"Lenka!"

Near the middle of the pile, a small body moved.

"Lenka. Where are you? Wake up child."

Calloused, grubby hands ground into the corners of the child's lower eye sockets as she yawned, her small mouth displaying all her pointed teeth. Opening her eyes, she glanced to the window, nothing but darkness on the other side of the curtain. Still night time then. The light of a single lantern flickered along the walls, a weak play of illumination that left altogether too many shadows. Monsters coiled and pooled in those dark spaces, smelling of lamp oil, terror, and sweat. She looked away, refusing to allow them their feast. Six was too big to be afraid.

"Lenka! For the love of the ancestors, child, do not make it climb all the way up there."

Surfacing, the child let out short, musical sigh. Too late. The tell-tale, no-nonsense cadence of Mother Gra'ttal's footsteps creaked and thumped across the wooden floorboards, stopping a half-breath before the door burst open.

Wood crashed off wood as the door rebounded, the pile of children heaped upon the mattresses erupting into a storm of screams and tears and soiled underclothing. Shrieking, the little ones clutched each other and Lenka, dragging her down into the thick, humid, stench of their terror.

The monsters coiled and slithered, lithe bodies slick, long forked tongues flicking out of the darkness to lap up the feast. Lenka' shoulders slumped and her gut churned at the moans of sadistic, greedy pleasure that accompanied the monsters' feeding. Had Gra'ttal believed in the living darkness that lurked just beyond her sight, she may have moved softer, spoken more gently. But Gra'ttal did not believe in the monsters. Childish foolishness, she called them. Obedience, efficiency, and utility played the tune to which the old mother danced. The monsters didn't mind, of course. Believing in them didn't matter; they simply were. In the end, everyone danced to sate their hunger.

Struggling to break through suffering's surface, Lenka patted heads and stroked backs as she climbed through a tangle of limbs to the edge of the mattresses. "Sh, now," she whispered. "You must be so very quiet and so very still. If the Master hears you, he'll come." Sighing, she stood, a monster sucking away her warning on a single, greedy inhale. Most of the children on the floor arrived the day before, endless rivers of snot and tears flowing for mothers and fathers lost but never truly forgotten. Soon, fear of the Master and respect for the monsters would teach them silence. Soon.

"Lenka. Come." The crone's four rheumy eyes fixed on the child. Jerking her head toward the darkness outside the door, the old woman shuffled away from the shadow that crept behind the door, uncoiling a tar-slick limb to snag her ankle.

Leaving behind a last few, comforting words and caresses, Lenka broke free and darted to the door, small, bare feet nimble and swift as they skittered over the wood, keeping to the center of the light. As long as her feet moved quick and light, the monsters couldn't grab hold, the cane didn't fall, and no one yelled. Quick, light feet meant life and peace. "Yes, Mother Gra'ttal? How may it help you?"

"Run to the well and fill the big kettle to boil. Da'lat is about to give birth." The elderly batarian female spun on the spot, but stopped at the door as the mattress covered in children erupted into shrill wails once more. "And keep these children quiet."

Lenka moved to comfort her peers, but Mother Gra'ttal's clawed hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her back toward the door.

"In order, child," she reminded, her voice rough. "You know this. Unless the Master says that a new command takes precedence, you do everything in the order given. Water first, then quiet these new ones down." She pointed to the heap of sobbing children. "You lot settle down and now. If the Master hears you wailing, it'll be the cane, and then you'll have something to wail about."

Lenka darted out past the old woman's swatting hand. "Yes, Mother Gra'ttal. Thank you, Mother Gra'ttal." She scooted ahead of the old batarian, her feet skimming the ground in without lifting into a run. Running was never allowed. Running disturbed the Master.

Relief whispered between her lips when Gra'ttal shut the door to the back room, and the worst of the crying and whimpering stayed on the other side. At least the children's racket wouldn't carry to the big house. The last time the crying disturbed the Master, Gra'ttal covered Raala's baby with a pillow until it was quiet. Raala hadn't left the chair in the corner of the sitting room since.

Silent and swift, the child slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen, Gra'ttal's uneven steps thumping after her.

"Ancestors curse Master Harbal for coming in here last season bragging about how his slaves give him a birth a day," Gra'ttal grumbled, hitting the bottom of the stairs. "Five new ones in three days and two of them dextro . . .. How the Master thinks we are supposed to support and care for so many . . .."

Lenka winced, the old woman's words making her heart skip a beat. She glanced around the sleeping house that never completely slept. If the Master, or even some of the other mothers, heard Mother Gra'ttal . . .. Lenka shuddered and hurried to finish her tasks. Perhaps if she got done quickly enough, she could convince Raala to curl up in bed with her for a couple of hours. She allowed herself a moment of yearning for the asari mother's tight embrace, her breath soft and warm on Lenka's neck, but then walled it away. Work now. Comfort later.

Lenka's spritely steps slowed to a thump-drag-thump, and a soft moan escaped her lips when she saw the huge copper kettle sitting on the floor next to the fire. Chastising herself for wishing someone bigger had hung the kettle for her, she bent down, leaning in to get her shoulder under the handle. Grunting a musical mixture of affirmations, bullying, and curse words she'd get a switch across her back for, she heaved. Stick-thin legs shook, knees bowing as the kettle scraped along the stone hearth, letting out a metallic shriek that made her wince. Holding her breath, she waited for anyone to shout about the noise as she hauled it the few steps to the hook over the fire.

"What in the name of . . .? Child, what are you doing?" Mother Da'lat's exasperated whisper cut through the silence like the wings of Mercy from Mother Lucy's stories. Lenka didn't know who Mercy was, but from the stories, she was the most beautiful of beings. "You're going to break that twig of a body in half doing things like that. For mercy's sake, it swears Gra'ttal is completely addled some days." The batarian mother grasped the handle and lifted the kettle off Lenka's shoulder. "Next time, come get someone to help you. You're no good to anyone broken." A smile softened her words, and she caressed Lenka's cheek with her thumb. "Now off to get the water, and no dawdling. It swears this baby is set to just jump right out and start helping you haul water."

Lenka giggled as she imagined Da'lat's baby coming out dressed, a little wooden bucket yoke on its shoulders. "It'll hurry, Mother Da'lat." She grasped her bucket yoke from beside the fire and settled it over her shoulders. The wood dug into her bones until she shifted it, finding all the places her body had worn her shape into the yoke over the year.

"Half buckets, no more than that at once. If you're done too early, it'll know you carried too much, and it won't let you help with the birthing," Da'lat chastised, grunting as she bent on a strange angle to try to put wood on the fire.

"Da'lat!" Mother Lucy strode into the room, small, human eyes narrow and exasperated. "What are you doing? It leaves the birthing room for five minutes, and here you . . .."

Lenka giggled under her breath. Mother Lucy never stopped scolding, but she never hit, even with her open hand. Lenka hurried out into the night, leaving the two mothers tending the fire. She loved helping with birthing, enough that she couldn't decide whether to obey or not. At the rate Da'lat's baby was fighting to get out into the world, she might miss the whole thing with half buckets.

The grass prickled the soles of her feet, the heavy, fall dew frost-cold on her skin. She smiled as she crossed the lawn, staying to the open, moonlit ground. Things didn't scare her as badly as when she was little, but even at six, she respected the monster's power too much to leave the bright, silver light. The well stood just over fifty metres away, not a long span for her. She'd started hauling quarter buckets of water when she turned five. Now, she could easily carry half buckets, or more full ones with a struggle. She filled them mostly full, but then sighed and poured some back, afraid that Da'lat would keep to her word and forbid her to help.

Half buckets dangling from her shoulders, feet moving as fast as she could make them go without running, Lenka completed thirty trips back and forth to the well, finally filling the kettle. She placed her yoke carefully back in its spot and hurried into one of the washrooms to scrub her hands and feet. Grinning to herself, she crept up to the door of the birthing room and raised her hand to knock, but then she remembered Mother Gra'ttal's order to quiet down the children. It took precedence, so she hurried upstairs and eased the back room door open.

The children had resettled into a loose pile and gone back to sleep, so Lenka pulled the door shut and crept back downstairs.

"Ah, Lenka, good." Mother Lucy waved her in when she peeked through the door. The human passed her a basin of cold water and a cloth then nodded toward the head of the birthing bed. "Keep her calm and comfortable."

"Yes, Mother Lucy." Lenka smiled as she set her tools on a small table, then grabbed a chair, sliding it up beside the raised head of the bed. She climbed up onto the chair and gave Da'lat her bravest smile.

"You're in here pretty fast for half buckets," the female panted.

"It promises, Mother Da'lat, only half. It just hurried to be here." Lenka cooled the batarian's face and neck, pressing the cold cloth over the places where Da'lat's pulse thumped hard and fast near the surface.

The female chuckled, then her face twisted into a pained grimace, and she pressed her eyes closed. Lenka stroked her gently, trying to help ease the pain. The females were not allowed to scream during birth, so the child did her best to help them. She liked to believe she made their labour a little easier.

Two hours later, Mother Da'lat gave a last push, Mothers Lucy and Gra'tall helping pull the baby out into the world. Normally, babies came out squalling up a storm . . . the only time in their lives that the Master would not punish them for the noise. He laughed, said it was the sound of money being made. Mothers laughed and cried, celebrating the only moments that the child would be theirs.

This time, however, Gra'tall just wrapped the baby in a scrap of material and hurried out of the room.

Mother Da'lat leaned up. "What's going on? Lucy? What's wrong with its baby?"

Panic filled the air, thick and cloying, crawling into Lenka's head and lungs with every breath. Even though she didn't turn to look, she could feel the monsters moving out of the shadows, creeping across the floor to feed. Lenka stroked around the batarian mother's ear, trying to calm her before the shadows closed right in.

Lucy walked up beside Lenka, taking one of Da'lat's hands while resting the other on Lenka's shoulder. Her eyes shone, red in the way that the child knew meant the human felt sad. Human's eyes went very red when they cried.

"Da'lat, you know what the Master said if this child was twisted like the last." Lucy shook her head. "It's so sorry."

Mother Da'lat laid back, her face turned away, while Mother Lucy returned to the end of the bed, lowering the stirrups and sorting the female's clothes. Lenka hopped down to fetch a blanket from the cupboard. Mothers needed to stay warm after they had their babies, especially if things didn't go well. Sadness suffocated the room, dimming the lamp light and chilling the air.

Lenka tossed the blanket on her chair, then put another log on the fire. When she climbed back up in the chair, the shadows had closed in around the narrow bed, their chill limbs slithering up to wrap around Da'lat. Pushing back against the sadness, Lenka spread the blanket out, then climbed up, laying pressed against Da'lat's side. Wrapping strong, thin arms around the mother, Lenka nestled her head into the curve of her neck.

Da'lat turned to nuzzle Lenka's brow. "Don't let this life break your beautiful heart, child," she whispered, hugging Lenka tight. "Always hold tight to the center of you. No matter what they do, they can only break you if you let them."

Lenka nodded, feeling the meaning behind the words more than understanding them in her head. She snuggled in tighter and closed her eyes. "It promises, Mother Da'lat."