J. Ward: The King

Jesus Christ, he could see her.

“Beth,” he said roughly, “Beth! I see you, leelan , wake upIseeyouIseeyou—”

“Wrath.”

At the sound of his mahmen ’s voice, he wrenched back around. She was right beside the bed now, her arms crossed, her hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of that dress.

“Mahmen?”

“I do not know if you shall recall this, but you came to me once.”

God, her voice was so gentle, just as he’d remembered—and he almost shut his eyes just so he could memorize the sound. Except no, he wasn’t going to get cheated out of one nanosecond of sight.

Wait, what had she said? “I did?”

“I was dying. And you came to me from out of the mist of the Fade. And you told me to follow you home. You made me stop and return with you.”

“I don’t remember—”

“It is a debt I have owed you for a very long time.” Her smile was peaceful as the Mona Lisa’s. “And I shall repay it the now. Because I love you so very, very much—”

“Repay? What are you talking about?”

“Wake up, Wrath. Wake up right now.” Abruptly, that voice changed, becoming urgent. “Call the healer—you must call the healer if you wish to save her life.”

“Save her—Beth’s life?”

“Wake up, Wrath. Right away, call the healer.”

“What are you—”

“ Wrath, wake up .”

In a sudden rush, like he’d been catapulted out of REM sleep, Wrath shot upright. “Beth!” he screamed.

“What-what-what-what—”

As he twisted around to his wife, he cursed at the blackness all around him. Goddamn fucking dream, teasing him with what he didn’t have.

“What?” Beth cried.

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry.” He reached out and soothed her, soothed himself. “Sorry, fucked-up dream.”

“Oh, jeez, you scared me.” She laughed and he heard her hit the pillow as if she’d let herself collapse. “Good thing we sleep with the bathroom light on.”

Frowning, he turned to the side of the bed where his mother had stood and … “No, she wasn’t really here.”

“Who?”

“Sorry.” Cracking his neck, he threw his leg over the side of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

He gave things a good stretch, and as his spine let out a snap, crackle, pop, he thought fondly of the conversation he’d had with Payne as soon as he’d gotten home. They were going to start sparring again—and not because she was a female.

It was because she was a helluva good fighter and he wanted to get back in the game now.

In the bathroom, he petted George, who was curled up on the Orvis dog bed Butch had given him for Christmas—and then took a piss and had a face wash.

When he got back in bed, he intended to return to lights-out land. Except as he lay flat, he frowned. “Ah, listen … are you feeling okay?”

His Beth yawned. “Yeah, absolutely. But I’m glad I headed back here when I did—the sleep helped. And lying down feels better—I’ve got a stiff back from that mall crawl still.”

Trying to sound causal, he asked, “When’s your next appointment with the doctor?”

“Not till Friday. We’re going weekly now. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

As he fell silent, she curled in against him and let out a sigh like she was re-settling for the duration. He lasted about a minute and a half.

“What do you think about calling the doctor?”

“Calling as in—wait, you mean right now?”

“Well, yeah.”

He could feel her recoil. “But why?”

Yeah, like he could tell her anything along the lines of, My dead mom said so . “I dunno. Just, maybe she could give you a checkup or something.”

“Wrath, that’s not appropriate. Especially considering there’s nothing wrong.” He felt her playing with his hair. “Is this about that civilian? Who lost his wife and baby?”

“It wasn’t during childbirth.”

“Oh. I thought that—”

“Maybe we could just call her.”

“There’s no reason to.”

“What’s her number?” He reached for his phone. “I’m calling her.”

“Wrath, have you lost your mind?”

Fuck it, he’d just do 411.

Beth kept talking at him as he waited for the operator to come on. “Yeah, hi, in Caldwell, New York. The number of Dr. Sam—what’s her last name?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m going to pay for the visit—no, not you, Operator.” As the last name came back to him, he said it and spelled it twice. “Yeah, connect me to the office, thanks.”

“Wrath, this is—”

Just as the call went through, Beth went quiet. “Beth?” he asked with a frown.

“Sorry,” she said. “My back let out a twinge. You know what? I’m wearing running shoes next time I go walking like that. Now will you hang up and—”

“Yeah, hi, this is a medical emergency. I need Dr. Sam to come to our home, my wife’s a patient of hers … thirty-six weeks … Symptoms? My wife’s pregnant, how much time have you got?”

“Wrath?” Beth said in a small voice.

“What do you mean, you can’t—”

“Wrath.”

And that was when he shut up … and knew his mother had been right. Cranking his head toward his wife, he said with dread, “What?”

“I’m bleeding.”

The definition of terror changed when things weren’t just about you. And nothing was less about yourself than when you were thirty-six weeks pregnant, you felt a welling between your legs … and it was not your water breaking.

At first, Beth thought she’d lost control of her bladder, but as she moved the blankets aside and shifted positions, she saw something on the sheets.

She’d never seen blood so bright before.

And shit, her lower back was suddenly killing her.

“What’s going on?” Wrath demanded.

“I’m bleeding,” she repeated.

Things happened so fast at that point. It was almost like being in the back of a speeding car, everything whirring by too quick to catch: Wrath shouting into the phone, another call being made, Doc Jane and V arriving at a dead run. And then faster still, moving, moving, moving, everyone around her, while she felt curiously still and muffled.

When she was transferred onto the gurney, she looked over at where she’d been on the bed and shuddered at the neon stain. It was huge, like someone had poured out a gallon of paint underneath her.

“Is the baby going to be okay?” she mumbled, some kind of shock taking over everything. “Is he—is Wrath going to be all right?”

People offered her compassion, but no real answers.

But Wrath, the big one, was right by her side, holding her hand, orienting himself with the help of the side of the gurney.

John appeared as they hit the second-story landing. He was wearing only boxers, his hair all messed up, his eyes alert. He took her other palm.

She didn’t remember much about the rush, rush, rush down into the tunnel—except for the fact that the pain was getting severe. Oh, and the ceiling lights were whipping by as she lay back, the rhythmic pulsing like she was in a Star Wars movie about to go into warp speed.

Why couldn’t she hear anything?

As she looked at the people around her, their mouths were all going, their eyes meeting urgently over her.

“Is little Wrath going to be all right?” Even her own voice was on a fader, the volume turned way down. She tried to make it louder. “Is he going to be all right?”

And then they were dusting past the usual entrance into the training center, and going farther down—to an emergency door that had been created just for her, just for this situation.

Except this was not her birth plan. She was supposed to go into the human world, where there were people to take care of her and little Wrath, see to any problems he might have, be there for her and iAm if it was daylight, and big Wrath and John if it was night.