Tara Runeweaver's Arc

Chapter 17 of 19

Days passed and the warm stone stayed in Tara's palm. She carried it through chores and quiet meals. Bjorn's mother watched her always. One bright morning the old woman called Tara out to the yard and set a carved bowl on the bench between them. The liquid inside swirled blue and purple, then began to slow. The old woman dipped a bone handle into the bowl and stirred. She lifted Tara's wrist and pressed two fingers to the pulse. Then she measured Tara's waist with a length of cord. She did all of it without speaking. Tara held still and counted her own breaths. The bowl's surface froze into a sharp white pattern. Bjorn's mother bent close and read it. Her shoulders dropped. A slow smile broke her stern face. She stood up and clapped her hands once, hard. "She carries," the old woman said. "The child has taken root." Tara's breath left her in a small sound. She danced one quick step in the snow and a cry slipped out before she could catch it. Tears came warm down her cold cheeks. The clan poured from the hall. Women crowded the long ice table outside and began to set out cups and bread. Someone laughed and someone else shouted Bjorn's name across the yard. Bjorn came at a run. He stopped before her and looked once at his mother for the truth. The old woman nodded. He pulled Tara against his chest and walked her to the tall iron statue of the pregnant goddess at the yard's edge. He stood beside it and held Tara there for all to see. His hand rested on her belly. He did not move away. Tara closed her eyes against his shoulder and felt, at last, how he chose to stand near her.