You there, have you seen a dwarf female with a baby?” Holy Adalstan! What went wrong?!
Drawing stealth from she knew not where, Gertrude twisted into an alley with the grace of an elf. She took off through the crowded garbage-strewn corridor, cradling her backpack in her arms. She turned corners decisively, making her way towards the back gate of the town. A lifetime in a mountain kept her directions true.
Just when she thought she’d made it, she slammed into a second troop of dwarves! At first they just seemed confused, but her look of terror she just couldn’t control and the backpack she automatically pressed to her chest – gave her dead away. Gertrude, you fool!
“Get her! The thieving wench!” The warriors were on her heels as Gertrude instinctively directed herself back the way she’d come to a woodpile along a man building. She felt an arm grasp her wrist from behind, but her free arm was already reaching forwards. Her hand closed around a wooden handle, so alien to her, yet so familiar from years of observations. She spun and swung, crying out a barbarian’s shriek as she plunged the axe into the neck of the lead dwarf.
She yanked it free with adrenaline powered strength and swung powerfully at the head of the next dwarf. A call went up, “The witch is mad! Watch your heads, lads!” She charged the blocked alley and whirled with the madness they accused her of. Two dwarves jumped back just enough for her to squeeze past into another street. Gertrude ran for all she was worth, squeezing the blood slick axe in her fists.
Gertrude streaked past the rear gate guards without a thought. She kept at it until she was thick into strange trees, and then she ran some more until she collapsed to the ground, heaving and coughing up bloody spittle. Sobs wracked her body as she opened the top of her backpack in a panic, only to see two little green eyes smiling up at her. It jolted her out of her hysteria.
“You funny little boy,” she cried. “Did you like all that jostling, huh? Was that just a normal day for you then? I guess so, you little warrior.” In all her days of birthing babies, she never once had had the duty of naming one. “I’ll give you a good warrior’s name. Could I possibly be so bold as to name you after the fierce Gerhard the Great?” She laughed. She laughed so hard she fell over. The relief from still being alive was intoxicating. “Gerhard!” She looked down lovingly at the little green monster that had chased away her dreams of bearing Axel many strapping young boys.
***
Fall was giving way to winter flurries as the Lilly Maiden prepared to set sail. An elvish sailor called down, “Gerhard, get your hairy dwarf arse up here. The tide’s ‘bout to turn! Don’t forget that fine whiskey of yours, and I suppose Gerhard Junior can come along too.”
Gertrude plopped little Gerhard on her shoulders and steadily walked the plank onto the Lilly Maiden. Snowflakes clung to her magnificent beard which was tucked firmly in her belt. Gertrude stood at the bow, facing a red ruby sunrise made hazy by snow, and twirled her mustaches. What was across the Ocean, she did not know, but her life’s purpose had never been more glorious.
The End
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