Cunabala & Patria Ch1 part 2

  My mother told me she had not and has never to this day felt such rage as the moment she realized I was not the daughter she expected. She felt abhorrent and could not understand how such filth had come from her womb. Had she not honored the Goddess in every way? She prayed daily. Gave sufficient sacrifice of her evening meals. Did she not give her moon's blood back to the earth with each passing month? What could she have done to offend the Goddess? Was it a curse or  a trick of the moonlight? Had she lost so much blood that her mind was casting illusions? Had the Goddess abandoned her?



        It was well into the night before her eyes cleared of liquid shame she was finally able to look at me. I was small, my lungs were hoarse from wailing, and my life cord had not been cut. I was everything I was not supposed to be but in my mother's eyes, against everything she was taught, I was beautiful. My birth was unfortunate but i was here and nothing could or would ever change that.

    She new from the first pang of labor that i was blessed by the Goddess even if she thought I was born with the wrong parts between my legs. Why had she allowed herself to deny the truth and waste the first precious moments of my life with contempt? The Goddess has her plans and they must be special indeed if they involved a boy.

    I was born under the harvest moon with the mark of the Goddess on my left thigh. I was blessed and destined for greatness.  Even if I had not been born  with the mark I was her baby; the fruit of her womb.

    It was settled in her mind and spirit that I was loved despite my sex.  In three days time we would return to the village customs and superstitions be dammed. That was the plan. I was going to live and that was  a fact.

                                                                                                         

      { Why is a son such a bad such a bad thing? For those of you who hail from the neighboring country of Patria, far to the east,  the birth of a son would be a magnanimous event celebrated with good friends and good drink. Family and neighbors come and shower the family with gifts of food and coin. Parents are never more proud than when a son is born and even gain status in the community.

        A son is raised with a firm hand and a soft heart and given  the best of his family's resources, energy, and love with the hope that he will grow to be the jewel of the family. They are given the freedom  in their country to make every attempt to rise above their station at birth and honor their family with success and praise. In a Patria, all hope for the family's future rests with the son.There is a saying in Patria that says "when you raise a son you raise your family above the heavens."}



        In the far west of Cunabala, where the the women live modest lives as hunters and farmers, sons are ... an issue.  It is most commonly believed in Cunabala in all but the most secular areas that men's sexual appetites must be monitored so  that they do not recklessly try to spread their seed.  They are driven by their desire to breed and need constant work to tire their bodies so that they lack they energy for sex. This means that many boys and men are worked tirelessly in an effort to curb their desires and it is not uncommon to hear of men die from exhaustion.  At best they are a  necessary burden to for the survival of the species. In the country-side most are raised as little more the chattel for breeding and a lucky few are even loved.They are usually kept domestic and once they hit puberty  they are all but confined to the boundaries of their dwelling.

     

      At worst,the very worst in fact,  boys are considered demons responsible for all the ills that could befall  a community. Contact with a man is only for procreation. Any boy child is to be killed at birth, their remains burned, ashes buried, and the mother pitied. My mother's community believed this: until the moment of my birth so did she .

      Despite the bias created by her upbringing my mother had learned in her travels that there was good in men. They were not the harbingers of doom that she had been taught. Most were kind somewhere not, but those are human traits not just the traits of men. She even met a few who were good fathers to their children. Good men were raised by good women.  Her son would be a good man.}