My rapion curls into my lap and shivers. “It’s okay,” I mouth, hoping that it is.
I smooth Mirko’s wings and watch Doslump performing a complicated dance along the raised, curved stage. Lichen strands are clumped to light the area, but one misstep could tip him off the mesa edge. He twirls and leaps before a green-flamed firepit. Ancestral stones? He reminds me of Sleene at Weekly Ritual. Only his robes don’t clank and jingle, and he has hair. Droslump twirls his braid until it wraps his neck several times and ends with a thwap on his back.
I scan the area. Jilbon is sitting on the far side, looking very nervous. And then I see Lalo poised with Els on the pillar that rose separate from the mesa. Lalo must have done a running leap to reach the platform. Els overflows in his arms. Sobs shudder Lalo’s back, and his head is shaved bald.
No, no! It cannot be Els’s time yet, but it is. This amph is the Edge of Release for Severation. My centerself plummets faster than Droslump would if he slipped off the stone.
I nudge Ratho, but he’s already seen. He tucks Thae under the poncho he has shrugged on. I tremble despite wearing mine as well. Mirko’s shivers grow stronger. My feeble whispers do not still him.
Beginning a complicated mantra, the boys sing and chant in unison. My mind can find none of the words we used to rehearse at school. The rapion rise into the air and swirl above us. Out from Ratho’s poncho, Thae barges. Mirko’s talons grip my trousers, but his wings betray him. Before I can hold him back, he lifts into the melee. The other birds give him space to circle and cry alone.
Flapping wings, droll notes, Droslump twirling, and then the rapion collectively screech. Not only Mirko, but every rapion here cuts the sound from deep inside their breasts. Mine is not the only Singer after all.
I clasp my ears and roll off the seat. My kneecaps bang the stone, but the pain barely registers. Huddled in a ball, I rock and pray to the Creator Spirit for the sound to stop before my eardrums burst.
I don’t know how long the torture lasts. I open my eyes to find Mirko nudging his way under my elbow. He rubs his head against my wet face.
Shaking, I sit up. The seats are all empty. “Do not violate the sacred ceremony!” Droslump hisses at me from the stage. “Take your place, patroller!”
I roll my aching head to the right. Check my ears for blood. There is none, but my nose leaks a stream. I wipe it on my poncho.
The other boys stand in line to descend with their rapion. Even Ratho. He looks to me with concern while Droslump glares. Will the govern beat me with the whip he’s removing from the folds of his robe?
But what about that sound? It was ultimate pain! How did everyone else bear it?
I sniff back the last bit of blood in my nose, hold Mirko close, and stagger to take part in the rest of the ceremony. My legs buckle and shake. Hopefully, all that is left is to file down the path. Droslump watches me.
Ratho reaches back and clasps my hand to keep me moving. “Come on, Tiadone.” His warmth and strength vibrates from his palm into my icy one.
Mirko climbs to my shoulder, and I gently rub first one of my ears then the other while he nuzzles my neck and whimpers. I look back to Lalo for the first time since the horrible sound. Beyond a scowling Droslump, I catch a glimpse of him.
Lalo is crumpled on the pillar, holding his shaven head. He’s alone. Severated.
CHAPTER 27
ONLY SILENCE
In the darkness, a chill rattles my shoulder blades against my stone shelf. All the lichen have been removed from the tunnels. We overheard two boys saying the dark is a tribute to Lalo, new apprentice for the village. On the morrow, he will receive his appointment from Sleene. His new work will make him a citizen with rights to his father’s land.
Els, now her full size and strength, is returning to the Cliffs without danger from her own kind. Severation from a human bearer is a normal part of rapion maturity. The birds are ready and capable to live apart, but it’s not natural that the Madronians will keep Els from Lalo forever. Aside from freedom to worship the Creator Spirit, this segregation is the greatest way we are suppressed.
Since the conquest, the few rapion who tried to return to the village were caught, caged, and tortured. Apart from mandated ceremonies, any R’tan found at the Cliffs is threatened with the box and even the stake. Like the ekthesis of firstborn girls, we live with the oppression and try to carry on. I just never knew the full pain before.
Earlier Ratho had to drag me from the Edge of Release and help me down the steep path. I was so weak-legged, he led me from there to our shelf, then to the Steam Pockets. He insisted I go in the one next to him. Mirko had little joy discovering the heat. He did string together a few low notes of mourning, which, even so, were comforting. I sweat, feebly wiped myself down, and redressed in clean clothes.
Ratho and Thae waited for us in the blackness. Together we found our niche, where we ate under-smoked winder and crawled onto our shelves. Tonight there is no racket from the other boys. No rapion are playing or causing mischief. The tunnels sound empty, like hollow, sun-dried goat bones.
“Why did you scream like that, Tiadone?” Ratho whispers.
“Scream?”
“Yes, after you fell to your knees. Don’t you remember?”
“No. I only heard the rapion shriek as Els departed and his bond with Lalo was broken.”
Ratho’s clothes rustle when he leans over the side of his bunk. I cannot see him, but his voice is closer. “You heard a shriek from our rapion?”
“Yes. It was so painful.” I sniff.
“From silent rapion?”
Mirko’s tail fans across my neck. He squirms in his sleep. “Yes,” I answer. “How did you bear it, Ratho?”
He pulls away. “There was no sound, Tiadone. There was only silence when Els flew from Lalo.”
“What? Don’t tease me, Ratho. It hurt horribly. It must have been the keen of every rapion there.”
Ratho turns on his shelf. “There was no sound, Tiadone.”
“But how can that be?” I yank my kidskin smooth. “I heard it so clearly, my ears are still sore. My nose bled from the pressure!”
Now the night presses against our quiet. “You must have heard every rapion’s centerself, Tiadone. Maybe you heard them collectively mourn.”
“What?”
He goes on enthusiastically. “My mother once told me of a R’tan with that power. An ancient one who was strongly linked to the rapion and could hear their collective pain and joy. I think that was a woman though.”
My throat clenches, and I spastically cough. No! Not another sign of my amulet’s weakness. Gaining control, I whisper, “How could I have done that?”
“I, I don’t know. Because Mirko is a Singer?”
Yes! Maybe that is it. My amulet is not deficient. Well, aside from allowing visions to occasionally eek through. My dry tongue still sticks to the top of my mouth.
Ratho’s voice quavers. “How will we stand our own Severations, Tiadone?”
“I don’t know. It is horrific. And now think; Lalo and Els will never see each other again. At least meaningfully.” Father’s wish to be near his Nuncia haunts me. Hearing the pain of the rapion makes it easier to understand why Father wouldn’t leave his land and the Cliffs. Even for me.
Ratho begins prayers to the Four-Winged Condor. I curl up and pray to the Creator Spirit for Lalo’s safety. He travels alone tonight. And I pray for Els. That the rapion would welcome her at the Cliffs and comfort her. I know how greatly she mourns.
CHAPTER 28
WINTER ARRIVES
At first, the heaviness of Lalo’s Severation sits on us, but eventually the days stream together like the lines of color stacked in the mesa walls, from gold and yellow to purple. Slowly autumn’s chill sneaks through our uniforms. Several more patrollers cycle out, Jilbon included. We had no exchanges beyond our unfortunate first, so I managed to pity him the loss of his rapion. How couldn’t I?
The pain and horror of witnessing Severat
ions never lessens. Yet knowing what to expect and having Ratho at my side helps me to recover as soon as is possible.
And so we find a rhythm at Perimeter. Ratho and I patrol all the posts multiple times, each destination like the other with hardly a noticeable difference. There’s no reason to jostle for a better position when we line up for assignments. We’ve seen no evidence of the Triumvirate. Only endless desert.
At the mesa we sleep, eat, and drill. Ratho and I graduated from practice with a tree to practicing along with the entire Carterea division during bola drills. Ratho has mastered the weapon better than me, but I am stronger with the javelin. We compete as usual. It is a relief to be normal again in his eyes.
It is also a relief I’ve had no more visions.
None of the other patrollers shows any interest in us. By accepting me and Mirko, Ratho has excluded himself from them. He says he prefers my company anyway. The nights the Carterea gather at the firepit, Ratho and I are ignored on the outskirts. At least it seems the boys have grown used to Mirko’s songs; now when they quiet, I wonder if it is to only hear him better.
“I believe Patrol is manageable,” I said one night while on Perimeter. Ratho had just snagged a desert hare with his bola. It was then the first snowflake fluttered past my chin, and my conclusion was challenged.
Soon we were standing in line for winter gear with the rest of the division. Now our trousers are goat hide with the fur turned inward to warm our legs. Our ponchos are thicker due to rabbit fur linings, and our boots are edged with rabbit as well. Tight leather hats squeeze our twists, secured with a chin strap to fight the winds.
Ratho and I have both grown. The round Clothier puffed and dug in the shelves for longer double-layer underclothes for us both. Ratho has passed my height. Though I believe we both must stand taller than Father now.
I step out of the mesa and her cold corridors to watch the sky lighten. The rabbit fur bulging from the neck of my poncho tickles. The early wind whips my ratty hair twists up off my back and nudges my amulet across my thigh.
Father, I call silently, how is your health? Our home? The village goats? Frana? Mirko flaps into the crisp air and glides above me. Father, you are my soul’s portion despite this life you’ve given me. I understand your choice a little more now. I wrap my arms around myself. And I have proven I can serve here. I wish you could see me, Father. Mirko and I are as strong as any! We belong!
“Tiadone!” Ratho bear hugs me from behind. Thae swirls up to Mirko as I laugh and wrestle Ratho in the new snow. Flakes fluff and twirl around us. As usual, I end up straddling his waist with my knees snug against his wide chest. My stomach flutters, and my breath catches. I lurch back from his full, smiling lips. I’ve always longed for Ratho’s touch, but this is much stronger, and much different, from any sensation before. Trembling, I hurriedly roll off of him.
“You win!” he acknowledges and knocks my upper arm. His eyes pause on mine, his dimple fades, and confusion hovers on his face. I quickly laugh again to cover my own embarrassment at the warmth spreading through my ribs.
Thae glides down to Ratho, which causes him to break his gaze from me. “Some help you were,” he tells her. She shrugs her shoulders and opens her wings. Every day, our rapion act more human.
Chamber of Verities, why are these desires inside of me? Surreptitiously, I squeeze my amulet to release more power. Mirko bugles his return and alights quite heavily on my shoulder.
I force my thoughts to Mirko. “You’ve grown too, you know. Your rump barely fits on my shoulder.” He pecks my ear.
The four of us report to bola training. It is a fresh start with our new clothes, and a new challenge to master our weapons in this colder climate. With the strength of the desert cat’s heart and my father’s hair coils, this strange physical attraction will certainly wither. I’ve heard the Carterea boys go on for a day about one female back in the village only to be moaning about another the next day. Hopefully, soon I will be moaning none.
Before me, my sigh streams out white like rapion signal smoke. I walk through it with confidence. My legs only slightly shaking, and my pelvis warm.
CHAPTER 29
COMELINESS
On patrol, the duck flails as Ratho’s bola tugs the bird to the earth. “Yes!” he shouts. He and Thae run to retrieve it.
Mirko bugles and flaps on the cairn. Tiny ice shards tinkle from his feathers to the sand. Everything is glazed by crystalized dew this cold evening.
I stoke the fire and wiggle my fingers to remove the stiffness. I’ll want to pluck the duck swiftly, as the cook has only been serving half portions back at the mesa. Winter hardens the governs even more.
“For you, my friend.” Ratho flops the bird at my feet. The head bounces over a rock, and the empty black eyes look like cold pebbles.
I plunge my knife into the carcass and work to remove the warm entrails out the vent. “That was a great throw, Ratho.”
“Thanks.”
Mirko chortles his approval and Thae drops next to Ratho. Kneeling, he cuts off the duck head, hands it to her, and she voraciously bites into the flesh.
I lower the sticky heart, liver, and kidneys into the pot of boiling water hanging from the tripod I made. Mirko chirps for the remainder of the innards. I toss the glob to him and run my hands through the cold sand to cleanse them.
Ratho reaches around me and begins plucking feathers from the bird, storing them in his pack before the wind whisks them away. Reaching again, his arm grazes my chest. Tingles travel over my torso. He moves around me and sits down opposite so we both can easily reach the carcass.
“What?” he asks. I shrug and pull at a feather that won’t give way in my weakened grasp. “Here.” Ratho brushes my hand, leaving hot spots on my palm, and he dislodges the feather.
“Thanks.” We work silently.
This is not supposed to get more difficult, for Verities’ sake! Why am I not moving past it by the strength of my amulet? I glance at Ratho. Festering fleabots! When did his shoulders broaden even further? I furtively look at my own body. My shoulders have remained narrow. His hips and backside are unchanged. As I shift and then carefully move away from the fire, the flames brighten the large cavern my rump has left in the sand. I sweep my hand through the granules as if to clean off debris. My backside has spread like Mirko’s!
I look over at my rapion, who is watching. He waggles his eyeridge at me.
I glare back. A bit of meat twirls between his beak, and he slurps it up as if in response to my fear. Certainly I am older, but is my body changing as Father warned? It can’t … it simply cannot.
Now I catch Ratho staring at me. “What?” My voice shakes.
“I was just thinking how I’m glad to be patrolling with you, Tiadone. You are a good mate.”
“As are you.” I give the standard reply. It is all my brain can manage.
“I need to use the trench.” He rolls the goose toward me. “You can finish up while I’m gone.”
“I will. I’m as hungry as you, you know.”
Ratho springs to his feet. Thae nudges the duck head to me and flaps a wing in warning at Mirko, who bobs. “I’ll guard your food, Thae,” I say. She nods and flies to Ratho. The two drop behind the ridge.
How can I be losing my mind over his body? I shake my amulet, and then work fiercely at plucking the duck naked.
CHAPTER 30
STORM
Mirko glides before the glowing stars. I return from Perimeter and check once more over my shoulder. Except for the dull smudge on the horizon, the frigid distance is as empty as usual. A soft wind carries the scent of salt, and my nose crinkles at the strangeness. A faint light blazes in the sky to my right. Another blossoms to my left.
Mirko screeches. He dives and grasps the branch from my fist. Before I can react he plunges it into our fire, flips into the sky, and swings the flame through the air. Sandstorm!
“Ratho! Wake up! Thae! Triumverate! A sandstorm is on its way!” Running toward the sl
eeping pit, I snatch my goggles from my pack and tie them on my face. The dark world is divided into thin slits.
“Ratho!” I yell, slap on my hat, and knot the tie. I worm my hands into my goatskin mittens.
Ratho’s shadow struggles in the sleeping pit. Sand flies and glints in the night. He’s shoveling himself free and making his own sandstorm.
I smother the fire so it won’t spread, then bury the torch flame that Mirko drops at my feet. We barrel toward our only shelter. Grabbing the hourglass from the tree, I roll below the rock overhang.
Ratho and Thae bundle in beside us. “Your goggles,” I gasp at Ratho in the dimness, and pluck them from his bag.
“Thanks.” He slips them on.
“I, I saw the sand shape, and the other rapion signals.” I take a deep breath. “Then Mirko signaled.” On my lap, he flutters his wings and chitters.
Thae’s dark shape rocks. Brushing against me, Ratho says, “I didn’t even take a second to look!” He laughs nervously. “I was too busy scrambling from the sleeping pit.”
I nod and plant the hourglass into the sand beside me. “And now we wait,” I whisper.
“Yes.” Ratho’s voice is thin.
“Not like back home,” I say. “I’d be lining the doors and windows with cloth.”
“I’d have to seal the barn. This is crazy, being outside!” He scoots closer.
“It is.” The ground vibrates. I lean against him. “Remember old Crablon, who was caught out in the last storm?”
“Suffocated.”
“And I overheard two Baltang talking about the team of patrollers who were lost in a sandstorm four years ago.”
“Yes, I heard that too.” Ratho rubs the grit from his clothes. “The Madronians never found their bodies. Even their rapion were lost.”
The howling slams through the blackness and surrounds us. Ratho grabs my mittened hand. “Four-Winged Condor protect us!” he yells. I squeeze his grip tighter.
Beneath Thae’s and Mirko’s shielding wings, we hunch. The curved rock over our heads covers us as well, but the swirling sand changes directions and drives the grains around every obstacle to needle any bit of exposed skin: my wrist where the mitten has pulled back, my cheekbone below my goggles. Through the eye slits, it pebbles my clenched lids and burns.
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