The air chills and raises my flesh, but the water nudges warmth in reply.
While Mirko hunts along the far shore, I whisper, “Yes!” and stretch. Weaving my arms above my head and fluttering my legs, the water undulates over me.
If I weren’t a declared male, would Ratho like my form? Would he fantasize about me?
Mirko sings. The notes twirl against the rock and rise into the night as my hair twists float in a dance about my head.
I flip over and swim with my wonderings.
CHAPTER 46
SMILING
Mirko forages well on our return, bringing back three winders, and since Ratho dozes in the sleeping pit he is unaware when we arrive. I remove my hat and continue to dry my twists by the fire.
The night passes smoothly, and a smile drifts onto my face frequently. If I had remained female, Ratho or Shiz likely would have noticed me.
“You seem happy,” Ratho says at our shift change.
I shrug, smile wider, and climb into the sleeping pit. “Maybe the warmer weather has lifted my centerself.”
“Mine too.”
I lie down next to Mirko while Ratho stacks more wood on the fire. I prop my chin on my hands, watch the firelight flicker over my partner’s arm muscles, highlighting each time they relax and tense. I sigh, and Mirko waggles his eyeridge.
I drop below the edge of the pit. What am I doing? Mooning like some female after Ratho more and more? Not that any are here to see, but if I continue I could slip at the mesa and someone might notice.
I duck lower. Out here, even Ratho might start to feel my attentions. It would definitely end our friendship, as well as challenge him to report me in order to protect himself. After my religious outburst, he probably would!
Chamber of Verities, what has happened? I vigorously rub my face without regard for the rough sand on my hands.
Maybe entertaining attraction dulls my amulet? Maybe giving in and enjoying wrong impulses has impaired it more and more? Or swimming in moonlight. The Madronians insist the moon is female. Oh, what have I done?
Pulling it from below my hip, I massage the damp bag, smell it, but can only note leather. It no longer carries the scent of my father tinged with a certain musky wildness. Have I drained most of its strength?
I gulp. What can I do now? For a start, not entertain thoughts of Ratho and Shiz. And no more swims under the night sky!
I burrow down in the pit, clutching the amulet to my chest. I am a declared male, I chant as I drift to sleep. However, my dream comes quickly.
Ratho’s hand skims
my hair, cheek, and waist.
He lowers his lips to mine,
and I kiss him,
and kiss him,
his lips full and warm.
When he pulls back,
I groan his name.
“Ratho, Ratho.”
“Tiadone?” Ratho answers from the fireside. Thae looks over as well from atop the cairn.
I sit up. Mirko nips my backside, loosening my tongue. “Oh, nothing. Never mind!” I squeak and fall backward, shame flaming my face.
Mirko chortles, and I can just make out my dream spinning darkly in his irises. “Stop it!” I shush, rolling over.
I punch my amulet. I am declared male!
CHAPTER 47
UNEXPECTED CHILL
Reported to the Madronians, the girls and their Miniata predicted a cold snap from the northern mountains, and their warning came to pass. The chill crunched down into our valley, crawled past the Rapion Cliffs, crept across our village, and sidled its way to the mesa to blast the open desert. With a bit of mercy, the governs announced the change beforehand so we could prepare.
Patrollers layer on as much spring gear as they possess. Even so, the materials are light, and the wind cuts. Nights are spent at Perimeter buried in sand, whether by the fire or in the sleeping pit. Only Ratho’s and my head poke above ground when we aren’t patrolling. Our rapion constantly fluff to trap and warm air between their feathers.
The only solace is that the cold will pass, and for now it helps me focus and grip my male declaration strongly. Even when we return to the mesa I don’t allow my thoughts to stray to any boy, and I’m not plagued by any dreams.
“May the wind flee before you,” is the greeting and departure many call to each other, and the expected jest back has become, “May your manhood outlast the blast,” followed by an adjustment of undergarments. Ratho calls the taunt to me one evening at Perimeter, then stammers at his error.
I plunge forward as boldly as possible to cover it. “And may your little bit not snap off!”
Recovering immediately, he guffaws. “My manhood is as vital as my father’s old Goatgrinder.”
“That goat? You wish,” I retort to cover our embarrassment.
Ratho laughs and moves toward Perimeter in the nightfall. “I’ll find something for us to eat,” he calls back over his shoulder. But I doubt he will. Creatures are scarce with the cold.
I lean against the pine trunk and heap sand onto my legs. Mirko bugles safety from the rock pile and puffs his feathers.
I stuff my hands into my armpits. This is the end of a Seventh Day. Back in the village, another Weekly Ritual has ended. Here it is strange to never stop our routine and draw our minds to the spiritual. To honor the close of a worship day, I scootch down and rehearse the Divine Beliefs from the Oracles of the Creator. Father is probably doing the same.
“You shall worship the Creator Spirit and no other. Offer your strength and possessions to your neighbors’ needs.” I drift to sleep in the quiet.
The sound is a horrific screech. I open my eyes and cram my palms to my ears. But the keen is within my mind. “Mirko, what is it?” I yell.
He dives to my side and helps claw the sand off me. The hourglass is empty, but there is no evidence Ratho has returned. Mirko flies a surveillance circle and wings back to me.
I scramble upright. He tugs a burning stick from the low fire, shoots high into the black sky, and darts an attack pattern for desert cat.
CHAPTER 48
SCREAMS
Rapion flames to the right and left carry the message along Perimeter. The Lookout will notify the village, and soldiers will form a barrier at the edge of town. The processes clog my thoughts. With my pack and javelin in hand, I hurl through the night after Mirko, who shrills above the bellows of the attacker.
We travel a fair distance at high speed until I round a huge boulder, and the horror under the full moon is before me. “Creator Spirit,” I whisper.
As large as a man, the cat is a full-grown female, whose hiss and roar rumble fury. Her thick back legs are tied by Ratho’s bola, keeping her from advancing far while Thae claws at the beast’s furred neck. But the cat is quick to slash and shift, using the powerful forepaws that remain free to flail at the fluttering rapion and threaten Ratho, who is just beyond the feline’s swipe. It’s clear the cat was not always at such a distance: Ratho’s leg is torn open, and his side also leaks blood into the sand. His javelin lies at the crest of a hill marked with prints from the struggle.
My fear rages into anger, and I feel the power in my amulet rush through my centerself. I whirl my bola and set it free. Screeching a war cry, Mirko zooms forward in chase. The bola collides with the cat’s front legs and whips the paws together. I let out a victory scream. Mirko dives; his beak pecks at the eyes while he dodges the cat’s slashing teeth. Thae rips into the neck.
Ratho spots me and yells, “Tiadone!”
I clasp my javelin tight in my fist, take three running steps, and hurl my weapon straight at the cat’s breast. The pointed head strikes, and the shaft follows to deepen the wound. The cat growls, contracts, and tries to knock the weapon free.
Thae flaps out of reach as Mirko tears a furred ear in half. The cat twists its head, and Thae plunges at the neck.
I seize the distraction and run, shove my foot on the wide chest, and yank my javelin free. The cat shrieks and flips. Thae is s
truck hard by the open jaw and tumbles backward through the air. Her neck drives into the sand, and I shudder at the impact.
Suddenly, the beast gyrates, and before I can leap back, the cat’s bound claws tear through my boot and slice my ankle. Warmth flows into my boot.
I jab but only strike air and sand about the writhing body. “Die, you dreaded beast!” I yell. The cat knocks me over with its massive shoulder, but my resolve is as strong as hers. I roll and scurry from the whiskered cheeks, pulling back from long teeth and a hot hiss.
Mirko flaps vulnerably before the cat’s face. He screeches, and it is my signal to attack.
I arc around the cat, leap high, and lunge with my full weight. The shaft of my javelin burrows deep into the cat’s breast, and I pound it harder and harder until only half my weapon remains in my grasp. The cat convulses, and jagged cries bubble out of its throat. Its bound paws flop to the sand, the head lolls, and blood rivulets about my javelin.
As the world engages once again around me, I notice Thae thumps her wings helplessly on the sand. Her neck has been opened. She tucks her wings to her side and rolls to reach Ratho’s hand. Delicately, she nuzzles her beak into his palm, then shudders and stills.
Mirko snatches up his still-burning torch, shoots to the sky, and twirls the flame toward the Lookout. The cat is dead. The message repeats down the desert as Mirko drops the signal flame and flaps to Thae’s side.
My breath fogs before me, and silence seeps through my mind. My sore ears fill with the stillness, but my body is a hollow cavern emptied by adrenaline and angst.
Ratho touches Thae’s chest. The moment he wails, “No!” I fall to my knees. The Carterea rapions’ mourning rings my head and blasts down to my toes.
Thae is dead.
CHAPTER 49
SKINNING
Ratho passes out while clutching Thae’s body to his chest. Until the keening ends, I tremble on the sand. Soon, Mirko pulls my hair, urging me to rise. I stop the flow of blood from Ratho’s leg with strips of winder skin and bandage his side as well. Then, Mirko and I quickly make a fire of shrubs. To keep the living warm is the first work. Despite our tears for Thae.
The gash in my ankle burns. I knot another winder skin tightly about it and tug my torn boot onto my sockless foot. Between my toes, blood squelches.
With his forehead pressed to hers, Ratho does not wake or release Thae’s empty body. She is flopped over his arms, head twisted at an unnatural angle. I wait as Mirko sings a last song to Thae. The deep, long notes for his friend echo and reverberate for her life lost, and with each I feel his pain gush through me and pound against my centerself.
Pulling in a jagged breath, I stand and approach the cat. The one remaining eye is open and glazed, confirming death. I kick the carcass, but the body is so dense it barely moves. I kick and kick until sweat and tears race down my face.
“Where are you, Creator Spirit?” I scream. “Why did you let your creation destroy what is precious to us?” I pull at my hair and stumble. “You leave me here with a wounded partner separated from his rapion. Why? Do you even hear me?” My words strike the rocks and fling into the silent sky. “Do you even exist?”
Mirko lands heavily on my shoulder. I heave my thoughts back to what we can do. Me and Mirko.
The Madronians will send no one to our aid. A personal distress call will go unanswered. All idiocy. It is my duty to get my partner back to the mesa, despite the reality my friend is wounded and has been divided from his rapion before Severation. He may not recover from either. The blame and scorn for Thae’s death alone could destroy him.
I wipe my face on my sleeve. Regardless of any god’s attention or existence, I have to do what I can, right now.
I kick the cat again and roll it onto its back with my hands. Its thick, dirty fur crams between my fingers. Mirko cuts the bola ropes with his talons, and the feline’s legs flop open.
I plunge my knife into the skin and saw downward, opening the belly and circling the vent. Accidentally, I rip the bag, and the entrails steam raw and pungent. Mirko leans over the guts but then turns his head from the stench.
I cough and retch. The cat was ill. I yank on my javelin until it yields from the carcass with a sucking, wet noise. Mirko stands back. I use the point to pound the rib cartilage. The thuds shake upward through my own bones, and the cage breaks in two.
Throwing my javelin aside, I grip the broken bones and pry them apart. A crack snaps the air. My bloody hands worm through the organs, but when I cut out the liver and tilt it to the firelight, Mirko hisses at the piece covered with diseased spots.
Everything is tainted. But, but what about the heart!
My fingers slip through the blood until I grasp it. Sliced free, it fills my palm. The heart of a desert cat I helped kill. Quickly, I wrap it in a winder skin and stuff it into my pack.
After wiping my hands in the sand, I cut around each paw, the tail, and finally the massive head. My stomach rises once more while the skin gives way beneath my knife. I lift and slice it from the carcass. Mirko helps by pulling the skin up and out for me, and soon we are both immersed in the earthy, sticky vapor from our efforts. I reach the back and roll the cat to carve away the other side, and a groan escapes my lips. Ratho still doesn’t stir.
Sweat runs off my chin. My knees drive into the sand while I cut and rip the skin free, until muscle lies exposed in the moonlight. Hard, thick bands twist around the beast. Mirko chews the backstrap from the cat. The sinuous piece is good for sewing, and he lays beside me. Finished, we collapse and drink deeply from my water sack.
The cat’s blood dries on my face and tightens my skin. I glance again at Ratho by the fire. He is unchanged, but his wounds do not seep. I chance a look at Thae and can see even in the faint light that Thae’s lustre has dimmed with her centerself gone. “We must hurry, Mirko.” He bugles and rises into the air.
CHAPTER 50
FORGIVEN
As the black night sky begins to edge in blue, I lurch forward, bouncing Ratho. Strapped in the cat skin, he rides with Thae’s body on the travois I bound together using the three long cottonwood branches Mirko was able to locate. Apart from the bloody interior of the pelt facing the ground, my carrier is similar to the type Father uses to transport wounded goats.
I lean into the crossed poles at my waist and grip their further extension before me, then once again heave forward. Despite my care, the travois jostles over rocks and shrubs. Ratho is nudged and tipped, but still he does not wake from unconsciousness.
Sooner than I expect I must stop and rest and drink again. Mirko fusses over my exhaustion and ankle wound, rolling his beak against my shoulder to ease the ache. When I assure him I am fine and move to tip water into Ratho’s mouth, Mirko peers down, and his mourning for Thae warbles into the air.
Finally, on the third stop, when our post is in sight, Ratho rouses. “Thae,” he sobs. I lower the travois, step out, and kneel at his side with Mirko. Ratho clings to his dead rapion and whimpers.
“Ratho, Mirko and I are here,” I whisper and cry.
“But not my Thae.” His face is pinched.
The horizon shimmers pink with the coming dawn. Suddenly, Thae’s feathers brighten, and Mirko flutters backward. The sound of heavy flapping reaches me before I see the glistening shapes rise over the nearby hill. Two Cliff Signicos dare to fly toward us!
Ratho does not see them until they hover above. His face is aghast, and the wind raised by their wings interrupts his moan. Mirko bows his beak to the sand.
Flapping in place, the two great golden-brown rapion writhe their necks and tails, mentally keening the same anguish I shared earlier with the Carterea rapion. But this quiver is deep and doesn’t hurt me. Instead it echoes in my bones. Despite the gentle hum, fear holds me stiff. Will they blame Ratho for Thae’s death?
As the keen ends, the rapion whip through the air around us. A wind whirl is raised, and we are its center. Mirko, Ratho, and I gaze up into the kaleidoscope of feathers
and sand.
The two rapion land outside the swirl, which drifts to the ground. I squeeze one of the travois poles to keep from shrinking into a ball and covering my neck. The large birds step toward us. Wavering on my knees, I am equal in height to them. Off to the side, Mirko shivers. His stature does not yet compare to theirs.
Ratho whimpers in the cat skin when the great male bends his head. Enormous rapion tears drop from the male’s eyes, roll down Thae’s beak, and disappear into her neck feathers. He weeps as rapion do upon release. Of course this is graver.
The female lowers her full crest to Ratho’s hair and breathes his scent. She returns hers to him, thickening the air with cloves. I look in wonder as heavy tears cluster in Ratho’s hair and shine on his forehead.
They offer peace!
I wipe my face dry on my sleeve. “They know you fought well for Thae,” I whisper to Ratho. “That you loved her and would never have lost her through neglect.” A calm spreads over his face, and he closes his eyes, losing consciousness again.
The two rapion stand upright and stare at me. I meet their round, dark eyes but get to my feet and step back to Mirko. For Ratho, I force my words out. “My friend fought to save Thae, the village, and your Cliffs from this foul cat. Thank you for risking Madronian threats to deliver your blessing.”
They hiss at the skin wrapping Ratho and then bow to me. Their wings arch behind their backs and snap open. The red dawn gleams through their pinions.
Mirko and I mimic the movement.
With a great rush, the rapion leap to the air, fly low to the earth, and burst above the rising sun. In the midst of their retreat, Mirko sings. The Signicos stall and circle.
His notes end, and they shoot into the rays of daylight. I tremble at their acknowledgment of Mirko’s song and of Ratho and Thae.
Maybe they were Thae’s kin? I shield my eyes and watch the horizon, but the rapion don’t return.
When Mirko whistles, I focus again on our predicament. I step into the travois, lift the branches, and pull with fresh strength. Leaving our post unattended, I drag my beloved friend and the body of his rapion toward the mesa.
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