Huhh, aughghgh!” I roll to my knees and hack the bile from my mouth. The morning sun shines in the spittle dangling from my chin. I wipe it on my shoulder and lurch to my feet.
“No!” I yell, pace, drag my hands over my bald head, kick stones, and punch the air. I stop and plant my feet wide. “Why the new Madronian law and a girl, Creator Spirit?” I shriek.
I drop to my stomach and stretch out prone. “Why?” I bellow.
A morning dove hoots in the distance. Something scuttles over my outstretched arm.
The full truth of what I have heard bombards me like a flash flood. My father called my life a lie! A lie he would not want to tell his second daughter.
I am female. Truly female!
I scream and kick the dirt, thrash my arms. My entire life I have denied my feelings. No wonder I love Ratho! And now I learn this, after I’ve given him up forever?
Life has greater value than obedience to a ruler, whispers in my mind. It is the Oracle Father’s openly rejecting.
The thought gains momentum as it runs and catches more and more truth. My sister has worth as a female. My centerself rises above the waves, refusing to be drowned.
I shove myself up. “My father loves his land more than me or my sister!” My voice strikes out in all directions. “He loves his own back more than the Creator Spirit!”
Spitting, I yell, “I hate you, Father!”
I drop to my knees and hands. I hate him for declaring me male and making me live a lie. I hate that he wouldn’t leave R’tania for me. I hate that I can’t have Ratho, even though I love him. I hate that this amulet is utterly powerless. It is a sack of stink and disappointment, a sack of nothing. After I’ve succeeded in every way. After others in the village might be encouraged to save their own babes, he kills my sister!
Sweat scorches my cuts. I curl my fists and toes and strike the sand. “I hate that you are weak, Father! I am worth more than this false life.” I howl long and deep. “And my sister is worthy just like I am!”
Perspiration beads on my back, my fiery scalp, and behind my knees. The landscape stills, waiting, waiting for me.
I sit up on my haunches and yank at the sinew on my hips until it snaps. The belt falls free. My amulet lies detatched from me in my fist; the long cords dangle like veins.
With my teeth, I tear open the pouch, spitting the tie away. I scream out my own power and overturn the sack. The second heart lands with a thud as ashes and hair puff up into the air.
My fingers grasp the organ, then fling it as far as I can throw. It smacks sand and rolls out of sight. I scramble the rest of the sinew cords, pouch, ash, and hair into the dirt, mixing it with my tears. Mixing and mixing it, choking and mixing.
Finally, the rage gives, and I fall like I’ve stepped off a cliff. I drop over in the dirt and let my tears stream unhindered. Let them tumble over every lie and every loss.
As the sun rises higher, stretching rays of warmth out to me, I’m finally able to slowly sit up. A gulp of water from my sack flutters over my quivering centerself. I douse my hands and face and rub dry on my poncho.
I wait silently with my truth. My shadow stretches behind me while songbirds flit, lizards creep, and spiders scurry.
When I am strong enough to stand, I project my new course on the horizon. I head for the Scree.