Firstborn

by Lorie Ann Grover

  “Our shift is almost over,” I say. Ratho glances at the hourglass and nods. “Mirko and I will walk the paces to the Perimeter.” Only the crackling fire offers a response, and my run-on mouth tries to fill the quiet. “After we get back, I’m guessing it will be time to switch. I’m looking forward to crawling into the sleeping hole. It was funny when I fell right into it, wasn’t it?”

  Ratho’s head barely moves in agreement.

  “Whatever then.” If he wants to be as boring as a stick insect, let him. Whistling Mirko to the air, I snatch my javelin and dig a dry signal branch out of the brush stack we made. I stomp out the paces while leaving Ratho, Thae, and our fire behind.

  The night is incredibly dark. Noises snicker and shadows dart over the sand. Each time my foot pounds the ground, a bit of irritation sloughs off and fear crawls in to replace it. I could be walking into one of the Triumvirate right now. My breathing speeds.

  Stop it! I straighten my weapons. “I can do this,” I whisper, and fling my arms to be rid of the fear.

  Mirko’s shimmery underbelly winks pale against the black sky. We’ll be fine. My ears rise as I listen for danger.

  Nothing. Just the whump, whump of Mirko’s wings and the scuttle of little creatures. There are no large animal tracks in sight. I walk toward the piles of rocks marking our edge of the desert.

  After returning, I curled up in the sleeping hole, but now I struggle to roll over. The sand covering my body from the waist down resists my turning, pressing against my movement as if the Four-Winged Condor has landed on me. I finally manage to rotate, and squirm on my hip to resettle. As I tug my tunic to my chin, Mirko recurls in my hair. His warmth radiates around my neck.

  Hunched by the snapping fire, Ratho watches the darkness. Thae crouches alert on a cairn and faces the horizon to the east. I close my eyes. Sleep has to come because it will be my shift soon, and then Ratho will be filling this pit.

  The wind changes direction, and the smoke from the fire wafts by. It’s pungent. Drifting off to sleep, I wonder, did Ratho find lavender branches for fuel?

  Father twirls.

  The firepit flickers.

  His arms wrap someone

  and meld gently with the curves.

  A face flits past.

  Frana!

  “Tiadone.” A boot jiggles my shoulder. “Tiadone, it’s your shift.”

  I gasp in grains of sand and struggle to sit up in the pit.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE VISION

  I flip the hourglass. Mirko flies a short sweep over our position through the heavy mist and lands back on the rock pile as the sky glows pale pink along the distant curves of sand. The wet air is heavy and musty. I shiver.

  Thank the Creator Spirit, we’ve survived our first night!

  Ratho snores softly in the sleeping hole. He refused to let me help cover him with sand, so Thae had to work hard to rake in a mound.

  I drop roots into the boiling water and use a stick to lift the pot off the coals. Licorice steam rises. It will be good and sweet after the twigs steep. I get to my feet and use my javelin to stretch out my kinks.

  My dream returns. Was that all it was? I dreamed Father was dancing with Frana. But I felt the heat of the fire, the touch of spun cloth, and I smelled the pine burning in the fire pit.

  I’ve had another vision.

  Was it the near-past this time, the present, or future? I’m guessing it was at least the present. Father would be burning ash if it was future, say winter. And none of my clothes hung on the wall pegs, so it wasn’t the past.

  I shake my amulet to fight off this lingering female trait. What could be wrong? I need all the power of the male and none of this weakness leeching through.

  I plunge my javelin into the sand and rub my face. With clasped hands, I drop to my knees, and mere seconds later Mirko flaps to my side and steps up onto my lap. I look into his pupils as the black circles grow wider. Shifting in their darkness, colorful shapes expand. Father and Frana twirl in a dance in our home beside our firepit. Mirko hums, and the vision vibrates apart. He blinks slowly.

  I let out my held breath. We both saw the vision.

  At midday, I sit by the fire and pinch stingers off the dead scorpions Mirko caught. The heat of the sun bores down on my neck, and the desert wavers in the distance.

  If visions come as I sleep, that poses no danger to my position, right? And none need know of this strange, lingering femininity. I’ve examined my amulet, but there are no tears or holes. And couldn’t it be a blessing to see my past or what is happening now? I did get to see Father, and Mirko did too.

  But what of Father dancing with Frana? A jealousy gnaws my centerself, and I battle it down. Father is lonely, and Frana is his friend. And mine too. They only pass time together like they often do. I twist the scorpion stinger and rip it from the body.

  I need to stop fretting. Think of here, the work, winning Ratho over. I glance over as he stokes our fire. The light brightens his strong profile further, and now my centerself warms. I catch his eye a quick second and say, “Seems like what we’ll do out here for the most part is find food and survive the weather.” Mirko bobs his head. Ratho gives the barest nod.

  Thae flaps out of the nearby shrub and drops a small dead rabbit at Ratho’s feet. He glances at me to see if I have seen his rapion’s catch.

  I focus on the scorpion I’m working on and toss the removed stinger into the flames. Mirko grasps another scorpion from our pile then carefully sets it in my palms. When we are done, I’ll skewer and roast them.

  “Between that rabbit and the scorpions, we’ll have a great midmeal.”

  Ratho grunts. “I guess I’ll share my rapion’s catch.” He flips the rabbit and begins to disembowel it.

  I add the scorpion to the pile without stingers and stir the prickle plant brewing in the pot. Another few minutes and the spines will fall off, leaving only the tender green flesh.

  “Time for patrol sweep,” Ratho says. “The hourglass says so. Look.” He points.

  Are we going to go through this every time? What a nagger he is! He always complained about his mama badgering him; how quickly he forgets those calls of, “Ratho, retie your egg wrap. Ratho, it’s time to haul water. Ratho, come back and finish your prickle plant.” I smile. So he acts like her now, but will he eat his greens out here?

  I pull the pot off the fire and snap the stinger from the final scorpion Mirko passes to me.

  “It’s time,” Ratho says firmly.

  “I’m going!” I grab my javelin and a branch, then stomp out toward the Perimeter. The paces practically echo from my feet. Mirko catches an air current and hovers while waiting for me to catch up.

  CHAPTER 24

  FORGIVENESS

  Help! I’m caught!”

  Stepping from the latrine trench, I hear Ratho’s faint yell. “Tiadone!” he calls. I tie the waist of my trousers on the run, my amulet bumbling against my thighs.

  Mirko shoots ahead then circles back.

  “Where is he?” I cry. My rapion bugles and streaks beyond our post with me racing after him.

  “Help me, Tiadone! Sidewinders!”

  Far beyond the scrub patch, in the open desert, I catch a glimpse of Ratho and Thae rolling in the sand, and I stumble over a shrub in my panic. Oof! Striking the ground knocks the breath out of me.

  I scramble up and suck air into my flattened lungs. Running furiously, I finally reach them and hurl into the fray.

  Ratho is surrounded by sidewinders, most as long as my legs. His boot is stuck in a nest hole, and the winders writhe around his ankle. Two sink their fangs into his boot even as he beats at them with his javelin. Thae clamps her teeth through the back of one hissing head at a time and flings the diamond-patterned, ropey bodies to the side.

  “Help me!” Ratho yells again.

  Mirko dives into the thick of the nest with a loud growl and pierces the base of a huge winder’s head. I club my way toward the hole, throw aside my javelin
, and link my arms under Ratho’s as I pull with all my strength. Winder pits tend to collapse and trap intruders, but thankfully, this one releases Ratho. Relief jars through me as we stumble onto our backsides. He lands on top of me and rolls off. Before I can get up, Ratho is on his feet and attacking the nest.

  “Augh!” I yell as a fang pierces my leg. The slick winder flaps about. I grasp it tightly, and twist the head. The fang breaks from the mouth, but the body still thrashes. I fling it through the air. Its head hits a boulder, and the winder flops to the sand. I tug up my trouser leg and pry the fang from my skin; while I do so, the burn shoots across my calf as the hole seeps red. I stuff my sleeve against the wound.

  “I’ll finish them!” Ratho yells. Thae and Mirko continue to attack the winders that haven’t retreated while Ratho stabs his javelin down the opening.

  “With care!” I call and put more pressure on my bubbling lesion.

  The rapion are quick to sink the death bite and flap into the air before another serpent can strike. Winders drop lifeless to the sand. Blood sprinkles from the sky.

  Soon every sidewinder above ground lies motionless. Ratho collapses beside me as Mirko and Thae swoop over the carnage. “Come down,” Ratho and I call. We need to check them for wounds, but they ignore us in their celebration. Thae appears to have no fear of Mirko now!

  “Well, are you all right, Tiadone?” Ratho asks.

  “I don’t know.” I lift the material away from my leg. The blood has slowed, but best of all there’s no blackness rimming the hole.

  “No poison,” he says, and wipes winder splatter from his cheek. “I need to check my ankle.”

  “I’ll do it.” He doesn’t jerk from me and instead leans back on his elbows. I pull off his boot and sock. There isn’t any blood, and there aren’t prick marks anywhere. The hide has held.

  My hands linger on his muscled calf, now covered with hairs like Father’s. When did he grow such hair on his legs? I bite my lip and scramble for words. “So, don’t tell me your mama made these boots from Old Goatgrinder,” I say.

  Ratho sits up. “Nothing tougher than that plumdogit goat.” We both start laughing. “That goat would try to mate with anything!” Ratho hoots.

  “My father’s leg!” I cackle.

  “A fence post!” he shouts. We both howl and roll in the sand.

  As our giggles pass, Ratho sits up and slowly pulls on his sock and boot. Mirko sings of victory and Thae lifts a dead winder and shakes it fiercely. “They seem to be fine,” Ratho says.

  “Definitely. Maybe they can sense we are not seriously hurt?”

  Despite me telling him not to bother, Ratho tears a strip from the bottom of his tunic and ties it about my wound. The pressure eases the burn. “Thank you,” I say.

  He gives me a firm hand to help me stand. “No. Thanks go to you,” he says. Mirko finally flies to my shoulder, and Thae flaps to Ratho’s arms.

  We examine the birds head to talon. Not one prick or bite in evidence. Both rapion nudge their faces against our necks while Mirko’s hum winds down.

  A pregnant silence bulges between the four of us. Finally, Ratho speaks.

  “Forgive my head, which is as tough as my boots,” he says. “I have shame.” He blushes deeply, and Thae ducks her head beneath her wing. “Mirko is a strong rapion,” Ratho says hoarsely.” He is no Featherless Crow.”

  “It’s — ”

  “No.” He stops me. “Do you realize that if Mirko had been left on the Scree, as I spoke, I might have perished now? Who knows? He has great strength and is worthy, Tiadone.”

  A huge smile blooms on my face. “Yes, he is!” Mirko chortles and leaps into flight around Ratho and his rapion. Thae flaps to join him, and they begin chasing each other.

  I step before Ratho and draw two fingers clear across his chest. Forgiveness. I am able to give it fully. I lean forward and press my lips to his worried forehead to prove my gesture.

  “Tiadone,” says Ratho, looking straight into my eyes, “Mirko is equal to all.”

  “As is Thae,” I give the formal answer to his statement. We smile, and he grabs me in a hug that overwhelms me. His scent. His strength. Our separation has ached me more than I dared admit. He squeezes me tightly before stepping back.

  I grin up at my strong rapion flapping in the open sky. Maybe other patrollers will be won just as quickly as Ratho and Thae.

  “Still like the taste of winder?” I ask, sending off the last frayed tension into the air.

  “Never as much as now!” Ratho laughs. The four of us turn and collect the bounty of fresh meat.

  CHAPTER 25

  SHUNNING

  Ratho stuffs the last winder steak wrapped in rintell leaves and yucca twine into his pack. “Just in time,” I whisper as the Baltang boys crest the nearby hill. It’s actually good to see others. We’ve been jumpy around the fire, and both of us found it hard to leave the other for patrol. We’re definitely shaken, as the dangers are more vivid now.

  I fumble my pack closed over the skins we’ll cure. We’ll need to treat the meat packages during our next patrol.

  The firelight glitters in the smoky edges of my obsidian knife. Plunging it clean into the sand, I motion for our rapion to take to the air. Hopefully, in flight none will notice how round they are from gorging on entrails.

  Our overeager greetings aren’t returned as the Baltang enter camp. In fact, they say nothing as they cautiously walk toward us. This is a different pair from the first we replaced.

  Keeping an eye on Mirko, the boy with a pronounced brow moves a rock from one cairn to the other. The other skittish patroller rushes over to the hourglass and flips it quickly. They are obviously eager for us to depart.

  “Goodwill,” I say.

  They move to the far side of the fire.

  “The Four-Winged Condor protect you,” Ratho calls as we step away.

  With their Signicos snugged close to their legs, the boys stoke the fire. The Baltang lift burning branches and draw the smoke through the air to cleanse the site.

  My face simmers. “They are saying we are evil!” I spit. Mirko rumbles and swoops around my head.

  Ratho ducks under him and drags me away. He lays his arm over my shoulder and matches my stride while Thae and then Mirko rise high on a windstream above us.

  He lets me walk through my anger in silence, our boots shuffling sand.

  Finally I say, “I hate being shunned for Mirko.”

  “I can understand,” Ratho says.

  “I hate being shunned for being declared,” I admit for the very first time to my friend.

  He nods.

  And because he does understand, my anger is soothed the tiniest bit. “You’d think I’d be used to it, but it’s doubled now, and somehow it’s worse when they react that way to Mirko.”

  “Yes,” Ratho agrees. “It harder to look past it, right? To not react?”

  “Definitely,” I say, and kick a rock out of our way. It rolls and thuds to a stop.

  “Well, it’s not like Thae and I did any better.”

  “It’s all right,” I assure him. We continue walking, until finally my shoulders drop and I can inhale deeply.

  He ruffles my hair twists. “Give them a chance. Eventually they will see Mirko’s strength as Thae and I have.”

  “I really don’t know how they can’t.” I glance back. The Baltang’s chants for protection are barely audible now across the distance.

  Ratho squeezes me close, then lets me go, and we increase our pace.

  Well, even if no one else ever sees past Mirko’s song and my declaration, maybe it is enough that Ratho and Thae have.

  I glace at him from under my lashes. He’s definitely attractive, right there at my side. I sigh. I have my best friend back. Yes, that can be enough.

  I knock his pack with my javelin.

  “Hey!” he laughs and chases me over the sand.

  CHAPTER 26

  RELEASE

  Darkness settles, and we stu
mble into the Commons, quickly noting the empty spring and firepits. Mirko and Thae rouse on our packs. “Where is everyone?” I whisper.

  Suddenly, a govern I don’t recognize calls from the shadow, “Report to your division.”

  “But where is it?” Ratho asks.

  The man rubs his plump belly with importance and points. “Follow the mesa’s northern side to the first trail rising from the desert floor. Ascend and join the celebration.”

  “And what are we celebrating?” I call as he disappears into the Eating Cavern.

  Ratho shrugs. “As if we’d really get an answer for once? Let’s go.” He trudges forward.

  I groan. “All I wanted was to stop in the Steam Pockets and then to drop onto my shelf.” Mirko chitters agreement, but I stumble after Ratho.

  We skirt the edge of the stone, turn left, and meander along the northern side. A glow above encourages us forward, as well as the chant wavering in the air. Mirko drops silent when Ratho and I hurry forward.

  Spotting the foot of the trail, I stop. “Here it is,” I call and Ratho returns.

  Beyond that narrow pillar, farther down the dark stone face, I vaguely see other upward paths. Where do they lead?

  With shaking legs, Ratho and I climb this first one. From the distance we have hiked, my calf wound, our lack of good sleep, and the difficult path itself, it’s unbelievable neither of us falls. In steep sections we are glad to find hand and foot holds. The occasional narrow couple of stairs are carved at just the right spots.

  Finally, we crest the path, turn a corner, and emerge on a platform carved into the thick wall of stone. A small, sunken amphitheater opens around us.

  All the Carterea sit on the semicircled, tiered steps with their rapion on their laps or standing by their feet. Ratho and I hurry to the closest seat. He remains beside me even when a few boys shift farther away. He doesn’t shrink a bit from Mirko when others are witness.

  I hardly hold back my smile as he declares we are a team. He declares it to them all. Only the pulsing fear in the air keeps my happiness from showing.