I shrug and get to my feet. Mirko settles at my side, but his feathers remain bristled. “You will find nothing,” I say.
Behind two desert cat hearts and my father’s hair coils, you cannot see my hidden femininity, Govern, and you cannot see my prayers! You cannot see I worship the Creator Spirit, and you’ll never see my palm prints charred onto the wall of the Chamber of Verities. I have hidden the Oracles in my centerself where you cannot reach!
My eyes narrow, and I refuse to look away.
Droslump spits onto my sandal, leaving a glob that slips between my toes. He snaps up my pack and begins to search.
The Eating Cavern empties, and the Baltang boys linger around the spring. Most sneer. A few rapion bristle at Mirko. I know the birds may worship as their boys do, if at all, until they return to the Cliffs. However, Father says Cliff Rapion worship the Creator Spirit. At release these will learn from their clan and know the truth. Shame will fill them for mocking me now.
Glaring at my amulet, Droslump discards my belongings into the dust. He kicks my water sacks, herb packets, and dried lizard meat. My mouth is drier than the sand and a tic jerks my eyelid.
The govern’s clawed fingers bump over my pack’s outer, now empty compartments. He feels along the inside as well. His hand moves over the hidden pouch for my flow sponge. Not that the discovery would endanger me, but it would make everything more complicated. The Madronians wouldn’t want all to know my body defies their amulet.
Playing indifferent, I brush my matted twists off my neck. Droslump throws my pack at my feet, never finding my sponge. He swirls his robes about his ankles. “I will inspect every crevice of your shelf.” Before I answer, he’s gone.
Mirko helps me gather my possessions. We dust them off and place each in my pack. I take off my sandal and splash water over my foot to cleanse it. I keep my head down to avoid the boys.
Until everyone reports for drill, I stay busy at the spring, filling my sacks and washing my tender face again. As well as tightening my amulet sinew. Finally, I slide to the ground. What has my father done? First allowing the Madronians to find the Oracles and then recanting? Was it right for him to do so?
I kick a dead shrub loose with my heel, and with my toes fling it high into the air. Mirko echoes my anger and catches the plant. He makes drastic turns and spins and tears the branches to pieces. They flutter down onto me.
“Wasn’t everything hard enough already?”
CHAPTER 72
NO ORNAMENTATION
In preparation to return to Lookout, I pick berries from the squat fracksaw cactus. The purple globes will soften when I boil them and make a sweet paste for our dry wafers.
Above, Mirko whistles a warning. With a thwimp, my javelin strikes the soil at my ankle. I had left it in my alcove, as I was only collecting berries. I spin around.
Droslump drags his robe across the sand while advancing with speed toward me. I’m far from the mesa, so this must be important. My muscles tighten, and Mirko circles to my side. Beyond Droslump, the Baltang are departing for patrol.
I tug my javelin from the ground to see the handle carving has been struck through. The pictures Father made, the intricate wool curls and the smoke rising from our house, are marred with black lines of soot and deep hashes. I cover the damage with my hand. Mirko burbles empathy and lowers himself on his haunches. Droslump approaches, presenting another javelin.
“Standard Madronian javelins have no ornamentation!” Droslump thrusts it into my free fist. Mirko growls, forcing me to block him from Droslump’s path. I have seen other boys with images on their weapons. The govern merely looked for anything that could hurt me.
“My father — ”
Droslump squints, and my words are sliced off behind my tongue. He snatches my javelin from my hand and cracks it over his knee. The sound jars my teeth. He throws the pieces to the dirt, raises a whip from his robe, and lashes before I can fully turn my back. The slash curls over my backbone and licks my side. I duck and roll, expecting more strikes.
Instead, Droslump sputters and curses. I peek under my arm and see Mirko flapping violently, finally ripping the whip from the Madronian’s hands. With a bugle, my rapion flings the weapon and flares each pinion above the govern, whose face blanches. My rapion, now nearly full size, is ferocious.
Droslump steps away mumbling what I know are empty threats. He bends and retrieves his whip while keeping Mirko in sight. Hatred is carved on his face as he looks at me a last time.
Mirko advances, screeching and swooping. Droslump cowers and ducks, then jogs to the mesa.
“Mirko!” I shout. He turns and flies to me. I run my fingers across my back. There is no blood drawn, because my breastwrap cut the whip sting. But even if it had cut deeply, my own hatred is hotter than the lash. I slide the Madronian javelin into my hip holder.
Mirko lands at my side, chittering. “I’m fine, but that was dangerous, my friend.”
He tosses his head at Droslump receding. When the govern is out of sight, Mirko nudges through my broken javelin pieces.
“That javelin bested the cat and came from Father’s hand,” I say. Mirko nudges a piece toward me until I pick it up. “Yes, I’ll save this.”
With my knife, I cut away an undamaged chunk and bore a hole through the end. Tugging a leather strip from my pack, I lace it through the wood and dangle it around my neck.
Mirko kicks dirt over the rest of the pieces. He whistles at me and flaps toward Lookout. Stuffing the fracksaw berries deep into my pockets, I follow.
I finger the bit of wood dangling from my neck. It’s engraved with an image made to look like a rapion flapping on the horizon, but I know it is Father’s image of an open book: The Oracles of the Creator.
CHAPTER 73
SOUGHT
I gently swipe the berry paste from Mirko’s beak. His tongue follows my finger and nips back into his mouth. It is enough to make me smile.
With another weekly Lookout session ending soon and the clear night moving about us, I bank our fire on the rock and lie next to Mirko below our awning. Surprisingly, sleep comes easily tonight on the warm wood despite my worry for Father, and my upcoming blood time. The stars blur as my lids close. Images spin in my dream.
I am little,
twirling in the kitchen
with a dishrag about my waist.
Father jerks me to a halt
for acting like a girl.
I am curled on his lap
as he reads the Oracles
and rehearses that I am male.
I repeat it over and over.
“I am a boy. I am a boy.”
I pull on one tunic,
another, and another,
until I’m wrapped and bound
in a cocoon of male clothing.
My breath strains
against the gauze covering my face.
“Tiadone,” Jenae calls.
Her pale brows raise.
The Monast fades,
and Zoae flits around her head.
“Tiadone, I have reached you!”
“Jenae?” I stretch my hand
to her soft cheek,
but my fingers slip through air.
She smiles.
“I speak to you and Mirko through vision,
as visionaires speak to each other.”
Mirko’s wings open next to me.
“It must be possible because my rapion
is a Singer!” I eagerly say.
She nods.
“That was my thought!
I knew I felt your presence, Tiadone,
when your father was boxed.
But I want you to know
he’s released now
and recovering at home.”
“Father is well?” My voice quivers.
Jenae lowers her eyes.
“He is released, Tiadone.
He will recover. But he is not well.
There was the confinement,
lashing
s,
and withholdings of food and water.”
I bite my lower lip.
“He is weak and frail
but has held to his recant.
There will be no further punishment.”
I blink and nod slowly.
“Tiadone, it is good to see you!
Even if
your twists are horrid.” She laughs.
A grin tugs at my lips.
“And you are as clean and prissy
as any girl.”
“Well, I deserved that, I suppose.”
Moments pass.
I have ached for a friend
since Ratho left.
Only Jenae would be brave enough
to reach me.
I turn from thoughts of Ratho’s dream
of Jenae.
Mirko lifts upward.
Zoae joins him.
Warm drafts tumble down.
The rapion touch.
“I must go, Tiadone.
I have risked another visionaire joining us.”
I gesture thanks.
She begins to fade.
“I feel an approach!”
And she is gone.
CHAPTER 74
PLANS
With Jenae’s comfort, I’m able to commit my full attention to Lookout, as needed. Like now. Mirko twirls the warning flame for invasion! The strand of flame stretches across the sky before he spirals down to me and drops the branch into the fire pit. I jump back from the popping sparks.
“Well done!” I rub Mirko’s head.
The lookout flings open the door. “Resend the flame,” he growls. “It was only a sand whirl. Idiot patrollers.” His rheumy bones clack back inside the tower.
At least the threat was false. My centerself starts to unwind. “Mirko, isn’t it better to be cautious then overlook a danger?” I ask.
He whistles, seizes the flaming wood, and shoots high again. He signals to the village and visionaires that there is no attack. “Stand down to the military,” his fire strikes. He drops the torch into the fire pit and comes to a skid on our platform.
I toss him a lizard strip. “That was the most excitement we’ve had for a while,” I say. The patrollers’ rapion flares across the desert were impressive. I could see all the positions along our Perimeter.
Of course that’s the most hubbub not counting Father’s recant and my visions. Sitting down beside Mirko, I wonder, how has my father healed? How is he now without his Oracles? How is his centerself? And Frana? I wish I could know more through Jenae. We have not reached each other again.
Mirko swallows his lizard. He picks the sand from between his toes with his tongue.
“I don’t count Severations as excitement,” I add. Mirko stops and shivers. I rub my ear, remembering the keen of the last one.
Working Lookout, we did not attend release for Shiz or for Grendo, but we still heard the grieving rapion. Poor Mirko. His Baesa is released, and he will not catch sight of her again until he returns to the Cliffs. Although his own return is not far away.
I smooth my fingers over Mirko’s shoulder blades and down his back. His tail wiggles. I laugh and scratch his neck. Glittery, minute feathers puff into the air around my fingernails. He lets out a long, relaxed whistle.
“I better stop or you’ll be drooling soon!” I say. He grins, shakes, and settles on his haunches.
I wrap my poncho about my knees. Autumn is slipping into our summer, proven by how the mesa shimmers pink in the late light. I nudge my hair from my face, and Severation wisps back into mind. Maybe if I speak of it, it won’t haunt us so. “What, what will happen when we severate, Mirko?”
He nibbles a ratty hair twist lying on my shoulder and coos sympathy.
“Apart from Droslump shaving my head!” I nudge him, and he chortles.
A silence waits between us. Mirko’s eyeridge lowers in worry.
I keep trying. “I’ll return for apprenticeship and live on my ancestor’s land. I will be able to visit Ratho. Carefully, at least. And what about you, Mirko?”
He tucks his head beneath his wing. I reach in and pull his face free, forcing myself to smile. “You will have joy, and that will comfort me,” I say.
He warbles a soft song and snuggles his head beneath my arm until I encircle him with a hug. “You never know. Maybe I will find a little happiness myself.” I shrug.
I’ve lived with these oppressive Madronians. I’ve found truth and faith, and accepted the limits of my amulet. I’ve served the R’tan by patrolling. Whatever my Village Assignment, I might be content. There is a life of sorts for me ahead. Maybe others will declare their firstborn daughters because of my success. Just maybe.
“I know.” I grasp at a joke to lighten the mood. “You’ll wing straight for Baesa!”
Mirko whistles and waggles his eyeridge. “Mirko!” My laughter bubbles up as he leaves my side and mimics the mating dance of the rapion. “Oh, please. Stop!”
I reach out to him. My palms are scarred as I expected, yet it is my finger that stops me. It is without ornament and will never flash the ring of commitment females wear. I hide my hands in my lap.
Jenae will marry. Maybe even Ratho, despite his Patrol experience. She is bold enough to not let it matter. There’s a chance Ratho will not remain lonely for life. I hug my knees as the thought of him with Jenae hardens inside me.
Mirko stops his dance and hops to me. His tongue tickles my ear. A little giggle escapes from my tight throat. “Hey. You were just cleaning between your toes with that tongue!”
He wiggles it at me like a sidewinder.
I tug him close. We have a few more weeks together. At least we have a few.
CHAPTER 75
GOOD NEWS
I exit the latrines and wander the empty Common. Mirko’s rump protrudes from under a lavender bush, and my stomach growls in anticipation of his catch. I could use a rabbit pelt once my head is shaved. I have to focus on the practical; it’s the only way to get through the coming days.
“I’ll wait for you at the far fire pit, Mirko.” His tail flicks. I hitch my pack and stroll to the ring. It seems like yesterday I was greeted by Lalo, and Mirko and Els twirled together. I squat by the remaining coals and move a few twigs until little flames spring up among the windweeds.
“Might I join you?” Govern Madgea surprises me. She sits before I can answer, nudging my amulet aside. With patrols changing, I didn’t expect any company. My mind finds no small talk to share. I worry a twist.
“Ah, the warm fire oils the aching joints.”
“That is what my father would say,” I blurt.
She smiles, but I look away, ashamed I mentioned him. Surely she’s heard of his punishment and recant.
“Your Singer?” the govern asks.
“Oh!” I startle. “He’s under that shrub trying to snare a rabbit.”
She draws her skirts over her skinny ankles and shades her eyes to see the lavender.
“Um … He is able to roam farther than most rapion,” I say.
“Curious,” she says, and turns to me. “So I understand your Severation is only days away.”
I will my blood to pound slower.
“You will be fine,” she says. I force a nod. “As you said, your Singer is special. I doubt you will lose complete contact after Return.”
“Oh, we will. Rapion do not come to the village, and R’tan are not permitted to visit the Cliffs.”
She straightens her apron. “Yes. That is an unfortunate injunction. But don’t lose hope.”
I resist huffing at the impossible.
Madgea taps her front teeth. “I still haven’t found any Singer information in my readings.”
“R’tan writings?” I whisper.
“Tut, tut. Me and books, Tiadone.” I stare at her. She whispers now. “I can’t be separated, you know. My brother kept many volumes from your library when it appeared he destroyed everything.” She winks. “I entertain myself with reading of your cultur
e in particular.” I will my mouth to close. She pats her hair as if we were simply discussing the clouds. “I find the R’tan — intriguing.” I glow from the praise for my people. If only we had access to those works! We could know our history and so much more. And the R’tan would gain power.
“Oh.” She touches my leg, “I have news.”
“Yes?”
“Two boys reported for Patrol just days ago, from your village. Both took a stomach strain and were sent to me for recovery. My occasional questions received good responses for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” She grins. “Ratho is doing well. He is reunited with his family and has been assigned work with the flock keeper.” I attempt surprise. She continues. “And your father — let’s say he’s well again and teaching Ratho.”
I lay my cool hand to my hot forehead. “This is good,” I say. I raise my eyes and look into her open face. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
She smiles and holds her hands to the fire. Mirko’s victory cry pierces the quiet. With two rabbits gripped in his talons, he swoops overhead. “Ha!” the Healing Govern laughs. “You will not be hungry tonight!”
Mirko flaps downward. Emboldened by her kindness, I ask in a rush, “Would you eat with me, Govern, before I return to Lookout for my last week of service?”
She winks. “I’d love to, Tiadone.”
CHAPTER 76
SHAVING
The week disappears. I can’t stop the sun from chasing the moon, and now the time is here. Mirko follows close beside me as I return my weapons to the Armory. “Go through that door there.” The Armorer adjusts his eye patch, then points with a javelin shaft he’s shaving.
I part a curtain and pass through an arch. Mirko’s tail swishes on the rock floor, and I attempt to capture the sound in my memory. We stop in a circular room with a stool in the middle and a fire pit roaring in the wall.
Droslump and a frigid draft enter behind me. “Sit.”
I do. Mirko squirms close to my leg; his shoulder feathers hackle in warning. I release a deep, slow breath to still the jangles threatening to drive me from my mind. I don’t even know how I am functioning. My body continues to move apart from my shrieking fears. Father’s words lilt through my thoughts: The Creator Spirit gives grace at the time it is needed.
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