Iron of the Innocent: The Dark Judge (Vol 1)

Chapter 10: Lost Hope

248 I.C.
Sacren
Solorn Kingdom
Solorn Province
The Ruin Estate

Twenty-six years in the past...

The salty tears rolled down her cheeks in big drops, dripping from her jaw line. They fell against her blouse, adding their mark upon her.  Sesha Ruin held her swollen stomach, crying out in pain as the contraction slammed into her, the muscles squeezing and crushing her insides.

Her crying scream was filled with desperation and fear. Her skirts were drenched in blood, and she was lying on the floor of the kitchen unable to get help. She made it from the bedroom to this spot, but could go no further. Birth was not supposed to be like this, nor was it even near the time for her baby to arrive. She was months away, and she knew there was something wrong.

She tried to hold her blood inside of her, but the contractions would smash her down, gripping her in its iron fist. Sweat poured over her skin, and she only managed to crawl a few more feet. Her blond hair was wet and clung to her neck. She felt so weak. Lying on her side she looked up at the door that opened out back, to where her husband was working.

They had only been married for a little over three years, and they had been so full of joy when Sesha found out she was pregnant for the first time. They both wanted children, and they wanted many to fill their lives and home. He had only turned twenty and she was nineteen. They hoped to have many children through the years. That was their greatest desire.

She was not sure how much longer she could hold on. She screamed again in severe pain, crying out for him. She hoped desperately that he would hear her. When the door finally flew open, she looked up in a fog of dizziness with darkness closing in around her.

Her husband crossed the room with his long, muscled legs almost running. "Sesha!" he cried seeing her broken and bloody. His big, blue eyes filled with tears as he ran to her. Without thinking he scooped her up into his brawny, rock hard arms. Blood saturated her dress, a huge puddle of her life's essence on the floor. He held her to his chest, panic gripping his throat and heart. She looked up into his eyes, weak and clinging to him emotionally.

"Arathan," she gasped in pain, "there is something wrong. Something wrong with the baby." Her grief and sorrow filled the breathless words. She wept in ragged heaves. This was the third pregnancy, and she had been unable to carry their children to full term. Nothing they experienced so far was anything like this moment filled with so much blood. He moved as quickly as he could back out the door holding her.

Running as fast as he dared, he took her to the barn where the wagon was kept. He carefully laid her down in the back, his loving hands using hay and old quilts he kept in the barn to hold and cushion her. Leaping up into the driver's seat he snapped the reins and drove the horses forward. Fortune graced him as he had just returned from a distant field in the wagon. The horses would not have been hitched otherwise.

Arathan drove his them to the edge, his wife's cries tearing at him, her screams cutting out his heart. They were not far from the Silas estate, and he knew they would have a priestess there. The family had their own chapel. It played a big role in the local communities' spiritual life. Faith meetings, religious holidays, religious festivals, and funerals were all held there among the local families.

The horses drove onward, Arathan trying to keep the wagon on the smoothest parts of the roads. He used his whip, which was rare for him, his spirit gentle and loving. Yet, they did not run as fast as his panicked mind demanded. He cursed at them under his breath which was rare for him too. He managed to look back over his shoulder at his suffering wife.