World of Women: Zero - Prologue

The storm broke over the small village with a vengeance. The sky was completely black and the rain was falling so thickly that one couldn’t see more than a few steps in front of them. Even the lights hung out on neighboring porches, those that managed to remain lit despite the storm, weren’t enough to guide anyone. The only time one could see anything was when there was lightning. Every once in a while, such a jagged spear of pure white shattered the inky blackness for a few moments. It was followed by a roar of thunder that shook the very foundations of the earth. On a night like this, sane women would have been locked up in their homes, burning firewood for warmth.

However, on such an inhospitable night, a small carriage pulled up in front of the rain-slicked gravel drive of the Thornfield Manor. A stout, cloaked figure holding the reigns quickly got down and waddled to the side. She helped out another, much thinner woman also covered in a cloak, but one of a much less fine make. She moved slowly, bent over as if she was in pain, but she allowed the stout woman to guide her up to the front door.  The grand oak door of the manor loomed before them, a monolith of dark, weathered wood, its iron knocker shaped like the thorny rose that was the crest of House Thorn.

“Hold on just a little longer, Clara,” the stout woman stated, lifting up and grabbing the knocker before knocking it three times.

The sound was dull, almost swallowed by the storm, but she repeated it, three sharp, deliberate raps, patient, but masking the desperation within. As they waited, the young girl Clara began to tremble, a combination of cold and stress that seemed to have reached their pinnacle. Meanwhile, the older woman raised her hand to knock for a third time, but she found she didn’t need to.

Before her hand could reach the knocker again, there was a faint click, and the great door creaked open, revealing a woman in a maid’s livery. She was young, perhaps a few years older than Clara, with hair the color of chestnut cascading over the pristine white collar of her uniform. Her eyes, a striking hazel with flecks of gold, were sharp and intelligent, taking in the sight of the two drenched commoners on the doorstep with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“The Lady Thorn is not receiving visitors,” the maid declared, her voice crisp and devoid of warmth. “You must return in the morning.”

She made to close the door, but the stout woman put her foot in the doorway to block her.

“Please,” her voice was filled with urgency. “My name is Espeth. Ms. Thorn and I go back. She will see me. We must speak with her. It is a matter of gravest importance.”

The maid’s eyes narrowed. “Any issues you have with a noble can wait until the morning.”

“My baby can’t wait until the morning!” Clara cried out, her voice cracking with desperation.

“Clara!” Espeth hissed at her.

The maid’s expression flickered. The word ‘baby’ was common enough, but the fear in the woman’s voice pulled at her heartstrings. Every woman earned to be a mother, but not everyone was lucky enough to gain permission from the church to receive a baptism.  A baby usually meant the involvement of the church, an institute that Ms. Thorn was intimate with.

“Wait here,” the maid said finally, her tone a reluctant concession.

She disappeared into the shadows of the hall, leaving the door ajar. Clara and Elspeth huddled in the doorway, shivering, the meager warmth insufficient to stop there shaking.

“Will she really be able to help me?” Clara asked, her teeth chattering.

“If anyone can help you, it will be Ms. Thorn. Although the Thorn family’s power has declined in recent years, Ms. Thorn herself has been granted four baptisms by the church. She has successfully birthed three daughters. It’s only inevitable for their power and influence to rise once again.”

Clara wanted to say more, but she decided to keep her mouth shut. The two continued to wait and drip on the floor for several more agonizing minutes before the maid returned.

“The Lady Thorn will see you,” she declared, gesturing them in and locking up the door behind them. “But be quick. Her patience is a finite resource.”

The pair stumbled into the foyer, their dripping boots leaving dark prints on the polished marble floor. As they looked around, the foyer, it was exceptionally decadent and beautiful, but there were also signs of wear. The maid went to collect their clothes. Espeth gave the maid all of her wet clothing, buy Clara refused to let go of one bundle. Although the maid tightened her lips when she saw the soaked bundle, the other woman was holding onto it so hard she knew she’d have to fight her for it. She decided to ignore it and instead led them into another large room deeper within the mansion. As she ignited a fire in the nearby fireplace, the windows would occasionally flash from the storm outside.

The two women sat down on the couch, trying desperately to warm themselves. It was only a short moment later when a woman stepped into the room. Her raven-black hair was intricately braided, coiled like a serpent at the nape of her neck. A dress of deep violet silk, slit with deliberate elegance to reveal one long, flawless leg, clung to her form. She was, by all accounts, one of the most beautiful women in the Vale, and her beauty was of the kind that inspired both awe and a certain trepidation. Her dark eyes scanned the two women sitting before her as she took a seat in a large chair. When she looked at Clara, her expression was blank, but when her eyes landed on Espeth, she smiled fondly.

“Espeth, I wasn’t expecting to see you. I’m not saying your visit isn’t appreciated, but I thought you would have realized that given the situation, your services won’t be needed.”

“Ah… My lady.” Espeth stood and gave a rough curtesy. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. I’m also sorry to hear your third pregnancy didn’t stick.”

Lady Thorn shrugged. “Although, many like to speak of fertility and god’s choice, I already consider it lucky I was able to mother three children. Of course, you were there for all of their births. I would never ask for another midwife, but I suspect that your visit isn’t about reminiscing over my former pregnancies.”

“My Lady,” Elspeth bowed her head before reaching out and grabbing Clara’s hand. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I encountered something to which I required your particular… expertise.”

Lady Thorn’s gaze shifted to Clara, taking in her threadbare cloak, her pale, frightened face, and the way she clutched something hidden beneath the wet fabric.

“A commoner with a problem. How novel,” she remarked, a hint of wry amusement in her tone. “Although some know me as charitable, I do most of my philanthropy through organizations. I rarely get involved on a personal level.”

“You, you might want to get involved with this one…” Espeth stated, her eyes filled with intensity, “This young woman came to me two weeks ago… and she gave birth about four hours ago.”

“Birth?” The maid, who had been standing by the door, suddenly spoke up, her face filled with disbelief. “Someone like this commoner was given a baptism?”

Lady Thorn arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Now, now, Seraphina, God works in mysterious ways. Who can say what the church may or may not do.”

“If it were only so simple.” Elspeth took a deep breath. “My Lady, you are known for many things. Your charity, your wisdom… but most of all, you are known for your fecundity. You have been blessed by the Father more than any woman in living memory.”

A shadow passed over Lady Thorn’s face. The mention of her fertility was not the compliment Elspeth had intended it to be. It was a subject of immense public scrutiny, especially with the latest botched baptism.

“Four times I have been granted the honor of the Baptism,” Lady Thorn said, her voice losing its warmth, becoming as sharp and cold as ice. “Yet I’ve only brought forth three daughters. I would hardly call that world renowned.  Yes, the world already knows that my latest Baptism, seven months ago, has borne no fruit. The seed did not take, so unless you you’ve come to mock me…”

“Not at all! I hope to help you!” Elspeth pressed on, ignoring the dangerous shift in the room’s atmosphere. “The Church is growing more selective. There are whispers, my Lady. Whispers that the Seed of Life is not as potent as it once was. They reserve it now for only the most fertile, for those who have proven they can carry the blessing to term. A woman who fails to conceive… she is rarely given another chance.”

Lady Thorn’s fingers tightened on the arm of her chair, her knuckles turning white. “You are perilously close to crossing a line, midwife. These are not things for common tongues to wag about. Church doctrine is clear. The Seed is eternal. Its efficacy is a matter of faith, and of the recipient’s purity. My failure is my own to bear.”

“But it is not just you!” Elspeth burst out. “It is happening everywhere! Fewer baptisms are being granted. More women are told they are… unworthy. The midwives, we see it. We see the dwindling number of births. Something is wrong, and no one will speak of it!”

“Silence,” Lady Thorn commanded, her voice like a whip crack.

Seraphina took a step forward, ready to kick them out at her lady’s command. Clara shrank back, tears welling in her eyes again. She looked at Elspeth, her plea silent but unmistakable.

Elspeth softened her tone. “My Lady, we do not speak of this to cause you pain. We speak of it because it is the context for our plight. The Church is becoming more rigid, more unforgiving. They see any deviation from the norm as a threat, as a sign of impurity or heresy.”

Lady Thorn stared into the fire, her profile a mask of cold beauty. “You speak in riddles. What have you brought me?”

Clara looked to Elspeth, who gave her a subtle, encouraging nod. With trembling hands, Clara began to unfasten the clasp of her cloak. The heavy, waterlogged wool fell away, pooling on the floor at her feet. And there, bundled in a swath of clean but simple linen, she held the secret she had carried through the storm.

It was a baby. Small, sleeping, its face peaceful and serene. It looked, at first glance, like any other newborn. Seraphina let out a small, impatient sigh, as if to say, ‘all this for a common bastard.’

But Lady Thorn did not dismiss it. Her gaze was fixed, her eyes narrowing. She had given birth three times. She knew the look of a newborn, the scent of them, the delicate fragility of their limbs. There was something… off.

“Where did this child come from?” Lady Thorn asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

“I… I gave birth to him,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible. “W-without a baptism.”

Seraphina’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“You lie,” she hissed, taking a step toward the girl. “A woman cannot conceive without the Seed of Life. Did you steal it? Is that your ploy? You snuck in and preformed an inordained baptism!”

“No!” Clara cried out in fear. “I swear it! I have never felt the warmth of the Seed. I don’t know how it happened! I just… I woke up one morning and my body was changing. I thought I was ill. I hid it. I was so scared. And then… I could no longer deny it. That’s when I sought out Midwife Espeth.”

“Lies!” Seraphina spat. “A fanciful tale to save your own skin. You are a blasphemer and a thief!”

“Enough,” Lady Thorn said, her voice cutting through the maid’s fury before she turned her gaze back to Elspeth. “Midwife. You have delivered this child. You have examined the mother. Is what she says possible? Is she lying?”

Elspeth shook her head, her expression grim. “My Lady, I have been a midwife for thirty years. I know the signs of a Baptism. There is a certain… glow. A woman’s skin is never finer than after a baptism. This girl has none of the signs. Her body carried this child, yes. But it was not conceived in the holy light of the Church. Of that, I am certain.”

“Then how?” Seraphina demanded, gesturing wildly at the baby. “It is impossible! The Father is the only source of life! It is the foundation of our world!”

“A confounding as these questions are…” Elspeth said, her voice heavy with implication. “This is not the problem I’m most concerned about, and not the reason I brought you.”

Seraphina stared at her, confused. “What are you talking about? Are you-“

Lady Thorn lifted a hand to silence her before leaning forward in her chair. “Show me.”

With a deep, steadying breath, Elspeth reached forward and gently, carefully, pulled back the last layer of linen swaddling the child’s lower body.

The firelight flickered, illuminating the small, smooth patch of skin between the baby’s legs. And there, something that did not belong. It was a small, soft protrusion of flesh, with a tiny slit at its tip.

Seraphina recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth.

“By the Father,” she gasped, her eyes wide with revulsion. “What is that? What is that grotesque growth on her? Is it a deformity? Some kind of tumor?”

The baby, disturbed by the sudden cold exposing its lower half shifted unhappily, its cheeks scrunching up. Clara stared at the baby, tears sliding down her cheeks, but a strangely entranced gaze.

Elspeth looked at Lady Thorn, who had not moved, who had not even seemed to breathe. The noblewoman’s gaze was locked on the small, impossible growth. Her face, normally a mask of controlled emotion, was now a canvas of pure, unadulterated shock. Her lips parted, and a single, whispered word fell into the silent room.

“Its… a penis.”

Seraphina tore her eyes away from the child to stare at her mistress. “My Lady? What did you say?”

Lady Thorn finally looked up, her eyes filled with a slight embarrassment. “I have seen a drawing of one once in an ancient book in a family library. It’s an organ called a penis. It only exists on a certain kind of child.”

She stood up and walked over to the window, staring out it with a heavy look.

“If that is a… penis…” the maid said, testing the foreign word on her tongue, “then what does that make the child?”

Lady Thorn’s gaze met hers, and in it, Seraphina saw a reflection of her own world being torn apart.

“It means,” Lady Thorn said, her voice barely a whisper, “that this is not a ‘she’. The ancient texts called it… a boy.”

The word struck the room like a physical blow. They might not have heard the word penis, but everyone had heard the word boy. Boy, Man, Male. They were all words for the same mythical beast. Before the great cleansing, there was supposedly a time when half of all people were built different. They weren’t women like everyone else. They were men. Yet, men didn’t exist, or at least hadn’t existed in anything but distant stories and forgotten records. Every child born of the Father’s seed was female. This was an indisputable fact.

And yet, there was one more indisputable fact. Wrapped in a commoner’s cloak, whimpering in a noblewoman’s study, was the baby form of a man.

Elspeth watched the dawning horror on both their faces and finally spoke. “Now do you understand, my Lady Thorn? Do you understand why I could not go to the Church? They would not see a miracle. They would see a danger. It’s the same with most nobles. They would want to control the boy.

“We must get rid of it,” Seraphina said instantly, her voice filled with a cold, practical panic. “My Lady, we must. Now. Before anyone knows. We can say the mother came to us delirious from the storm and lost the child. It is a tragedy, but a believable one. If anyone finds out we are harboring… this thing… it will be disastrous. Not just for House Thorn, but for the entire Vale. For the world.”

Lady Thorn ignored her. Her attention was fixed on Clara, who was now openly sobbing, her entire body shaking with the force of her fear and grief. The noblewoman’s expression was unreadable, a complex tapestry of shock, revulsion, and something else… a flicker of something that looked dangerously like fascination.

“What do you want from me, girl?” Lady Thorn asked, her voice soft but firm.

Clara looked up, her eyes pleading. “I don’t want to lose her. I love her… more than anything.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room. The storm raged outside, a fitting backdrop to the turmoil within. Seraphina looked at her mistress, her eyes begging her to choose reason, to choose safety. But Lady Thorn was looking at the baby, at the impossible little organ that defied all logic and doctrine.

She walked back to her chair and sank into it, her mind clearly racing. The implications were staggering. The Church, the government, the very fabric of their society was built on the premise that men were gone forever. Their return, even the return of a single infant male, would be a cataclysm. It would challenge the authority of the Church, the validity of the Great Cleansing, the sanctity of the Seed of Life. It could plunge the world into a darkness not seen for a thousand years.

And yet… it was a child. A living, breathing, whimpering child. And its mother was willing to die for it.

“It’s him.” She finally spoke.

“Huh?”

“Males are called he and him.”

“H-him…”

“Now promptly forget those pronouns. We will never be able to use them again.” Lady Thorn declared.

“Wha- do you mean, you’re going to help?”

“We will keep the child here,” Lady Thorn announced, her voice ringing with a sudden, shocking finality.

Seraphina gasped. “My Lady, you cannot be serious! The risk—”

“I am aware of the risk, Seraphina,” Lady Thorn cut her off, her tone leaving no room for argument. “But I will not be responsible for destroying such a miracle. We will raise him. Here, in Thornfield. We will let him grow, we will watch him develop. Only when he matures can we truly confirm the truth.”

“What will we tell everyone?” Seraphina asked weakly.

Lady Thorn’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, the smile of a gambler laying everything on a single, impossible roll of the dice.

“We will tell them the baby is mine. I had my Baptism seven months ago, did I not? The Church announced it, the town celebrated it. What if… what if the Seed did take, after all? What if the pregnancy was simply… a phantom pregnancy? A strange, rare condition, known only to the most ancient of medical texts. I thought I wasn’t pregnant until the day it popped out. Today…”

Seraphina stared at her, her mouth agape. “A phantom pregnancy? My Lady, no one would believe such a thing!”

“They will if I say it,” Lady Thorn declared, her voice filled with an unshakable confidence. “I am Lady Thorn. I have given birth three times. My word on the matter of childbirth carries weight. It will be a medical marvel. A curiosity. They will whisper about it, but they will not dare to question it, not with a baby here.”

“A… a male baby.”

“She will be raised as a female,” Lady Thorn continued, her gaze sweeping over the three other women. “We will dress her as a girl. We will teach her to be a lady. We will call her… Christan. A good, strong name. No one outside of this room will ever know the truth. Not until she is grown, and we can decide what to do then.”

“My Lady… thank you! Thank you so much!” Clara fell to her knees.

Lady Thorn reached out a grabbed her. “Do not become too comfortable. Your job has only just begun.”

Clara’s face fell. “M-My job?”

“You will remain here,” Lady Thorn said, her tone softening slightly. “You will take a position in this house as a maid. You will be Christan’s personal maid. You will be responsible for her care, for her upbringing, for her every need. It will be your sacred duty to ensure no one ever discovers her true sex. You will protect her with your life. Do you understand?”

Tears of relief and gratitude streamed down Clara’s face. She sank to her knees on the cold stone floor, the baby held securely in her arms.

“Yes, my Lady,” she sobbed. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. I swear I will. I swear it.”

Seraphina looked from the kneeling commoner to her mistress, her expression a complex mixture of fear, reluctance, and even a little bravado.

“If anyone finds out,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “if the Church ever learns we are harboring a male… it won’t just be disaster, my Lady. It will be the end of everything.”

Lady Thorn walked to the window once again, staring out at the raging storm. The lightning flashed, illuminating her determined, beautiful face.

“Then we must make sure no one ever finds out,” she said, her voice as cold and hard as the sleet that lashed against the glass. “Because if the world learns there is a male among us once more… it will not just overturn the fabric of our world. It will burn it to the ground.”