Children of Fire Read Online Free PDF

difference. I’ve seen the sickness take four children since the last moon. Two of the mothers died as well. If the madam had stayed awake to suffer through the birth she might be dead now, too. And it might not have saved the child in any case.”
    Somehow this offended Roland even more. “So it’s all just chance? The whim of the Gods?”
    The midwife’s reply was matter-of-fact. “Life and death are intertwined.” She sighed, weary from the night’s long labor, tired of answering questions that had no real answer.
    â€œThe sickness takes some and spares others. There is no rhyme or reason. Four nights ago the fever took the smith’s apprentice—as strong and strapping a lad as any in the village.”
    Roland had met the smith’s apprentice; he knew she spoke the truth. But as he clutched the cold, gray child to his chest the midwife’s simple wisdom offered no comfort.
    â€œHis wife is with child, too,” he muttered, remembering a bit of gossip he’d heard from one of the chambermaids.
    â€œThat’s the cruelest jape of all,” the midwife countered, shifting from one foot to the other as she adjusted the weight of the satchel on her shoulder. She was clearly eager to be on her way, but she wasn’t about to offend Roland by departing without proper leave. “Two nights ago the widow gave birth to a daughter. Then the fever took her, too.”
    Roland shook his head, numbed by the seemingly endless list of sorrow and suffering. “Another dead child.”
    â€œNot the child,” the midwife answered, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “The mother. The mother died. The child survived.” The midwife clucked her tongue. “Fate can be cruel. Not even a day old, and already an orphan.
    â€œMost would say that child is cursed,” she added, half under her breath. “It’s a wonder I found anyone willing to take her in.”
    Roland stood before the door of the small, thatch-roofed hut. He was soaked from his journey; the hut had been built on the farthest edge of the town, and the rain of the midnight storm was coming down in heavy sheets. Still, Roland hesitated before knocking on the door. It wasn’t the lateness of the hour that gave him pause; he suspected the woman inside would still be up—she was a creature of the night.
    It was his own doubts that stayed his hand. This plan was madness … but he couldn’t bear the thought of telling Sir Wyndham his child was dead. Gathering his resolve, he raised his fist and knocked hard upon the door. A minute later it swung open to reveal the small, slight form of Bella, the village witch-woman.
    â€œWho comes to my door in the dead of night?” she demanded in a thin whisper, her ice-blue eyes squinting to see him through the darkness of the storm.
    Roland knew her mostly by reputation. Bella rarely ventured from her home during the day, and living up at the manor house he’d never had reason or occasion to seek her aid before. He’d seen her once or twice on the streets, but never up close. He was surprised at how small she seemed without her cowl and walking staff: barely over five feet tall.
    Some in town called her the white witch, and it wasn’t hard to see why. She had long, silver hair, and her skin was so pale it looked as if she were carved from alabaster. Her plain features were creased with faint wrinkles, though the lines gave the impression of wisdom rather than age. She appeared to be in her early fifties, though if legends were true she was at least two decades older.
    She carried a newborn infant, clutching the pink-skinned little girl hard against her chalky bosom with one wiry arm. The babe was naked, and Bella wore only a threadbare tunic, open at the top to expose her breast. The little girl in the witch’s grasp sucked hungrily at the teat.
    Roland didn’t want to imagine what foul arts allowed the