The Inevitable Change

Once upon a time, there was a midwife. We assume she was given a name when she was born as most babies are, but over the years she had adopted the name of her patroness as many in that profession do and was called Mylitta of the Green Vale. Throughout the valley, children had found their way into the world at her coaxing and mothers had survived the most rigorous childbirths because of her care.

Mylitta was the first of twelve children. From the time she was just upright on two feet she had been with her mother at the birthing of a child. And when it was not her mother giving birth, her mother was helping a neighbor give birth or even helping the livestock in the barn. Mylitta had been around birth all her life.

Mylitta was at the birth of her sister, four brothers, two more sisters, a brother, and two more sisters, and a brother. She watched her neighbor give birth to her first-born with her mother in attendance. She helped with the calving in the spring at her father’s side and sat with newborns through the night to be sure they suckled and were not rejected. When she was 10 years old, Mylitta and her mother were called to the home of the magistrate of the nearest city where the magistrate’s wife, Ell, was in the midst of a particularly difficult birth. Mylitta rushed to get bowls of hot and cold water, fresh clean cloths, and to organize the servants to instantly carry out orders as they were needed.

When she returned to her mother, she was asked to help support Ell as her mother positioned the birthing bed beneath her. It seemed remarkable to Mylitta that as soon as Ell rested upon the old fleece, her breathing eased and her desperation seemed to disappear. Ell smiled weakly at Mylitta.

“How nice that my little daughter will have a sister to welcome her into the world,” Ell breathed weakly. “Just having you here makes the labor easier.” It was not long after that Mylitta’s mother reached into Ell’s womb and turned the baby so that the little girl was born head-first into the world. Ell, though weak, smiled and brought the babe to her breast, then fell asleep at last.

“Mother,” said Mylitta quietly, “it was not really my presence that comforted Ell, was it?”

“Sweet child,” said her mother, “your presence is always a comfort to mothers—even to me. But you are right in assuming that it is not just your presence. It is the property of the birthing bed to bring change upon those who rest in its embrace. For you see, daughter, this old fleece is enchanted.”

The birthing bed had been present through every birth that Mylitta had attended. Her mother even threw it over the back of cows, sows, and ewes when they experienced hard births. Though it was called a bed, it was nothing more than a huge sheepskin that Mylitta and her mother lay beneath the birthing woman to welcome her child. It was soft and was always cleaned with tropical oil and treated with wool wax, and was impervious to any stains.

“This sacred birthing bed,” Mylitta’s mother told her, “has seen the births of kings and queens in ages past. It was the object of an ancient quest and is made from the skin of the prized ewe of Aciannis, goddess of health in ancient Ursentia. The ewe gave birth to the stars and in her old age was sacrificed to save the life of Aciannis’s own child. Since that time, it has been passed down from generation to generation. This, I am told is but a fragment of the original fleece which has been divided among midwives the world over.”

Mylitta was in her 20th winter when her mother gave birth to the last of the children. After Mylitta had cleaned the sheepskin and brushed it with wool wax, she gave it to her mother while watching her newest little brother suckle. She was surprised when her mother handed the heirloom back.

“It is for you, now, child,” her mother said. “I will have no more children. You will take this wherever you go and protect the newborns and their mothers with it.”

“But mother,” Mylitta said, “I have no husband and no desire to get one. Give it instead to one of your daughters who will marry.”

Mylitta’s mother laughed a little at this. She well understood that the girl had seen enough of childbirth to shrink at the thought of becoming pregnant herself. But she also saw how talented her daughter was at helping in the process.

“You may not wish children yourself, my dear,” said her mother, “but those who do will want you at their side. Take it and share its comfort with those in need.” Mylitta took the skin as her mother instructed her, but her mother was not done yet. “Always remember, that which lies upon the birthing bed changes forever.”

Many years passed and Mylitta became a legendary midwife. But then a great plague came on the land. People were sick in every town and farm and many died. No children were being born, but Mylitta was kept busy tending the sick. These, too, seemed comforted by the birthing bed, and many were born into the spirit world while resting on it.

The last victim of the plague was Mylitta herself. She came home from tending the last of the ill and lay down. She was so tired that she fell asleep on top of the birthing bed that had welcomed her into this world. She dreamt of her mother and of all the babies she had welcomed into the world on this very fleece. And she saw the spirits of the dead welcomed into their new lives while lying on the old sheepskin. And then she knew the truth of the legend her mother had told her. Whatever lay upon the sheepskin changed, but so did everything else in the world.

It is said that Mylitta’s laughter is what drew the only witness to her death that day. And Mylitta pushed the sheepskin into the hands of the visitor with her last breath, saying “She changes everything she touches and everything she touches changes.”

Not knowing the story behind the sheepskin, the unnamed visitor thought at first to burn it for fear that the plague was in the sheepskin. But it was so soft and pleasant to the touch that she kept it, washed it carefully and waxed the wool. Then, not knowing what else to do with it, she thought how it would keep her warm and cut it and sewed it into a vest, mittens, and a liner for her boots that she wore all through the winter months.

By the end of the winter, however, she realized that there were those less fortunate than her and she gave the vest to a traveler and the mittens to a child. The boots she wore until her own death and they were passed on as well. The traveler stopped traveling and began to farm. Since he was no longer on the road and had a comfortable house to live in, he gave the vest to another, and so it happened that the vest has come down in this way to me. It is the vest of Aciannis, and protects me from harm. But all those who have worn it have changed, and now you see, so have I. For where I once traveled the long road with my love, now I set foot on it alone.

And one day, I shall pass it on to a traveler that I meet.


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