Breeder: An Arrow's Flight Novel Read online

  Copyright ©2014 by Casey Hays

  Cover Art: Zach Hays

  Lead Editor: Spring Lea Henry

  Editor: Anna Faulk

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Breeder: An Arrow's Flight Novel / by Casey Hays.

  Whispering Pages, LLC

  Author's Note

  Although this novel carries a strong message of one sinner’s life on her journey to salvation, the setting, time period, and characters are a work of fiction and serve as an allegory. Please consult the Holy Bible for a true picture of God’s salvation plan.

  Editor’s Note About the Cover Art

  The Grumpy Dragon is pleased to continue supporting teen authors and artists with the cover art for this book. Zach Hays, age 15 at the time he worked on this, and son of the author, designed and drew both the cover image and the title font for Breeder. We wish him well as he continues to develop his craft!

  ~~Spring Lea Henry, December 2013, Colorado Springs, Colorado

  (The above note appeared in the first edition of this book and has been included here with the permission and best wishes of the previous publisher, The Grumpy Dragon.

  Table of Contents

  Breeder by Casey Hays

  Author's Note

  Editor’s Note About the Cover Art

  Isaiah 25

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Archer Preview

  Isaiah 25

  O Lord, you are my God;

  I will exalt you and praise your name,

  for in perfect faithfulness

  you have done wonderful things,

  things planned long ago.

  2 You have made the city a heap of rubble,

  the fortified town a ruin,

  the foreigners’ stronghold a city no more;

  it will never be rebuilt.

  3 Therefore strong peoples will honor you;

  cities of ruthless nations will revere you.

  4 You have been a refuge for the poor,

  a refuge for the needy in their distress,

  a shelter from the storm

  and a shade from the heat.

  For the breath of the ruthless

  is like a storm driving against a wall

  5 and like the heat of the desert.

  You silence the uproar of foreigners;

  as heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud,

  so the song of the ruthless is stilled.

  6 On this mountain the Lord Almighty will prepare

  a feast of rich food for all peoples,

  a banquet of aged wine—

  the best of meats and the finest of wines.

  7 On this mountain he will destroy

  the shroud that enfolds all peoples,

  the sheet that covers all nations;

  8 he will swallow up death forever.

  The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears

  from all faces;

  he will remove his people’s disgrace

  from all the earth.

  The Lord has spoken.

  9 In that day they will say,

  “Surely this is our God;

  we trusted in him, and he saved us.

  This is the Lord, we trusted in him;

  let us rejoice and be glad in his salvation.”

  10 The hand of the Lord will rest on this mountain;

  but Moab will be trampled in their land

  as straw is trampled down in the manure.

  11 They will stretch out their hands in it,

  as swimmers stretch out their hands to swim.

  God will bring down their pride

  despite the cleverness of their hands.

  12 He will bring down your high fortified walls

  and lay them low;

  he will bring them down to the ground,

  to the very dust.

  Isaiah 25

  Chapter 1

  “They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshipped and served created things rather than the Creator . . .” Romans 1:25

  The bamboo leaves hanging in the doorway of the hogan rustle softly in the breeze, singing a new song. And as it does every morning, the sunlight dances across the floor, casting its long, warm rays in every direction as if it longs to embrace all within its reach and fill them with the joy of a new day. But this day, the dawn has come too quickly, and for the first time a hint of fear mingles within the sharp rays of sun, and they shrink back and hover in the shadows, watching and waiting.

  I lay unmoving upon my mat, as I have for hours now. Sleep never came, and part of me thinks it never will again. I haven’t moved a single muscle, not all night, and now my body is frozen into some painfully aching state of twisted and stiffened bone and cartilage, unrecognizable even to myself.

  Last night, I watched the moon rise through the window of my hogan. Watched it move inch by inch across the small hole until it vanished from sight and the first light began to creep in on me. For the past month, I’ve found myself waking earlier and earlier every morning, until I’m sleeping only three or four hours at most. Because sleeping, I’ve come to realize, wastes too much time. Too much of the precious time I have left. But it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters. This day—the one I have feared all my life—has come anyway.

  Squinting in the brightness that beats in on me like a stoning, I moan and roll over to face the wall. My body painfully resists this action, and I gasp as parts I didn’t even know existed crack and pop. But my heart, which is protected deep within, hurts the most. I am not ready for this day. I cannot bear what awaits me.

  Today is the celebration of my birthday. My sixteenth birthday. And everything about my life, everything I’ve come to cherish and trust is going to be ripped out and thrown like raw meat to the dogs.

  I fear I’ve exhausted every avenue of stopping it.

  With a sigh, I cover my face with my hands and will myself not to cry. I will not let them get the best of me. This day has come, as it has for every other girl in the Village. I’ve always known it would. And so I must face it like a woman.

  A woman. Today, I will become one in every sense of the word, and with that title will come a whole new level of responsibility. A woman. I shiver and pull my blankets over my head.

  “Kate?”

  Mia’s voice resounds off the mud walls as she pokes her head between the bamboo leaves. I know she only sees a lump of blankets in the far corner, but I groan anyway and pull them more tightly around me, a self-made coc
oon. If only I were turning into a butterfly today instead of a woman. How much easier the transition would be.

  But Mia, flitting around my hovel full of joy is definitely not what I need today.

  “Wake up, Sunshine! Today’s your big day. You don’t want to sleep it away, now do you?”

  The leaves rustle loudly as she steps in. I peek out at her, see her bending her tall frame slightly to avoid hitting her head on the low ceiling.

  “Kate!”

  She kicks at the mat. I don’t move.

  “I know you’re awake.”

  She plops onto the end of the mat and shakes my leg roughly. I pull away, curling into a tighter ball beneath my blankets. Why is she here? She knows how I feel about this day. For once I wish she would honor my desires and let me mourn the death of my childhood in peace. It’s the least a best friend could do.

  “Go away!” My voice is muffled, but I know she hears me. “I’m not getting up today. Come back tomorrow—if I survive.”

  “If you survive? Don’t be morbid, Kate.” I can almost feel her roll her eyes.

  I made up my mind as I lay here wide awake all night. Today, I will celebrate my birthday by staying tucked away, out of sight. And maybe, if the Archer wills it, Mona will forget about me. Maybe she’ll forget that I’ve turned sixteen at all. And my life will continue as usual.

  It’s a long shot, but I have to hope in something, or I’ll go mad.

  “You know you can’t avoid this.” Mia pushes on my leg again, disapproval in her voice. “The celebration is prepared. You will be expected to attend your own party. I have a feeling people will notice if you aren’t there.”

  I fling the blankets hard and sit up. “Mia. Go. Away. I want to be alone.”

  I glare at my friend with hard eyes. She leans back, her dark eyes faltering for a minute, and I know I’ve struck a chord with her. It wrenches my heart, because Mia means more to me than anyone in the Village, but I hold my gaze firm. Today, I have to protect myself.

  Finally, Mia drops her eyes.

  “Fine.” She sighs, stands, and moves toward the door, looping a strand of her jet black hair behind her ear as she goes. Her gaze settles on me one final time. “But if you don’t come out soon, they will come for you. They haven’t forgotten. You might as well play along, Kate.”

  Mia turns and swoops out. I scowl and fall back onto my mat. My heart thuds rapidly against my chest, and I count the rhythmic beats pounding inside my head, breathing heavily, trying to control my emotions. But the tears I’ve been fighting to quench spring into my eyes anyway. I brush at them fiercely and force myself to my feet. Mia is right. They will come for me. And when they do, I’ll be ready.

  I wash in a corner basin and fasten my dark hair into a tight braid hanging long down my back. I pull on a clean, brown, rawhide skirt from my basket and tie the strings of my top around my neck and mid-back. I slip into my sandals, weaving the cloth laces across the top of my foot and tying them at my ankle. And I sit on the mat to wait.

  I will not give them the satisfaction of me being a willing participant. Not today. They will have to drag me from my hogan kicking and screaming, and I’ll make sure the entire village hears it.

  Someone has to change things. I just wish I didn’t have to be me.

  I glance around at my hogan, sighing deeply. My thin mat, as always, is shoved into a rounded corner, but it pokes far enough out into the center of the room to take up much of my space. The stone washbasin on a wooden stand near the window and my meager basket of clothes are the only other luxuries I have. But they are mine alone to cherish.

  Mona had given me this place on my thirteenth birthday—ages ago, it seems now. I was young and innocent, fresh from the nannies. My first step toward independence, Mona said when she presented it to me, and I was in awe, wide-eyed and giddy with the idea of privacy for the first time in my life.

  Before, I lived in the community nursery with all the other girls, sharing everything from beds to meals. It was wonderful in some ways, the only life I knew, carefree and wistful. But my hogan gave me a taste of freedom outside the nursery walls, and for three short years it has been so. And despite the fact that it’s no more than a small, roughly-made clay mound of a shack with a straw roof, it’s mine.

  It’s home.

  Tonight, when I return, I won’t be the same person. Will I? How will my home feel then? How will I feel? I shudder and push these thoughts from my mind. To not think at all is best.

  >--->

  The sun rises higher in the morning sky, and no one comes. My stomach begins to rumble with hunger at the smell of hot, buttery porridge boiling over the fire pit outside and wafting through my window, but I fight the urge to step out and help myself. I will not pretend it is a normal day full of normal activities. It would look too much like acceptance. No. I’ll starve first.

  Fortunately, I don’t have to. As I sit watching the bamboo leaves sway in the doorway, trying hard to forget the pains in my belly, I see a small, delicate hand appear, push the leaves aside, and extend a clay bowl of steaming porridge. I smile.

  Diana.

  I’ve always been able to count on Diana.

  “Happy birthday.”

  Diana’s warm smile fills the hogan and chases away the last of the shadows that have begun to cast themselves over my spirit.

  “I thought you might be hungry.” She places the bowl into my hands. It is solid and warm—the first touch of normalcy I’ve felt all day.

  “Thanks.” I scoop the first bite into my mouth greedily, savoring the sweetness. Molasses drips down my chin, and I wipe at it with the back of my hand. My last meal in freedom.

  My stomach turns to stone. I lower the bowl and swallow, letting both the porridge and that realization sit like a decaying lump.

  “So you’re planning to stay in here all day? Is that it?”

  Diana sits down awkwardly on the mat next to me. She’s eighteen and very pregnant. I glance at the large bump of her belly and look away quickly. A stark reminder of what lies ahead for me.

  “Let me guess: This is one birthday you have not looked forward to, right?”

  Does anyone?

  My eyes find hers. They are crystal blue and full of knowing. Wisdom and experience that I can’t even imagine swim around in calm circles behind her eyes. How does she do it? Better yet, how does she cope every day with the reality of what she has to do?

  Diana smiles. “I can relate so well. I dreaded this day as much as you. But once you get past . . . the first time, it’s . . . not so bad. You learn to adjust to it. It’s just a part of our lives we have to accept.”

  I say nothing and continue to eat. I know what she’s doing—justifying it in order to make me feel better. To put my mind at ease. She can save her breath. I don’t care to be part of this way of life. I have no desire to adjust to anything.

  I want a choice.

  “Listen, Kate.” She gingerly rubs a warm hand across my arm. “You’re at a privileged age. You get to be a part of recreating this world for the better. It’s a very exciting thing when you look at it that way. We live in peace now. Never again will there be a threat of war.”

  I stare at her. Diana has accepted the lie. She is so pretty with her long, blonde curls cascading over one shoulder. A dimple pierces her left cheek. And in those eyes, I see what I have always seen: honesty and truth. She believes what she’s telling me now. But I don’t believe it. None of it. Because I, unlike the others in the Village, have one thing they lack: I’ve learned how to read, and not just the words taught us in our lessons. No, I’ve been fed more, a rare luxury in the Village. It has given me a knowledge that Diana doesn’t possess. To assess all things a little bit differently.

  Poor Diana. I assess her now. She doesn’t know any better. I can’t fault her. But I don’t have to resign to the directives of the Village, either.

  I think this with a shudder because what I’m surmising has never been done as far as I can recall.
>
  Diana sighs and scans the room. I watch her carefully without seeming to. I wonder what she’s thinking. Had she felt differently when she’d returned to her own hogan after that first time? Had she seen her life through different eyes? Changed eyes?

  Slowly, I reach out and squeeze her hand.

  “How long?” I ask. “Before . . . ?”

  I indicate Diana’s stomach with a nod of my head.

  Diana places her free hand on her bulging belly. “Soon. Next week maybe.”

  I nod. “Will it hurt?”

  She shrugs and smiles weakly. “No more than last time.”

  I remember last time all too well. Diana’s pains lasted nearly two whole days before she delivered a healthy baby boy with thick, blond curls and bright, blue eyes. The Council decided after a short conference that her baby must not live. We still, to this day, don’t know why. Maybe they saw some sort of a threat in those blue eyes and sensed he was going to be a force to be reckoned with. No one can really pinpoint why the Council does what they do. At any rate, he was ripped from Diana’s clutching arms and carried away to be disposed of. She cried for three days afterwards, refusing to eat or drink anything, wanting to die herself.

  When her month of mourning ended, she was ordered back to the Pit to try again.

  I squeeze her hand reassuringly. “It will be a girl this time. I’m sure of it.”

  Diana nods, but she doesn’t look at me. I know she doesn’t want me to see her tears, and I can tell she’s not completely “adjusted” to everything after all.

  "We can hope,” she whispers.

  I finish my porridge. Diana sits beside me in silence.

  So this is the life that awaits me. A life that will be spent hoping the “powers that be” will bless me with the right gender. Or, if they do not, that the boy will be allowed to live. Not that he’d have much of a life. Death might be a far better fate for the baby boys born into the Village.

  This life is not what I want. It never has been, although I was raised to believe in it. I was taught from a very young age the privileged duty I’ve been handed. But in my heart, I can sense that no one wants this honor because there is no true honor in it. It’s merely a monotonous catastrophe that enslaves us all. The others? They just don’t know it. Everyone born and raised here has been conditioned to believe this is life—to perform a duty without question. The Council makes the rules, and everyone else follows them. But I know. I’ve seen in the old books the way life can be. There are other ways to live that don’t include a Pit, or guards, or people being forced to do what they don’t want to do.