The old man drew something forth from the very air itself, the object seeming to form out of the shimmering ripples all around his fingers. It was long and broad and made of wood, covered in carvings and bright paint. It had three tripod-like legs, a small seat, and a tall narrow back where the bulk of the carven glyphs were stacked one atop another. It was a chair, a very special kind of one, that took even Jack's trained eye a moment to identify, mostly because it was not so much a chair as a glorified stool, one crafted for a very specific purpose.
"It's a stool," Jack said softly and, after a moment to reflect on what the old man having brought it here meant to her, continued slowly, drawing the words out, "a birthing stool."
"Yes, young lady, precisely," the old man nodded his head, a beaming smile on his cracked lips, pleased she recognized the stool he now proferred as a gift, "I bring it for you."
The baby sleepily stirred inside her, its movements less energetic than before. In a delayed sympathetic response, Jack shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She wanted to get up and run away, but getting up was no easy proposition with her belly in the way and her running would be more comical than effective for much the same reason.
Jack had yet to fully reconcile herself to what lay it her immediate future. She was trying, but it was difficult to accept a new face, form, and life thrust both upon and inside you all in the space of a few months, much of which had been spent in captivity. Only since her escape from DeMorrell's manor had she been able to start fully embracing her new life. Yes, she was a college drop out and unwed mother to be. Yes, she worked too hard for too little money in a small town restaurant. None of that mattered. After escaping from months of rape and torture at the hands of her worst enemy, Jack's immediate future, even the painful childbirth part, seemed like a walk in the park. She had even begun to embrace this new life.
Now this old man had shown up, rekindling all the fear and anxiety and bad memories, including her justifiable concerns about the life changing event ahead of her. Jack knew she would give birth and soon, no denying that, but she had been envisioning the big day as happening in a clean, sterile hospital with trained doctors and nurses in attendance. Instead, the old man just pulls a birthing stool out of thin air as if she was going to need it in the next few minutes. Jack just stared at the thing, making no move to take it.
"Ah, my apologies again," the old man chuckled and set it on the floor between them, "you will not be needing it just now."
"Or ever!" Jack shot back, "I don't know what you're thinking, but my baby is going to be born in a normal hospital with normal people, not - - not in some Incan hut by firelight!"
"True, your son will be born here, in this land," the old man nodded, "Because it is here the battle will take place, yes?"
"No, because my baby isn't going to be any part of any battle," face stubborn, crossed arms resting on her belly, Jack tried to keep her voice firm, "I don't want any part in this anymore. Even if it means staying like this! I can be happy - - I can learn to live like this!"
"Happy you will never be," the craggy face beneath the wide-brimmed hat became sad, "The devil-man will never let you. Eventually he will learn who and what you once were. On that day he will cast aside the plaything he has made of your grandson and reclaim you for your own. What then?"
Jack briefly let his mind wander down that shadowed corridor. Just what would DeMorrell do if he ever learned that it was his oldest enemy, Jack Merlin, living inside the skin of Nora Volancort? She was the mother of his child, but did that mean anything? Due to DeMorrell's wishes Jon was just as female and just as pregnant as herself. DeMorrell was assured of an heir no matter what he did to her. Could he be cruel enough to take her baby? To kill it? Transform it? Although, it was just as possible he would go the other direction entirely. It might amuse her tormentor, this fix the mighty Jack Merlin had gotten himself into. It might please him to take her over and over again, to give her child after child after child. Jack shuddered, imagining Jon kept in captive splendor, wife to DeMorrell and mother to his heir. Meanwhile, DeMorrell kept Jack herself tucked away in a squalid little house somewhere, the weary, bloated mother of his many bastards. And all this was just the tip of the iceberg. For all the years she had known him, Jack knew she could never truly guess at the nightmare depths to which DeMorrell's twisted imagination could go.
"What do we do then?" Jack's voice quavered. She was afraid, but she was more afraid for her baby and what DeMorrell might do to it.
"I take you to a safe place, a place where he cannot find you," the old man placed a reassuring hand upon hers and Jack was grateful enough to not pull away. His eyes were kind and the young woman saw something in them that she had not seen in her own for some time. Hope. The wizened figure pointed to the chair, "Then, at the appointed hour, you take your seat upon this, the Birth-Stool of the Gods, and we deliver your child into this world."
Jack let her eyes follow the gnarled, pointing finger. The stool was unique, unlike any she had ever seen, and in her days as an archaeologist she had seen more than a few, ranging from Egyptian to Chinese to Roman. She studied its intricate carvings as he spoke. All along the back rest were many tiny squares, each containing its own pictogram or geometric figure. The squares were arranged in a pattern to denote the upper world of Inca myth, heavenly domain of Inti the Sun God, but much of the iconography was wholly unfamiliar to Jack; jaguars with butterfly wings cavorting alongside men with hawk heads and feathered capes, jagged lightning-like zig-zags instead of curling bubbles to denote speech, all revolving around the largest central carving of Inti himself.
"The devil-man has searched for this for a very long time. The idol was only the first of the two artifacts he coveted. This stool confers many blessings upon any child delivered with it. Control of the natural elements and the beasts of the earth, greatly longer life, and the gift of tongues among others."
The crooked finger traced the carving inlaid into the seat. It was a crude representation of the primal earth mother, belly swollen much like Jack's own, except the goddess's was etched with a Chakana, a circle surrounded by the stepped cross of the Inca. It represented the World-Tree, a concept that translated across many cultures; Yggdrasil to the Vikings, the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, Guatama Buddha's Bodhi Tree, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and many others. What both fascinated and disturbed Jack was the form emerging from between the goddess's spread legs, a small man-like figure with a tree branch in one hand and a flint knife in the other, birds perched on each shoulder and wavy lines of power radiated from the large head. The newbord God-King it seemed.
"Originally, he planned for your grandson to sit here when her time came, for their child to obtain its power," the old man smiled yet again. He seemed to smile a lot, except this time there was a hint of wicked mischief in it, "But I have denied this to him. Instead of blessing his heir, it shall bless his destroyer!"
Jack's eyes fell to the three legs, surprised she had not noticed that even these were carved. Each leg was an elongated figure made to represent some aspect of the underworld; Famine, Sickness, and Death. Jack realized that with these the motif was complete. The birthing stool united all three levels of the universe, heavens, earth, and underworld. The very place where she would rest her buttocks all too soon was etched with the mother goddess giving birth to the savior figure, a prophetic vision of her future. No wonder DeMorrell had wanted this. If he had found it, along with the stone, his control of all the world would be complete. The only way to keep herself and her baby safe was to stop him. The only way to do that was to use this artifact for what it had been intended. Jack Merlin, it seemed, was to be the new madonna, though she was hardly a virgin in either her new life or her old one.
"I'll do it," Jack said softly, then with more strength, "I'll do it! As long as you help me - - I'm scared, but I'm more scared of what DeMorrell will do if we don't stop him."
"Ah, good!" the old man hugged her, then held her at arms length, regarding her for a moment before kissing her on both cheeks, "I knew you had this strength in you! You were a warrior once and you still have a warrior's heart! You will be a fine mother to the new king!"
"Th-thanks, I think," Jack was too stunned by the sudden show of good humor and affection to ward it off and the old man's praise made her blush self-consciously, reminding her that whatever she had been she was a woman now and regarded as such. Quickly, she sought to turn the conversation away from her, "I just realized, I don't even know your name. You want to help me and I don't even know who you are."
"My name is Ayarasco and, long ago, I too was born upon this stool," Ayarasco shrugged, "After the fall of my people I lost my way, but now with the devil-man controlling the stone I have purpose once more, though not so much power as before. That is why your little one is so important. He shall grow to do what I cannot do alone."
"Ayarasco," Jack tried the name, rolling it off her tongue, "Where will we go? When do we start?"
"I have a little place, tucked away where even the devil-man cannot find it. We go there," the bent figure straightened a little and made an arcane gesture which tore a larger shimmering hole in the air much as he had done to draw forth the stool, "And we go now. Gather what things you wish to take. We will never return here again!"
