Autumn wind punches my face as these pathetic excuses for pnts sway about me.

  Secret Garden, what a stupidly stupid name. Everyone knows of it, anyone can see it.

  They sent me to this ugly garden, supposedly ''fresh air,'' the few older women caretakers procimed, ''will do me good.''

  The Academy has an outside garden mostly made of artificial pnts.

  Familiar pnts look rather different from natural pnts. Sometimes the tree trunks have a dull sheen of bck to their surface. Diagonally flowing bands form ugly, snting tree trunks whose roots occasionally burst from the ground.

  A drunk coiling snake whose head explodes into a dense foliage of dark red, purple, or bck.

  The trees here are not that high, and some are very leafy; their trunks have vines of rich purple foliage. The leafy type of natural trees have their branches half-bare, and seem barren and sickly when compared to the lush crystalborn trees. Sculptures, granite benches, and a few simple swings of rope attached to thick tree branches are all thrown about the space seemingly at random.

  The garden's sculptures are small, often below my hip level in height. They remind me a little of the giant human-like statues at the center of Applecherry Pza, their wings here also pstered with gold. An annoying smirk was carved for all time into most of their marble faces.

  There are eversting purples of tamarisk and juniper and terebinth.

  To my upper right, a dancer was swaying its delicate purple strands to the high winds. The useless-looking fluffy pnt actually has some practical use. Best bows are made from the dancer's purple-bck stem.

  A cluster of pale pink lilies is framed by the flowing lines of bck boxwood shrubs—bloodred bush grows wild above.

  I suppose the garden has some macabre appeal to it. Despite this pce not being too high up, it still took me some effort to get here.

  Far below and away from the garden, the green statue of khar-nogoon rose starkly against the pale red sandstone ndscape around it. The mountainous facade soared ridiculously high, making the statue resemble a green petrified eyesh.

  Barely a week passed since I st saw my parents, and yet I miss them dearly. Sometimes I even miss my mother's suffocating nature, although, granted, those moments are exceptionally rare.

  Due to being ''blessed'' I will never be a mother and yet I must still go through this. Caretaker Vitellia assured me this is normal.

  Third day like this.

  Cramps are coming in neverending surges. How is this possible, I'm stronger than other girls, stronger than anyone, I can't be hurting like this.

  I lean forward and try not to think of the pain. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

  Hebe came to offer words of comfort but was wise enough not to linger much and to let me be alone. I assume she cleverly warned Michael not to come near me. Am I dying? Why does it feel like I'm dying?

  ''I presume it would be stupid to ask how are you, Anna.'' Aleera managed to sneak up on me. I must be worse than I thought. As usual, the brown-robed priestess has her shawl and gloves, although it is a little more understandable attire during the second half of the year.

  ''Yes.'' I bend over again and inhale through my nose and exhale quickly through my mouth.

  Aleera sits on a bench next to me. Gncing at my stomach she says pinly, ''It is a part of life.''

  ''Well...life is mocking me then. We are told it is a sign of fertility. What a farce! I didn't choose this pain or this cursed pce. What forced future am I to have?''

  She touches my hand reassuringly. After a long pause, she says, ''It is not about who you are now, it is about who you can become. You will never be a mother in the traditional sense, true; however,'' she throws a look southwards, sadness and longing shroud her eyes, ''your crystalborn will be an extension of you that serves the city.'' She regards me again with a faint smile. ''Also, I assume you've been through the blessings ceremony whereby you could probably see or hear some small curses of motherhood.''

  That brings a short-lived smile out of me. Some of her words are wrapped in thick yers of wool. My hearing manipution is wavering together with my focus. I'd much rather be alone.

  ''Somehow, I hoped this would not come to pass,'' I say.

  ''Hope is a-a-a fool man's game. Do not hope, make it so. With time you will find herbs that work best for you,'' Aleera states.

  Aleera pulls a small green vial out of her right pocket and gives it to me. ''Rub this on your belly three to four times a day. Some women cim it does wonders.''

  ''What is it?'' My head feels like one of the anvils of the Academy's Forge.

  ''Chamomile oil. Your mother will probably know where to buy more.''

  ''I won't be seeing her for months at least.''

  ''Write a letter and tell her to procure you some thyme or oolong tea.'' She becomes thoughtful for a moment. ''Sadly the gray pnts grow in the Wastes and can be expensive but since some faithful leave an offering of thyme in Acrona's temple, which eventually gets cleared or thrown away, I will send you some of those. Nonetheless, write to her. A daughter needs her mother at times such as these.'' She gets up to leave.

  ''Thank you.'' My voice is meek.

  Aleera lovingly taps my shoulder. ''I will come back around ten days from now, and can deliver it for you.'' She wistfully regards the garden one st time and starts ambling away. ''Rest now Anna, preferably in a bed and not a windy garden. Farewell, girl.''

  ''Bye,'' is all I manage to croak. Before I can ask her why is she helping me, another ripple of stomach pain gets my full attention.

  A distant thought nags at the mind, and I feel like I've failed to grasp some important understanding.