Firstborn

by Lorie Ann Grover

  My friend stirs. She walks over, picks up his hand, and massages it. “There is no other patroller without a partner now, Tiadone. Since re-partnering isn’t possible, you’ll be assigned to the lookout. It is your rapion that will alert the village of emergency. Maybe even those the visionaire do not see.” Mirko ruffles his wings and bobs his head. “Duty on the mesa top is difficult in the elements, but the lookout will appreciate your assistance.”

  She prattles on, ignoring my fading color at the thought of working without Ratho. “The lookout will no longer need to light bons to communicate. Mirko will raise flares instead.”

  My mind is a squash left out in a summer drought. So much information is drying it thin.

  “Now, Tiadone, you must go to the Eating Cavern, gather whatever weak slop Cook Antel offers tonight, and ready yourself for Thae’s Ceremony of Division. It’s held in a rarely used amphitheater, I believe.” She tugs me by my sleeve. I strain to see past her. Ratho is lying unchanged on his bed. “My brother will be arriving, and you must be present with the Carterea. It is a beautiful ceremony, from what I’ve read.” The woman whisks me across the room and out into the hall.

  “Tiadone,” she whispers, “may your god be with you. And your future days with Ratho in the village be long and sweet.” My lips part without sound. She smooths my forehead. “You will see your friend again, Tiadone.” She closes the door between us. Mirko and I stare at each other. “Go!” she calls through the wood.

  We hurry down the hallway.

  CHAPTER 54

  RENEWED

  My dinner roils through my stomach as I run deep into the Sleeping Cavern. Ratho and my alcove is far behind, along with the Steam Pockets where I took a quick cleanse and changed my clothes and bandage. Now I race far down the main tunnel.

  Finally, I stop and gasp in breath. The darkness is rich beyond the lichen’s small illumination in my palm. I slide to the rock floor, placing the glow at my feet. There’s no one around. I’m in the belly of the mesa. Deep and safe.

  Quickly, I pick at my amulet’s tie. My thumbs and fingers feel weak against the cord that has swollen and shrunk tightly after so many years. I gnaw and tug at the bit with my front teeth as well.

  There! It begins to give. The tie falls to the floor, and the amulet yawns like a flower opened by a breeze. I try to steady my hands, but they shake even more. With the amulet unfastened, all my maleness and power drain while my centerself swells behind my breastwrap in passion for Ratho.

  Stop! I must stop it! If Ratho tells, and there is full inquiry, at least I will honestly be fully male with the second cat heart, and the Madronian hand might be stayed.

  Hurriedly, I set the bag on the floor between my open legs. When I lift the lichen to peer inside the pouch, ashes and hair wink at me. The first heart is a powder. I’ve taxed it to dust and do need another!

  My fingers itch to feel through the ash, to sift the core of my spirit bound with my father’s hair. Instead, I yank open my pack and withdraw the new organ.

  Unwound from the winder skin, the heart is tacky and firm. Creator Spirit, make this force fill me with power to be a fully declared male, without a trace of femininity. May my dreams of Ratho end. May my lusting cease. Creator Spirit, bless this heart!

  As I press the sticky mass to my lips, my tears start. They roll down my face until I’m sobbing. For what? For ending the bit of feminity I did have? For ending my love for Ratho?

  Before I can figure it out, I hear voices. I fumble the lump into the amulet bag, where it nests in the ashes and hair. Fast, fast, fast, I gather the bag up around the heart. I squeeze the material to barely close over the top of the mound. There! Between my shaking fingers and mincing teeth, I get the cord secured and tied once again to my hips.

  “Hurry,” someone’s voice pings down the passage. “It’s time for Division.”

  “I’m coming,” another answers. Footsteps retreat.

  Grabbing my pack and lichen, I jump up and jog back the way I came. I wipe my face and hands dry on my poncho. My refreshed, plump amulet rolls and bounces against me.

  CHAPTER 55

  AMPH OF DIVISION

  With his knuckles knobbed about Thae’s belly and neck, Sleene chants among the lichen light. Breathing in the stink of his scented oils and wings, sourness fills my mouth, and anger buffets my centerself. He caresses Ratho’s rapion then meets my eyes.

  Instantly, I palm my amulet, full of renewed power. It’s clear Ratho hasn’t told my secret yet, or I wouldn’t still be here. For now, I’ll relish my strength in Sleene’s presence!

  Emboldened, I glare back at him and stroke Mirko. How can this be Govern Madgea’s brother?

  The only witnesses to the Division this dark night are Sleene and the silent Carterea. Rapion huddle at their feet in this amph to the west of the Edge of Release. Despite my new power, my hand trembles on Mirko’s back. He catches me looking toward the Edge and rests his head against my knee.

  Thae’s head flops and her narrow tongue slips from her mouth as Sleene’s chant ends. He lifts Thae’s body high so her wings open and cascade down his fleshy, pale arms. “Four-Winged Condor, grant remission for the loss of this rapion. Curb your condemnation and prevent your fire from striking your servant, who stands to humbly return this body to you.” Sleene’s little steps gyrate the bones, bells, and jars dangling from his waist. His black wings sway. The priest hazes in my burning tears.

  There is no need for remission. Ratho did well to defend our village. It was Thae’s offering of herself that kept the cat from encroaching until Mirko and I arrived. Sleene’s putrid hands full of falsehood have no right to touch Thae!

  Mirko hunches closer to me. I slide my hand down his wing, and a tear slips over my cheek. At least Thae’s centerself has flown already.

  Spittle sprays from Sleene’s thick, blue-lined lips. The droplets glob on Thae’s back as he lowers her to his feet. His sleeves slide and meet Thae’s crumpled neck on the rock.

  I grip the stone to keep from running to her. To caress her wings into place. To straighten her body.

  Narrowing his black eyes to dark slits, Sleene holds out his hands in Madronian blessing. “I journey now to return this body to the Four-Winged Condor. I will continue to plead for remission for your failure to raise and protect this honored beast, created in the near image of the Four-Winged Condor.”

  My hands ache.

  “Return to Patrol,” he spits.

  Cowed, the boys get up and make their way down the faint path. The rapion take wing and descend from the mesa through the air. Each dips a farewell to Thae’s body before soaring below the cliff face.

  Sleene watches me follow the other patrollers then plucks the lichen strands and drops them into his burlap bag. The glow seeps through the spaces and lights the glee in his face. The look is exactly what would come to him when a boy failed his reading in catechism class. That sick thrill sat comfortably on his forehead before he struck a child, or before a R’tan was whipped by an acolyte and put in the box for mentioning the Creator. I huff. Govern Droslump has some concern for Ratho. In Sleene, I see only evil.

  I walk behind Tinto, and Mirko flies high. He flaps his goodbye to Thae then loops back to me. With a heavy weight, he lands on my shoulder, hardly fitting any longer, and chitters uneasily.

  “Yes,” I whisper. Descending the rocky slope in the dark mist, we drop from Sleene’s sight.

  Mirko weaves a song that I have come to know means I must hesitate. Reaching one carved stair, I sit on the edge. To stall, I remove my boot and check my bandage. The numbing ointment is weak, and the cut pulses, but my wound doesn’t appear to seep though it’s hard to see for certain in the darkness.

  I pull my boot back on. A gust blasts down the pathway and shifts my hair and Mirko’s feathers. The last boy, Dalen, walks by me, continuing to the desert floor. His rapion glides below view.

  Mirko chortles. I stand and shift the bola looped through my belt.

  My
rapion leaps off of me, his form joining the blackness of the clouded night. Only an occasional ruffle of feathers betrays his ascent.

  A nerve twitches in my thumb tucked into my fist, matching the thick pulse in my ankle. Against my back, the mesa swoops another draft over me.

  Mirko calls from above as he circles the emptiness.

  I wipe my wet upper lip on my shoulder and climb back to the Amph of Division. One of Sleene’s garment bells shines on the stone next to the only remaining, fading lichen. I stomp on the accent bell, crushing the weak metal and killing the tinkle that tries to escape.

  With the lichen’s faint glow, I follow Mirko to the Amph’s western edge. There! Another pathway leaves the performance platform on the opposite side from where the patrollers descended. In the distance over my shoulder, the freestanding pillar by the Edge of Release is a haunting shape. I jerk my eyes from it.

  Mirko flaps before me. “What?” I ask.

  He whistles once and flaps left. Twice, and he moves to the right. He releases descending notes and drops, and ascending ones and rises. Instructions. “I understand!”

  He sings his joy then drops the notes. I hurry down the trail, skidding and sliding, before I can get my feet under me. Mirko whistles caution, and I slow, making my feet find purchase before taking the next step.

  Just before reaching the sand, I slip once more and somersault onto the desert. Oof. I stop with a thud. “I’m all right,” I whisper.

  Mirko whistles once. I climb to my feet, shaking the grit from my twists, and follow his lead away from the mesa. Soon, I find him perched between two boulders. He looks at the cleft between them.

  “In there?”

  He bobs his head. I shimmy down through the opening and discover a tight, sandstone canyon. Above, Mirko wings back and forth over the crack. He whistles for me to follow, and I do, with the lichen held out before me.

  My rapion leads me into the darkness. From the sky, I’m guessing he’s tracked Sleene, and returns to quietly relay where I should go. With the canyon’s twisting branches and jutting corners, there’s no way I could find the priest on my own.

  There are times the stone arches over me, and I feel desperately alone, but as soon as I emerge below an opening, Mirko is there to direct me farther, sometimes flapping at my side before returning to the sky. He keeps me moving, climbing up and down.

  My legs begin to shudder; my ankle wound burns. I’m still weak from dragging Ratho back to the mesa. With the thought of his name my centerself once again worries over whether he will keep my secret. Yet, right now, I know there’s a more urgent danger from Sleene. All inside and out of me quivers like the legs of an early born goat.

  Mirko’s soft whistle conveys greater urgency as I stumble into a covered passage. Smoke weights the air. Ahead there is light and sound; maybe just around the corner? It must be Sleene. I creep forward to look, but instead, Mirko swoops out of an adjacent passage. He chitters for me to follow him and slips out of sight, his feathers rustling against stone.

  I crawl up into the little tunnel and worm higher. Dust tickles my nose, while my poncho, trousers, and fat amulet scruff against the rock. It is like a hiding hole I once had back home. When we were little, playing together, Ratho never found me snaked inside the tunnel.

  I reach forward one more arm’s length and brush against Mirko’s tail. After scrunching into a small hollow that opens wide to the starry sky, I sit up and dust off my hands.

  Mirko points with his beak to a jagged crack. The fissure opens to a large cavern, likely near where I was standing a moment ago. Inside the room, the red walls waver, and the stone curves and shrinks up the winding shaft. I shake my head; it is only the play of firelight that causes the room to ripple.

  Mirko tugs the neck of my poncho closer. I stretch to see what he has. Beyond the roaring fire pit, over to the side, is a jutting slate where Thae is splayed. Sleene sways before her.

  CHAPTER 56

  ABOMINATION

  Sleene’s whispery dirge and bells echo around the chamber like the hisses in a den of sidewinders. I gnaw a chunk of flesh open inside my cheek.

  “Thae’s body needs to be respected,” I whisper. “She must be flamed to rejoin creation.”

  Sleene turns, setting off a chorus of clinks and rattles. His eyes pierce the shadowed edges of the cavern. Quickly, I stuff the lichen under my tunic to cover the glow and draw back from the crack. While I hold completely still, the priest stalks the circumference of the cave, drawing nearer. A blade winks in his hand.

  I count the pulses in my ear. Mirko clings inside the shaft above. Creator Spirit, protect us! I cry from habit.

  Sleene’s bells stop tinkling on the other side of the wall. He sniffs, then thrusts his knife into the opening. I hold my knees close, and the cold metal sweeps under my feet and just misses my thigh. Sleene reaches the knife as high as his arm allows and thwacks the sides of the shaft. Clang, cling, clang.

  One of Mirko’s feathers drops from his tail and twirls down through the air. I gently blow it toward the wall, and it catches in the shadow on the rough rock. It teeters toward the light.

  As Sleene withdraws, the feather twirls down and lands in the opening. I remain perched stiff on my tailbone. Cutting grooves, Mirko’s talons begin to slip down the stone. We eye the gleaming feather in full view.

  Finally, Sleene’s chant resumes from a distance. I roll to the opening and nab the feather, shoving it into my pocket with the same deft movement.

  Sleene is back with Thae’s body. He lifts the knife high, then draws it down. He slices into her belly and pries apart her flesh with the blade and his fingers. I muffle the scream trying to worm from my lips.

  From a black vial strung on his belt, he pinches out a powder and sprinkles the mixture into the cut. Thae’s coagulated blood begins to bubble up and out.

  Sleene drops to his knees. “Four-Winged Condor, give me the power of the rapion!” he yells and lies down below the shelf atop his own stiff wings. With arms and legs spread, robes thrown out to his sides, he looks like his god!

  My ability to stay quiet is further tested as his open mouth receives the bloody cascade. Sleene spasms. More blood drips from Thae into the priest’s dark mouth, and his body jerks in ecstasy.

  My vision fades in and out. Sleene, the cavern, the shadows … Ratho!

  Ratho gasps.

  The blood draining from Thae

  drains Ratho of his centerself!

  Govern Madgea hovers over him.

  Her long hands flap like moths seeking light.

  She searches Ratho for what ails him.

  His body arches in a seizure.

  His lips drain of color.

  “Tiadone,” he gasps.

  “Mirko,” I rasp. “Stop Sleene.” My rapion beats up and out of the shaft.

  I reach for Ratho but only grapple loose stone. His face is superimposed on Sleene. Thae’s blood, in an unnatural amount, streams into and bubbles within the High Priest’s mouth. It spills out and down his jaw, pooling around his bald head. Sleene convulses, flails, and falls inert. His fists open.

  “Mirko! Sleene is unconscious!” I screech, hoping it is true. I press my face into the fissure. Thae’s blood still boils from her body and splatters the priest.

  Mirko descends into the cavern from the wide opening above and sharply backwings. Sleene lifts his blood-spattered head then drops it. Clunk. His eyes roll backward.

  Mirko grips a flaming branch from the fire pit, and bits of glowing embers scatter over the floor. He flaps to the ledge and gently touches the torch to Thae. Her body incinerates in green flame.

  The obscene blood-letting violation is over. I lean my sweaty cheek on the rough stone.

  Sparks float to the floor, and three burn holes in Sleene’s robe. Motionless, his mouth still drools Thae’s blood. His feet are flopped outward, and a sandal is flipped across the floor. A meaty, pale leg lies exposed, as does his netting. Sleene is a eunuch, like one of Father’
s gelded sheep. He is nearly female himself! Swallowing bile, I dart my eyes from the sight.

  Mirko bugles triumph and flaps his wings fiercely. The beat whirls Thae’s sparkling ashes through the cavern. The dust swirls upward and drifts down into the cave crannies and floor. None lands on Sleene.

  Thae is returned to creation at last.

  I close my eyes and see Ratho breathes easily. Govern Madgea wipes the blood from the corner of his lip.

  Up and out of the cavern, Mirko’s feathers nip from sight, though his victory bugles echo. I let out my breath, pull the lichen from under my tunic, and with quivering arms and legs scootch out of the tunnel.

  CHAPTER 57

  QUESTIONS

  Mirko leads me out of the canyon and back to the mesa. I hardly track where I am going. Sleene is a cannibal to drink Thae’s blood! I howl out my anger and punch my fist in the air.

  Sleene has tried to make himself equal to his Four-Winged Condor by drinking the blood of a winged creature that twines with man. The priest wants to be his own god.

  My chest heaves as the cook’s dinner slops in my belly. A big gulp of air quiets the tumult but does not still it completely. I lean against a pine tree and adjust my amulet, the very thing that gave me the power to follow Sleene. Mirko flaps beside me and nuzzles my hand.

  Who has ever dared drink the blood of a rapion? “I wonder if the Cliff Rapion could sense the violation.”

  Mirko bobs his head. I shiver over the thought of Thae’s kin attacking the mesa. “It is good you stopped the abomination before they retaliated.” He whistles agreement, and I lumber after him.

  Who else knows of that canyon? Anyone besides Sleene? Maybe not, since he believed he could get away with his vile act there. My limbs are heavy, and my mind slugs up further thoughts with my steps. All questions return to the Creator Spirit, the supposed one who makes and sustains all creatures.