Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  The music continues, a mix of upbeat dance songs and slow songs, both Earth and Atlantean.

  At some point a Wedding cake is brought in. It’s a gorgeous white-and-gold creation of five sweet tiers, covered with delicate, sculpted icing flowers—my blue and gold and purple flowers. Yes, this Earth tradition has been incorporated, and Aeson and I share the first delicious piece, though decorously, and without making a mess of each other’s faces.

  There is no bouquet, so nothing gets thrown.

  Oalla Keigeri manages to drag my strongly protesting brother Gordie onto the dance floor, for a slow rendition of “At Last” by Etta James. When the dance is over, Gordie is flushed with embarrassment, but appears to have enjoyed it. I give Oalla a grateful look for getting Gordie off his butt and away from the pastries.

  Dawn, who has been dancing more than anyone this evening, finally pulls Hasmik, Chiyoko, and Gracie onto the dance floor for a “girl’s night” style group dance. Suddenly Kokayi Jeet joins them, his braids swinging, and does an incredible footwork solo in the middle of the dance floor while everyone in the vicinity claps—Earthies, and Atlanteans. And then later I see Dawn slow-dancing to “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” by Roberta Flack, with none other than Arbiter Tamira Bedut. . . .

  And then, Laronda returns. Miraculously, Anu is with her, looking both sullen and wide-eyed at the same time, and glancing around warily at whomever might be looking.

  “Look, Aeson!” I point out the two with a giggle. And then we both notice that Laronda and Anu are holding hands.

  “Oh, very intriguing,” Aeson says with humorous energy in his eyes. “Does this mean my loyal Aide will become a new man?”

  “Anything is possible,” I mumble, continuing to stare with fascination at my friend and her troll boy.

  “He could take a lesson from Gennio,” Aeson continues, this time pointing at his other aide who is on the dance floor. There, I notice, Gennio is calmly dancing to an upbeat Atlantean song . . . with my friend Chiyoko.

  My jaw drops and I laugh.

  And then, just after ninth hour of Khe, I hear the strangely haunting, familiar sounds of a song that has profound meaning for both of us.

  “Caribbean Blue” by Enya.

  The same ethereal waltz that played during the Yellow Zero-G Dance, when Aeson asked me to dance for that first impossible time . . . and we circled and spun together in weightlessness and soft hopeless sorrow, knowing that we could never be together.

  It’s the song that broke my heart and the song that healed it.

  Now, Aeson looks at me wordlessly, with intense eyes, and offers his hand.

  Together we move onto the dance floor, in a close embrace of intimacy, echoing that first, ethereal, impossible time.

  There is gravity this time around, and the floor is firmly under our feet. And yet, at the same time, I feel the wonder of knowing how far we’ve come since, in the long cycle of our relationship.

  “That time . . . you said ‘this cannot end,’” I whisper, looking up into my husband’s lapis-blue eyes.

  “I did,” he replies softly, his breath caressing my lips. “It’s the truth. . . . It was—it was one of the first times I told you the truth in its entirety.”

  “This cannot end,” I say, repeating his fateful words.

  “It will not,” he says. “Never. For as long as we breathe. I promise.”

  Chapter 65

  Just before tenth hour of Khe, we say our farewells to all and depart the reception chamber to begin our Amrevet Night.

  Aeson and I walk together, holding hands, exchanging glances full of electricity and nervous energy, until we reach our own floor. At the doors of the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters our Imperial guards fall back and we are met by two youthful attendants consecrated to Amrevet-Ra, judging by the black and white colors of their priestly robes.

  “My Imperial Lord and Imperial Lady, please follow us,” they say, bowing.

  The doors of our Quarters part before us . . . and instead of the usual antechamber, there is wonder.

  The entire chamber has been transformed with translucent delicate fabric draperies of warm cream, amber, gold, and pearl hues, and our Wedding flowers. Descending from the ceiling, the curtains of fine tulle and gauze swing before us like spider silk, and I notice they are formed into a kind of tunnel or magical pathway leading deeper into the Quarters along the transformed corridor.

  “What the—” Aeson says in surprise, and his mouth parts.

  “Please—follow . . .” the young priest says gently to him, while the priestess speaks addressing me, almost in unison.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  We proceed down a path strewn with more fabric and flowers through a pavilion of glittering drapery, along once-familiar and now exotic corridors of the residence on Aeson’s side. I am momentarily reminded of a fabulous arabesque tent and a flower garden, in one.

  A few doors down, the priestess points me gently into one of the guest suites, while Aeson casts one slightly worried glance at me before continuing onward, following the priest.

  “Here, My Imperial Lady,” the priestess says, closing the door of the suite, and I see more amazing drapery and floral artistry all around me in the normally ordinary guest chamber. “This is your suite to prepare yourself for your time with your Husband. Everything you require has been brought here, including your Amrevet Dress. There is a bath and shower around the corner, so that you may cleanse and refresh yourself.”

  And she points me to a table with bottles and jars of cosmetics, perfumes, lotions, and the usual dressing table items. A cushioned chair waits for me to rest and work on my appearance. Several floor-length mirrors stand nearby.

  I glance around and see my Amrevet Dress in its pristine packaging, lying draped on the bed, next to a matching over-cloak. . . . And on the floor, a pair of exquisite slippers.

  And then, as my gaze takes in the rest of this grand dressing room, I see two tall goblets standing side-by-side on an elegant tray on top of a side table. One is lapis-lazuli blue, the other is gold.

  Immediately I freeze, staring at them.

  The priestess notices the direction of my gaze, and says. “These are your special drinks, My Imperial Lady. You may drink just before you are ready to go to him.”

  “Yes . . . okay,” I say softly.

  “And now, may I begin to assist you?” The priestess inclines her head gracefully before me.

  Half an hour later, having showered to wash off the stress and dancing sweat of the busy day, I sit wrapped in fresh towels, allowing myself to be pampered, even as my heartbeat races with anticipation of whatever is to come. My loose hair cascades in waves down my back, as it is being dried and brushed by my soft-spoken attendant.

  What amazing thoughts pass through my mind in those intense minutes, is nearly impossible to describe. My mind is truly a river of emotion, excitement, nerves, and fragile wonder. . . .

  At the same time, I start hearing soft, lovely singing coming in the distance from outside the suite. Chanting voices ebb and flow in waves of harmonious sound, as the priests of Amrevet-Ra intone softly.

  My hair is ready, my cosmetics lightly reapplied, and now it is time to put on my Amrevet Dress.

  I stand, still clinging to the towels around my torso in embarrassment, while the priestess goes to bring me my exquisite outfit—flimsy and daring and beautiful.

  “My Imperial Lady, here it is,” she says in a quiet tone of reverence. And it occurs to me suddenly, in the act of serving me in the name of her deity, Love, she is praying.

  The realization of the purity and sanctity of this moment sweeps away my self-conscious fear and discomfort in one gentle divine breath.

  I allow the towels to fall away from my body, and receive the Amrevet Dress—an exquisite creation formed entirely of tiny pearl beads and no fabric. The priestess assists me in simple, clean movements of prayerful innocence, as I place its fragile pieces over my breasts, along my waist a
nd hips, and then begin the delicate adjustment process of straightening microscopic strands of delicate beadwork, letting them cascade, flow, circle, and hang just so over my skin, emphasizing the various natural curves of my body.

  When it is done, I am clad in what is, for all practical purposes, a body-shaped, intricate pearl necklace. No part of me is properly covered, and I am merely encased in the fine jewel net. . . . It is completely indecent to wear anywhere but in the privacy of the bedroom—as intended.

  “Don’t forget, My Imperial Lady—to remove it, you simply need to pull this small tie at your waist, and your Amrevet Dress will fall free, whenever you’re ready. . . .” The priestess points to the fine tassel that circles me like a belt.

  I nod, mesmerized, looking at myself in the mirror. Then I step into the delicate pair of slippers that fit like jewels on my feet.

  “And now, your modesty cloak,” the priestess says, picking up the ethereal gauze cloak. She brings it to me, letting me examine the vapor-fine fabric. When I’m ready, she wraps it around me like a floor-length shawl, covering me just enough so that I am indeed decent enough to walk down the hall without blushing—though I’m sure I will be blushing terribly nevertheless.

  Outside the chanting pauses, then resumes again in a more urgent rhythm.

  “It is time, My Imperial Lady,” the priestess says, watching me with her kind gaze. “Your Husband is ready and waiting for you. It is time for you to make your choice and drink. Select one goblet and drink its contents in their entirety, then pour the other one down the sink, to assure your privacy of choice. I will wait for you outside the door while you drink. Then I will guide you the final portion of the way to the Amrevet Night chamber.”

  “I see . . . thank you.” My voice is faint with nerves as I speak.

  The priestess silently departs, closing the door of the suite.

  I am left standing alone, faced with the greatest decision of my life to date.

  I have thought about it long and hard—indeed, considered it relentlessly for days now—and although I’ve arrived at a firm decision earlier, right now the question strikes me again, with all its immediacy and all its stressful, painful doubt and wondrous implications.

  Have I made the right choice? Should I allow myself to conceive Aeson’s child now . . . or not?

  The responsibility of either choice is staggering.

  I take a deep breath. . . .

  With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I approach the table and pick up one of the goblets.

  Taking another breath, I drink, gulping the cool, pleasant liquid.

  Then I pour the other goblet into the sink, watching its contents run down the drain.

  Breathless with excitement and terror, I follow the priestess down the narrow path draped with cascading ethereal fabrics and toward the chanting voices raised in divine song.

  We walk a few more feet and emerge into a chamber which I vaguely recognize only by its grandeur as the Imperial Crown Prince’s formal master bedroom, the one with the giant bed that’s the size of three king-sized beds and able to fit a dozen people.

  Somewhere in the center of this immense room, that same imposing bed reposes upon a dais . . . but there’s no way to see it now because of the forest of sheer and translucent gauze curtains descending from the lofty ceiling and completely obscuring the way.

  The master bedroom chamber has been redecorated and transformed into a fabled pavilion and romantic honeymoon space out of a magical fantasy. . . .

  Everything is in shades of white, cream, and warm gold, and again my Wedding flowers are everywhere—winding in garlands along with the cascading lengths of fabric, scattered on the carpet, rising from the floor upon stone pedestals at the entrance, greeting me with their delicate fragrance wafting from the bouquet arrangements. . . .

  Meanwhile, the soft chanting of the priests and priestesses comes just beyond the chamber on the opposite side. From where I stand, I can discern that they are not present in this room, but concealed just beyond it, somewhere nearby.

  The priestess of Amrevet-Ra now stands before me at the entrance to the enchanted forest of breezy curtains and points with one hand.

  “My Imperial Lady, we have arrived. Beyond these curtains is your Amrevet Night chamber and your Husband. You must now continue onward by yourself and sing the Amrevet Chant as you have been instructed, and unite with him. Blessings be upon you! May you always be guided by Amrevet-Ra. . . .”

  And saying these words, the priestess bows before me and backs away, retreating along the path in the same way from which we came.

  My already frantic heartbeat suddenly picks up another urgent rhythm, because I can hear the chant and recognize it now—the same chant I am supposed to be singing with my spouse, moments from now.

  “Am-re-vet-Ra!” the hidden voices sing in the distance.

  “Am-re-vet-Ra!”

  I stare at the sheer curtain layers filling the space before me like petals of an immense upside-down flower.

  This is ridiculous. It is also scary and beautiful and a little bit alien.

  What am I saying—it is very alien.

  “Am-re-vet-Ra!”

  With slightly trembling fingers I start parting the fabric before me, layer-by-layer, and proceed inside the strange, beautiful, gossamer jungle. . . .

  Every layer I move aside brings me closer to the center where he is.

  Somewhere inside this unreal place, Aeson is waiting for me.

  So many layers before me. . . . I move slowly, getting entangled then freeing myself, momentarily feeling a sense of suffocation and panic and wanting to rip this beautifully stupid fabric out of my way.

  A few seconds later I start seeing the layers thin, and beyond it I see a tall shape of a man standing a mere few feet away, silhouetted against a softly lit bed. . . . Everywhere, hundreds of flickering tiny flames in orbs of glass rise in clusters from the floor around the dais, floating and hovering in the air and creating a warm intimate glow.

  “Am-re-vet-Ra!”

  A few more layers to go, and I can finally see him.

  Aeson Kassiopei, my Husband, stands before me, stilled and frozen, watching my approach. He is entirely naked, with only a flimsy wrap of fabric covering his middle. It is of the same material as what makes up my modesty cloak.

  I pull apart the last curtain layer between us, revealing him in all his bronzed, lean, muscular glory. His golden mane of hair falls loosely around his shoulders, and his expression is focused intensity.

  This is also my cue. . . . I undo the easy clasp at my throat, and my flimsy cloak falls to the floor at my feet. At the same time, I step out of my jeweled slippers.

  I take a step forward and stand in the presence of Aeson, my Husband, in nothing but my Amrevet Dress.

  Aeson’s eyes widen and his gaze stops, focuses completely, devours me.

  “Gwen. . . .” he says in a strange, hoarse voice.

  At the same time I also take in everything about him, every detail of his glorious chest and shoulders, toned legs, the strong column of this throat, the lean jawline and the defined muscles of his abdomen, and that little piece of fabric wrapped around his middle, and what it barely conceals. . .

  Another suspended moment of timeless wonder where we both stare at each other, transfixed.

  “Am-re-vet-Ra!”

  And then Aeson draws in a shuddering breath and takes another step toward me, and I also walk toward him . . . while the tiny beaded pearls of my Amrevet Dress sway along with the curves of my body as I move, clinking gently.

  “Come, im amrevu . . . im nefira,” Aeson whispers in a faint voice such as I never heard him use before, even as he reaches out to me.

  “Aeson . . .” I whisper, also reaching out to him.

  We stop and stand at arm’s length from each other, with our hands extended forward—right hand palm up, left hand palm down.

  “Am-re-vet-Ra!”

  “Ready?” he says, a slow, sens
ual smile curving his mouth.

  I nod, with parted lips.

  Our outstretched hands clasp—his left hand covering my open right palm, my left hand covering his open right palm.

  In the instant of contact, an immediate shock of sensual awareness comes. Fire courses through our fingertips and travels up our palms and wrists, and where our hands meet, our skin burns. . . . It is once again consumed with heat as it had been during the Marriage Ceremony.

  This is our moment.

  We begin to sing—listening, then matching the rhythm of the chant that comes toward us from an invisible source. The moment our voices blend together in song, the priests hear us and begin singing in answer, uttering the full words of the nuptial rite. And this time the ritual words of our Amrevet Chant fill the air, tangible with the raw force of two Logos voices entwined. . . .

  As we have been instructed, Aeson and I have to sing each line in response to the priests, echoing them. And while we sing, from this point onward until the end of the Chant we may not look anywhere but into each other’s eyes. . . . Nor may we touch each other anywhere, only maintain the contact of our hands in our burning grasp.

  “Am-re-vet-Ra! Am-re-vet-Ra! Am-re-vet-Ra!” the priests sing and we sing in response.

  The serpent wakens and the fire flows . . .

  Am-re-vet-Ra! Am-re-vet-Ra! Am-re-vet-Ra!

  Aeson looks at me with his so-very-blue eyes, glittering with liquid in the soft illumination of the floating light orbs, his dilated pupils reflecting in their darkness the infinite, flickering flames. . . .

  As I form each note, and he forms each note, the sound stands up in the air around us like a force field. I can almost feel the sound waves bathing us in concentric circles as they seem to pass through us and redouble back, resonating around us as though we are two tuning forks. Meanwhile, rivers of electricity travel between our hands, blending and melting the barriers between our skin. . . . Oh, it burns!