Twins. A sign of good luck. But Vadrian did not believe in luck--good or bad. For him there was only knowledge of the things God showed him, and faith that what God did not reveal was part of His grand design. But now--now as his queen lay dying in the Great Chamber above him, and his sons wailed over their urgent need to ease the pangs in their empty bellies, he wondered if it was true. True that God loved His children? True that He rewarded the faithful?

The firstborn had emerged from his mother’s womb and slipped serenely into the world--the birth easy,the midwife nearly missing him as she rushed into the room only moments before he appeared.

Vadrian had taken him from her, laughing and proud, as the still-wet child squirmed in his hands. He strutted with his heir to a nearby alcove and threw open the windows. The child’s eyes reflected the stars glimmering in the inky blanket of the heavens above him and his father lifted him for them to see, his lips whispering a prayer of gratitude, invoking a blessing of strength and nobility for his eldest, naming him--Alsvad. The Swift One.

But the other refused to be born. His mother lay in agony as he fought against her, her misery consuming her as the night passed, the hungry wails of the birthed son weakening with hers. Vadrian watched her suffer, holding him against her as her golden hair became darkened with sweat, her eyes frantic with pain and searching his for assurance. But he had none to give. For all his power, for all his authority, he could do nothing.

He anointed and blessed her over and over, desperately pleading for God to grant him the power to heal her, to loose his tongue so he could utter the words that would save her. But God would not grant it and Vadrian would not give up begging Him to change His mind.

The midwife worked feverishly, but in vain. And as the morning star rose over the hills, shining above the glowering red rim of dawn, Branwen’s soul tore itself from her body in a rush of expelled breath.
The child was cut from her body and given to his father. He held him, weeping bitterly, his tears washing his wife’s blood from the infant as he invoked yet another blessing upon this, his last son. Arvakar, he named him. Son of the Morning.

[This message has been edited by djvdakota (edited April 30, 2004).]

[This message has been edited by djvdakota (edited May 01, 2004).]

[This message has been edited by djvdakota (edited May 02, 2004).]

[This message has been edited by djvdakota (edited May 02, 2004).]

Anyway, I do agree that the names should start with a different first letter. If I'm not mistaken, it's a suggestion even Orson Scott Card gives in "Characters and Viewpoints" *hugs her lovely book*. Try to give them similar name, but with different starting letter. Alsvan and Ervakar?

One thing I'd suggest is fixing the first sentence... it comes out very awkwardly, which is something you really don't want for the opening sentence of your story.

You have an interesting setup here...but when I read "From the day of their birth" I instinctively feel like I'm coming in on the middle of the narrative, not the beginning.

And it marks the passage as narrative summary. As narrative summary goes, this is quite engaging. But it is the sort of thing that I write as background material, I wouldn't usually put this into a story.

There are some odd bits, too. The midwife rushing into the room only moments before Alsvad is born...I don't quite get that. If the birth were really easy, the child would be birthed before the midwife even got there, you know, like when serious contractions first began. For the midwife to be there at all, labor should have been going for a while anyway. If the midwife got there just in time to catch the baby, that would just be coincidence, not a sign of a particularly easy birth (a strong woman can do a very hard birth quite quickly, you know).

It's also quite odd that the father would choose to go look at his newborn son in starlight, for a couple of different reasons. For one, starlight isn't flattering. Firelight has a much more reassuring effect on human features. Also, it would be...not cozy. And the fact that these people live in a house at all and the father needs to open a window to the night suggests that in their culture, the "night" is considered somewhat dangerous.

Tolkien's elves might not mind exposing a new-born infant to the night sky, but one rather imagines them giving birth outside, or at least in an open setting.

Also, it is rather strange to suggest that the baby can really do much to impede the birth process...exactly how does a baby "fight" against being born? There's nothing to grasp in there, you know. You can't make your head bigger, and your arms and legs are totally weak. Unless you have a breech presentation, which is generally a good way to not get born alive, there is nothing a baby can effectively do to make a delivery harder.

quote:

---

Also, it is rather strange to suggest that the baby can really do much to impede the birth process...exactly how does a baby "fight" against being born? There's nothing to grasp in there, you know. You can't make your head bigger, and your arms and legs are totally weak. Unless you have a breech presentation, which is generally a good way to not get born alive, there is nothing a baby can effectively do to make a delivery harder.

---

And if these are exceptional children - perhaps he could "engineer" difficulty for the mother.

I really enjoyed these lines, too. The only nitpick I have is that your first line says they "struggled with one another," you don't show that in the rest of the paragraph. You show how their different, (I also thought about Jacob and Esau) but I only see one twin, Arvakar struggling - and it's with his mother. As the paragraph stands, I'd think something along the lines of "From the day of their birth, the twins were as different as ... um ... Jacob and Esau."

Or something.

If the struggling with each other is important, perhaps you could mention their fighting in the womb, or something.

That's the second time today I've accidentally double posted.

My apologies.

Look, I'm obviously the only one that thinks there is anything even slightly hinky about this. Fine, I rest my case, and DJ can decide whether there is a problem.

For what it's worth, the impression I'm getting is that this is a prologue or prologue cleverly disguised as a first chapter so people won't skip it, and the narrative will move to the twins in young adulthood or growing up. I'm trying to think of something else useful to say, but not finding it. I like this. It's well written. (And I'd point out that we don't know there's an experienced midwife, or if they have a ban against interferring with the natural process of childbirth, or that they have some kind of cultural taboo against that kind of position adjustment. And there are probably cases where those adjustments would be impossible, although I'm not positive.)

i just feel as though i got the point after the first two or three, and only stayed on for the rest because i forced myself.

Sorry, Survivor-- normally I say ditto to all your comments, but I've got to disagree this time! Some babies just don't want to go down that birth canal-- and sometimes it's because the cord is wrapped multiple times around its neck.

One funny side note to the author-- I found myself becoming distracted during this birth scene, because I wanted to tell the mother to change her position, or get in the tub or SOMETHING! But I believe that has to do with the reason I can't watch TLC's "A Baby Story"-- I've done it myself too much to be a spectator!

BTW-- I really enjoyed reading this. Your phrasing was masterful. But I do agree that the first line is a bit awkward. And I. too, like the names beginning with the same letter. Lots of twins are named similarly.

Okay, buh-bye now,

(And she slinks back to lurkdom...)

the new lines are much more enticing, enough that i've already started guessig at what the story could be about.

*looks at other replies*

And I don't think the names would be a problem but this comes from a humble, unpublished, (heck, I haven't even finished a book yet! ) writer. Just as long as you make sure you keep their differences very apparent. Try not to use their names in one sentence too much.

FYI: I began this book (it is complete in its first draft) with a page of scribbled notes that I took while searching twin myths on the internet. There are two basic kinds of twin myths: one is the hero twin myth, in which the twins are fighting with each other in opposition to evil (or in one case good). One twin is always the stronger and the weaker almost always dies. The other, and less common, is the twin myth in which the two are pitted against one another. In my religious beliefs, the "twins" are Christ and Lucifer. They are both sons of God the Father, they were both very equal in power, authority, influence in the world before this one (before the fall of Lucifer). I decided I wanted to name my twins after some twins from myth. Romulus and Remus--too familiar. Hunahpu and Xbalanque--too difficult to get the English-speaking tongue around (that one's Mayan, by the way). So, just for the like-ability of the name's sake, I chose Alsvid and Arvakr (actual translations, All Swift and Early Waker), the twin horses of the Norse sun goddess. Most of the others I considered also start with same-letters.

Twins. A sign of luck. But Vadrian did not believe in luck--good or bad. For him there was only knowledge of the things God showed him, and faith that what God did not show was part of His grand design. But now... Now, as his Queen lay dead in the Great Chamber above him, and his sons wailed over their urgent need to ease the pangs of hunger in their empty bellies, he wondered if it was true. True that God loved his children? True that he rewarded his faithful?

So really, it is mostly just the now total superfluidity of the midwife and the bit about opening the window to view a new-born by starlight. And both of those are simply odd.