Breeder: An Arrow's Flight Novel

by Casey Hays

  She nods her head toward Tara, who disappears out a side door.

  “As most of you know, Layla gave birth to a girl today—a girl that, sadly, we cannot keep.”

  She scans the room again before continuing.

  “The existence of the Village depends upon the survival of the strongest, the healthiest, and the handsomest. This baby is none of these. To keep the child alive would be in direct defiance of not only this child’s Fate, but the stars themselves.”

  Tara emerges, climbs the steps to the platform, and hands Mona a small basket covered with a cloth. Something whimpers, and I stop breathing. Is Mona going to show us this baby right here? Will it be a grotesque display of the semblance of a human child? I don’t want to see. Not Layla’s baby. I have no desire to see how a curse looks. And yet, I cannot tear my eyes from the stage.

  Mona lifts the baby from the basket. I freeze, and together all of us gape at . . . a perfectly healthy baby.

  The assembly mumbles with low, hushed voices in apparent wonderment. The baby squirms in Mona’s hands, clutches tiny fingers around Mona’s thumb. I’m simply confused. I see no visible deformity.

  Mona moves to the edge of the platform and holds the child over the crowd. Several women crane their necks to see her more closely. One woman points, and the other nods. I strain to see, but there is nothing—absolutely nothing wrong with this baby. I scramble to my knees, leaning in to get a closer look.

  Mona lowers the tiny child, cradles it, and for a minute, she nurtures it as I’ve seen so many of the women do before their children are weaned. A mother caring for her child as Ian had explained. But to see it in Mona? It’s astounding! We all watch and wait.

  Mona peers down at the baby. Nobody moves. She runs a long, brown finger across the baby’s cheek. I glance at Tara. The muscles in her throat move as she swallows.

  Mona takes a long curved, knife from her belt.

  “Such things demand a sacrifice,” she says, almost to herself, but we all hear, and the women around me create an echo of Mona’s words with fists raised high.

  “Such things demand a sacrifice!”

  It is the proper response. I cringe; Mona raises the knife, and in seconds, the deed is done.

  My body goes numb. Mia winces beside me, covering her eyes with one hand while her other grabs for my wrist, and we sit in silence as the crowd reels in excitement, voices rising. We both know babies are disposed of all the time, especially boy babies. But we have never witnessed it—never been subjected to the cruelty of the deed itself. How can such things happen? All those babies—gone.

  Mona wipes the knife on the edge of her skirt and hands the now lifeless baby back to Tara, who puts it inside the basket, descends the steps, and exits. Mona turns her attention back to the crowd. She is cruel, unrelenting Mona once again, her voice booming with the authority of a fearless leader.

  “Layla and her mate have created an atrocity.”

  She pauses. I hold my breath waiting for her to continue, a sick feeling rising in my gut. I know what she will say before another word is formed on her lips.

  “Therefore, they cannot be allowed to continue to breed. At dawn, both will be taken outside the Village and disposed of. The rest of you had better examine yourselves to see that you are not the reason such a tragedy has befallen us. The truth always comes out.”

  Her expression is hard and emotionless as she leaves the platform, and the room rumbles. I see Diana and—pulling Mia behind me—hurry across the room to meet her.

  “Diana!” Her eyes are glazed over. She clutches her stomach. “Are you okay?”

  “Layla,” Diana whispers. “She will die, Kate.”

  A hot tear scrambles down her cheek. I pull her into my arms and squeeze.

  “I know. But we cannot help her. Her fate is set.”

  “Fate!” Diana hisses the word through her teeth too loudly. “I’m sick to death of Fate. Sick to death of others deciding for us what is best.”

  I reel back in shock at the words—at the realization that Diana feels as I do. This is the first time I’ve seen it in her. But now is not the time to be forthcoming. I shake her once.

  “Diana, stop!” I cast a nervous glance around the room. “We are already going to lose one friend tomorrow. We don’t need to lose you, too. Come on.”

  With Mia’s help, I get her out of the building. Just outside, she doubles over.

  “Are you having pains?”

  When Diana nods, her face contorted, I look at Mia.

  “Get the midwife and bring her to Diana’s hogan. It’s time.”

  Mia dashes off at a sprint, and I—with Diana’s weight heavy against me and stopping every few yards until her next pain passes—manage to get her through the crowd and to her hogan. I settle her on her mat and move to the washbasin for a wet cloth. Diana screams and sweat breaks out across her face.

  “We have to do something, Kate,” she rasps between heavy breaths. “We can’t let them kill her. We can’t let them do this to one of us again.”

  “Shush now. Keep your strength Diana, and don’t think about it.” I place the cloth on her forehead and glance at the door. Please hurry, Mia. Another pain racks Diana.

  The midwife comes a lifetime later it seems. I move to stand against the wall by Mia, but soon we’re ushered out of the hogan completely by several older women assisting the birth. Nobody but the midwife and her nurses are allowed to stay for a delivery, so we can only wait and hope that all is well.

  Mia, exhausted by this night and all its drama, goes straight to bed. But I can’t. I can’t shake the images of Layla’s baby. In my mind, I see her tiny hand grasp Mona’s, hear her perfect tiny outcry from inside the basket. And still Mona killed her, even as she held the tiny girl and felt the warmth of life in the crook of her arm.

  I don’t understand.

  I try to sleep, but each time I begin to drift, I’m bombarded with a whirlwind of nightmares blowing ghastly images that jolt me awake. Tiny limbs, fine baby hair, helpless infant cries pleading for life. Finally, when the images crowding in on me become too much, I climb off my mat.

  And I do something I would never have imagined doing until now.

  I go to Mona.

  >--->

  For several minutes, I pace back and forth outside the small cabin where she lives, chewing on my thumbnail, and working up the nerve to knock. I’ve never come to Mona’s cabin—never been bold enough to confront her—to ask the hard questions that I really don’t want answered. My fear always prevents it, and my strongest desire has been to walk in any direction in which Mona is not headed. But tonight, I need to know. I gather my courage and take the risk.

  Several times, I raise a fist to knock on her door, only to withdraw it at the last minute. What will I say? How will she respond?

  I know this is foolish. She will never open up to me. Who am I to think I would be privy to her confidences?

  Just as my nerves give out—and I’ve made up my mind to leave—the door opens, and Mona steps into the night. I turn. The orange glow of the candle behind her casts her long shadow across the porch, past me, and into the grass beyond. She smiles, and I know she’s been watching me the entire time.

  “Come in, Kate.”

  By instinct alone, I numbly obey her command, and scold myself afterwards for complying. I’ve sought her, after all, and I should be the one in control. Frustrated, I stand quietly as she shuts the door.

  Her cabin is very different from my hogan. A small table and two chairs stand near the indoor fire pit, and in the far corner sits not a mat, but a bed. I saw a picture of one in a book, but I stare at it in amazement now until Mona speaks.

  “What brings you here, girl?” She motions toward one of the chairs. I quickly sit—in a chair—for the second time in my life. I’m aware that the circumstances surrounding it are not any more comfortable than the first time. I clear my throat.

  “I have some questions.”

  Mona nods. “S
o ask them.”

  She sits across from me. I memorize the floor—uncertain how to begin and unsure whether Mona will tell me anything once she truly knows what I seek. I glance at her. She smiles, and in the gesture, I can read her mind. She knows why I’ve come.

  “About Layla . . .” I clutch the edge of my skirt tightly, like the action might save me somehow. “Does she . . . does she have . . . to die?”

  Mona’s eyes flash, and I shrink into the chair. It’s hard against my back, and I hold very still, half-wishing Mona hadn’t opened her door to me. But the anger leaves Mona as quickly as it came, and her voice is quiet when she answers.

  “Yes, Kate. She does.”

  I swallow the lump building in my throat. The uneasiness that always accompanies me when I’m in the presence of Mona captures me full force. “Why?” I ask hesitantly. “Can you not find her a new mate and let her try again?”

  Mona stands and steps to the window. She peers out into the night, her hands characteristically clasped behind her. Her golden braid hangs over one shoulder, and in the candlelight, she looks beautiful, and I think: if Mona were not so cruel, if she did not use her power as a tool to control others, perhaps I could have admired her for her strength and intelligence. But I quickly push this notion out of my head. Mona is cruel, and admiring her is out of the question. Not in this lifetime.

  “Layla has proven herself to be inferior,” Mona continues. “It took her well over a year to conceive—which I did grant her—and when she finally did, this came of it. We cannot have that kind of breeder in our midst.”

  I watch the shimmering candle on the table. It’s hypnotizing, and I have to blink from under its spell. I look at Mona, still standing at the window, her back to me.

  “Will you let me see her?”

  “No.”

  She doesn’t look at me. My heart drops.

  “But what was wrong with the baby? Why did it have to be . . . disposed of?”

  Mona turns and presses her strong hands against the back of the chair where she was sitting a moment before, her long fingers gripping the wood. She leans in close. “It had a red mark, strawberry shaped, covering most of its left cheek.”

  My eyes widen. “That is all?”

  “That was enough Kate. The baby would have been useless. Marred. We could not have used it for any duties we have here.”

  “But how do you know this?” I stand up, and the chair scratches noisily against the floor. My heart fills with defiance for this helpless life that was swept away without a thought, and I forget that I’m afraid of Mona for a moment. “How can you tell what it will be good for on its first day? Who gives you the right to decide those things?”

  Mona’s lips purse, and I know I’ve crossed a line. I take a backwards step, roughly bumping into my chair. I expect to feel the crash of Mona’s hand against my face at any moment. I’ve overstepped, spoken in an unruly tone deserving of punishment. But instead, she sits down. And she sighs heavily, tiredly.

  “I was given that right the day I became Council leader. The job is not always pretty, but it has to be done. I have to make the hard decisions for the greater good.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “The fact that you are the Council leader should make a difference. You have the last say, and you could change things.” I spit out my next words, anger settling in my core. “I could never do what you have done all these years, Mona.”

  She stares at me until I feel heat rising in my cheeks, and I shuffle from one foot to the next, wishing I hadn’t come. It’s done nothing but give her a larger target where I’m concerned. And it’s not going to make a difference. Layla is going to die regardless.

  “Sit down, Kate.”

  My knees are trembling fiercely, and sitting is certainly a good idea, so I comply. Mona drums the tabletop, studying me as if she’s debating with herself over whether or not to share some pressing news. Finally, she speaks.

  “Do you remember, Kate, when I told you that you were special? Different than the others?”

  I nod begrudgingly.

  “Well, your coming here tonight proves it.”

  I’m silent. I don’t want her to make this visit about me. I’m here for Layla. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. A sparkle lights her eye.

  “If I see nothing else in you, I see this: you care about others enough to do the right thing, even when it’s difficult.”

  I remain cold, emotionless. “I don’t know your meaning. I only wish to save Layla.”

  I watch her. She folds her brown hands together, unfolds them, taps the tabletop again.

  “Exactly,” she finally says. “You will understand, Kate. One day, you will have no other choice but to understand. I’ve watched you grow up. You have become an exceptional young lady. You are reserved, intelligent, beautiful. You are thoughtful first, and then you act. And you are loyal to your friends . . . and to the Village. These are great qualities.”

  Mona’s voice is gentle. It mesmerizes, and I try desperately to separate her from her words. This is not Mona. She isn’t supposed to be kind, and yet again and again I see something of kindness peek out of her and tentatively stare me in the face. I cringe a little beneath the realization. I dread not knowing who Mona really is, and I fear finding out.

  “Yes. It is you,” she finally says, and I raise a dark brow. “I’ve known it for quite some time now.”

  I’m afraid to ask her what she means. I only come here to save the life of a friend. Nothing more. Yet I can’t help but feel that Mona is handing me some dreaded gift that I can’t name—a gift that she refuses to wrap but hesitates to reveal. It hangs there between us, waiting for me to grasp it. I’m suddenly heavy with its burden, and I don’t want it, whatever it is.

  “Well,” Mona breaks in, waving an indifferent hand. “There is plenty of time yet. It’s enough that I finally know.”

  She is full of satisfaction at this discovery which seeps out of her and fills the room. I shiver at the intensity of it.

  “Mona,” I stand. “I don’t understand your riddles, but you can be sure that I want no part of whatever it is that you’re planning for me.”

  “Yes . . . you do.” She smiles, crookedly and satisfactorily. “You just don’t realize it.”

  This is all she says. Her smile freezes in the depths of my being. When she finally releases me, I can’t get out of her cabin fast enough.

  And still, tomorrow . . . Layla will die.

  Chapter 13

  “Remember how fleeting is my life. For what futility you have created all men! What man can live and not see death, or save himself from the power of the grave?” Psalm 89: 47-48

  The next morning, right on schedule, Layla and her mate are taken outside the Village to be “disposed of.” This is always the term used. As if Death will be easier to contend with if we don’t call it by its given name—if we don’t lure it into a fury until it stops not only with the condemned, but roars over the entire assembly and carries away the rest of us as well. We can’t tempt it to join Fate and bring us to an early grave. And so, we don’t kill, we don’t murder, we don’t execute. No. We dispose of. Do away with. Eliminate. Erase from sight, and therefore, from the mind. Forever.

  This is the expectation. To wipe Layla from our thoughts, our memories. To bury them like unmarked bones in a grave overgrown with grass and wildflowers. To simply forget.

  But we forever remember. The wide emptiness will yawn at us in her absence and never let us forget.

  I don’t go to the clearing. Surprisingly, Mona has not required attendance, so I stay in my hogan, tucked under my blankets, safe from the cruel images that will grace this day.

  I only fool myself. I haven’t ceased thinking about the end Layla will face today. And a piece of me knows I should be in the clearing, lending her the tiny bit of encouragement one friend can give another in such a predicament. It isn’t much—it can’t save her—but it could make her end more bearable, perhaps, to have her
friends in attendance.

  In my mind’s eyes, I see her demise in the form of Death waiting on the edge of the clearing to take her hand and lead her away the moment Atropos cuts the thread, and my entire body shudders. She must be terrified, trembling in the wake of her end, alone and miserable. But I can’t—no—I won’t go. I won’t watch her die. I lie still under my blankets and do my best to forget what is happening a few miles away.

  It rained in the middle of the night, and a puddle formed just outside my door. It seeps in slowly, a trickling of water and mud, and settles in a pool where the un-level floor dips a fraction of an inch lower than the rest. I watch it slowly grow in size—watch it like a sadness that grows in me until it overwhelms every part of me, and I grieve long and hard for my friend. But I don’t cry. Tears lead nowhere.

  At daybreak, Mia creeps into my hogan and climbs under the blankets. We lay quietly with our foreheads close together, listening to the sounds of our own breathing. We have nothing to say.

  We’ve suffered this before . . . when Meg was “disposed of.” The feelings are familiar—water and mud mingling into muck that sits in the belly full of grit and lumps—an unquenchable grief. Layla is not the first girl to face an early death. And she’s far from the last. But there is always a keener sense of misery when the one dying was raised with you, shared a mat with you as a child, sang nursery rhymes with you under elm trees. The pain cuts much deeper.

  Mona’s justice will be swift today. She is responsible for maintaining balance and order, and both must be restored. I have no doubt this will occur—or a semblance of it anyway.

  A heavy sigh seeps out of me as I assess the great leader of the Village. She was not always so hardened. I remember a different Mona once.

  I remember celebrations in the early days. The nannies adorned us in matching dresses and wove flowers into our braids, and best of all, permitted us to leave the nursery grounds for a whole day. Hand in hand, we filed into the clearing to indulge in the festivities, as if we were already like the grown up girls reveling in the joy of our future destinies. Each time, it was a dream of a day, full of laughing and dancing and a momentary freedom. And then Mona came, leading the guest of honor, and we stopped and stared in awe as she passed us by, and we whispered, “There she is. There’s the Council leader!” And we bowed in reverence—as the nannies ordered—along with the rest of the audience, and Mona was tall and regal as a goddess, her green eyes bright as jewels. I didn’t detect the hardness in her, then. Her face was smooth and ageless, and she seemed full of freshness. And as far as we could tell, she was very happy. And why wouldn’t the leader of the Council be happy in her prized position?