Page 37 of Taken to Heimo
Can I do the same for him?
My dad’s arms fold around me and I breathe in the scent of the nightshade on his shirt and the slightly burned scent wafting from my mom’s clothing — likely from her making a mess in the kitchen again — and I exhale deeply and we just stand like this in the entryway of our little adobe home while words rise up in my throat, choking me because I need to say them but I don’t want to say them. I really don’t.
“How about some chay?” My dad says.
My mom nods and I slowly extract myself from her grip. My nose is a little runny and my eyes are all foggy when I make my way into the sitting area. I take one of the low seats and fold my knees carefully beneath me.
“I…”I don’t want to ask them what I’m here to ask. Perhaps, it’s better not to know.“I’m sorry that you weren’t part of the birthing procedure. Lemoria was overly concerned for this first birth and wanted to have her own staff. For the subsequent births that take place here, including Jaxal and Lisbel’s, she’d like for you to be included. She asked me to apologize to you profusely. She knows you’re skilled medics.”
“It is no concern of ours, so long as the child was born and both child and mother are now healthy and safe,” my father says, taking a sip of his tea and munching on a corner of cane-and-root bread. He glances at my hair again, then looks away while his pale cheeks turn ruddy. I got it from him, and am sure mine appear exactly as his do.
“We do not take any offense to being asked to step aside. The Tri-God does not tolerate such pride.”
I nod and take a steeling sip of my nightshade tea, but right now I can’t taste its floral spice. My tongue is swollen in my mouth, unwilling to get the words out.
And then I say, “After the birth, Lemoria expressed surprise that Miari was able to pass the child so easily through her birthing channel.”
The change is almost imperceptible. My dad tenses. My mom’s gaze flits down. But I still see it and Iknowand I’m horrified.
“Here I was, terrified to confess my own sins to you when yours outweigh mine a thousand times. Lemoria said that it was not possible for so many females to have died if they were passing hybrids just like Miari did. Andyouwere the only medics there. Youboth.”
I look between them, watch them watch me with terror in their faces and a shame even greater than mine.
“Svera,” my mother says, then nothing.
No one speaks. No one dares. The world is so silent, I can sense a storm coming, but it’s only inside of my chest and when I speak again, it makes itself known. “I need to know that they weren’tsoldto a Voraxian traitor.Tell me.”
“Svera,” my father starts, but he chokes on his tea and a wracking cough makes it impossible for him to speak.
My mom gives him a gentle pat. She gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “She is the advisor now. The truth cannot hurt her.”
“I need to know,” I say and I’m shaking. “I’m responsible now for what happens to the hybrids. I’m the link between the two worlds. I can’t be left in the dark. Not anymore. I know that Mathilda has been hiding so much from us — knowledge of the other humans, her treaty with Bo’Raku. I know that she was engaged in illegal trades with him. Did she make one? Did she sell a hybrid? And what happened to the mothers?”
“How…how do you know all this?” My father’s lips quiver.
Hesitating, but only for a breath, I reach into my pocket and pull out the piece of scrap paper with my scribbled translation. As their gazes read down the list of demands I wrote in Human —the exchange— my father’s already pale face grows dangerously ashen, and my mother’s grip tightens around her cross.
My parents are quiet for a long, long time. They both stare at the note, reading it over and over. Finally, my father breaks. “We were told by Mathilda that we were needed to deliver the hybrid kits born after the first Hunt. When we arrived…” He shakes his head.
My mom closes her eyes. “When we arrived, Mathilda had already delivered one of the other kits herself. The woman was dead and the kit was near death. But neither cause was natural. Mathilda was covered in blood and scratches. The woman, Tressmay, had a knife sticking out of her chest. The baby was strangled and scratched, but still alive. We managed to save it, your father and I, but it was clear what had happened.
“Somehow, Tressmay figured out that Mathilda intended to take away her child. She fought back. Mathilda couldn’t deliver the babies and contain the mothers, so she had us deliver the children. The women she…she killed them herself. To avoid such a result in the future, your father and I aborted the babies produced in subsequent Hunts because we feared the females would not survive.”
“In this we did not lie,” my father concludes, “But what weomittedwas that their survival had nothing at all to do with the human female physiology. They are able to pass hybrid babies just fine. What we feared was their death by another means.”
“And the kits were sold?” I’m shocked by the sound of my own voice. I sound like a killer. Like Krisxox right before he goes into battle. When he is most magnificent and most calm.
“We don’t know. We must assume they were,” my mother says.
“And Miari and Darro?”
My father and mother exchange a glance. My father reaches up and touches the faded blue edge of his yarmulke. “We have thought of this at length over the rotations. Your mother and I think that they were rejected, as offerings. Miari was born underweight and smaller than the others and Darro was the son of Tressmay. He was injured and recovering for several solars.”
I nod and suddenly I’m standing, looking down at my parents. My voice is shaking with a silent rage and I try to remember what my father told me mere moments before.
“We will get through this together,” I say. “But I need you to confess your crimes to the Va’Rakukanna. Kiki will forgive you even if the Tri-God may not. I…I doubt he will forgive me, either. I gave my body to the Voraxian male looking after me. He saved my life and I…lost myself. We are not married and have no intention to be.”
My parents’ faces are too wreathed in sadness, bitterness, and grief for them to truly hear me now. My mother just nods. “We still love you, Sheifala. The human is fallible in even its purest form.”
