Spitting, I yell, “I hate you, Father!”
I drop to my knees and hands. I hate him for declaring me male and making me live a lie. I hate that he wouldn’t leave R’tania for me. I hate that I can’t have Ratho, even though I love him. I hate that this amulet is utterly powerless. It is a sack of stink and disappointment, a sack of nothing. After I’ve succeeded in every way. After others in the village might be encouraged to save their own babes, he kills my sister!
Sweat scorches my cuts. I curl my fists and toes and strike the sand. “I hate that you are weak, Father! I am worth more than this false life.” I howl long and deep. “And my sister is worthy just like I am!”
Perspiration beads on my back, my fiery scalp, and behind my knees. The landscape stills, waiting, waiting for me.
I sit up on my haunches and yank at the sinew on my hips until it snaps. The belt falls free. My amulet lies detatched from me in my fist; the long cords dangle like veins.
With my teeth, I tear open the pouch, spitting the tie away. I scream out my own power and overturn the sack. The second heart lands with a thud as ashes and hair puff up into the air.
My fingers grasp the organ, then fling it as far as I can throw. It smacks sand and rolls out of sight. I scramble the rest of the sinew cords, pouch, ash, and hair into the dirt, mixing it with my tears. Mixing and mixing it, choking and mixing.
Finally, the rage gives, and I fall like I’ve stepped off a cliff. I drop over in the dirt and let my tears stream unhindered. Let them tumble over every lie and every loss.
As the sun rises higher, stretching rays of warmth out to me, I’m finally able to slowly sit up. A gulp of water from my sack flutters over my quivering centerself. I douse my hands and face and rub dry on my poncho.
I wait silently with my truth. My shadow stretches behind me while songbirds flit, lizards creep, and spiders scurry.
When I am strong enough to stand, I project my new course on the horizon. I head for the Scree.
CHAPTER 82
SEARCHING
Where are you?” My heart beats erratically before the sinking sun. My fingers thrust between the flat stones left by the ancient glacier, clawing through silt and overturning small boulders.
My thick tongue fills my dusty mouth. “Creator Spirit, help me find her!” I cough.
My boots slip on a patch of dry, flaky lichen, and I thud onto my tailbone. Nothing’s in sight but scrub brush, rocks, and dirt.
I lurch up and run. Frantic, I search among the shale, trip, and stumble over a knoll. Sliding on the rocks that clatter like broken dishes, my hands scuttle for a hold, and my trousers tear at the knee.
I finally slow to a stop and sit up. The Scree is enormous. How can I find one babe? The reality smacks my hope to pieces like the shale jumbled around me. I crawl forward and get to my feet one more time.
“Where are you?” I yell. Silence fills this dead place. I must try another way. Taking small steps, I begin to circle around this particular spot. My circles widen, and I cover more and more distance knowing I haven’t missed her within the area.
I turn wider, and a strip of cloth waves to me. I scramble to the material. Little bones are left meshed in blue linen. A small finger, perhaps. The rest of the body has been eaten by predators.
I turn and vomit. The watery slosh runs between the stones. The bones are not my sister, because Sleene wrapped her in brown linen. I rinse my mouth with water and spit.
I kneel by the remains of the little girl. Carefully, I cover her with smooth stones. The last bit of blue material rests under a white rock. I place my palms on the pile and quickly pray for the parents. Creator Spirit, maybe you can forgive them.
Stumbling upright, I begin my march again. I walk and scan until my knees pop trying to be rid of my body’s weight.
“Help me,” I beg. I drop to all fours in the shifting rocks.
“Creator Spirit, help me; help your creation,” I pray. I keep my head down and sway. I remain void, cannot even lift my head with the weight of my failure.
Screeeeeee rips apart the air. I lift my eyes to a rapion twirling above me, watch as it swoops low and rises. “Mirko?”
It is impossible!
I rub my eyes to clear my vision. The rapion flies past again, and this time, it bursts with song. “Praise the Creator Spirit!” It is my rapion!
Crying, I leap and shout, and wave and laugh. Mirko wings to the right and whistles for me to follow.
My centerself flies equally high as I chase after him for an explanation and a touch to know he is real. I gain knolls and dash through ditches until Mirko twirls upward and floats on an airstream.
“Waaa, waaaa, waaaa!”
“My sister!” I hustle up a high ridge. There! At the base! She raises her fist and waves it furiously.
Far to the side, I stumble down the slope to avoid triggering rocks that would crash over her. I run across the base to the tiny bundle and fold my hands around her. I lift her close.
Little beads of sweat shine across her sticky, angered brow. She cries more fiercely, and punches the air. I thrill at her fight for life.
“Mirko, my sister!” I yell and raise her to the sky.
Mirko bugles, dives, and circles both of us. My sister hiccups, quiets, and gazes at the sparkling brown feathers drifting down on us.
CHAPTER 83
VINTI
Still flying high, Mirko leads me to the far, far edge of the Scree, to an overhanging rock beside a meandering stream. Beyond the sweet-smelling water, the vast desert stretches. The nearest Patrol post would be a bit to the south and few miles out. Across the desert are the C’shah. I turn the thought in my mind like a pebble tumbles along a river bed.
Despite my overwhelming joy and the demands I shout to know how Mirko has left the Cliffs, he wings away without a touch. My fingers ache as he diminishes in the distance.
Was that all we might have? Did he leave the Cliffs only to help find my sister, and now he returns because of Madronian fear? Like the two Cliff rapion did at Thae’s death? Or as the league that battled the Shingkae in the border skirmish? Each retreated to their home again.
My breath enters with a jerk; what I received is more than I could expect. Mirko is well, and I now hold a child. So, I try to turn from the thought that I have again lost my rapion.
Heading to the flowing water bordered by clumps of short yellow irises, I soothe my whimpering sister. “Shhh,” I say. “I will wash you while I think of what we must do next. Like find food.”
I unwind Sleene’s shroud and lift handfuls of tepid water over my sister’s skin. Her body curls to receive them. The dried birth fluids rinse away, and her cries quiet as the droplets glisten on her beautiful body.
I’ve just finished wrapping the babe in my poncho and nestling her in warm rocks when Mirko’s screeeee returns again.
I stand slack-jawed, staring at the stolen sack of goat’s milk he drops into my hands. He lands at my feet and rubs against my leg. My fingers nestle in his crown, and the cinnamon scent puffs around me.
“You, you — ” I stammer. He shifts in my tears as I drop to my knees and nuzzle my face to his. He hums and rubs his eyeridge against my forehead. “You returned!” I bawl. “But will you, will you leave again? Will you return to the Cliffs to live?”
He whistles and shakes his head no. There is nothing to do but hold on to my rapion and weep. We will not be kept apart!
Following Severation, Mirko has somehow been allowed to return to me. Is it because I have not returned to the village? Or that he is a Singer? Whatever the reason, thank the Creator Spirit. Oh, thank you, my God!
Mirko nudges my arm. “The baby! Yes!”
I dry my eyes and scan the bits of vegetation until I spot a tuber cactus, and rush to it. “How did you ever manage the theft?” I blurt. Mirko struts with bravado around my whining sister.
I peel the skin from the cactus and prick a hole in the end after pouring in Mirko’s gift. Greedily, my siste
r latches onto the nipple. I gather her close and watch the milk disappear from the case into her puckered mouth. Before today, I’d never held or been so close to an infant. Her smallness is enormous.
Captivated, Mirko snuggles close and sings a soft lullaby. The three of us sit in a tight circle below the great blue sky.
When the tuber is nearly empty, my sister’s little eyelids flutter. I remove the suck, and a milk droplet escapes the edge of her puckered lips. I brush her cheek dry with my thumb.
Mirko and I gaze at her beauty. Each sweet, warm breath from her pursed mouth fills the space around us.
Yet, it’s time to face my new reality. “I’ve torn away my amulet, Mirko.”
He lifts his head.
“There’s no place for me in the village without it. Nor if I take my sister from the Scree.” I whisper the obvious. Mirko blinks, and I rip my thoughts from Ratho.
“And I won’t leave my sister to perish, Mirko.” He adds a hum to my declaration. “I’ll traverse the desert and find a new home. On my own or even with the C’shah. Maybe they would welcome us. An outlying village? My survival skills are honed, thanks to the Madronians. And I have my own strength and yours!” Mirko fluffs his feathers.
“We can break through the patrol without notice. It will only take perfect timing and then a blessing for protection from the Triumverate.” Mirko chortles encouragement as my voice wavers.
My centerself leaps as hope tries to bloom inside me. “Maybe the place will offer new friendships — and books even! A copy of the Oracles, possibly. You never know, right? Maybe we will … find acceptance, dignity, and respect among strangers, Mirko. Each of us!” He nods firmly.
The babe stares up at me. In her fist, she clutches one of Mirko’s fallen feathers. I lift her to my shoulder and pat her back.
“Tell me now, Mirko,” I demand. “What has happened? Were you welcomed at the Cliffs?”
He tweets. “And you found your clan?”
He whistles and ends with his special notes for Baesa. “Please,” I laugh. “No details!” Mirko bobs his head and grins.
“But how have you left them? How have you left the other rapion?”
He sings a tender string of notes. “Because you are a Singer?” He grins and moves close, resting his head upon my shoulder.
“And you truly will not leave me again?”
He sits back and shakes his head. My huge inhale cleanses everything inside of me. With my sister in one arm, I envelop Mirko with my other and hold him tight. It is more than I ever even thought to hope; we are united for life.
The babe releases a little sigh, and I curl her in my lap. Mirko and I watch her drift to sleep.
“Vinti is your name,” I sniffle. “Ancient R’tan for girl.”
CHAPTER 84
THE BEGINNING
Despite my protests and concerns, Mirko scavenges items Vinti needs from farms throughout the night and very early morning. While my sister sleeps in the dawn, and Mirko flaps off one more time, I hunt to distract myself from lingering worry.
Before long, I’ve speared a lone winder, but I will have to cook it later as the smoke might draw attention. I fill my water sacks. Standing at the water’s edge, the rippling coolness calls to me.
I strip off my clothes. Forget these tight knots on my breast wrap! I slice through them with my knife. The long sheaths flap in my hand with the breeze. Opening my fingers, they flutter into the stream and twirl away.
I turn to the rising sun and roll my head. The warmth curves over my nakedness as I raise my arms high. My necklace — the carved piece of my javelin strung on my leather tie — rests between my breasts.
I slowly enter the clear water. Dunking and resurfacing, it is strange to not feel the weight of wet twists on my shoulders and to see my bald head in the reflection. The stream’s flow tugs and pulls. My open sores ease as I soak in the river.
Finally cleansed, I walk from the water with the sun sparkling in the droplets on my skin. In my created glory as a woman, I clasp my hands and chant praises to the Creator Spirit for my life.
My notes drift to silence as the stream continues the song. I add prayers for Mirko’s safety and quick return.
Dry, I shrug on my trousers and tunic, but my breath continues to rush freely into my unbound chest. I climb the nearby boulder and scan the distance. I don’t see Mirko yet, but far on the horizon is a smudge. My father’s home. A trail of smoke rises in the autumn air.
My throat closes back my tears of confusion. Hatred. Love. Longing. Pain.
All will believe I perished on the return from the mesa. Maybe my amulet will be found. Winder, desert cat, loss of my way, or depression over Severation could have claimed me. They will believe I am dead, as Tiadone truly is. Will others not declare daughters now? I grieve if that is so, but right now I have to care for Vinti and myself.
“Goodbye, Frana. Goodbye — Father,” I choke out.
“Jenae, may love and health find you. The best possible,” I relent. It is sad our visions will likely fade with her Severation.
“Ratho, my portion, I will miss you so much.” I look to the sky, but my tears rush down my face anyway. “I will miss you most, my love. As a woman, I will always love you.”
In my mind, he laughs under my straddle. He walks before me, looking back over his shoulder with his brows raised in cheerful challenge. His fingers touch my cheek, and his head rests on my breast wrap.
I crouch down and weep for our loss. My tears speckle the rock. One droplet falls next to another. It is a long time before I can lift my head.
Ratho will find another to love sooner with my absence. There will be no pining or arguments between us of what we can’t have. He will think I have perished, and ultimately it will free him. My chest constricts to think of him loving another, especially Jenae. But it is my dearest wish for him.
I groan and get to my feet. “Move on, my friend. Move on. Find love,” I whisper, and clench my arms around myself, squeezing the pain I’ll always carry for Ratho.
I turn my back on my home and skid to the rocks below. Vinti still sleeps, so I slice up the winder I caught.
Finally, Mirko back wings down to me with more supplies in someone’s burlap sack. “Praise the Creator Spirit! You are safe!”
He raises his eyeridge at me and snorts.
“Well, the sun was up. You were moving around the village in full daylight. Don’t you think that causes me worry?” He chitters. I smile at his skill and bravery, seeing he has brought all we need and extra.
We feast on dried goat meat, and I pack the rest he has scavenged along with the winder I killed. Someone has lost their long undergarments from their drying line, another has lost a baby bunting. There are rags we might use for baby wraps, while some wife won’t find her biscuits cooling on the window frame.
“You are incorrigible, Mirko!” He licks the last of the meat from his talons.
An idea tosses back and forth in my head. With Mirko’s savvy, I believe it is the right choice.
“There is one more thing, Mirko.” He flutters to my feet, eager to do my bidding. “My centerself struggles over sending you once more, except it is for a kindness.”
He bobs his head and sits up taller.
I pull my necklace off and place the leather in his talon. “If we delay our leaving until tomorrow, tonight you might fly this to my home and hang it from the withered pine.”
Mirko nods.
“And this.” I go and scoop up the shroud from the river’s edge. Mirko takes it from me.
“I have found pity in my centerself. I want my father to know that Tia lives, and both Frana and Father to have comfort that their infant daughter survives. If either chooses to tell Ratho, it is their choice. Maybe in this, they might know best.”
Mirko chortles, and before I can stop him, he rushes up and across the sky.
“No, wait!” I cry. “I meant tonight under darkness!” He doesn’t stop. That prideful bird! The bit of my javeli
n swings freely below his pumping body while the linen clenched in his talons streams behind him. His scree calls back to me that this is a good act, and he is brave.
Now I must pray for his safety again! Why couldn’t he wait until tonight? Ugh! I should have known. He is nearly out of sight already. My centerself crashes with worry.
May the Creator Spirit have mercy on Mirko. I have brought this danger on him. I must be more careful with my wishes!
Though it is true that this is a good act. If I am prone to pray for mercy, I can at least try to give it to my father and Frana.
I smother my fears with work. I rearrange our supplies for the best fit in the bag. When Vinti awakens and cries, I rinse her and my poncho in the stream, then bundle one of the rags around her little backside. Cozy in the bunting, she eagerly takes a feeding. Her round eyes watch me intensely, until she finishes and snuggles down for another nap.
The milk sack is still quite full, but we will have to find the cactus that bleeds when you pierce its wide lobes. The white juice is a good substitute for milk. I do not want to endanger Mirko again, and we have a desert to cross. They are common enough plants. We will find them.
Right now, there are no more preparations to make. It’s only a matter of waiting for Mirko’s return. I lie down, curl around Vinti, and pray.
CHAPTER 85
LIFE
I wake to Mirko tickling my cheek with his beak. His smile stretches as wide as is possible. I sit up. “Mirko!” I launch my arms around him. “You are safe, you wicked bird. Please don’t worry me like that again!”
He shrugs and winks. “Well, did you hang them in the tree?” Vinti stirs, so I lower my voice. “Did you?”
Mirko whistles.
“Thank you! You always amaze me!” I pet his head and ruffle his crown.
He ducks out from under me and raises his foot, still ringed by my hair.
I try not to grin, and fail. “What more have you stolen?”
He opens his talons. A small red-shelled egg drops into my hand, and I gasp.
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