Another frown appears on his face, and deepens. He touches the new charms, pauses, then touches them again, then again in a different pattern. He doesn't seem to care, though they must be very valuable. When he adds new ones, there isn't enough room on my stomach. How you react, it's important for me to see.' He touches the new charms, one at a time, watching my glamourless face and the charms on my belly. A resistance, a stretching, even wind.' He smiles. He rests the charms on my skin and lets them drink the sunlight. Not to worry, they will not hurt you, or her.' 'Mild, but you may feel some sensations within you. Jon thinks he can do nothing to change fate, so now he does nothing at all. If I could see behind my husband's glamour what would I see? Despair? 'You agreed,' I say. 'Please don't, Jon.' My husband scares me. 'A girl, Jon.' I reach out for my husband's hand, but he doesn't let me take it. 'A boy, or a girl? Would you like to know?' 'Another way, I think.' He takes up the charms, and then pauses to look down at me. I watch the frowns and puzzlement pass across his face. His wishing finger walks from charm to charm, then back again. 'These charms are all wards, though more subtle and individual than yours.' He touches one, presses it into me, towards my baby, and then touches a second. He shows me the charms on my belly one by one. 'I must first try to understand more of what's wrong inside you,' the father says.

We make a little weaving of verses, the father leading and Jon last, but Jon's verses sound out of rhythm. I stare up, seeing sunlight through closed eyes. He lays the thong out on my belly in a ragged circle. He pulls down charms until he has a handful, and then threads them all onto a single thong. I can't help studying my belly, as though, since this morning, it'll have grown curved, and I'll be showing. I lie down on the bench and pull up my tunic. The father lets out a breath, and for once I can't read his face.

'Father,' I say, 'we've decided to keep the child.' He nods once, as though he's agreeing with himself. He looks from Jon to me, and his face crinkles into understanding. He startles and stares, and his hands clench in the shawl around his knees. 'Father,' I whisper, going down on one knee. He has a little dribble on the corner of his mouth. The bees are cleaning them of their pollen.

Their perfume is sweet, but not sickly: a childhood smell. In the half-moon since we visited, flowers have opened on the creeper that shades the cloister.

Another Side of Destiny by Harper Peace