BLINK
Firstborn
Copyright © 2014 by Lorie Ann Grover
ePub Edition © December 2013: ISBN 978 – 0 – 310 – 73932 – 6
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Blink, 3900 Sparks Drive, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Grover, Lorie Ann.
Firstborn / Lorie Ann Grover.
pages cm
“This title is also available as a Blink ebook.”
Summary: “Tiadone has been forced to live her entire life as a female accepted as male in her community in order to survive as a firstborn child. But when she needs to pass the rites of manhood, she finds the Creator may have use for her feminine traits after all.” — Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978 – 0 – 310 – 73930 – 2 (hardcover)
1. Sex role — Fiction. 2. Firstborn children — Fiction. 3. Faith — Fiction. 4. Love — Fiction. 5. Fathers and daughters — Fiction] I. Title.
PZ7.G9305Fir 2014
[Fic] —
dc23
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by the publisher, nor does the publisher vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Blink™ is a registered trademark of The Zondervan Corporation.
Cover design: Mike Heath/Magnus Creative
Interior design and composition: Greg Johnson/Textbook Perfect
Printed in the United States of America
14 15 16 17 18 19 DCI 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To firstborn females — may they all be allowed to live.
With thanks to those women who circled and sang over these bones:
Agent Elizabeth Harding and Editor Jacque Alberta
Family:
Emily Grover, Elle Fricks,
Karine Leary, and Martha Grover
Friends:
Joan Holub, Dia Calhoun,
Laura Kvasnosky, and Justina Chen
and two men:
Wayne Godby,
and David W. Grover, my soul’s portion
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1: TAKEN
CHAPTER 2: RATHO
CHAPTER 3: CANDLELIGHT
CHAPTER 4: NIGHTMARE
CHAPTER 5: INTRODUCTIONS
CHAPTER 6: RETURN
CHAPTER 7: BESPELLED
CHAPTER 8: ANY OTHER GIRL
CHAPTER 9: THE FEAST
CHAPTER 10: INITIATION
CHAPTER 11: SECRETS
CHAPTER 12: WHY
CHAPTER 13: THE TREK
CHAPTER 14: WELCOME
CHAPTER 15: STEAM POCKETS
CHAPTER 16: FIRST DAY
CHAPTER 17: CLOTHING ISSUE
CHAPTER 18: BRIEFING
CHAPTER 19: EVENING MEAL
CHAPTER 20: THEFT
CHAPTER 21: BOLA
CHAPTER 22: FIRST NIGHT
CHAPTER 23: THE VISION
CHAPTER 24: FORGIVENESS
CHAPTER 25: SHUNNING
CHAPTER 26: RELEASE
CHAPTER 27: ONLY SILENCE
CHAPTER 28: WINTER ARRIVES
CHAPTER 29: COMELINESS
CHAPTER 30: STORM
CHAPTER 31: SURVIVING
CHAPTER 32: CELEBRATION
CHAPTER 33: RETRIBUTION
CHAPTER 34: PAINS
CHAPTER 35: TRACKS
CHAPTER 36: THE GAME
CHAPTER 37: DISCIPLINE
CHAPTER 38: PIERCED
CHAPTER 39: A BABE
CHAPTER 40: NEVER AGAIN
CHAPTER 41: FAILURE
CHAPTER 42: WATER
CHAPTER 43: SHINGKAE
CHAPTER 44: BEYOND
CHAPTER 45: THE POOL
CHAPTER 46: SMILING
CHAPTER 47: UNEXPECTED CHILL
CHAPTER 48: SCREAMS
CHAPTER 49: SKINNING
CHAPTER 50: FORGIVEN
CHAPTER 51: SEARCHING
CHAPTER 52: THAE
CHAPTER 53: KINDNESS
CHAPTER 54: RENEWED
CHAPTER 55: AMPH OF DIVISION
CHAPTER 56: ABOMINATION
CHAPTER 57: QUESTIONS
CHAPTER 58: LOOKOUT
CHAPTER 59: ALWAYS LOVED
CHAPTER 60: MONOTONY
CHAPTER 61: SIXTH DAY
CHAPTER 62: FULL MOON
CHAPTER 63: THE CALLING
CHAPTER 64: TRUTH
CHAPTER 65: THE CHAMBER
CHAPTER 66: IN THE MIST
CHAPTER 67: WONDERING
CHAPTER 68: HERESY
CHAPTER 69: RECANT
CHAPTER 70: MOURNING
CHAPTER 71: CONFRONTATION
CHAPTER 72: NO ORNAMENTATION
CHAPTER 73: SOUGHT
CHAPTER 74: PLANS
CHAPTER 75: GOOD NEWS
CHAPTER 76: SHAVING
CHAPTER 77: MEMORIES
CHAPTER 78: STOPPING
CHAPTER 79: DELIVERY
CHAPTER 80: TAKEN
CHAPTER 81: DECISION
CHAPTER 82: SEARCHING
CHAPTER 83: VINTI
CHAPTER 84: THE BEGINNING
CHAPTER 85: LIFE
At first dawn, the condor woke, flew over his dream realized, and dipped the tips of his wings into the great river. The golden droplets flicked from his feathers, and a second set of wings bloomed from his back, wings of divinity. The Four-Winged Condor circled the earth and in his glorious daybreak annihilated all other gods raising their heads from their dreams.
You shall worship the Four-Winged Condor and none besides.
— THE MADRONIAN CONFESSION
The Creator Spirit moved through the empty. His whisper twirled into being desert, waters, and sky. With a soft sigh, he made man and rapion to glorify Him through their days.
You shall worship the Creator Spirit and no other.
— THE R’TAN ORACLES OF FAITH
CHAPTER 1
TAKEN
In the dim market alley, I gulp from the dipper. A beetle struggles across the silvery water in the communal rain urn until I flick him free.
That has to be enough bartering and haggling for a day. I hitch up my pack, bulging with mutton and herbs. Father must be ready to head home — if only I could find him.
Behind the adjacent door, bells clink against bones. The priest! I sputter and drop the ladle, leaving it swinging on its twine.
I lurch past the butcher’s clay pots to disappear in the market throng, but Priest Sleene crashes open the alley door. Bang! Ducking behind a refuse basin, my boots squish in rancid meat scraps.
The priest pauses on the threshold. His black robes clot the doorway, and his attached wings arch stiffly from his shoulders. “Your firstborn female is worthless!” he hisses to the couple inside.
A tiny babe thrashes and starts to cry in the blue scrap of linen dangling from Sleene’s clutch. The material is taut across the infant’s open mouth and little jerking fists.
Despite the baby’s outrage, I can’t get past the door without the priest’s notice. No one wants to draw his eye, least of all me. “Boy,” he sneers whenever he sees me, making my skin pimple.
Sleene sweeps out into the alley. His oiled, bald head glints.
I shudder when the young father stops on the doorstep and bars his pale wife from leavin
g. She thrusts her thin arms beyond his, and her pleading fingers spread wide. “Our daughter! Don’t take her and leave her out there. She’ll die!”
Sleene spins and glares at her. He raises his voice above the wail streaming from the cloth. “You and your husband would declare her a male then?” He swings the squirming bundle before her, just out of her reach.
Yes, I beg silently.
“We will!” the woman promises and grasps at the air, but her husband shoves her behind him.
“No! Take the babe.” He elbows her back.
“Filthy R’tans,” Sleene mutters, as if even the name of my people dirties his tongue.
I grip my knees and duck my head lower, while anger flames my skin.
The woman lunges past, but the man grabs her around the waist and spreads his hand over her mouth.
Sleene glowers. “Tame your woman, Hangrot, or I will.”
Crying and flailing in her husband’s hold, the woman’s shirt slides off her shoulder, and I notice two wet circles spread into the bodice as her body leaks milk for her babe. Hangrot whispers into her ear.
Finally, Sleene shifts the wriggling bundle and stomps past my hiding place. A newborn fist tears through the cloth. To keep from reaching out to it, I jerk back against the butcher’s wall and cross my arms.
As the priest turns the corner, his robe whips about his ankles, rattling the attached bells and bones sewn along the hem. The end points of his wings drag through the dirt. Trailing jangles haunt the passageway, and a long black feather sticks in the mucky ground.
Why, why did that man let Sleene take his daughter?
The mother wrests her mouth free. “She’ll die, Hangrot! We can’t let him leave her out there. Our baby deserves to live! Declare her male!”
Please, so you can keep her! I want to shout.
“Do you believe she could provide for us when we are aged?” Hangrot’s voice rises. “A female charaded as a male her entire life?”
The woman starts to answer, but Hangrot wrestles her inside the dwelling and slams the door.
Slowly, I stand. “Yes, she could have taken care of you,” I whisper.
Like a mother goat’s keen over her stillborn, the woman’s cry rises.
I scramble out of the alley, into the market.
CHAPTER 2
RATHO
The square overflows with people. Fourteen years after the conquest, we R’tan villagers still give a wide berth to the ruling Madronians. Clad in roughspun trousers, ponchos, and layered dresses, R’tan sidestep the Madronians in their ornate robes, and we continue to avert our eyes from their kohl-dotted ones.
I scan the temporary stalls leaning against the stone shops and homes, and the boisterous crowds of R’tan clumped before them. Everyone is focused on their business, their desires, their needs. Flatteries and cajoling swoop like birds around the market square. In small clusters, Madronians ring the plaza, attending to their own business.
In the throng, I twist around, frantically searching for Father. Boots splat in puddles cupped in the cobblestones. Three whining children tug their mothers’ skirts at the nearby sweet stall. The jelly-coated prickle pear draws water to my quivering mouth.
A woman suckling her babe nudges past me, his tasseled cap marking him as a boy. White-blue milk dribbles down his plump, chapped cheek.
In the mayhem, I turn and find my best friend, Ratho, reaching out and steadying me. He flips his black hair coils behind his shoulder as his thick brows arch over his eyes. “Tiadone! Are you all right?” Concern flows through the touch of his strong fingers.
I pretend I stumble so that I can lean into his shoulder for just a moment and breathe in the scent in his tightly woven poncho. Sunshine and lavender from his father’s fields overpower my panic.
The village leatherworker hurries by clenching an armload of belts. He jostles Ratho and me closer, and I don’t resist.
“Are you well?” Ratho repeats. Even though he is R’tan like me, he makes the Madronian gesture to ward off evil.
I still his hand, nod, and then wipe my nose on my sleeve. “I just saw Sleene — ”
Father grips my arm and spins me around. “Tiadone! There you are.” In warning, he rolls his full lips inward and tilts his head to the Madronian acolyte at the edge of the crowd. One of Sleene’s private guard adjusts his whip, looped on his belt, and overlooks the market. Father’s gray-streaked beard twitches.
I stifle my whimper, which sounds more like a babe than a male youth. “Sleene took a new — ”
Father interrupts. “And Ratho!” He smiles but jerks me close against him, his arm resting on the top of my pack. “Nice to see you. Having a good day then?”
Ratho gestures respect and nods. “We’ll be harvesting the lavender and tuber fields by the end of the week, Goat Tender.”
“Wonderful,” Father says.
“What were you telling me, Tiadone?” Ratho asks, his eyes looking straight into mine.
But a woman counting finger squash in her basket cuts between us. “Six, seven, eight …”
A tall man carrying a honking goose shoves through as well. “Haste, haste! Out of my way,” he puffs. Brown droppings are smattered down his sleeve. Once he blusters by, the three of us tighten our circle.
Father pats my best friend’s shoulder. “You and Tiadone can talk another time, Ratho. We finished our shopping, but we still need to tend an ailing goat.”
“But, Father, I want to — ”
“Say hello to your parents for us, Ratho.” Lacing his fingers and presenting his palms to my friend, Father indicates we are truly departing. Ratho mimics him.
“I’ll see you after the harvest then, Tiadone,” he says.
I nod, and he steps away but pauses. His look lingers on me until the crowd shifts, and then he’s gone. Immediately, panic burns into my centerself.
“Father.” I squeeze his clenched forearm. “There was a baby girl and a mother in the alley.” He gives me a strong shake. I stop speaking and sputter as he pulls me to his rigid chest. Heavy goat scent weights his clothes.
It’s true. Finally, I’ve seen it for myself. Sleene murders firstborn girls. My tears dampen Father’s poncho.
“It’s all right, my son,” he says loudly. He nods at the staring acolyte and maneuvers me to an empty space in front of the butcher shop. The priest’s guard follows us as Father clasps my shoulders. “Four pork and cheese pies will make you ill in the stomach.”
The acolyte rolls his eyes and moves on. From his shoulder cape, heavy incense puffs and lingers over the butcher’s fresh slaughter. The headless goose dangling above me drips a splat of warm blood onto my cheek.
With the inside edge of his soft sleeve, Father swipes my face clean. “Have mercy, Creator Spirit,” he mouths. He leads us around the dingy building and away from town.
Trudging up our steep hill, the quickly setting sun barely brushes our backs. My pack sits heavily between my shoulder blades. I kick a stone loose in the sandy soil, and it comes to a stop by a shriveled rock rose plant. Father’s step crushes the flower beneath his boot. I avoid trampling the small bit that still may survive. The pale pink blossom lies crimped in the dirt.
According to Madronian law, I would have been taken like that newborn. Sleene would have stolen me if Father hadn’t declared me male. I was a firstborn girl.
CHAPTER 3
CANDLELIGHT
Father treated the ailing goat at the Bersbad’s farm by holding a warm mustard poultice to its blocked teat until it opened, and the milk flowed for its bleating kid. All the while, he shushed the goat’s moans exactly like he shushed me.
Now we are home, and night has settled atop our shrub-speckled hill. The coals in the center pit in our pebbled floor barely glow. A couple of stars glitter through the ceiling hole, while a flame flickers in the clay oil lamp on the table.
Father tugs the edge of one window curtain over the other. He sits down on the bench across from me, rubs his hands on his squat
thighs. His body is hunched with tension, but he straightens and braces his elbows on our stone table.
“Now, Tiadone, we are safe from Madronian ears. You may question.”
The words rush from my centerself, the place of belief and hope in my gut. “You’ve always told me what the Madronians do to firstborn girls when their parents don’t declare them males, but today, Father, today, I saw for myself! Sleene’s truly going to leave a girl on the Scree to die in that wasteland?”
He frowns, reinforcing the shallow wrinkles between his brown eyes. “It’s as I’ve said, Tiadone — ”
“But it never seemed so real before. I saw Sleene and the parents. The mother …”
He presses his temples and looks to the rafters, intoning the enemy’s dribble once again for me. “Madronian priests in all quarters of R’tania dispose of firstborn girls. They limit our race and add necessary males to their soldiering. You know it is the same in every village and kingdom the Madronians conquer. Only girls born within their native lands are always granted life.”
Firstborn Page 1
