Prized (Birthmarked Trilogy Series #2)

Prized (Birthmarked Trilogy Series #2)

4.4 87
by Caragh M. O'Brien
     
 

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Striking out into the wasteland with nothing but her baby sister, a handful of supplies, and a rumor to guide her, sixteen-year-old midwife Gaia Stone survives only to be captured by the people of Sylum, a dystopian society where women rule the men who drastically outnumber them, and a kiss is a crime. In order to see her sister again, Gaia must submit to their

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Overview

Striking out into the wasteland with nothing but her baby sister, a handful of supplies, and a rumor to guide her, sixteen-year-old midwife Gaia Stone survives only to be captured by the people of Sylum, a dystopian society where women rule the men who drastically outnumber them, and a kiss is a crime. In order to see her sister again, Gaia must submit to their strict social code, but how can she deny her sense of justice, her curiosity, and everything in her heart that makes her whole?

Editorial Reviews

School Library Journal
Gr 9 Up—O'Brien's follow-up to Birthmarked (Roaring Brook, 2010) begins with Gaia Stone at a lonely oasis in the wasteland, far from the Enclave she escaped. She and her infant sister, Maya, are rescued by Peter, a young man from a settlement called Sylum, which, in its own way, is as strange and harsh a place as the Enclave. Women are only one tenth of the population but they rule over the men, many of whom are sterile. Any physical contact between an unmarried man and a woman is considered attempted rape, and the man can be confined to the stocks, imprisoned, or exiled. The last means death, because everyone who leaves Sylum for more than a few days becomes fatally ill. Gaia is immediately considered to be guilty of placing her sister in harm's way and Maya is taken from her. As a woman and the community's only midwife, though, she is also highly valued. To complicate matters further, Leon has followed her from the Enclave. Gaia must sort through her feelings for him as well as those for Peter and his sensitive brother, Will. Cryptic messages left by her grandmother give both a warning and a glimmer of hope. In all, O'Brien has done a marvelous job of building a society with intricate human and environmental elements. Gaia is a very human heroine, often uncertain of her course but always determined to do right as best she can. Although this is undeniably a dystopia, it is filled with romance and beauty, but familiarity with the first book is crucial to understanding this one.—Eric Norton, McMillan Memorial Library, Wisconsin Rapids, WI
VOYA - Angelica Delgado
At the close of Birthmarked (Roaring Brook, 2010/VOYA April 2010), orphaned teen midwife Gaia Stone struck out for the Dead Forest with nothing but the clothes on her back and her newborn sister, Maya. When a lone desert rider finds the weak Gaia and the starving infant, Gaia agrees to accompany him to his village, Sylum. Instead of a refuge, Gaia finds a matrilineal, pronatalist society ruled by a cunning female dictator. The strong-willed women clash immediately, and Gaia becomes a captive in a very different kind of prison, risking her self-respect and jeopardizing baby Maya. Readers who are new to the Birthmarked series may have difficulty catching up with events from the first novel. The author throws in tiny hints of Gaia and Leon's backstory but devotes most of the text to constructing the etiquette and governance of dystopian Sylum, as well as revisiting themes (reproductive freedom) from book one. Plenty of action and illicit romance help the plot move along quickly. Matrarc, Gaia's adversary, is the most fun and unexpectedly sinister pregnant character since Roald Dahl gave us Lamb to the Slaughter. There is plenty of material to spark anyone's interest in further reading on bioethics, genetics, and even animal behavior, specifically female mate selection. Reminiscent of James's Children of Men (Knopf, 1993) and Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale (McClelland, 1985/VOYA December 1986), this series practically begs to be a book club selection. Reviewer: Angelica Delgado
Children's Literature - Amy McMillan
Picking up almost immediately where the first volume left off, Gaia and her baby sister are on the verge of death in the wastelands when they are rescued by a strange man and taken to Sylum, a society run exclusively by women. Genetic mutations throughout the years have caused there to be a lack of female births, the men outnumbering the women nine to one, yet because women can give birth they are held in higher esteem. Only men with viable sperm are allowed to marry and have a small say in the governing and decision making. There is also an acclimation sickness that overcomes all newcomers and kills anyone who tries to leave helping to bring the society to the brink of extinction. Gaia is as questioning and heroic as ever. When her sister (a valuable girl baby) is taken from her to be raised by someone else and her own freedom stripped when the town realizes she is a midwife and has some medical knowledge, she revolts. As everyone she loves is systematically threatened however, she is temporarily kowtowed but eventually rises to her old defiant self, ready to fight for the freedoms and injustices of others. A love quadrangle amps up the drama of an already interesting story that dystopian lovers will devour. Reviewer: Amy McMillan
Kirkus Reviews
Once again, spunky teen-midwife Gaia takes down a dystopia. After fleeing from the Enclave, Gaia finds the utopia to which her grandmother once fled (Birthmarked, 2010). Like an inverse of the Enclave, Sylum offers equality and fairness in spades, but once Gaia digs deeper she finds it's another dystopia, this time controlled by women (namely the charismatic, blind Matrarc). But something in the air kills anyone who leaves, so Gaia must stay. Immediately she finds herself in the middle of a power struggle, as she questions the status quo, befriends the women who opt out of the "marriage and ten children" regulations that protect the population, argues that men (the majority population) deserve a vote too, performs secret autopsies and unravels the mystery of why those who leave die. Whew! Plus, she juggles a love quadrangle with two brothers from Sylum and Luke, who has fled his powerful father back at the Enclave to follow Gaia across the wasteland. A satisfying repeat of the same heavy themes as the first volume (women's rights over their own bodies; an individual's rights versus the power of the community and government; the way in which the masses are drugged--now literally--into quiescent submission) is here leavened with new settings and more kissing. Faintly feminist soft science fiction for preteens and teens. (Dystopia. 12-16)

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Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781466802698
Publisher:
Roaring Brook Press
Publication date:
11/08/2011
Series:
Birthmarked Trilogy Series , #2
Sold by:
Macmillan
Format:
NOOK Book
Pages:
368
Sales rank:
55,424
File size:
1 MB
Age Range:
12 - 17 Years

Read an Excerpt

Prized

The Second Book in the Birthmarked Trilogy


By Caragh M. O'Brien

Roaring Brook Press

Copyright © 2011 Caragh M. O'Brien
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-0269-8



CHAPTER 1

the wasteland


SHE GRABBED THE HILT of her knife and scrambled backward into the darkness, holding the baby close in her other arm.

Beyond the fire, the wasteland was still, as if the wind and even the stones had frozen in the night to listen, and then she heard it again, a faint chink, like a footfall in pebbles. Someone or something was out there, watching her.

Gaia turned the knife in her palm, resettling her grip, and peered toward where the far edge of the firelight touched the boulders and the gnarled, wind-stunted trees of the gulch. Without dropping her gaze, she felt by hand that the baby was secure in the sling across her chest, her warm, light weight hardly more than a loaf of bread. She'd left the baby bottle on a ledge of rock, out by the fire, and she hoped whoever was watching her wouldn't take that bottle, whatever else they might do.

The chinking noise came again, drawing her gaze to the far side of the fire. Then a head, an enormous, animal head, big as a cow's but long of face, appeared at the edge of the firelight, looking directly at her. A horse? she thought, astounded to see an animal she'd believed was extinct. She checked its back for a rider, but there was none.

Inadvertently, she lowered her knife. In that instant, a powerful hand closed around her wrist and another touched around her throat.

"Drop it."

The voice came softly from behind her right ear. Sweat broke out along her arms and neck, but still she clasped the knife. His grip did not move, did not lessen or increase at all, conveying his confidence that he simply had to wait until she obeyed. So completely, so imperceptibly had he crept up around her that she stood no chance of fighting back. Below her jaw, she could feel her own pulse beating against the firm, pernicious pressure of his thumb.

"Don't hurt me," she said, but even as she spoke, she realized he could have killed her already if that had been his intention. Rapidly, she imagined trying to twist free of him with a kick, but the baby might get hurt. She couldn't risk it.

"Just drop it," came the voice again. "We'll talk."

With a sense of despair, she dropped her knife.

"Do you have any other weapons on you?"

She shook her head.

"No sudden moves," he said, and his hands released her.

She sagged slightly, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through her.

He picked up her knife and took a step toward the glow of the fire. A broad-shouldered, bearded man, he wore clothes and a hat of the same worn, dusty color as the wasteland.

"Step forward where I can see you properly," he said, and held out a hand to invite her forward. "Where's the rest of your group?"

"We're it," she said.

Gaia stepped into the firelight, and now that the burst of fear that had given her strength was receding, she doubted she could stand for long. The campsite, she knew, must reveal how she'd been reduced to the last, pathetic shreds of survival. He picked up the baby bottle. She watched his gaze settle on the sling that crossed her chest and the protective hand she kept there. He jogged up the brim of his hat with his thumb in obvious surprise.

"You have a baby?"

Gaia braced a hand against the tree trunk. "You don't have any baby formula with you, do you?"

"I don't usually carry that. What's in this?" He gave the bottle a little shake, and the translucent liquid caught the golden firelight.

"Rabbit broth. She won't take it anymore. She's too weak."

"A girl, even. Let me see her."

She curved back the edge of the sling for him to see, and as she had done a thousand times since she'd left the Enclave, she checked her sleeping sister to see if she was still breathing. Firelight flickered over the little, pinched face, bathing it in brief color before sending it back to black and white. A delicate vein arched along Maya's right temple, and a breath lifted her little chest.

The man touched a finger to the baby's eyelid, lifted it a moment, then let it go.

He gave a sharp whistle, and the horse came nearer. "Here we go, then, Mlady," he said. Decisively, the outrider lifted Gaia from the ground and up to the saddle. She grabbed the pommel to balance herself and Maya, and swung a leg over. He passed her the bottle and her cloak, then collected her meager things into her pack and slung it over his own shoulder.

"Where are we going?" Gaia asked.

"To Sylum as directly as we can. I hope it's not too late."

Shifting, she tried to arrange some of the fabric of her dress between herself and the saddle. She could feel the dark, cool air touching her legs above the tops of her boots. When the outrider swung up behind her on the horse, she instinctively leaned forward, trying not to crowd against him. His arms encircled her as he reached for the reins, and then he kicked the horse into motion.

"Hey, Spider."

The horse's movements seemed jerky to Gaia at first, but when her hips relaxed into the horse's stride, the ride became smoother. Behind them, the gibbous moon was low on the western horizon, casting a light strong enough to create shadows in their path, and Gaia peered to her right, toward the south, to where the Enclave and all she'd left behind had long ago dropped beneath the dark horizon.

For the first time in days, Gaia realized she might live, and hope was almost painful as it reawakened inside her. Inexplicably, she thought of Leon, and a lightless, lonely feeling surrounded her, as real as the outrider's unfamiliar, protective arms. She'd lost him. Whether he lived or died she would never know, and in a way, the uncertainty rivaled the unhappiness of knowing definitively that her parents were dead.

Her sister could well be next. Gaia reached her hand into the sling, easing her fingers between layers of fabric so that she could feel the baby's warm head in the palm of her hand. She made sure the cloak couldn't smother the little face, and then she let her eyes close. She nodded gently with the rhythm of the horse.

"Maya is dying," she said, finally admitting it to herself.

The man didn't reply at first, and she thought he must not care. But then there was a careful shifting behind her.

"She may die," he confirmed quietly. "Is she suffering now?"

Not anymore, she thought. Maya's crying, before, had been hard to bear. This was a much quieter, more final form of heartbreak.

"No," Gaia said.

She slumped forward, dimly aware that he was helping, with singular tenderness, to support her and the baby both. Why a stranger's kindness should amplify her sadness she didn't know, but it did. Her legs were chilled, but the rest of her was fast becoming warmer. Lulled by despair and the soporific, distance-eating gait, she gave in to whatever relief oblivion could bring, and slept.


It seemed like years passed before Gaia became dimly aware of a change around them. She ached everywhere, and she was still riding, but she was leaning back against the man whose arms were supporting her and the baby securely. The baby's body was warm. Gaia took a deep breath and opened her eyes to search Maya's face. The baby's skin was translucent, almost blue in its pallor, but she still breathed. When sunlight flickered over the little face, Gaia looked up in wonder to see that they were in a forest.

Tiny dust motes floated in shafts of sunlight that dropped through the canopy of leaves and pine needles, and the air had a lush, humid luminosity that changed breathing fundamentally, filling her lungs with something warm and rich each time she inhaled.

"What is it, in the air?" she asked.

"It's just the forest," he said. "You might be smelling the marsh. We don't have much farther to go."

Even when it had rained in Wharfton, the air itself had remained sere between each raindrop, aching to suck away any moisture, but here, when she lifted her hand, she could feel a trace of new elasticity between her fingers.

"You talk in your sleep," the outrider said. "Is Leon your husband?"

The thought of Leon as her husband was too ludicrous and sad to bear, no matter what she might say in her dreams. "No," she said. "I'm not married."

She glanced down, checking to see if the necklace Leon had returned to her was still around her neck. She tugged the chain so her locket watch rested on top of the neckline of her dress and loosened her cloak. As she straightened, the man let her go, using only his right hand to hold the reins. His fingers, she saw, were clean, with stubby fingernails.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"South of here. From Wharfton, on the other side of the wasteland."

"So that still exists?" he asked. "How long have you been traveling?"

She thought back over a daze of time in the wasteland. "The formula for Maya lasted ten days. I lost track after that. I found an oasis and caught a rabbit. That was, I'm not sure, maybe two days ago." There'd been a corpse at the oasis, a body with no visible wounds, like a harbinger of her own pending starvation. Yet she'd made it this far.

"You're safe now," he said. "Or almost."

The path rose one last time, turned, and the earth dropped away on their right. Stretching far toward the eastern horizon was a great, blue-green flatness that reflected bits of sky between hillocks of green.

She had to squint to see it clearly, and even then she could hardly believe what she was seeing. "Is it a lake?"

"It's the marsh. Marsh Nipigon."

"I've never seen anything so beautiful," she said.

Lifting a hand to shade her eyes, she stared, marveling. Gaia had spent much of her childhood trying to imagine Unlake Superior full of water, but she'd never guessed it would be like having a second, broken sky down below the horizon. The marsh expanded across much of the visible world: part serpentine paths of water, part patches of green, with three islands receding into the distance. Even from this height, she could breathe in the cool freshness of it, laced with the loamy tang of mud.

"How can there be so much water?" she asked. "Why hasn't it all evaporated?"

"Most of the water is gone. This is all that's left of an old lake from the cool age, and the water gets lower every year."

She pointed to a swatch of dark green that rippled in a slow-motion wave as the wind moved across it. "What's that area there?"

"There? That's the black rice slue," he said.

The path took a long, left-handed turn along the bluff, and as they rode, Gaia could see where the landscape dipped down to form a sprawling V-shaped valley. At the wide end, the forest descended to meet the marsh. A patchwork of woods, farmland, and backyard gardens seemed to be stitched together by dirt roads and pinned in place by three water towers. Where the path curved down to meet the sandy beach, a dozen groups of men were working around canoes and skiffs.

"Havandish!" the outrider called. "Hurry ahead and tell the Matrarc I've brought in a girl with a starving baby. She needs a wet nurse."

"We'll meet you at the lodge," a man answered, swinging onto another horse and bolting ahead. People turned to stare.

"Who's the Matrarc?" Gaia asked.

"Mlady Olivia. She runs Sylum for us," he said.

He steered his horse rapidly up the shore and through the village, and for the first time, the horse stumbled. Gaia clutched at the pommel, but the horse regained its footing.

"Almost there, Spider," the outrider said. "Good boy."

Caked with sweat, double-burdened, the horse flicked back an ear and pushed onward. The road turned to abut a level, open oval of lawn, edged with oaks and ringed farther out by sturdy log cabins. Simply dressed people paused in their work to follow their progress.

Ahead, a sun-scorched strip of dirt separated the commons from a big lodge of hewn, dovetailed logs, and in this area stood a row of four wooden frames, like disconnected parts of a fence. Puzzled by the jumbled sight, Gaia stared at a hunched form in the last frame until understanding came to her: they were stocks, and the dark form was a slumped prisoner, passed out or dead under the noonday sun.

"Why is that man in the stocks?" she asked.

"Attempted rape."

"Is the girl okay?" Gaia asked. What sort of place have I come to?

"Yes," he said, and dismounted from behind her. Rugged and lean, bearded and strong, the outrider ran a hand down his horse's neck and turned to look up at Gaia. He isn't old, she thought, surprised by her first clear look at him. She'd seen the outrider only by the light of the fire, and she was curious now to see how this man, to whom she owed her life, matched his voice and clean hands.

He tilted his face slightly, regarding her closely, and she waited for a question about the scar that disfigured the left side of her face. It never came. Instead, he took off his hat to rake a hand through hair that was dark with sweat. Decisive, perceptive eyes dominated his even features with inviting candor. Beneath his beard, the corners of his mouth turned down briefly with a trace of regret.

He donned his hat again. "I hope your baby makes it, Mlass," he said. "For your own sake."

Startled, she instinctively held her sister closer, but before she could ask what he meant, a light tapping noise came from behind her. She turned. A wide, deep veranda spanned the width of the big lodge, and a white-haired woman with a red cane was coming through the screen door. She stood straight, and her pale blue dress draped over her pregnant form with regal simplicity. A bit of gold and glass hung from a necklace, gleaming against her dark skin.

Six months, Gaia estimated. The Matrarc was six months pregnant.

Half a dozen women were coming out of the lodge behind the Matrarc, openly curious, and more people were gathering in the commons.

The Matrarc held out a slender hand in a gesture of expectation. "Chardo Peter? You brought in a girl and a baby?"

Gaia noticed a subtle disconnection between the Matrarc's gesture and the direction of her gaze, and put it together with the significance of the cane: she was blind.

"Yes, Mlady," he said. "The baby's a girl and nearly dead from starvation."

"Bring them here to me," said the Matrarc. "I suppose the girl is weak. Carry her if you must."

Chardo propped his hat on the pommel and reached up to help Gaia. She shifted her sling to make sure Maya was secure. As her feet touched the dirt, her knees buckled, and he caught her before her legs gave out entirely. "Forgive me, Mlass," he said. He scooped her up in his arms and delivered her to the top of the steps. Gaia steadied herself against a log pillar and glanced furtively around. She didn't know why she was uneasy, but something felt wrong.

"Please," Gaia said. "We need a doctor."

The tip of the Matrarc's red cane nudged Gaia's boot, but then she set the cane aside and extended her hands. "I want to see the baby." There was a melodious, deep quality in her voice that took the edge off her direct command, and yet she clearly expected to be obeyed.

Gaia gently extricated Maya from the sling and lifted her into those expectant hands. Unbelievably scrawny and fragile, the baby was hardly more than a listless bundle of blankets. The Matrarc cradled Maya in one arm and ran quick fingers over her face and arms, settling at the baby's throat.

Up close, Gaia saw the Matrarc's complexion was a deep tan, with darker freckles splayed across her nose and cheeks. Her wrinkles were few. Despite prematurely white hair, which was arranged in a soft, heavy bun, the Matrarc was in her mid-thirties, Gaia guessed, and obviously competent with a baby. The clear, translucent brown of her sightless eyes was lit by an alert, trenchant expression, and then she frowned with concern.

"You see?" Gaia said.

"It's not good," the Matrarc said. "When was she born?"

"About two weeks ago. She was premature."

"Where's Mlady Eva?" the Matrarc said.

A woman was hurrying across the commons carrying a baby of her own. "I'm here!" she called. Her apron had streaks of red, and her dark hair was coming loose from its ponytail. "I was just putting up my preserves, but Havandish told me this couldn't wait. Why do you need my baby?"

"You'll need him to get your milk flowing," the Matrarc said. "A baby has just arrived who's too weak even to suck. Do the best you can for her. Mlady Roxanne, take them in. Quickly, please."

The Matrarc passed Gaia's sister to a tall, angular woman who gave Gaia a swift look through her glasses, then took the baby into the lodge. Mlady Eva was untucking her blouse as she hurried after them.

"Wait for me," Gaia said.

"No, stay," the Matrarc said. "We need to get acquainted. What's your name, child?"

Gaia peered anxiously through the screen door, but already the others were out of sight. She tried to follow, but her legs were still too wobbly. "Where are they going? I need to be with my sister."

"She's not your own child, then?" the Matrarc asked.

"No. Of course not." Gaia glanced at Chardo to find him regarding her with faint surprise, as if he had been operating under the same misassumption as the Matrarc. "I would never have been feeding her rabbit broth if I could have nursed her myself," she said to him.

"I didn't know what to think," he said.

"Obviously, you've been through an ordeal," the Matrarc cut in, lifting a hand. "Let me see your face."


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Prized by Caragh M. O'Brien. Copyright © 2011 Caragh M. O'Brien. Excerpted by permission of Roaring Brook Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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