Firstborn

by Lorie Ann Grover

  Immediately regaining my strength, I berated my rapion for an entire hour. “What were you thinking? Do you know how I felt? How worried I was? It made me sick, Mirko!” That garnered a sympathetic look, but otherwise he only ruffled his feathers and waggled his eye ridge. I knew there’d be no stopping him next time either. There wasn’t.

  What I learned with each withdrawl was that I could never part from R’tania and leave Mirko behind. Now I fully understand why Father couldn’t move away from the Cliffs. Who could? Even if separation is easier after Severation, who could ever leave?

  Back at the mesa, the Carterea gather the wetness at the base of the cottonwoods when the seep springs rise. With their lips parched and peeling and their rapions’ feathers raised in dehydration, they fight over the trees. Everyone is ringed with oil, sweat, and dirt. All the while, Droslump wanders through the Eating Cavern with his dew-drenched goblet in hand, and the Drill Governs guzzle from their water sacks.

  “Tiadone, it could have been our error,” Ratho repeatedly whispers at night before we fall asleep.

  “No,” I respond automatically, because what good does that worry do now? And then I pray silently. Creator Spirit, please let this not have been our neglect. Let them find the cat, now.

  A week passes before Ratho and I stand last in line behind Shiz and Grendo for patrol. Shiz’s legs tremble from lack of water. When Ratho and Thae gaze out to Perimeter, Mirko chitters and inclines his head to Baesa.

  Before I can reason myself out of the action, I deftly slip Shiz’s empty water sack from his belt and replace it with one of mine. He instantly feels the weight and reaches for it. Shiz drinks deeply, shares with Baesa, and then passes the sack to Grendo. Astonishment opens their faces.

  Ratho looks over and raises an eyebrow at me. Finally, Shiz turns.

  Unable to hide my blush, I pass my fingers over my mouth and close them into a fist. Shiz returns the motion for silence and resumes his stance. Water is sweet even from a declared male who bears a Singer.

  Shiz and Grendo receive oblation and depart southeast. I tremble before Droslump for the wine and wafer, but he hasn’t pierced me again, nor have I been caught outside of the game. We are assigned north.

  At the top of the first knoll, Ratho and I look back. Shiz and Grendo raise fists into the air, and their rapion swirl a figure above them. Thae and Mirko imitate the pattern as Ratho and I raise our fists in return.

  “That was a risk, Tiadone,” Ratho says. We turn and hike through the newly sprouted shrubberies poking out of the sand. “It was a risk like you took with Devino.”

  I shrug and step carefully around a sidewinder in the shade of a boulder. “Everyone’s near dehydration, and the cat still isn’t found. If others will accept our help, I have to give it, Ratho. Even that shows how bad it is. Shiz and Grendo actually took water from me!”

  Ratho’s lips stretch into a laugh, and his dimple flashes as Thae ruffles her wings. “I’ve given my extra sack to two different boys!” Ratho exclaims.

  “And you blame me?”

  He runs ahead, daring me to chase him. Our rapion take to the air, and I take the chase. My amulet swings behind me, and I don’t tug it back around.

  I will catch Ratho as I always do. I smile to myself. Victory astride that boy is beyond sweet. I will snug my legs close along his torso and hold him down longer than normal. Why not? No Madronian will see. None will know what I feel. I’ll enjoy what I can get, right now.

  Our laughter bounces and rolls over the sand.

  It is eighteen days at the mesa and on patrol before we return from Perimeter and find the spring flowing. The boys linger by its side, their bellies distended. Somone vomits over in the bushes. Too much too fast, I gather.

  Ratho and I add our whoops of joy while Thae and Mirko dive about the spring’s stream of water. No one even leaves.

  “The desert cat was cornered in the Four-Winged Condor Garden by some surprised acolytes, and five soldiers were able to strike it to death,” Shiz says to us. “No children were taken, but five goats total were lost.”

  “Thank the Four-Winged Condor.” Ratho sighs.

  Thank the Creator Spirit the children were protected, I think. My father would have confirmed the goat loss to Sleene. Is Father disappointed in me?

  I linger under Shiz’s friendly arm flung onto my shoulder. Even under eighteen days of dirt, his grin would stop any girl midstep. Or, I guess, catch the eye of a declared male.

  I peel myself away before any sees my inkling, like his partner Grendo, who steps up and slaps Shiz on the back. There’s fun and then there’s danger. Especially with this many witnesses, and my amulet not as strong as it used to be — or at least what the Madronians presume. If they witness an ounce of my lust, my life ends.

  I slyly tighten the sinew knot. “Well, I’m off to the Steam Pockets. Can’t get there soon enough!” I hustle toward the Sleeping Cavern, tugging Mirko by the wing. He strains to keep his eye on Baesa. “Come on, lover,” I whisper.

  Over my shoulder, I see Grendo has wandered off to the latrine and now Ratho chats with Shiz. My centerself skips for them both. Mirko whistles at me. I really have to be more careful, but right now, I just laugh.

  CHAPTER 43

  SHINGKAE

  Patrols continue, along with the water supply. Prayers of thanks to the Four-Winged Condor are spoken often at the spring following the return of the bubbling stream, though soon enough, we again overlook our blessings that are so constant: breath, water, our rapion. Until a Severation occurs. Regularly, rapion are returning to their Cliffs, and young men such as Flecket and Creo are traveling back for village service.

  My ears never grow accustomed to the screech of despair at Severation, and my centerself is even more troubled with each departure as Mirko’s grows closer. The Madronian prohibition of contact afterwards burns hot in my fear.

  Added to the anxiety is the news Ratho and I hear late in the spring, when returning from patrol and joining a fire circle after evening meal. We are not welcomed, but neither do we sit on the fringe out of the circle of heat. The night air is cool, and the stars glide across the sky. Mirko and Thae are so large now they spill out of our laps.

  We listen to Grendo’s involved story. His thick brown twists fly about as he turns to convince each questioner of an invasion.

  “Is this the truth?” Ratho breaks into the talk.

  “Yes,” Shiz answers.

  Grendo turns to Ratho. “I heard Droslump telling the Javelin Govern this evening,” he says. “The Shingkae rose and invaded through the West Patrollers’ line.” Gooseflesh jumps from one boy to another. Grendo continues. “The patrollers’ rapion signaled the West Lookout. Their visionaires did not see the attack beforehand, but Madronian soldiers arrived in time and held off the invasion.”

  Desl breaks in. “I hear Shingkae use great iron blades in their attacks.”

  A couple of boys nod among themselves. One speaks up and says, “Their armor rattles upon their breasts.”

  “But the Madronians have crossbows,” Ratho says, “that can take down the metal-slowed lot, striking between the chinks.”

  “Yes,” everyone agrees.

  “There’s more.” Shiz pauses. “Grendo says the West Patrol Rapion made a call to the Cliffs.”

  Mirko trumpets. “For certain?” I ask.

  “Yes!” Shiz and Grendo answer. Shiz stands, looks around, and whispers, “The Madronians were only matching the Shingkae, not winning. You can believe it was for the love of the R’tan that the Cliff Rapion responded.” Baesa flaps her wings. “The birds came in force and fully drove back the Shingkae, leaving many men dead in the sand. I bet every Madronian stood in awe of the independent rapions’ collected might.”

  Our birds rustle after his quiet comments. Mirko breaks the hush with another shrill note of pride.

  “What a sight it must have been!” Ratho says.

  The usually shy patroller, Tinto, stands next. “Well, the rapion as
ide, the Madronians are mighty. Praise the Four-Winged Condor for them. They enrich our lives and defend us well.”

  I throw my arm over Mirko’s neck to discourage his hiss. The fire cracks and releases a blast of steam at the same moment, thankfully, and no one looks at my rapion.

  Still, Tinto’s tripe goes unchallenged. It is a catechism all toddlers are made to learn. How foolish can he be? It was just stated that it was the rapion who brought victory! Even Ratho does not respond, instead doodling with a twig in the dirt.

  I can barely tamp down the questions wanting to blast out of my mouth. What of the way the Madronians rule us? What of religious intolerance? Contact denial after Severation? What of ekthesis, which murders our firstborn daughters? What of my life needing to be radically altered in order to live?

  Tinto sits, and Grendo picks up his story. “Anyway, the attack and thwart did happen. I heard every word, as the Madronian spoke not realizing I was in the shadow of the Eating Cavern arch.”

  Shiz rocks a log in the fire until a yellow flame shoots loose. The color shimmers over Mirko, who seems to be settling down. His eyes are still narrowed at Tinto, but his brow isn’t as angry.

  A govern — I can’t make out which one in the darkness — strides past our gathering. All chatter snicks to silence until his robes dragging over the sand can no longer be heard.

  For everything the Madronians do to make us inferior: denying our religion, making our present intolerable, and dampening our future, it’s the patrollers and rapion who help keep the village safe. It was R’tan youth and their rapion who called the soldiers for protection. I clear my throat. “What happened to the patrollers and rapion at the invasion?”

  Grendo chuckles. “I didn’t hear. If they are like Tinto, they hid among the boulders and wet themselves in the excitement.”

  Everyone laughs, except Tinto and Mirko, who rumbles. “Of course you would not hide,” I tell him.

  Talk of the invasion slowly dwindles and different conversations spring up. As it often does, most talk turns to girls in their villages. Who left with their eye on whom. Who has the most comely shape and what each boy will do to win affection when he returns.

  I keep my blushing face down when the talk descends to female body particulars. Some strain of my former affinity bristles at their crassness. Even declared male, their disrespect cuts into my centerself.

  “Two that peek out from her shirt. You know, from those open-collar tops so many choose to wear?” says Grendo. He gestures with both hands. The boys groan in agreement.

  “No, it’s the way her backside curves her skirts,” says another.

  Several chuckle. I silently beg Ratho or Shiz to rise above this. Say a woman’s beauty is her centerself full of strength and care. Say breasts and backends don’t matter. Did it for Father when he chose Mother or Frana? Well, maybe a little, but not in the way these drooling goons are going on about it all.

  Among the group, no one does. No one speaks for the girls.

  My irritation boils out. “But what of a woman’s interests and passions and humor?”

  Everyone stares at me, then laughter rolls through the group. “What good humor, Tiadone!” Grendo says.

  I smile and chuckle to pass the joke.

  The fire cracks and shimmies into the night. Sparks float down into the quiet, and I focus on the embers instead of all the boys fantasizing around me. Even Ratho is with some girl in his mind. Wait! Who is she? What does she look like? What would I look like without the amulet and my binding, and in female garb? Would I still feel as ugly as a goat who’s rolled in a sticker patch and then been caught in a downpour? Would I care to be with any of these rutting rams?

  I lurch to my feet and walk away, barely able to keep from running to the Sleeping Cavern.

  Mirko flaps beside me and hums.

  “It shouldn’t matter so much how one looks!” I duck into the opening and accidently knock my forehead. I cry out and rub the tender spot.

  Mirko flies before me and blinks his sympathy.

  CHAPTER 44

  BEYOND

  Blossoms snip closed in the setting sun. I push up my tunic sleeves for the breeze to brush my wrists. A heat has crawled over the desert these past few days of patrol, and any respite must be seized.

  By my sandal, a burrowing owl pops from a hole. His circle eyes inspect me, and his shoulders hump around his neck. The owl sinks below the sand as Mirko dives. “Oh, leave the little one,” I say.

  He chides me, flaps, and glides past.

  Finally, the Perimeter stones rise in the distance. Mirko clips my hair with his talons, though he lets go before there is a tug. “What are you doing?” I ask. He flies high again.

  At the edge of our assigned area, the rising moon casts a shimmering light over the sand in a faint path. Night crickets click at each other. Resting my hand on one of the stone markers, I scan the space. My ears raise a smidgen with the intense concentration.

  Across the desert are the C’shah. Do they even think to attack? Probably not. They never have invaded R’tania and are rumored to be mild. I can’t imagine they’d come here to challenge the Madronian Empire like the Shingkae. They are probably too focused on protecting themselves from a Madronian invasion in the future.

  “Are you even patrolling?” I call into the air.

  Mirko returns and plucks my watersack free. He hovers in the twilight, letting out a free, light-hearted song as if there are no worries in the world. His head gestures for me to follow beyond the cairns.

  “What? Come back here, Mirko!” I stamp my foot. “What are you thinking?”

  He dives at my head, circles, and shoots beyond the Perimeter. My water sack swings from his talons. This is the post where Mirko returned most quickly with water during our drought. “No! You do not mean for me to go beyond Perimeter! To the water source?” He whistles. “Despite you doing so, it’s still forbidden to cross! Besides, we need no water now.”

  My stating the obvious doesn’t deter him. He flies close, drops my watersack into my hands, and grabs a chunk of tunic in his beak. He pulls.

  “Mirko!” I yell, and stumble along. He doesn’t let go, instead yanks even though I try to stop. “Ow!” I shout. The tunic twists and pinches my armpit. “Mirko!”

  He doesn’t halt. I’m well beyond the markers now and outside of our country. Nearing where Triumvirate spring from.

  I stagger forward, fear sweating out my pores. I’m beyond Perimeter!

  Mirko sings that there is no danger, but I still shove my heels in the sand. “But Ratho …”

  Finally, he lets go and flaps before me. His eyes peer into mine, sending a calmness through my entire body.

  “Well,” I slowly admit, “I did tell Ratho we would be longer as we planned to hunt and patrol.” His head tilts, and he breathes a great cinnamon waft over me.

  From somewhere, bravery or rebellion pours into my centerself. A desire to be free of everything and everyone taunts me. My mind flops through the choice.

  It’s not as if Mirko and I are parting from each other or running away. It is only an excursion. Whatever the C’shah are truly like, they are miles and miles away. Hope and possibility snick into my blood. Mirko bugles.

  “All right, you crazy talon-footed goose!”

  He grins and flies behind me. Little bites from his beak nip my backside. “Stop! I’m going!” I laugh and run.

  He chortles and sings now. In this undignified way, my rapion drives me beyond Perimeter.

  CHAPTER 45

  THE POOL

  It truly isn’t far to Mirko’s secret location. We crest a hill, enter a forest of stacked stones, twist and wind through the pillars, and crawl the last bit through a tunnel. I smell the water before I see it.

  The passageway spills into a small roofless canyon. A pool shimmies in the breeze, and the moon rides its rippled face. Rustling at the far side, a cottonwood stands with bushes crouched around its trunk. The water stretches about as wide as I can
throw a stone, and the cavern walls lift like wings to the night.

  I stand and sigh, not looking away from our surroundings as I swipe sand from my trousers. “It is beautiful, Mirko!” He chitters with glee.

  Mirko flies above the pool, his feet clipping the water, sending droplets arching like falling stars. He sings his pleasure and calls for me to join him.

  I laugh. “I can’t swim! Ratho would question my wet clothes. How would I explain?”

  Winging close, he plucks my tunic once again.

  My laugh cuts short. “Oh, really. Take off my clothes? Madronian rules of modesty — ”

  He whistles. We are beyond their rule. I swallow the bulge that packs my throat.

  “What if there’s something in the water? A serpent or large fish or turtle that snaps?” Mirko brushes past my back and shoots across the canyon. He crows safety.

  “Well, maybe I will soak my feet.” He chitters and swoops overhead as I sit on a nearby boulder and peel off my boots and socks. With my trouser legs rolled up, I wade into the water. The pool is tepid and welcomes my legs, and the hike eases out of my toes into the soft sand.

  Mirko wings past and flicks water at me.

  Really, I scold myself. I am beyond Madronian rule and R’tania. I am in a secret place alone with my rapion. Only the Creator Spirit will see, and he knows my form. I ought to swim!

  But I can’t. To be naked? Outside? I tromp out of the water and flop down against a rock in the moonlight. I shove my amulet behind me.

  When I end up laughing at Mirko chasing a water-glider beetle, my rigid limbs finally relax and my gumption gathers. I can swim! Why not?

  Hurriedly, I shuck off my tunic and pants. My dive into the middle of the pond cuts open the water, and it envelops me. I pop up to the sweet-smelling surface; is there a hint of jasmine?

  Turning onto my back, I watch the moon’s reflection shimmer on my pale undergarment and breast wrap. The latter is pasted against my curves, which have certainly defied my amulet, now tethered and floating beside me.