After undoing the last of her long braids, several handmaidens picked through Mylisto's thick, nappy, crimson mane. She checked the slit of her dress to make sure it stopped level with her navel, and the satin hemmed into the slit draped down to just below her knee. She made sure to adorn her arms with all the appropriate bangles. There was not a patch of chocolate skin that did not either have a gold band or a gleaming gemstone to compliment.
Finally she stepped out, a towering, beautiful Mankarian woman, and Rollond swallowed.
"Darling, your face is flushed," she said, taking hold of Rollond's arm.
"I keep thinking, when you brush your hair back and band it like that, it looks like the back-end of a rather large, wet fowl." Since his birth, Rollond never got used to the sheer volume of her tangled, springy locks. She chose to appear in the fullness of her wild afro, and he lamented it.
"I see," she pulled him closer to her and motioned for him to lead the way.
Rollond breathed in deeply, then sighed, shaking his head. "Apologies, Ma'am."
Mylisto lifted her chin as they stepped onto dais of the pulpit. "Mh, agreed." She settled down on the throne, crossing one leg over the other.
Rollond gestured back towards the service hall. "I'm going to go grab me a bite."
"I hope it hurts," she sighed.
Rollond slipped into the great hall. He stopped by a decorative shrub next to a bowl of punch on one of the long tables with assorted foods. He took a plate and arrayed some cheese, a couple curly worms and a chicken leg. Finally, he reached for a glass of punch, when he came back to his plate and two pieces of cheese were missing.
A little hand darted out from the bush. It felt around his plate and snatched a head of broccoli. He lifted up one of the curling worms and held it towards the plant. The hand darted out and took it.
He motioned to one of the servitors. "Hey, your lid," he said. He dropped the lid around the shrub, and immediately the bush squealed and whined. He picked up the platter the bush's pot sat on, and carried it into the janitor's closet. He closed the door behind him, set the platter down, and turned on the light. The lid jiggled in place. The thing in the bush beat at it, and wailed. Its tiny voice barely sounded past the lid.
He jerked it up.
She darted out.
She had big, white eyes and her slender, fleshy tail twitched behind her. She panted furiously, pressing her back against the wall, looking up at Rollond. She stood on the tips of her six finger-like toes, except that she winced, tardily stretching her left leg. That whole side of her had turned a dark bluish color. The little feral girl suspected that she had met her end. Then Rollond pulled a napkin from his coat pocket, unfolded it, and set the small hunk of cheese down in front of him.
The girl edged closer to the cheese. She jumped at it, and within seconds swallowed.
"I'd swear I was dreaming when I first saw you," Rolland said.
The girl grinned. "Ashenzsi?" she asked. "Vyllen au Ashenzsi —"
Rollond waved his hands. "Wait, wait, whatever it is, I don't speak it."
"Hm." She nodded, and hopped towards him. "So'yi, nai yiim," she said, tapping her chest. Then she pointed at him. "Au?"
"I don't —"
She did it again. "So'yi."
Gradually he began to point at himself. "Rollond."
"Tsche!" She threw her hands up and smiled. "So'yi." She hopped. "Rollond," she said, pointing at him. "Ashenzsi," she began gesturing, like a mime behind a wall. "Au," she pointed back at him, "vyllen," she traced around her eyes with her finger, "Ashenzsi," and started patting the invisible wall again.
Rollond looked at her funny. "I… see Ashenzsi?"
"Tsche, tsche!" She nodded.
As he lowered himself to her eye-level, So'yi's tongue fluttered. Her words were all Tswaa'ii, but from the way she moved her arms and hopped about, trying to show him, Rollond gathered a sense of what she was saying.
"Ouh," she snapped her fingers and reached into her tangled hair. She yanked and yanked until the amulet came loose. She looked it over and bit it before she held it out towards Rollond, and motioned towards the walls.
"This is Fylus's," he said, taking the trinket from her. "Well thank you. I'll have to return it to him —"
"Nai'ii, nai'ii!" She tugged at his cuff. Frustration and pain contorted her beaming face. An expression of agony begged for attention, as she struggled to say one word: "Dane — gier. Dane-gier."
Danger.
A dull whirring sound rang in Rollond's ears. Cold sweat beaded on his palms, his hands were shaking. He could barely breathe, as an oozy and cold, wet sensation crawled up from his soles. His palms became clammy, and he pushed at the air as if he were touching glass. Rollond could not hear So'yi's desperate voice as she waved her arms, pointing at the door. Because the whirring in his ears only got worse.
He made a fist and jabbed. He struck air, but his knuckles hurt. He fell, and So'yi kept calling his name. She grabbed at his face, patting and shaking him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he shivered, his clothes dampening in sudor.
The auditorium filled to capacity. People were getting restless as time kept ticking by, and Mylisto remained aware of it. "Where is my boy?" she asked Anileon, who stood beside her.
He shrugged. "Deepest regrets, my Grace, but the whereabouts of your boy, I not yet know."
"Go and find him, Tsuboha, please."
Anileon bowed, "as you say."
She took a breath to calm herself, a smile of elegance alighting her features as she rose, and the people of the chamber rendered applause. With the slightest lift of her exquisite hand, all in her company became hushed and took their seats. "As a subject for the remarks of the evening, the history of our people need not be recounted. For it is not due to the stepping back, the walking in reverse, the reverting to the past that has brought us together this night. Instead is it my pleasure to speak of forthcoming things, as it is to the future that we owe our deepest gratitudes. Still, it has been by no simple task that our nation has prospered. In light of our peace, our success, our standing amongst the nations, the quality of life for ourselves, and the generations to come, I stand here now not as like a matron apart from you, but as your comrade. For the simple fact that the choices of each individual, to take a step in the right direction, has lead us to where we are today."
The audience applauded Mylisto. In the focal light she gleamed like a precious jewel. When their commendation subsided, she continued:
"It is with the greatest joy that I announce our newest accession to the body of Naelunnai. It is with the greatest hope that I do believe this will be a welcome leap in the direction of equality among all sentient intellectuals, in that we are able to cohabitate, and co-direct free of perceived limitations. It is with this in mind that I welcome Lakshmi Saankyr to the position of Naelun, from the Forty-forth, for the Forty-forth." She finished with her genteel smile.
"Is it time that we allow women to trample over men?" Fylus's voice sounded from the speakers, breaking what applause Mylisto had established. "No, I don't think so." The focal light roved about for him, coming to fix on him as he stood on a service walk near the ceiling. "You are very well-spoken, Mylisto, but authority will always be vested in the male intellect, and I especially don't see reason to attempt to shift otherwise."
"A voiced opinion is always welcome," she said, "even yours, Fylus. Although given the grievances of your resignation, I inferred that you, of all people, would be pleased with the proceedings."
Fylus chuckled. "I am well pleased with the proceedings." He stretched his fingers, and the first licks of flame wove between them. "But enough with the pleasantries, woman." The fire, fully formed, cackled as his hands neared each other. "Die!" He thrust them both forward and from the triangle of his hands a raging fireball as big as a watermelon erupted forth. It swirled as it screamed through the air, wild with arcs of fire lashing erratically.
Mylisto looked on helplessly. "Oh, Tsuboh
a," she whispered. She put her arm over her eyes and ducked.
The explosion swallowed the screams of the audience. Fylus cocked his head back, smiling, confident he made his mark, until the smoke cleared. "What!? How did you —"
Anileon's palm smoked. His skin up to his elbow was bright red, and the fire ate all but his pants. "So the boy learns to throw firecrackers, does he? Who did you rape to get your power?"
"How about I make you my next victim," Fylus said, drawing his hands back again. "Then you can see for yourself what my sources are!" Another manifestation of Fylus's fury burst forth, just like the one before it, then a second, and a third.
The Executor-Prefect turned his hand palm-up and stretched out his wrist, catching the first ball of fire. It turned into smoky plumes of light, then surged along his arm, across his shoulder blades and into his other hand. Within an instant, by a mere gesture, he called forth a dome of indigo radiance and thrust it down onto the audience. "Stay within the bubble," commanded Anileon, "you'll be safer."
With the aelyth of the second fireball, he did the same, casting the indigo barrier around Mylisto and the present Naelunnai. The third fireball struck, and the barrier flashed. Not even heat penetrated it. Anileon leapt up onto the wall, anchoring himself upright by the thick talons of his finger-like toes. His legs were powerful springs, propelling him higher with each stride. He twisted himself around in the air and landed on the catwalk with a boisterous thud.
Fylus's hearts almost jumped out of his chest. He stepped back, bumping into the rail, pointing at Anileon. "Y-you're —"
"A Kyusoa," he said, "you look surprised." He knew a man did not observe another's feet often. Especially when in the presence of another man.
"S-stay back!" Fylus flung another wad of fire.
Anileon smacked it away into one of the support cables near Fylus's end, snapping it. The catwalk dropped to a tilt. Anileon gripped it with his bare feet, while Fylus almost stumbled over the railing.
"Executor," Fylus panted, "please, have mercy on this misguided soul!"
He spread his fingers, tilting them forward, and his aelyth calmly slithered into the space of his hand. It formed a simple, patient sphere. "Why should I?" The ball hummed as it swelled between Anileon's fingertips.
All cockiness fled Fylus. His face was warped with concern, brows wrinkled, eyes begging for pity. And in Anileon's stringent, cold gaze, Fylus found none. "Because the building is on fire," he said, "and I don't want to die. Please, sir, I beg you. I have seen you extend kindness — even your heart to others. So I ask of you: do the same to me."
"No," he said, and the concentrated aelyth between his fingers shot forth as a broad beam of glaring effulgence. It severed the final cord, and the catwalk bowed down under Fylus's weight. It crashed into a cross section beneath it, and Fylus's chest slammed on the railing. He pulled himself over to the other side, stifling a painful cry as he forced himself onto his feet. He hugged his arms over his nose and mouth, and ran into the dense fire of the catwalk corridor.
The ceiling of the auditorium groaned as long stretches of flame danced almost erotically along the walls. Anileon did not have to look to know that Mylisto and the rest of the people were secure underneath the indigo barrier. But he took a deep breath and tensed, as the ceiling winced one last time, then descended.
Infusion.
Kneitun, the capitol of Konstaniah, the nation inhabiting Malzeyur;
Eiynvas, the 12th day in the month of Korec;
That is, in the 451st year into the Seventh Epoch of the domain of Dyjian;
These events that involved: Arlen, Sara, and Yonathael.
The candles made the sensual night just bright enough to see. His senses were drawn to her body, and whether he stroked along her belly or licked the side of her neck, he was acutely in tune with her every quiver. His thoughts were little more than the quiet of her moans, and the electric sensation that titillated down his stomach to his loins.
"Again," she said. "Arlen, I'm coming again." Her breathing deepened, and her body tensed, pushing against his ingress.
He took hold of her, and his advances hastened. All at once her tension melted, and hot, intense waves of her succulent orgasm covered most of his hips and thighs. Even after her body ceased clenching at him, he did not stop. The moment had gone too far, and he had no intention of willing himself out of it.
Once more he was coming, and did not care to know how many times he had before. To the slick sound of her wet sex, the softness of her whimpers, the scent of her hair, the smoothness of her skin, he drove himself in deeply, and shuddered, biting his lower lip to keep from waking Marqi who slept across the hall.
Together they lay on their sides. Arlen enjoyed being connected to Lel, throbbing inside of her until he became too soft to remain. He caressed her, his fingers gliding over the small rise of her belly; the first signs of their unborn child was starting to shape the outward appearance of Lel's stomach.
"When are you going to tell Marqisian?" Lel asked.
Arlen nuzzled her neck. "Tomorrow," he muttered. He didn't want to think about it. He was almost in denial of Lellayla being pregnant. As much as it was thrilling, he kept having subconscious flashbacks to when Sara swelled up like an overfed, pot-bellied pig, and he kept forcing himself to relax. This wasn't anything like then, and Lel was nothing like Sara. Still, he struggled to stay right where he was, nestled, curled beside Lel. Reality could wait, and Marqisian, too.
"You promise? I don't want to get too far along and then have him feel abandoned because we didn't tell him."
"Lellayla," Arlen groaned. "He'll be fine."
"Are you certain?"
"The boy will be just peachy."
"Well if you're sure about it," she said. "This is all just so much for me. Why can't we have the ceremony in private, like the wedding?"
"The people need to put a face and an attitude with a name, especially when it comes to those taking the lead over them. Otherwise 'Lellayla DuShaffte' could be a well-iced cake that I made, and refused to share the recipe. Trust me, you will be fine."
"I'm just not sure I'm ready for all this authority," she sighed.
"I tell you what," he rolled over and propped himself up on the pillows. "After it's done, we'll go get a big, fat bottle of wine and get drunk."
"Need I remind you I'm pregnant?" She glared at him.
"Oh, right. Then we'll get you some sugary non-alcoholic beverage and I'll down all the actual alcohol. Believe me, you'll feel better after I'm done having a hangover." He grinned.
"It's just nerve racking."
"Hey, hey, nothing changes. You're still a normal person, you still have to do normal-people things. Or else the job gets to you. Remember, it's just that: it's a job — an awkward, oddly self-defeating-but-rewarding job. You will be fine."
The alarm clock chimed. It had just turned seven-thirty in the morning, and the silvery sun steadily rose into the wet blue-green hues of the city's curtain of rain. Arlen hit the alarm-off button, started to get out of the bed, but flopped back down after sitting up. "Nope," he declared, "my legs feel like cooked noodles."
"I'll take him this time," Lel said.
That same morning held a less than menial significance to a doctor in an apartment. The scent of sizzling bacon greeted Sara as she groggily started towards the kitchen. "What — how did you get out here?" she growled.
The news was on the counter's television; the anchorwoman related how authorities on the scene of a collapsed, smoldering building in Alekzandrya were not sure what happened. Yonathael moved behind the counter, spatula in his hand, arranging strips of bacon and eggs on a plate. "I almost understand why you kept the straps under that bed, Sara," he said. "That boy of yours is almost a genius." He retrieved a carton of juice, poured her a glass, and arranged it on the counter, motioning for her to sit. "What sort of mom straps her son to his bed at night?"
"That's none of your business," she said, crossing her arms.
"I see." He poked through the channels to a local news station. "You may not want to go to work today, Sara."
She shook her head. "Why should I listen to you —"
'It is official,' the anchorman said. 'This afternoon will be the first in just over one thousand years that Konstaniah will get to have a ceremony celebrating the integration of our new Gantoness Regnant.'
Yonathael could almost taste Sara's desperation and disbelief, as she scrambled for the phone and hurriedly tapped Arlen's number.
'Yeah, Arlen. If this is some important political thing, call my office phone. Other than that, please leave a massaaage.~'
An Elegy of Fate Page 4