back.
I’m
silent for a moment, contemplating how to approach the subject again with less
aggression. This has never been easy for me, but I know Rhoda. I’ve sat under
her teaching since the moment I was released from the nursery and stumbled upon
the wonderful art of medicine. And despite my chosen destiny, Rhoda saw my
skill for what it is. She has never turned me away, and she has never failed to
answer a single one of my questions.
“I was at
the nursery this morning.” She takes up the pestle again. I focus on her lips.
“Checking over the upcoming stock. We have a shortage of males this season.
Again.”
I crease
my brow. “So we have more breeders than we do stock. Is this what you’re
saying?”
“This is
what I’m saying.” She lifts the mortar and pours its powdery contents into a small,
glass jar.
“How did this
happen?” I ask.
“Not
enough male births,” she says matter-of-factly. “And to make matters worse, too
many disposals over the past few years in my opinion.” Her voice carries a note
of disapproval. “We simply have to double up the assignments in some cases. Now
that we know your mate is productive, we can do the same with him.”
I’m numb,
and my hand involuntarily slides up to rest over my belly. Rhoda, who never
misses a thing with her keen physician’s eyes notices. She nods.
“So let’s
hope, for once, that child you carry is a viable boy.” She winks. “I’d hate
having to revert to Mona’s plan again.”
I straighten
at this. “Mona’s plan?”
Rhoda
pauses, the glass jar in her grip, and a look of regret passes across her
features. “Never mind that,” she says quickly. “Mona won’t be making anymore
decisions for the Village.”
A sick
feeling rises even as she turns away to deposit the jar with a clatter onto a
shelf littered with other jars and pots. She makes light of her comment, hoping
I will forget what she said, but she can’t change that I heard it. I am not an
idiot. Kate was very clear that Ian was from somewhere else as was Meg’s mate.
I don’t
have to question Rhoda further to know her meaning. A shortage of males caused
Mona to look elsewhere. Timidly, I run my fingers across the edge of the table.
“You don’t
think the Council would continue with Mona’s plans to cure the shortage?”
I half
hope her answer is what I want to hear, but she quickly shakes her head.
“The
Council’s plans are to do nothing like Mona.”
I
consider this. So it was only Mona who was brutal and not the entire Council.
Even Tara ’s harsh personality does not compare. But
still, I don’t like how Rhoda’s revelation makes me feel, and my thoughts skip
to Chad . There
is no stopping it; Chad will be assigned to someone else.
It
shouldn’t matter to me what they do with a dog once he’s fulfilled his duty. And
it didn’t matter once. Now, I’m left feeling disgusted at the thought of Chad with someone else.
He
belongs with me.
This
sudden thought skimming through my brain stuns me, and my gorge rises. I choke
it back long enough to whisk through the bamboo leaves. Bending, I vomit in the
dirt.
“Are you
using the syrup?” Rhoda calls through the door.
“Yes,” I
whisper. I close my eyes, my hands on my knees.
This
time, syrup most definitely isn’t going to help me.
*
I don’t
sleep well, and this is rare. Sleeping has never been a problem, unless
sleeping too much is accounted for. But tonight, it is a
I’m
silent for a moment, contemplating how to approach the subject again with less
aggression. This has never been easy for me, but I know Rhoda. I’ve sat under
her teaching since the moment I was released from the nursery and stumbled upon
the wonderful art of medicine. And despite my chosen destiny, Rhoda saw my
skill for what it is. She has never turned me away, and she has never failed to
answer a single one of my questions.
“I was at
the nursery this morning.” She takes up the pestle again. I focus on her lips.
“Checking over the upcoming stock. We have a shortage of males this season.
Again.”
I crease
my brow. “So we have more breeders than we do stock. Is this what you’re
saying?”
“This is
what I’m saying.” She lifts the mortar and pours its powdery contents into a small,
glass jar.
“How did this
happen?” I ask.
“Not
enough male births,” she says matter-of-factly. “And to make matters worse, too
many disposals over the past few years in my opinion.” Her voice carries a note
of disapproval. “We simply have to double up the assignments in some cases. Now
that we know your mate is productive, we can do the same with him.”
I’m numb,
and my hand involuntarily slides up to rest over my belly. Rhoda, who never
misses a thing with her keen physician’s eyes notices. She nods.
“So let’s
hope, for once, that child you carry is a viable boy.” She winks. “I’d hate
having to revert to Mona’s plan again.”
I straighten
at this. “Mona’s plan?”
Rhoda
pauses, the glass jar in her grip, and a look of regret passes across her
features. “Never mind that,” she says quickly. “Mona won’t be making anymore
decisions for the Village.”
A sick
feeling rises even as she turns away to deposit the jar with a clatter onto a
shelf littered with other jars and pots. She makes light of her comment, hoping
I will forget what she said, but she can’t change that I heard it. I am not an
idiot. Kate was very clear that Ian was from somewhere else as was Meg’s mate.
I don’t
have to question Rhoda further to know her meaning. A shortage of males caused
Mona to look elsewhere. Timidly, I run my fingers across the edge of the table.
“You don’t
think the Council would continue with Mona’s plans to cure the shortage?”
I half
hope her answer is what I want to hear, but she quickly shakes her head.
“The
Council’s plans are to do nothing like Mona.”
I
consider this. So it was only Mona who was brutal and not the entire Council.
Even Tara ’s harsh personality does not compare. But
still, I don’t like how Rhoda’s revelation makes me feel, and my thoughts skip
to Chad . There
is no stopping it; Chad will be assigned to someone else.
It
shouldn’t matter to me what they do with a dog once he’s fulfilled his duty. And
it didn’t matter once. Now, I’m left feeling disgusted at the thought of Chad with someone else.
He
belongs with me.
This
sudden thought skimming through my brain stuns me, and my gorge rises. I choke
it back long enough to whisk through the bamboo leaves. Bending, I vomit in the
dirt.
“Are you
using the syrup?” Rhoda calls through the door.
“Yes,” I
whisper. I close my eyes, my hands on my knees.
This
time, syrup most definitely isn’t going to help me.
*
I don’t
sleep well, and this is rare. Sleeping has never been a problem, unless
sleeping too much is accounted for. But tonight, it is a
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