“The priests returned and it was time. With acolytes singing and chanting in the background, they surrounded me. They tied my hands with silk fabric to the posts of the headboard, so that my arms were spread wide, in order that I may not be able to touch. Then they brought a tray with two fine golden wedjat amulets—you probably know the wedjat as the Eye of Horus, thought to be a symbol of protection and higher consciousness, but it is in fact the representation of the Kassiopei eye—” He points to his dark natural eyeliner around his eyelids. “The wedjats were supposed to cover my eyes, so that I would not be able to see.”
“Oh, God . . .” I whisper.
Aeson nods, meeting my eyes briefly with his dark heavy gaze. “First, Gwen, they took a black length of silk fabric and blindfolded me with it. Then, the wedjats were placed on top of the fabric, directly over my closed eyes—I could feel their slight weight settle around my eye sockets. Finally, I know they used another long piece of fabric to blindfold me yet again over the wedjats, covering them, so that I was effectively as blind as possible. Finally, the head priest announced the beginning of the Sacrifice.
“At once, there was silence. I knew, as I had been instructed to expect, that they would all leave now, to give me privacy, and the first of the women would come to me.”
I make an involuntary sound, drawing my breath in sharply, so that Aeson pauses, and then resumes speaking in the same distant emotionless voice.
“And so the woman came to me. All I know is, someone removed my sheet, very quietly and gently, the mattress creaked, and suddenly there was a warm soft body lying against me. . . . I could recognize nothing about that anonymous woman—she was silent and not allowed to speak to me. She could only touch me, but was not permitted to kiss my mouth . . . while I was not permitted to speak to her either. . . . Imagine being blind and restrained, completely vulnerable, and not knowing. . . . I could guess at absolutely nothing about her, and barely heard the sound of her breathing. I lay perfectly still, but started to tremble from anxiety and shyness. . . .
“But—as promised, the woman was gentle, and she had a light touch. Even though I was still nervous, she managed to relax me enough. My body responded, and the natural thing happened. At some point she must have joined with me, and very soon I gave what was required of me, much quicker than I expected. . . . I admit, I was surprised by the sensation when it happened . . . not painful at all, in fact pleasurable and unexpected. When it was done, before I could even fully calm my breathing, the woman was gone, and I was no longer a virgin.”
Aeson pauses again, drawing in another deep breath, and looks at me seriously, gauging my reaction. “I hope I’m not making a mistake in telling you these uncomfortable details—”
“Oh, no, but you must!” I interrupt hurriedly, in a whisper. “Please tell me everything, I have to know!”
“After the woman was gone, my layers of blindfolds were removed by the priests, and my hand restraints untied. I was allowed a few minutes of rest while the chanting and singing resumed around me. Then I was rubbed down and my lower body cleaned up, and covered again with a clean sheet. They gave me another cup of that same drink. And then they tied my hands once more and reapplied the blindfolds. And the priest announced the second Sacrifice.
“By this point I knew what to expect. Again, they left me in silence, and a woman came to me. Another warm body, silent, touching me, moving against me. This one was slightly less gentle, slightly more aggressive. The end results were the same, the only difference being, toward the end, the woman started to moan loudly as though she was in great pain, and move excessively, so that I was somewhat frightened and concerned for her sake. . . . However, I soon felt the pleasurable moment of my release and it was over, but the woman was still agitated for some time longer. At last she too quieted down and left, and the priests returned to liberate me from my restraints and blindfolds. I took the opportunity to ask them if the poor woman was hurt in any way, and if she was all right. And they explained to me that the woman merely felt the same kind of excitement and pleasure as does a man, so this kind of thing was normal and expected during the act.”
Aeson pauses, and makes a sound of bitter amusement and shakes his head at himself. “Yes, that’s how naïve I was, Gwen. A young idiot, I knew so little about human intimacy, understood even less. Well, after the same ritual cleansing and brief rest, my third Sacrifice took place. The third woman was similar to the second, slow and gentle at first then moaning and agitated toward the end, but at least now I was no longer alarmed like a fool, and enjoyed my own physical release. At last the entire Rite was over, late into the night. By the time I was released from the third and final restraints, I was exhausted. And so, while the priests sang and chanted their conclusion to the ritual, I fell asleep and slept like a dead man until morning.”
“Wow,” I whisper.
He laughs again. “Yes, I survived that Rite. And to be honest, although mentally I was very troubled afterwards, physically I felt rather well the next day. The proper word would be, well satiated. I was as relaxed as I’ve never been before in my life, and in some ways didn’t know I could be, didn’t know what I’ve been missing—even though I was certain that what happened to me was a kind of subtle damage to my will, that I was forced and used.”
“Aeson . . . you were violated,” I whisper.
He snorts. “I fulfilled my duty as Imperial Kassiopei. As my Father did in his time, and his father before him. And then, Gwen, a few months later, just as we were preparing to leave with the Fleet, I was required to do it all over again. The second Rite was more of the same, except that more was expected of me, now that I was no longer a novice. This time I was slightly less nervous, and the three women seemed to spend more time with me—the priests allocate an hour to each one, and they are permitted to be with me for the whole duration, which meant, that this time things happened more than once. . . .”
I press my hand over his arm, caressing it gently. He watches the motion of my hand touching him, smiles briefly at our physical contact. His smile, I note, is bittersweet.
“And so, Gwen, now you know the distasteful truth about me,” he says with a strange proud tilt to his head. “I’m sorry if you must now think less of me, but I understand completely.”
“Aeson!” I exclaim, feeling the sting of tears, and pressure rising in the back of my throat. “Why would I think less of you? It’s not your fault! You performed a horrifying duty, the result of a bizarre ancient cultural tradition, which now to my mind explains quite a few things about your truly messed up family life!”
I pause, breathing hard, holding back the emotional flood, trying to speak in a calm rational voice. “The only thing I still don’t understand is, why, with all your advanced technology, is this archaic ritual necessary? Doesn’t Atlantis have high-tech science and more clinical ways of extracting the DNA without resorting to such primitive physical means? I can totally see this being played out in Ancient Egypt, but why here and now?”
He bites his lip and looks away from me, for the first time truly allowing his embarrassment to show. “I’ve asked myself this same question many times, before my first Rite experience. And I received an explanation from the priests that I found unsatisfactory. Only afterwards did it make sense. . . . Yes, of course our science has the means of extracting DNA in a clinical setting. But there’s indeed at least one very practical reason for having the Rite. As it has been explained to me, the Kassiopei genetic material is strong, and we’re particularly virile—it takes just one instance of being with a woman, for her to have our child. As a result, all Kassiopei males have unusually powerful . . . physical urges. And yet, we must remain highly controlled when it comes to intimacy. We are required to be chaste outside the formal bonds of marriage. And these certain needs become unbearable. The Rite serves to alleviate some of this—and it has been this way for thousands of years.”
“Oh . . .” I say. And then I blush deeply, looking at him.
Ae
son in turn again has trouble meeting my eyes.
We both remain awkwardly silent for a few long moments.
“So. . . .” I take a deep breath. “Then it’s really true that you have several children?”
“Yes.” He looks down at his own fingers as they tap the fabric of the sofa cushion. “It is almost completely certain that I have at least six children. . . .”
“And you don’t know any of them? You’ve never seen them?”
“No. And I never will.”
“How awful! I’m so sorry!”
He shrugs. “It’s how it’s done. Though—I do think about them often. . . . I imagine what they might be like, girls or boys, and how old they are at this point, probably toddlers, about three years old. . . . They’re now far away, well provided for, living in remote provinces of Atlantida, and I will never know anything about them or their mothers. They will be healthy and strong, and through them and their children the Imperial Kassiopei DNA will invigorate the population. I—wish them well, a happy life. In many ways they’re lucky not to know me or my dysfunctional family up-close.”
As he speaks, I notice his voice fades on a whisper.
My own breathing shudders, and all of a sudden I feel the wet trail of tears running down my cheeks.
“Aeson . . . won’t everyone know these children are Kassiopei?” I say, in order to say something, as I wipe my face with the back of my hand, hoping he does not see.
He turns to me in that moment, just as I’ve swept the traces of moisture away. “What do you mean?”
I point to his golden hair, his eyes. “Well, your physical traits are so unusual, so prominent. I mean, won’t your children have the wedjat Eye of Horus thing? And the hair color?”
He shakes his head and smiles sadly. “No, because in order to manifest the Kassiopei lineage, another ritual procedure is required, sometime after conception—as my future Wife and the Imperial Consort you will learn about it later.”
I bite my lip and my face flames even more.
“Besides,” he says, “it’s easy to overlook something if you’re not looking for it already. My children are being brought up in anonymity. Even if they somehow manifested the wedjat eyes and the natural golden hair, it would be mistaken for makeup. Remember, we Kassiopei might look a certain way, but so does the majority of the population. It’s a popular custom to paint the eyelids and the hair to mimic the Imperial Family. For generations it’s been encouraged as a semi-religious practice. But secretly, in reality, it’s yet another Rite-related practice intended to disguise the Sacrificed, to preserve the anonymity of the illegitimate Kassiopei in the general population.”
“Oh, I see,” I mutter.
He watches me gently. “Gwen, are you . . . hanging in there? I know you’re not okay, and it’s a lot to take in all at once, and I am sorry you had to be exposed to so much of our sad reality in one evening.”
“No, I’m okay,” I say hurriedly. “Well, actually, I don’t know if I am okay now, but I will be, eventually—I promise!”
“You don’t have to be okay now. I expect you to take all the time you need. . . . And in the meantime, feel free to hate me and everything I stand for—my family, Atlantis, this rotten evening—”
“Shut up!” I exclaim with feeling and slap him on the arm. Then my hand lingers and I squeeze his hard bicep, caress it with an anxious desperate touch. “Don’t say that. I could never hate you, im amrevu.”
And as I say it, I watch his raw expression, and see how, all at once, he blinks. . . . I recognize his one “tell,” his only outward sign of profound vulnerability.
And gathering courage, I say something else. “Okay, tell me this. If you and I—if we were to . . . make love, only once, without using any protection, would I—become pregnant?”
“Yes . . . most likely,” he says, looking away from me shyly. “The probability is almost one hundred percent.”
“Wow.” I stare at him in wonder.
But then he faces me and his words are passionate. “It is why I must keep away from you, Gwen. Even if we’re careful, whenever we kiss and touch, it’s so easy for me to lose control, and to end up being intimate with you. I—I don’t trust myself around you anymore. You cannot afford to have a child growing inside you when you must train and go into the Games.”
“The Games . . .” I whisper. “I’ve almost forgotten about them. What does any of it matter now, that we’re faced with a hopeless alien threat? Why bother?”
But he moves close to me and takes me by the shoulders and shakes me once, hard. His strong fingers dig into me painfully as he looks into my eyes. “But it’s not hopeless! You are my hope, Gwen. You must not give up, not ever, if only for my sake. Because if you do, so will I. . . .”
“In that case,” I say with a faint, bitter smile, “I’m going to pretend this is not the end of the world. And even if it is, I do not accept it.”
Chapter 27
Honestly, after all that just happened, all that I’ve learned, I have no idea how I’m able to sleep that night—or ever again. Aeson and I sit together for a while longer, in a strange companionable silence born of complete painful honesty. The few things we speak about are light impressions of the moment—glances at the thicket of colorful stars in the windows, or me asking him about some beautiful trinket on a shelf, or the nature of the light in the wall sconces. All meaningless comfort subjects, spoken to calm ourselves, to bring down the racing heartbeat and the worry and anxiety that sits just at the periphery of conscious thought.
No, stop . . . I tell myself whenever the anxiety and fear starts rising in the back of my throat to overwhelm me. And then I look at Aeson, allow myself to drown in his soft loving gaze as he watches me, constantly—it is undeniable that he’s a man absolutely in love.
At some point, Aeson reminds me gently that the difficult things we’ve discussed must all remain secret.
“Gwen, no one, not even the astra daimon, can know anything about what I’ve told you, tonight,” he says. “None of the Pilots on ICS-2 and other ark-ships, or even the higher Fleet command were told about the real threat to Atlantis, and it must stay that way, for the moment. And as far as the Kassiopei secret Rite, my astra daimon brothers and sisters might suspect some things about me and my Family’s dark secrets, but again, they don’t know the details, and I’m not allowed to tell them. You, on the other hand, my life mate, are my only exception. Please promise you won’t speak of it to anyone. Not to your family or friends. . . . Will you promise me this?”
Life mate. . . . I fill with warmth, just hearing that oddly comfortable term.
And then I nod. “Yes! Oh, I mean, yes, I promise, and no, of course not . . . I would never tell! I understand completely!”
I pause and look in his eyes. Then I take his hand with its long, capable, elegantly-shaped fingers, pressing it with my own and feeling his leashed strength spreading outward, warming me. “Aeson, I’m glad to share the burden of this knowledge with you. . . . Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me these hard truths. At least now you’re no longer alone in this.”
The grateful look in his eyes in that moment as he listens to me is impossible to describe.
And then, when the night is dark, we say goodnight. Carefully we keep our distance, touching hands only, fingertips brushing palms. . . . And we go into our separate bedrooms.
The next morning when I wake up from a restless agonized sleep around seventh hour, Aeson is already gone. I know it’s because of that early morning meeting of the IEC which he is required to attend.
The meeting where they will be discussing the alien threat. . . .
The moment I realize it, my heart starts beating wildly again, and I spring up out of bed, soul-sick. I shower, get dressed in some of my nice new casual clothes that I’ve brought with me from the Palace. And then I wait for Erita Qwas who is supposed to be here this morning to begin our regular defense weapons training.
Erita arrives within a few minute
s, and she and I spend at least an hour going over various Combat moves and trying on different pieces of defensive armor. I find that one-on-one, Erita is a no-nonsense, serious, and thorough instructor, who doesn’t waste time and gets right down to the point.
But even as we train, I also find that my mental focus is really shallow, and I’m spacing out constantly, so that Erita soon notices my low-level constant anxiety.
“Wake up, Gwen!” she tells me periodically, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “I know this whole sorry mess is stressing you out, and I get it, but you need to concentrate.”
I blink and try not to look her directly in the eyes. Just for a crazy moment I’m afraid she might look at me and see that something has changed overnight . . . something is different in my expression.
But she has no idea. She can’t know what’s really churning in my head—the hell burden of knowledge, the fear and utter hopelessness. But I must pretend it’s just the other “normal” stuff she expects—the Games, the stress, the crappy Atlantean gravity.
“Sorry,” I say, as I miss another defensive stance, and Erita lands a hard blow against my upper arm. “Didn’t get proper rest, and still sore from yesterday’s workout.”
“Not an excuse,” she replies in a hard voice, smacking me with the blunt end of a small rounded buckler shield that’s one of the Green Quadrant weapons. Bucklers are held in the hand and serve double-duty as strike and defense weapons for the Greens. “In the Games, no one will care if you’re on your last ropes.”
I wince and nod and promise to pay better attention. And then I make the supreme effort to shut off that part of my mind that has gone dead with despair.
We work for another half hour, and then take a short break for eos bread, served quietly by the estate servants right next to the dojo gym hall where we are training.
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