The moment alone between mother and son was interrupted by another knock on the door. Kalëni did not answer, singing on in a whisper to the sleeping baby. The door opened and Guiran came in, carrying a basket in her hands.
"It's time, my lady," she murmured, stopping by the bed. "Believe that one day you may meet again. Sarenrae will watch over you.”
Kalëni did not find the strength to respond. She overcame the intense urge to remain attached to the baby and extended him to her personal servant. She shuddered when Guiran held him, when she did not feel the light weight in her hands. Her arms remained extended for three long seconds, before they were bended against her chest, embracing an invisible presence that was emptying.
Guiran nested the baby in the basket, making sure he was tightly covered, and, beside him, left a small message and a leather bag.
Kalëni watched them leave, her eyes filling with tears. When the door closed, an excruciating pain filled her chest. She folded herself and wept until she had no more tears, until she felt empty.
*
The city's strongest lights had not yet come to life, to simulate the day in the underground city. Guiran strode along the empty streets. A scarf hid her dark hair and part of her dark features. She did not want to take the risk that some early morning passer-by might recognize her.
She stopped in front of a building carved out of the inside of the mountain, like so many others. It was tall and austere, like a mixture of church and asylum. The wide wooden doors were closed. She looked from side to side, making sure there was no one around, before climbing up the three front steps that led to the entrance of the orphanage. She set the basket down. Despite the cold, the little boy did not wake up.
"May the gods protect you," she murmured, with a regretful wish.
Then she stepped away, not daring to look back, so repentance wouldn’t overcome duty.
It had been over an hour. The lights that mimicked the day unfolded, illuminating the streets and awakening the inhabitants. Inside the basket, Ayalal shifted and shrank in the cold, without waking.
After the first early morning activities, one of the doors of the building opened inward. At the entrance, a young woman still in her teens, frowned when she saw what was waiting for her. She approached cautiously, as if the basket might be trapped, and peeked inside.
"He's dead," she murmured to herself as she stared at the pallor of the newborn’s cheeks. She put a hand to his face, feeling the coldness of his skin. As if by reflex, the little child sneezed.
The girl jumped and pulled back her hand immediately. She took a deep breath. He was not dead after all. But she shouldn’t dally. She hurried to pick up the basket and ran inside. Her voice rose in the corridor, distressed, as she headed for the kitchen.
“I found a baby!”
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