I BECAME A WALKING CURSE.
Everywhere I went, little Fairbird strapped to my back, people turned their faces from me. Women were cursed from birth as it is, but a woman-child who was supposed to be dead was that much more unlucky. Mothers kept their children from me and made certain that my shadow never crossed theirs. Girls with whom I had played silent games now ran at the sight of me.
I did not care. They were cruel old cats, every one of them! Yet even as I scorned them and their scorn of me, I understood. We are each of us allotted so much time for our lives. Whether the Beast commands this time or not, I cannot say; such things are beyond my knowledge. I do know what the priests taught: When a life is demanded, a life must be given. That is why they sacrifice before the wars, so that the sacrificed lives might substitute for those warriors who otherwise owed their blood in battle.
Fairbird had not died at her time. And no one had paid her blood price.
While the contempt of the women and the rejection of my playmates were painful, the fury of the menfolk aimed at my father was worse. As though it were somehow the Panther Master’s fault that a daughter was born and not a son. Had my mother lived, I know the blame would have fallen upon her head, and the Panther Master would have needed all his cunning to save her from the elders’ bloodthirsty hands. As it was, they focused their anger on him.
The Crescent People withdrew their sworn allegiance. The North Walkers retreated to their territories and made war against any tribe that dared approach them. Many others rejected the Eldest’s leadership. The peace that had maintained a tentative hold on the Land since the early years of my father’s rule were replaced with bloodshed. And it was my fault.
But the High Priest had spoken. Fairbird was safe from the Beast. At least until he saw fit to claim his due.
My life remained separate from the wars. When the campaign seasons came, my father went to battle with his loyal men, and I did not see him for months at a time. I kept to myself, walking in my mother’s footsteps. I cooked. I planted. I weeded and harvested. I repaired the house when the summer storms tore bits off the roof and knocked in one wall. And I cared for Fairbird. I became a woman well before my time.
So the years passed.
Fairbird grew from babe to lovely child. I don’t know if others would think her as beautiful as I did. In my eyes, she was perfection. I could see so much of my mother in her, especially when her tiny hands formed the words I taught her. I brought Fairbird up in the way I believed my mother would have raised her.
And always, I searched for her true name. Mother was not alive to know it as she had known mine. I must discover it for myself. No child should live a life unnamed. Though my father called her Fairbird, I knew there must be something deeper still. A name he had not given but that was as much a part of her being as her own black eyes.
Let me speak now of spring, one year gone. The gnarled fig trees disguised their disfigured limbs in clouds of pink, and ancient mangoes put forth clusters of delicate flowers that filled the air with a mild, sweet scent. Starflower vines, thick and lustrous, encroached upon the orchards and were pruned back, their severed branches used to adorn our doorways and rooftops for good luck. And my father set out with his men to war upon the Crescent People.
My life would always be one of solitude, I knew, save for Fairbird. And in solitude there was shame. It was best, of course, for a girl to be given to a man. Unwed women were often cast out of the village, for women are unlucky at best, and if they do not have a man to serve, they are useless. Not that the wives enjoyed a happy lot. It was rare for a wife to love her man as my mother had loved the Panther Master. Still, at least they had a place in the village.
Since the night my sister was born and I took upon myself the curse of unshed blood, I knew I would never wed. I was the Eldest’s daughter, and I would keep his house and tend his crops until such a time as he might choose a new bride. Then he might cast me out, me and Fairbird too.
So far I had been fortunate. Though victorious in his campaigns, the Panther Master never brought home a new bride. I had long since ceased fearing my replacement. I had a place in the community, unwanted though I might be. I did not need a man. Isolated as I was up the hill from the village, I rarely came in contact with the village lads my age. I knew they hated me, as did all of Redclay Village, but their hatred manifested itself in treating me as though I did not exist.