Spear Mother: A Tale of the Fourth World by Brandon M. Lindsay

  * * *

  Sandrena opened her eyes to the sound of Canterell's grasses shifting in the breeze.

  She lay there, not wanting to let go of the memory and return to the real world. That memory was the more beautiful of the two that came to her. It was rare that she got to experience it rather than the other, and she wanted to savor it as long as she could.

  She didn't even mind that the memory revolved around an impossibility: human beings giving live birth. When she considered the idea, it seemed absurd. Of course everyone came into the Fourth World by rising from the Ruins. That was as uncontroversial as the sun rising in the east.

  But for some reason, when that memory played through her mind, the sight of a baby being born into the world filled her with an overwhelming peace. She didn't understand it. Intellectually, she knew it should disgust her—live birth was for animals, after all, not people. But it didn't. Instead, the experience was somehow profound.

  Only when the first rays of dawn peaked through the ivy curtain did Sandrena realize that the rains were gone. The other women began to stir. Sandrena wiped her cheeks and, silently, like the others, began to prepare for their departure.