The Burden of her Birthright

Hatima sat in a wooden rocking chair under the make-shift window at the farthest corner of her room. The hole she carved in her dirt wall allowed small beams of moonlight to stream in and streak across her floor. She wanted to remember every detail of this moment— the rustling of the leaves as they twisted and turned in the gentle, autumn breeze, the roar of the evening fires, the concert the crickets were playing just for her—as this could possibly be her last night in the village. Hatima closed her eyes, focusing desperately on the sounds that surrounded her, allowing her racing mind to slow just long enough for her to fall asleep.

That next evening, Hatima walked nervously through the village, avoiding eye contact with every brother, sister, and elder she passed. Even though she knew it was not true, Hatima felt like everyone was staring at her, judging her, condemning her to death. When Hatima got to where she was going, she was unable to make another move. All she could manage was to breathe scattered, shallow, ragged breaths. Hatima closed her eyes, whispered a prayer to her ancestors, and knocked once on the Sanctum’s door. The door swung open with a force Hatima was not expecting, startling her, and causing her to take a step back.

“Hatima.”

She knelt down before the open doorway and extended her arms towards Urithi.

“Good evening, High Priestess. Blessings to your ancestors. Humility for your wisdom. Gratitude for your kindness. I come before you with total and complete sincerity.”

“Greetings, my child. I have been expecting you.”

“You have?”

“Yes. Now, come with me.”

Urithi gestured for Hatima to come in and for the first time in her young life, Hatima entered the Sanctum. Stepping onto the wooden floor came as a sort of shock. Even though Hatima had been working at the Hall of Divinity for the past five months, she did not think she would ever get used to walking on anything but dirt. She followed Urithi down the hallway, where the sturdy walls were adorned with art and elaborate decorations. There were portraits of 20 women framed with gold trim: the 20 High Priestesses who had come before Urithi. As they continued, Hatima could not help but count the rooms they walked by. Seven. And most of which were twice as large as her two-room hut. Hatima was overwhelmed, and a little bit jealous, of the grandeur of it all.

When they got to what appeared to be the end of the hallway, Urithi pushed on the left side of the wall. The wall gave way to a small landing followed by a set of stairs. The women descended the stairs in silence. Hatima’s eyes widened once she realized where they were. They were on the bottom floor of the Hall of Divinity: the surgery center. She had been in this room once before. It was exactly five months ago. Her eighteenth birthday.

“Hatima. I know you have come to me to confess one of the Great Six sins you have committed.”

Hatima held her stomach, as if protecting someone, bracing herself for what she knew was coming next.

“You are five months pregnant.”

Hatima burst into tears. How does she know? I did not even know until it kicked for the first time a few days ago. I am just starting to show. How could she possibly know?

“High Priestess, I know I am a Knowledge Bearer and that my duty is first, foremost, and always to fulfilling the duties of my role, and to protect and sustain our village. I know that my role, as ordained by the ancestors through you, is to pass down the history, values and traditions of our people to the next Minister of History. I know that procreation is reserved only for those ordained to be Child Bearers and that any Knowledge Bearer or Land Keeper that is found to be with child is sentenced to death by stoning. I beg you,”

“Hatima, I am not sentencing you to death,” Urithi interrupted, “your pregnancy was ordained by me and orchestrated by the members of the Divine Council.”

Hatima stumbled backwards, running into a floor-to-ceiling tall metal cabinet. She had a million and one questions she wanted to ask, but all she could manage to utter was a nearly inaudible “how?”

“On the night of your ordination, we brought you here, to the surgery center, for what you had expected to be your microchipping. But, unlike other Knowledge Bearers, you are marked with a higher purpose: a dual purpose.”

Hatima’s blank stare begged Urithi to continue. Urithi rolled up her sleeve to expose her right forearm. The symbol Hatima saw was one that she had only seen in one other place before, but one she was incredibly familiar with. There were three, dark overlapping circles with an arrow piercing through the center of the identical shapes. Above and below the arrow was some type of script that Hatima did not understand: it was in a language she had never seen. Hatima reached under the collar of her turtle-neck sweatshirt and pulled out a heart-shaped locket which was engraved with the same, exact symbol.

“To become you must be. This is the saying of the High Priestesses. And these, your locket and my tattoo, are the marks of the chosen.”

“The chosen?”

“You were marked to be the next High Priestess long before you were even conceived. Before the end of the first world, there was a selection of survivors. For months leading up to the end times, there were a series of tests and challenges that people from all over the world participated in to have a chance to be spared from inevitable death. These survivors were made up of people from all different counties. They were from different religions, spoke different languages, and had vastly different lifestyles from each other. But, these people were those deemed as most likely to survive in, to recreate and repopulate a new world. They were sent underground to wait out the erasure of the human race with the goal of eventually resurfacing to forge a new society. These people made up the original Divine Council. But, as you can imagine, chaos quickly ensued. They realized they needed one person to unite the masses; to create some type of common way of life. That person was Harper Johnson. She was the first High Priestess. And all the High Priestesses who have come after her have come from her bloodline. To create an effective and efficient society, people were empowered to use their natural gifts to support and sustain the society. The genetically superior and fertile people became Child Bearers, the intelligent and wise became Knowledge Bearers, and the physically strong people who exhibited high levels of ingenuity and cleverness became Land Keepers. With this, laws came into effect to ensure that people devoted themselves to fulfilling the needs of the society over their own. It is what has guaranteed our survival for all these years.”

“So, I am in line to be High Priestess?”

“Yes, and now that you are showing, you will come live with me in the Sanctum. This way we will be able to closely monitor this baby’s growth, at least until they are deemed to be a suitable heir, and you can begin learning the duties of your new role.”

“Suitable heir?”

“On your ordination night, you were inseminated with a specimen that should complement your genetic makeup in a way to produce the most desirable heir. For an heir to assume this role, they must have unambiguous female genitalia and reproductive organs, be without any physical deformities or cognitive or developmental disabilities, and most importantly, they must be free from any infertility issues or diseases. This is one of the reasons our society submits to routine, rigorous medical examinations. At any point, if a potential heir fails to meet any of these requirements, their soul must be returned to our ancestors.”

“And by ‘returned to our ancestors’ you mean they must die?”

“They sacrifice themselves so we may find the next High Priestess.”

“And once a suitable heir is born, will they be raised by the Child Bearers?”

“Yes. They will live among and like the other villagers until they come of age. They must know the people they are going to lead if they are going to lead them well.”

Hatima’s head was spinning. She wanted to know more, but could not form a single, coherent thought. It was taking all of her strength to simply stand there.

“Let us head back so I can show you where you will be staying. We will begin your studies at first light.”

Urithi began her ascent up the stairway with Hatima following closely behind. Once in the hallway, they turned right into an open room. The room’s walls were painted a sort of blueish-green. In the center of the room were two grey couches set on either side of a small, wooden coffee table. Across from the entryway were two doors. The door on the right led to a bathroom and the door on the left led to a bedroom. On one side of the bedroom there was a large mattress covered by a thick blanket and a handful of pillows. On the other side of the room was a dresser, complete with ten outfits, six more than Hatima had now, that were just for her.

Hatima had never seen anything quite like this. Before today, she had always slept on dirt floors, used burlap sacks as blankets, and called the bucket in the corner of her hut her bathroom. She never imagined living like this, within walls, in comfort. Hatima stood in the center of what Urithi called the sitting room, taking it all in. Urithi headed back into the hallway. Once there, she turned to face Hatima; her heir, the future High Priestess.

“My daughter, if I can give you any piece of advice, do not name that child until you know it is the next High Priestess. You do not want to get attached to someone who belongs to our ancestors.”

Hatima watched Urithi, her mother, disappear from sight. She had never once fantasized about who the woman who brought her into this world could be or what she would be like. But never could she have imagined it being the High Priestess.

Hatima knew why her village did not honor bloodlines. It would complicate your loyalty and make you choose between prioritizing your biological family or your village. Not knowing your biology takes this choice away. It leaves you with one family to devote your entire self to. The village.

But, Hatima did not know if she could have this kind of relationship, or rather no relationship at all, with this child she was carrying. This person was a part of her. How could she live her life like they do not even exist? And what if it was not a suitable heir? How could she go on to live her life, to become High Priestess, if that meant ending this child’s before it even began? If this is what it took to be High Priestess, Hatima was not sure she wanted it.

She sat down on the couch, undid the clasp of her locket, and took it from around her neck. She tossed it aside and watched as it fell to the ground. She placed her hands on both sides of her stomach and did not have to wait too long to feel her baby’s kick. Hatima let herself feel everything—joy, fear, worry, excitement—but mostly, love. She lowered her face as close to her stomach as possible and whispered the first of many secrets to come.

“My duty is first, foremost, and always to you. I will call you Kimoja Tu. My only one.”