Falling Skyward

Chapter Forty-Two: Falling Stars

The stars fell from the sky, ephemeral trails of dewy light. Everywhere, shooting stars filled the black night—a balmy night that held no warmth, no serenity. Lana rushed to the well, pulling up fresh water to replenish the supply boiling on the stove. Another scream sliced through the tranquility of the night. Lana shivered, perspiration dripping down her face as she ran back into the house. Everything was stained scarlet—the rags, the bedclothes, the water, her aunt's dress, the midwife's hands. Unraveling like a crimson blossom, blood spread around her aunt, draining the little color left in her cheeks.

Another crying scream. With the stars falling, it felt as though the whole world was collapsing in on itself. "Push," the midwife screamed. The moans of pain intensified, then died out. After a few dull thuds, a high pitched, feeble wail filled the room.

Lana scrambled to bring a fresh blanket to rap the tiny, fragile child in. As she reached for the boy, she felt a sudden grip on her arm. She looked down at her aunt half in terror, half in pity. The woman's grasp was deceptively strong for a woman more a grey ghost than a living thing. "Lana, please forgive me," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

"Forgive you for what?"

"I should have told you about them. I don't know why I've never told you," she mumbled, nearly incoherent.

"About who?"

"Please forgive me. Promise me you'll forgive me. I tried. I tried to give you a home, to treat you as my own. I tried to do what was right, but now fate is cursing me. I should have never kept you. I should have told you."

"What are you talking about?"

Her aunt's eyes suddenly cleared, the blue intensely keen, her stare cutting straight to Lana's soul. "Your parents." The hand went slack, releasing Lana's arm as she tried to make sense of these words mouthed more than spoken. But Lana felt as though they were shouted at her, seared into her brain.

Her parents.