Chapter Seven
“While it is true that Evermates can be of any gender, the most common—and logical— pairings are two women, two genderfree, or one of each. Three or more may choose to be Evermates. It should be noted that while naturally separations or distancing occurs in any sort of Evermate pairing or group, Evermates generally stay close throughout their lifetimes, though whether they are friends or lovers may shift and change as they age. Choosing a male as an Evermate has so many dangers it’s seldom worth it, as can be seen from what precipitated the most recent Bloodletting… males, of course, may not choose to have a male Evermate… Sestras and genderfree may choose an Evermate after reaching the age of consent…”
— Excerpt from Ensheduana Conven Archives, Volume 3,796, Annum 9,352
You muster a slight smile as you approach the gate of the duug nearest Corestone. The gate, called Featherlight, is a stunning pair of enormous wings carved with flowing vines, flowering plants, sea animals and celestial motifs. Bits of mirrored and mosaic glass are subtly integrated, their reflective surfaces mimicking pools of still water shimmering with soft, golden light that pulses like a heartbeat as the trees above shift and sway, allowing an ever-changing palette of sunbeams to filter through the canopy, casting flickering shards of light onto the ground like shattered stars.
As you step closer, the gate begins to shift with mesmerizing, fluid motion. The wooden feathers gently slide past one another, as if unfurling in slow, graceful flight. Feathers rise and fall, others spiral outward, revealing more layers beneath them. The bits of glass amplify this motion, reflecting seemingly endless layers of movement, making it feel as though the wings are connected to a being who breathes, evolves, responds to your presence. The gate’s movements are silent, save for the occasional soft creak of wood and the whisper of wind through openings created as it transforms. Delicate vines and mosses weave through the gate, some of which shift as the gates open, enhancing the illusion that the wings are a living, breathing entity of the land.
As you pass through, Featherlight slowly and organically returns to its resting state, never quite settling the same way twice.
“Etanash, hello!” Ensheduana Nisawe Olabasi smiles as she strides towards you through the lush courtyard of the Uksilasha Duugsiga—the duug—with several youngling Nauciti on her heels. Her soft, lightweight cloth gown, slit high on both sides to allow air flow, billows out behind her. Her hair is adorned with small sprigs of flowering Mala, an she wears a simple circlet of dark, shimmering gemstones on her upper arm.
The sun beats high overhead, it is nearing midday. A stiff breeze blows in from the turquoise and silver sea sparking and heaving several thousand paces to the west. Lush foliage spills from every planter, balcony and portico, and flowering vines off all sorts climb each of the colonnades rimming the central space, tangling together in riotous harmony. The duug is truly a masterpiece in earthshaping.
“Hello, Nisawe! How are you?” You reply, returning her smile.
After you’ve kissed one another hello, Nisawe leads you to an open-walled room for cooling mint and fermented grape tea. Three or four of the most curious Nauciti follow, unable to restrain their curiosity. Though perhaps they should. But allowing them to do what they will within certain boundaries is an important part of understanding their personalities, which is crucial in the process of deciding whether they will make a good Fa’loom someday or ought to just be a servant.
“Nisawe, these Nauciti—what ages are they?”
“Beloved, they are between ages three and seven,” she glanced around, then chose one of the students seemingly at random. “Jahem, tell Ensheduana Etanash your age.”
“I am five annums, Beloved. I started training as a Nauciti eleven moons ago,” the child says. “I’ll be six annums in just two more moon cycles!”
“Jahem, only Ensheduana call one another Beloved, remember?” Nisawe corrects him, gently placing her hand on his shoulder.
He bows his head and his thin body trembles.
“Please forgive me, Ensheduanas. I am still learning, and I—”
“Jahem, forgive yourself. You have brought no shame to yourself or your instructors. You are only a first-annum Nauciti. The rest of you boys—tell me a little about yourselves,” you request.
After full introductions have been made, Nisawe sends the Nauciti away for their last lesson of the morning before midday meal. After lunch, the younglings will take a brief rest period before resuming afternoon lessons.
You watch as little Jahem trots after the others, his wingless, unclothed body glistening with unevenly-applied oils in the sunlight. He is admittedly a sweet child. Years ago, before Blackstone, you’d have felt a bit of compassion for him.
Now that you know the stakes, you don’t.
“So?” Nisawe asks, her vibrant black-and-teal wings shimmering with even the slightest movement.
“Yes. The child will have to be pruned,” you reply as you sip the cooling fermented tea.
“Shall Jahem be fully pruned, or—?”
“I think he will still make a satisfactory Fa’loom,” you reply. “He has a pleasing face that will become handsome with time. There’s no reason to make the child a Fiera harvester or send him to the far-flung communal provisions hall of a Mamlakah, despite his error.”
“Agreed. And I apologize—”
“Do not worry even for a moment. We know how some men behave, that’s why they all have their wings removed. And sometimes, their yezari and varapos,” you add, reaching over to squeeze Nisawe’s hand. “No need to prune him now, of course. His error was not extreme. Although, as the Sacred Laws says, ‘lack of attention is lack of mindfulness, which does not an Unbroken make’. Regardless—wait until next annum’s Xul’shuda to prune his yezari.”
“You are correct, of course. There is no worse thing than a man who has been allowed to keep parts of himself he should not have,” Nisawe smiles, lifting her carved crystalline vessel filled with refreshing liquid to her lips.
The sun, which had been momentarily hidden behind a rainless cloud, emerges and bathes the courtyard, plants, and people with shafts of light, creating golden dewdrops on Nisawe’s skin.
There is silence. Nisawe chooses her moment.
“Speaking of Unbroken…”
You do not lift your gaze from your vessel of fermented mint tea. A slow exhale escapes your lips, the kind that comes from someone who knows they’ve allowed an opening but is nonetheless annoyed at having to walk through it.
“The moon waxes quickly,” you say, swirling your cup absently. “It will be full soon.”
You give her a quick, meaningful glance. She nods, shifting just slightly to better settle back against her wings.
“Yes. And I hear the tide is unusually high,” she replies.
“Mmm.” You take a slow sip. “It will be lower by morning.”
“So you expect all the debris from the storm will be carried out to sea?”
A pause.
A breeze shifts through the colonnades, rustling flowering vines and the dark plumes of Nisawe’s wings. She watches you over the rim of her cup, eyes sparkling. The two of you do love speaking in code, though you have no reason to believe anyone is listening. It simply amuses you both.
You frown, a question you don’t want to ask forming in your mind. A question you came here to ask. A long sigh escapes your lips.
“I would like to know how many have taken notice of the debris,” you say, “and whether they whisper about its comings and goings to one another.”
“I’ve heard no one talking about the debris brought in by the tide who isn’t also aware of the incoming storm,” she replies reassuringly, adding “—however, there are those who remember the last storm who wonder about the winds beyond the southern sea.”
You set your cup down, carefully, precisely. This is why you came.
“And?” You murmur, sensing there is more.
“The storm watchers know the sky does not move without reason,” she continues, measured.
A longer silence this time as you bask in momentary relief. Finally, a piece of good news. You feel the sun shifting over the courtyard, the golden light catching against the fine droplets of moisture on Nisawe’s skin.
“Have the stars changed their positions?” she asks finally.
“Not yet. They will tomorrow, before dusk.”
She exhales, leans back slightly, adjusting her wings so she can rest more comfortably. The fabric of her garment slides, baring a sliver of skin. She meets your gaze above the lip of her vessel. You flush with heat. She is quite attractive, though perhaps you only think so because she looks a bit like Thelyrah.
She is teasing you. Another little game. But one you have no patience for today.
“Who will be watching the incoming storm?” she asks.
“The ones who always do. And our new pair of eyes—but she won’t be present until the storm has passed and we commence cleaning up the debris.”
Nisawe’s lips curl into a smile. “Ah. Good. She should see such things for herself before she takes her Rite.”
You nod. Now more than ever, Minah’s presence will be crucial. There are things she will need to know, many of them sooner rather than than later.
“Has anyone spoken of the storm or the debris it carries by name?” you ask, bringing the conversation back to where it belongs.
“No, not even a whisper.”
A small relief, hopefully a lasting one. Nisawe watches you, studying the fine tension in your shoulders.
“Etanash— I— are you sure the sea will not rise higher than planned?” she asks, and something like fear crosses her features.
You grasp her hand, seeking to reassure, though you understand her trepidation.
“The moon waxes,” you repeat. “The tide follows. And the storm-watchers see all.”
“Indeed. But—” she hesitates for a moment, but knows she is safe with you.
With all her Sestras, whether Ensheduana or not.
She decides to speak openly, just for a moment.
“It is unfortunate that one such as he was assigned to Corestone.”
“We’ve sent a Cloudweaver to the duug where he was raised. She will bring back the Ensheduana who recommended him, and we will question her,” you reply, setting your cup on the low table next to you.
You sigh deeply, and Nisawe wraps her hands lightly around your upper arms, pressing her forehead to yours.
“Etanash, this— mess— it will all be worked out in time. I have complete faith in you and Thelyrah. And all our Sestras.”
“Thank you, Nisawe,” you say as you settle back into the cushions.
“You’re welcome, Etanash. You know I’m always glad to see you. So—now that we have the less enjoyable conversations out of the way—are you hungry?”
~
After you’ve taken a delicious midday meal of large wedges of several types of melon, bitter greens dressed with sea salt and fig syrup, a spread of lush cheeses ladled onto root vegetables carved into the shape of small, shallow bowls by the older Nauciti assigned to the communal provisions hall, as well as more fermented mint and grape refreshment, you and Nisawe walk around the duug.
A young woman acting as Nisawe’s assistant trails behind you, just back from her errands at the trade market. She is tall and comely, her deep red wings nearly the color of blood, an occasional golden feather woven among them. Quite unique and very pretty.
The first group of young men you come upon are nearly at the age of consent. They are gathered in an interior room with many large round beds, practicing the pleasure arts. Most of them are too involved in their task to notice the three of you enter the room. But those who do—those blessed Nauciti with the gift of being present—turn their attention to the three of you while still ensuring the Temptresses they are pleasuring with either their tongue or fingers—or both—continue to fully and completely enjoy themselves.
When Nisawe sees the look on your face, her wings relax.
“I’m especially pleased with this group of Nauciti. They’ve learned the art of Presence better than any group I’ve worked with thus far,” Nisawe says.
“You and the other Ensheduana who have charge of this duug, as well as the Temptresses, have done quite well. Make sure the five Nauciti who noticed our entrance into the room without breaking the rhythm of the pleasure they are giving are sent to Corestone when they are of age to participate in Zaht’eve,” you reply.
Nisawe nods to the young woman, and she writes down the names of the five Nauciti on the sete she carries.
“What is your name?” You ask her.
“Honored Etanash, I am called Rasu. My Mother Cindra, may she abide forever with the Creatresses, oversaw a small fleet of ships out of the port of Privot.”
Nisawe looks at you and smiles. “That is where Etanash’s Mother line originated,” she says.
“Yes, Ensheduana,” the younger woman returns Nisawe’s smile. “Etanash and their family are beloved members of our Mamlakah in Privot, though I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Etanash until today. I believe you left long before I was born,” the girl smiles shyly.
“That’s accurate,” you say, returning her smile.
You’d known her place of origin as soon as she used the term Creatresses rather than Goddesses, which is more common on the mainland. “How long has it been since your Mother passed on?”
“Seven moon cycles,” Rasu replied.
“And did you fly here yourself, or did one of your Mother’s sisters bring you?”
Rasu’s smile faded just the tiniest amount.
“My Mother had no sisters. It was just the two of us, and our servants, of course. Mother kept no Fa’loom. She had a Sestra companion, but they were not exclusive and I didn’t know her well. When Mother passed, her companion moved away to another Mamlakah. So, after Mother’s Shud’arah, I offered care of my responsibilities within our Mamlakah to trusted friends, who gracefully accepted, then came here.”
“Ah, so your loss is recent, then. I am sorry I did not know your Mother. She must have been a wonderful person to have a daughter such as you. Shall we mourn with you, little Pouri?” Grieving little Sestra.
“Ensheduana, you honor me. Thank you. As I understand it, there are important tasks at hand today. My Mamlakah in Privot mourned with me for an entire moon before I left. My heart is full.”
You deepen your attention on the young woman. Her thoughtfulness, grace and maturity at a relatively young age mark her for an important path.
She is the pure and clear opposite of Kalek—though you need not think of that.
Not right now.
You brush Kalek from your mind and refocus on the youngling in front of you.
“Nisawe, keep Rasu close. She is to be your Primary Consort for the next seven annums,” you say.
Rasu manages to keep her face composed, but you feel the waves of joy emanating from her.
“Honored Etanash—thank you. I will continue to do my best to serve Nisawe and the Temptresses, and the other Ensheduana here. And if there is ever anything I can do for you, I would be honored to assist.”
“I need no thanks, Rasu, you have earned this,” you smile at her, then the three of you continue down the open halls toward the Reflection Room.
Rasu drops back slightly as you walk, leaving you free to speak openly with Nisawe.
“How did the youngling come to be here at this duug?” You ask.
“Several of the Sestras in her Mamlakah sent missives to the Conven of Ensheduana at Haporai in support of her. The Conven accepted the references, and after living at Haporai for the requisite moon cycles, they recognized Rasu has uncanny intuition and discretion. They reached out to me, and she’s been here at the duug on a trial basis for a few moon cycles now,” Nisawe replies.
She holds her wings erect, positioned to show her confidence and strength.
“You really have been the perfect replacement for Efe’unga,” you tell her.
“I am so glad. I do so love being here at the duug,” then she gracefully adds “my predecessor was doing her best. May she be safe with the Goddesses forever in Pleroma,” Nisawe replies.
A shiver runs up your spine, but you shake it off.
“Agreed. I am glad you were given charge of this duug when Efe’unga passed on,” you say.
“Thelyrah’s Mother is quite loyal to those whom she appoints,” Nisawe says, an attempt at peacemaking.
“Indeed. And it was her loyalty to Efe’unga’s relaxed standards for Nauciti that ensured—well… you know the one of whom I speak—was allowed to become a Fa’loom,” your sigh comes from deep within.
Your wings dip slightly, and Nisawe recognizes how tired you are.
“You don’t think he should have been given the rite to be a Fa’loom,” she states the obvious.
“No. Well, perhaps. In some far-flung Mamlakah where he could not do so much damage. Certainly not Corestone. And most assuredly not as an Unbroken. It is disheartening in the extreme he was able to live among us for so long, and did what he did. But I tire of this conversation. Let us look into the Reflection Room.”
You proceed down the hall until you reach the chamber where final-annum Nauciti are training.
It is a large, circular open-air space with a pool of water covered in blooming fiera lilies at its center. A permanent offering to the Goddesses. Various types of highly-scented flowering plants and vines are blooming, their perfume swirling gently on the breeze.
The south-facing space is filled with two dozen or so young men who have just come of age. They are being questioned on the various duties that a Fa’loom of a Sestra who is steward of a Mamlakah would have.
“The instructor’s name is Bedein. He was Empress Zaval’s first Unbroken,” Nisawe whispers in your ear, so quietly you aren’t sure you heard her.
But you’d know Thelyrah’s grand-sire anywhere.
You think briefly of the fact that no man in any part of Nuama knows the role he plays in procreation and never will.
Sacred Ethos for millennia, and for extraordinarily good reason. You feel a slight shiver again, which annoys you this time.
You’re doing everything you can think of to prevent another— thankfully, Bedein’s questioning of the young men interrupts your unhelpful thoughts.
“What would you do if your Keeper wanted to have a full meal when she returned home from an evening of revelry?” Bedein asks, his deep voice rolling around the stone walls of the room like a distant waterfall.
Most of the young men hold up their littlest finger, the sign they wish to answer. Bedein chooses one seemingly at random, though you know better.
“I’d be certain to know when she was heading home, and would have something ready for her, just in case,” he answered.
“And how would you know she was heading back?”
“I’d send a missive to the dwelling where she was at, and ask a servant or Fa’loom to let me know when she left,” the young man replied confidently.
“Very well. And what if they forgot to let you know? Or what if there was some sort of interruption in the biolumen?”
You stifle a laugh. Trick question. Biolumen makes up everything on Nuama—it IS Nuama. The thought of it having an interruption is therefore impossibly amusing. And while the Nauciti knows that, or perhaps because he knows it, he hesitates to reply.
Others around the room hold up a finger.
“Yes?” Bedein calls on one of them who has dark curly hair and good posture.
“I would have her favorites that don’t need to be heated ready, with a few other options that could be cooked quickly. As she came into the dwelling, I’d have platters along the corridor leading to her chambers so she could choose whatever she wanted. And I’d let her know I could also heat something else up for her. That way, I wouldn’t have to bother the servant or Fa’loom of another Keeper when they are busy with a dwelling full of guests.”
The room is silent. It is a very good answer. Bedein tilts his head just slightly.
“And what if, after you’ve spent the evening preparing all that food, she wants none of it—she only wants you to come to her chambers and pleasure her for several hours?”
“Then I would.”
“What if you are tired?”
“She is my Keeper. It is her dwelling, and I am lucky enough to be there to serve her. Fa’loom do not have the right to tell their Keeper no. But I would not want to. It is an honor and joy to be granted sensual access to women, and to serve them, especially one who bears the weight of overseeing an entire Mamlakah. I would be honored to belong to a woman such as that. But besides all of that, on days when there is much to do, making sure to take your midday rest is crucial for a Fa’loom. That way, you can be ready to serve your Keeper in whichever ways she requires.”
Humble, thoughtful, handsome, gifted with foresight and just the right amount of intelligence. He would go far.
“Very good, Sekushi,” Bedein nods approvingly at the young man, then continues asking questions about Keepers, gatherings, and related topics while you, Nisawe, and Rasu observe.
After a few moments, Nisawe whispers softly into your ear. Her breath is fragrant with the musk melon you finished your midday meal with. It reminds you of Thelyrah’s scent when she’s wet and ready for you…
“Speaking of gatherings, I’d like to invite you to one I think you’ll enjoy. There will only be a couple dozen in attendance, and no Fa’loom will be present.”
You think of what is going to happen in the den tomorrow evening. You think of Blackstone. Of Ihatithre. You know you will appreciate being immersed in Nisawe’s lush, indulgent gathering after the few days you know you are about to endure.
“Perfect,” you reply. “I’ll be there.”
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