Rosewing (9) (The Underground Kingdom) Read online

  "Hah! You're just jealous!" Tracey retorted.

  "'Of what?" Thorn snorted. "The nausea, the swollen feet, the weight gain, the inability to be comfortable ……. do you want me to go on?"

  "There's no need," Tracey admitted. "I know the full list, but the end result ….. ah yes, that, my dear Arugohumna, is what I'm talking about."

  "Okay, you have me there," Thorn consented. "I am jealous. A little bit, anyway. Who wouldn't be? I think that even Zen is jealous."

  And it was true about Zen, in some ways anyway. The more Tracey's figure changed, the more intrigued Zen became. In the later stages of her pregnancy, he would often come up to her while she sat in a chair, put his head against her stomach and appear to listen. Everybody thought this was so cute. The current belief held that he wanted to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, which meant that he did know about the birth process, and was fully aware of Tracey's condition. Yes sir, Zen was one smart wolf. After listening for a few moments, he would peer up into Tracey's face and whine inquisitively. Tracey would respond by patting him on the head and replying:

  "Not yet, my friend, but soon."

  That seemed to satisfy him, because he’d go away and resume whatever he’d been doing before. This performance would be repeated on an almost daily basis, typifying what we were all thinking and waiting for. The birth countdown had begun.

  Chapter 5

  The big day arrived. I wish that I could boast that the process turned out to be an exemplary example of an organised, unhurried, methodical affair, but that would be the biggest, fattest lie in existence, apart from a politician’s promise, that is. It all began with an urgent elbow ramming into my side, jolting me out of a sound sleep. I vaguely heard the cry of: "Stephen!" spearing through my sleep-fogged mind.

  "What?" I mumbled, a large part of me still in the land of dreams. "What's going on?"

  "It's the baby!" Tracey exclaimed, shaking me into further wakefulness. "I think it's coming!"

  "Coming where?" I questioned, still trying to surface into everyday reality.

  "Into this bed, unless we get to the hospital soon," came Tracey’s sarcastic reply.

  Okay, that woke me up in a hurry, I can tell you. I sprang out of bed as if I’d just sat on a porcupine. You know, I'd often laughed at the absurdities of the expectant father on those TV sitcoms where he flails around in a stupefied panic. I'd always believed his actions were too exaggerated to be believed, but I'm here to tell you that it's based on real life.

  "Are you okay, sweetheart?" I began to babble. "Can I get you anything? What do we do first? Where’s your bag? Stay there. No, get up! No, stay! I'll get everything. Where is everything?"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," Tracey snorted as she endeavored to get out of the bed. "Go do something sensible and find Quina."

  "Quina, of course!" I exclaimed, as if this was the most brilliant idea the world had ever seen. "You're such a genius! Where's her room?"

  "Three doors down from us, where it's always been," Tracey patiently explained.

  "Three doors, right!" I repeated. "I knew that."

  "Then go already!" Tracey insisted, struggling into a coat. "We don't have a lot of time."

  "On my way!" I yelled, rushing out of the door.

  "The other way, dummy!" Tracey yelled after me. "You're going towards the kitchen!"

  "I knew that too," I told her, turning around and rushing back past our room, only to meet Thorn in the hallway.

  "What the devil is all the noise?" she asked.

  "The coming’s baby!" I shouted at her.

  "What?" she demanded.

  "It's baby!" I explained further, panic stricken. "The coming!"

  Luckily, Thorn could interpret pre-father gabble and ran into Tracey's room. I continued on my way and ended up at the far wall, because I'd forgotten to count the door numbers and had sailed right past Quina’s quarters. Nothing daunted, I turned around yet again and finally found her room. Just as I was about to bang on the door, Quina emerged, all dressed and carrying her emergency bag.

  "I take it that it's time?" she calmly asked.

  "No!" I yelled.

  "It's not?" she questioned, surprised.

  "I mean, yes!" I contradicted, grasping her by the elbow pulling her along the hallway. "The baby! Here, nearly!"

  "I see I’m going to have to give you a sedative to help you survive the night," she muttered as I dragged her to Tracey's room. "Let go of me, Stephen! I can walk, you know!"

  "Sorry," I apologised. "I'm a little overexcited."

  "You can say that again," she murmured.

  "I'm a little ……." I began, only to be cut off by a restraining hand pressed firmly across my mouth.

  "I didn't mean it literally," Quina maintained. "Take the advice you’re always giving others, sweetie, and take a few deep breaths. It'll calm you down."

  Realising that I had been making an absolute idiot of myself, I did as she suggested and it did help. I regained at least some vestige of sanity and felt relaxed enough to carry Tracey’s prepared overnight bag out of the house. Outside, I very nearly opened my mouth to shout for a taxi – my scattered mindset having tuned itself into my human wavelength – before I realised that there were no such things as cars down here. Why bother when everyone had wings? The general consensus concluded that Trix should stay behind with Zen, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

  "I'm not staying behind while my mother goes into hospital," she announced, stubbornly. "And I'm not leaving Zen in the house by himself, either. So we’re both coming with you and that's final!"

  There was no time to spare for arguing about the suitability of a wolf roaming through the hospital wards, so we accepted their presence and flew to the hospital, with Thorn and Quina supporting an awkward Tracey. Trix and Zen ran behind us and, believe it or not, almost arrived at the hospital before we did. We rushed Tracey through the hospital corridors with a gaggle of nurses trailing after us, demanding to know what we thought we were doing and to come back and sign some papers. Doctor Totil, Quina’s suppressed closet love interest, intercepted us, soothed the outraged nurses and directed us to the birthing room. Being the minor celebrity that she was, our expectant mother became the focus of intense interest. Hospital staff, many of whom had never even seen a birth before, crowded into the room, causing Totil to exert his authority and limit attendance to family only. However, he drew the line at Zen.

  "I'm not having an unsterilized animal in this room during the birth," he insisted.

  "Too bad, Stephen," Trix smirked at me. "You'll have to leave."

  "Very funny, munchkin," I told her. "Although, in fact, not funny at all. While we're here, we'll get them to give you a humor gland transplant."

  It ended up with Zen having to leave and, deeply disappointed not to be attending, Trix reluctantly volunteered to wait outside the room with her pet. And so, the stage had become ready, and the miracle of the emergence of a brand-new life began. I found it enthralling and horrifying by turns. Tracey's physical distress during the process made me squirm, but all my unease was emphatically swept away once my baby first saw the light of day. Crying with joy, Tracey held our child in her arms while we gazed at them both with love and admiration.

  "She's beautiful!" Thorn whispered, reaching out a tentative finger to gently stroke the baby’s cheek. "She looks just like you."

  "Lucky for the baby then," I murmured, grinning like a fool. "Can you imagine what would have happened if she’d looked like me?"

  Tracey patted the bed beside her. "Come here, beloved," she invited, "and say hello to your daughter."

  I carefully eased myself down beside Tracey and she handed over my baby girl into my eager embrace. Replete with exultation, I looked down at the tiny figure in my arms and I'm not ashamed to say that my eyes filled with tears.

  "Greetings, little one," I whispered. "My name is Stephen and I'll spend the rest of my life looking after you. It's your good fortune to have the most marvellous mother in
the whole world, and I'll try my hardest to help her in any way I can."

  A gentle hand encompassed mine. "That was lovely, sweetheart, " Tracey murmured affectionately. "And thank you for giving me this baby. It's a gift beyond compare."

  I turned my head and kissed this loveliest and most loving woman I had ever met. "No, dear heart," I told her, "it's your gift to me. Words just aren't enough. I love you."

  Chapter 6

  Tracey’s pregnancy had created quite a commotion, but it paled in comparison to the actual birth. People came from everywhere to visit Tracey in her hospital bed. As I've already stated, fairy babies were uncommon and everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of this one. The women, most of whom were total strangers, ooohed and aaahed and cooed over the latest addition to the One race, while the males stared curiously and made weird noises, which I presumed they believed to be baby talk. Tracey, propped up with pillows in her bed like a queen, reigned benignly throughout it all, and graciously tolerated this invasion. The rest of us barely had time to even talk to her and spent most our day hovering on the edges of the crowd, consoling ourselves with our own company. It was all quite exciting, but frustrating as well, and I felt pleased when Doctor Totil finally consented to allow Tracey to return home.

  We packed up everything, including the boxes and boxes of gifts, and re-established ourselves back in our house. Of course, the visitors still visited, but at least we had the nights for privacy. The first days were a welter of bewilderment and alarm. None of us really knew what we were doing and every little cry or fuss from the baby had us running around in confused circles. Quina ending up being a bastion of sanity for us, becoming the tower of fundamental commonsense we all turned to whenever we had a question. Her calm disposition and advice helped us through those first frantic weeks and we soon settled down into a manageable routine. Zen took to sleeping outside our door at night, proving once and for all that he did know what was going on and had appointed himself as a guardian protector. During the day, he shadowed Tracey and the baby, following their every move. Despite the slightly comical aspect of the situation, his avid attention did make us feel more secure. Overcoming her initial qualms, Tracey allowed Zen to come within touching distance of our newest family member. Her fears of rough treatment proved to be groundless because Zen proved to be extremely gentle, restricting himself to the occasional sniff and a mild lick.

  One day, as we all sat in the living room, with the baby asleep in my arms and Zen standing guard close by, I raised the topic of a name.

  "We can't keep calling her ‘Hey, you,’ people," I argued. "How embarrassing would that be when she grows up? She has to have a name."

  "I know," Tracey sighed, "but I can't decide anything. Any suggestions?"

  "Your baby is somewhat unique," Quina offered. "After all, one of her parents is a transformed human. Maybe her name should reflect that."

  "I'm open to anything," Tracey admitted. "But bear in mind it has to be something that Stephen can pronounce. You know how bad he is at normal names."

  "That's not my fault," I vainly protested. "All your names are so complicated!"

  "We'll try to make it something simple," Tracey agreed, patting my hand patronisingly. "Just for you, beloved."

  "I still like Trixabella," Trix piped up. "It has class! Like me!"

  "Maybe," Thorn conceded, "but let's go for something a little more away from the traditional, shall we? A mix of the old and the new, perhaps. As Quina suggested, a melding of One and human."

  "Well?" Tracey demanded. "What have you come up with?"

  "Nothing," Thorn shrugged. "I was simply laying down the boundaries."

  "This is hopeless!" Tracey snorted. "We might as well throw a bunch of letters in the air and use the first word that forms on the ground."

  "Steelguard," Thorn announced.

  "Don't be silly!" Tracey said, scornfully.

  "Zenfriend," was Trix’s next contribution.

  "I don't think so, honey," Tracey demurred.

  "Lucy?” I proposed.

  "Too human," Thorn declared, dismissively.

  "Rosewing," murmured Quina.

  "Hmmm, Rosewing?" Tracey commented. "Yes, I like that. It has a bit of both worlds in there."

  "A beautiful name for a beautiful baby," I offered.

  Tracey glanced around at us all, seeking approval. "If there are no objections," she said, "then Rosewing it is." No one said anything, and our baby had her name. Just like that.

  Chapter 7

  Rosewing kept us all fully occupied for the next few months. Just about everything we did, or talked about, concerned her. It seemed as if nothing else in the world existed for our family. My greatest joy was pushing the pram on our daily walk. Our baby remained a newsworthy item and people continually stopped us in the street to peer in at her. Rosewing would delight them by gurgling and smiling, and they’d go away doing likewise. Okay, maybe they didn’t copy the gurgling, but talk about having an infectious smile ……

  Thankfully, our daughter had a happy disposition and spent most of her day spreading cheer. She also grew at an alarming rate, so much so that I questioned Quina on the subject.

  "Is this normal?" I asked, a little anxiously. "She’s outgrowing her clothes faster than we can put them on her."

  Quina smiled at my naïveté. "This is a standard growth rate for One babies," she informed me. "By your question I assume that human babies grow a lot slower."

  "Much slower," I explained. "We set an adult age of twenty-one years. What happens here?"

  "Less than one third of that," she told me.

  "That's amazing!" I exclaimed. "She’ll be a teenager before I know it. Way to make me feel old, Quina ……"

  That night, Tracey and I stood together arm in arm, looking down at our beloved creation who was sleeping peacefully and dreaming baby dreams.

  "She's so beautiful," I whispered, "but what did we expect? She's a distinct clone of her mother."

  "You and your honeyed tongue," Tracey murmured, giving me a quick kiss.

  "Look at her little wings," I sighed in wonder, gently touching them with a fingertip. "They’re golden, just like yours."

  "She has your hair," Tracey noted. "It's so blonde it's almost white. That's very unusual for a One, you know. We nearly always have darkish hair."

  "Yes, I can see we’ll be beating the boys off with a stick before too much longer," I commented. "Zen will have to be on guard twenty-four hours a day. Where is he, by the way?"

  "Curled up under the crib," Tracey pointed out. "That seems to be his favourite spot these days. I hope Trix isn't getting jealous, or anything."

  "I hardly think so," I told her. "She spends almost as much time with Rosewing as Zen does. In fact, I'm surprised she isn't curled up down there as well."

  "We’re so lucky to have them both," Tracey declared, giving my arm a squeeze.

  "Aren't we just," I agreed. "Our baby doesn't lack for love, that's for sure."

  "I don't want her getting spoiled, all the same," Tracey told me. "As it is, all we do is dance attendance on her twenty-four hours a day. Do you think we’ve been overdoing it?"

  "Who can tell?" I shrugged. "The main thing right now is that she’s protected and cared for. We'll worry about the rest later." Tracey sighed and rested her head on my shoulder.

  "What do you think she'll grow up to be?" she murmured.

  "Delightful," I whispered back. "Just like her mother."

  "You're such a flatterer," Tracey told me. "That's the reason I keep you around."

  "Is that the only reason?" I asked, turning my head and pressing my lips against her forehead.

  "Well," she replied, thoughtfully, "maybe it's one of the reasons. I also need someone to take out the garbage."

  "Lovely," I grinned. "I've always wanted to be a domestic slave."

  "There you are, then," she declared. "Your wish has been granted."

  "You're so kind," I mocked, "but I had hoped for some other …�
��..um, extracurricular activities now and then to go with my domestic slave position."

  "Oh?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "You're fairly presumptuous for a slave, aren't you? And exactly what do these ……. ah, activities comprise?"

  "Just the usual," I maintained in a soothing voice, taking her hand and kissing her fingertips. "Nothing much to speak of, really. I suppose you could call them …….‘making the bed’ activities."

  "Making the bed?" Tracey questioned in a disappointed voice. "Is that all?"

  "Not quite," I grinned. "We slaves can sometimes make the bed in a very ……… unusual way."

  "It sounds intriguing," Tracey stated. "Am I allowed to watch?"

  "My word, yes," I told her. "In fact, your participation is mandatory. It's a lot more fun with two, you know."

  "You're terrible!" Tracey giggled, running a caressing finger down my cheek. "Do you suppose you'd be able to demonstrate your technique right now?"

  "I don't see why not," I replied, slipping an arm around her waist. "Rosewing is totally asleep and Zen is on guard. Let's sneak away now while we can. We domestic slaves are always on duty. Our owners are so demanding, you know."

  Chapter 8

  A new chapter of our lives opened up when Rosewing began crawling. This phase of her life appeared, to my eyes anyway, with disquieting rapidity. She seemed to be taller every time I saw her – almost like watching a fast-forwarded video. One minute she was a helpless baby, and the next minute we were frantically chasing her around the room. All I can say is, thank goodness for Zen. To find Rosewing, all we had to do was to locate him, because he followed her everywhere. And it was lucky for us that he did because I never realised before just how many hiding places there were in the house. In those rare moments when Zen and Rosewing were apart, and we couldn't find her, we simply asked Zen to track her down. He became a baby-finding machine. I suppose, by this time, I shouldn't be calling Rosewing a ‘baby’. She was a ‘child’ and I could see that she'd soon be walking and talking.