Chapter Six
“Ensheduana bear the sacred duty of tending the Core and flesh of the people of Nuama—most importantly, of Sestras. This is an act of devotion to the Goddesses and must be honored as such. In addition to guiding both birth and conception, the path of the Ensheduana holds many sacred roles, Haporai among them. The Conven of Haporai are Keepers of a kind unknown to any male… the balance… each Ereshkigal… the Predicta must…”
— Sacred Ethos, Verse Seventeen, Lines One Through Three, Partially Degraded
You are in a hurry. A child has been born at Corestone, to the Empress. And it is not a girl child. You rush down warm stone corridors pulsing with soft patterns of bioluminescence, your soft, woven after-birth supply bag in hand. At the entryway of the Empress’ birthing chamber, you pat her lioness briefly on its fluffy cheek in greeting, then enter. Several other Ensheduana are already present, including your Guide, Silvie.
“Where were you, Illan?” She asks, with the same kind, calm tone she always has.
“I’ve just come back from the trade market, Enshe,” you reply, using the shortened version of her full title. Silvie nods distractedly.
You glance around the chamber, which has already been cleaned. The Empress reclines on a mass of pillows on her round bed, wings tucked up behind her. The infant is being prepared on a stone table lined with highly-scented herbs and soft flower petals gathered this morning for just that purpose.
It is hot out, so the Empress is still naked. She’s being fanned by two Ensheduana—no men are present, of course. Not anywhere in Corestone. Not until this is done.
One of the Sestras brings the Empress a glass of Fiera laced with starflower essence. You walk towards the bed with your after-birth bag, grateful you bound your wings back today. They’ll stay out of your way without you having to think about them.
“May I examine you, Empress Ahurewah?” You ask.
“Of course, Illan. I’ve been checked thrice already and there’s no trace of anything remaining inside me that should not be there. But I know you are still learning, so yes, please go ahead,” the Empress is always so kind and generous. That’s why she’s Empress, after all. Stewarding an entire world is a burden only the most selfless are allowed to bear.
You kneel in front of her. The scent of blood and birth has been mostly cleansed from her. Only the scantest rivulet of bright red trickles down her inner thigh, towards her buttock.
You remove a cloth from your bag, as well as a container of thick, rich plant oil, which you rub gently into the Empress’ skin around her opening, wiping off the remaining blood as you do so. She parts her legs wider so you can access her more easily, and you slip your fingers inside. She’s still rather dilated, so this is not difficult and does not hurt her.
You’ve done this before, though never for Empress Ahurewah. You were in your final annum of training when she gave birth the first time. That one was also a boy. You wonder how she feels about the lack of a girl child after two pregnancies.
You gently sweep her Uru, marveling yet again, as you always do, how the inside of a woman can create and carry life. Her Uru is relaxing after the contractions it manifested to push the child out of her, and you feel no clots, nothing left of her bag of waters. She’s perfectly empty. The close heat of the room presses in on you, and a drop of sweat beads on your temple.
“Empress, you are indeed quite cleaned out. No clots, no blood. Well done,” you say.
“Thank you, Illan. Now if only my next one is a girl,” she says, rather grumpily. “What a waste of time, carrying a child for nine months that has no use other than as food for my lioness!”
You and the other Ensheduana do not offer words contrary to what she’s said. After all, she’s just carried a child for months on end for virtually no reason—and for the second time in less than three annums. She has every right to be irritated.
You wipe the final remnants of afterbirth from her legs and your hands, then remove your thin outer garment. It is too hot for clothing, and most of the Ensheduana are either partially or fully nude. After placing your garment aside, you begin lightly massaging her stomach, imbuing your touch with all the comfort and love you can offer.
After a few moments, she sighs and you feel her belly contract, then soften. It flattens a bit and you reach down to check between her legs.
She is closing back up, and has no fresh blood. Her birthing corridor clenches around your fingers—strong and firm. She trembles a bit, then looks at you with appreciation and gratitude.
“I can feel some small pleasure again already,” she laughs ruefully, her gaze on your chest. You feel your nipples harden involuntarily, heat rushing to your face. Not from embarrassment, of course, there’s no reason for that. Only because even in this moment—perhaps especially in this moment—she is the most beautiful example of femininity you’ve had the honor of witnessing.
“Illan, perhaps some night you could be my bed-companion,” she adds.
“I would be honored,” you say gently. Whether she wants you for comfort or more, you’d be pleased to oblige, as almost anyone would.
“Good. Then come to me in two night’s time,” she says somewhat distractedly.
Ah, she wants you for comfort and soft, lingering touch. She won’t be ready for anything more by then.
“Certainly, Empress. Will you please sip your Fiera?” You ask.
She reaches for it and takes a long swallow. It’s tinged a beautiful deep blue from the starflower, and your mouth waters. You know you’ll be partaking in it soon.
Now, as it turns out.
“Ensheduanas, Empress Ahurewah—the child is ready. Shall we begin?”
You hope it goes quickly. There’s really no reason to drag it out, though some elderess Ensheduanas do.
One of the Sestras passes around goblets of Fiera, and you immediately sip yours. Life-giving fluid, no reason to wait.
The fire in the centre of the room has been lit. Silvie lifts the boy child from his herb-and-floral-petal bed. His wings are tiny and barely moving. That’s normal for most newborns. He’s actually quite perfect.
If he weren’t the son of an Empress it’s possible he’d someday become an Unbroken.
Silvie turns him facedown onto the table, where he begins to fuss. You steel yourself for what’s coming, and are glad Silvie doesn’t delay.
She places one hand under his chin, lifts his head a bit. Then with one quick flick of her wrist, she slits the infant’s throat. He fades into death without a whimper, a channel under his head catching the blood.
The Empress sighs, and you turn your head to observe her. She is drinking her Fiera, a contemplative look upon her stunning face. Each time you see her you’re startled by her beauty. All women in Nuama are attractive, of course, but she is unlike anyone else.
“Silvie.”
“Yes, Empress Ahurewah?”
“I require a new Unbroken,” she states.
No one is surprised.
“Of course, Empress. After you have recovered for three month’s time, as is appropriate. What shall we do with Wafin?”
“He is still young. No need to remove his yezari just yet. Send him to another woman to try again. To a Mamlakah from whom we’d like to create more Unbroken, since he seems to breed boys,” Empress Ahurewah replies, a bit cross.
You nod in agreement. A wise choice on her part. Wafin has a pleasing face, docile character, and is quite strong and vigorous in the sensual arts. His role as an Unbroken has no reason to end, rather his efforts can simply be redirected.
“Very well, Empress. We shall see to that in a few weeks’ time. We still have the list of traits you require, if there are no additions or changes?”
“No, none,” the Empress replies, waving a hand as if waving away the question.
“Perfect. I’ll make sure to bring you several options so you can choose whom you like best. And if none are suitable, we’ll keep looking,” Silvie smiles absently in the Empress’ general direction as she observes the flow of blood from the infant, which looks to have stopped.
Such a small thing doesn’t take long to empty.
The blood will be used to nourish plants in a nearby forest garden. One of the Ensheduana will take the infant’s corpse to the Empress’ lioness who still awaits patiently outside the entrance of the chamber.
But first, there is one more task to complete.
“It’s time,” Silvie says, turning to you, a softly expectant look upon her dear face.
You walk to her, knowing this is your moment. You’ve done it before, but…
It will be fine. You’re quite skilled, all the Ensheduana agree on that point.
It is so hot. You remove your last bit of clothing, now fully naked. There is only one Ensheduana in the room who retains her inner garment, other than her, everyone is now fully unclothed.
Silvie hands you her knife, which is sharpened so it could cut a single strand of hair. The same knife she used to cut the infant’s throat a few moments ago. He probably didn’t feel a thing, the blade is that silken in its work. His body is limp and lifeless. Empty.
You take the knife and place it at the bottom of one of the wings. With your other hand, you stretch it out until it is at full span. The wings really are quite pretty. Such a shame it wasn’t a girl.
“For the balance, safety and abundance of Nuama, we make this choice as one,” you state. Murmurs of agreement echo around the stone chamber.
The knife slices the first wing off neatly, easily. You remove the other one too, and hand both to a waiting Ensheduana, who cleans the small amount of blood from them.
The Empress is still watching, a bit impatient. She probably would like to sleep. She’s finished one glass of Fiera and is halfway through a second. Starflower is a sedative, and they’ve timed serving her the Fiera to coincide with the end of their duties.
It won’t be long now.
Silvie takes the two bodiless wings and walks slowly around the room, allowing each Ensheduana to nod or briefly touch them if they wish. Almost none reach out their hand, though you do. The wings are too beautiful to not offer some homage.
The Empress gives a perfunctory nod when Silvie brings the wings to her, then drains the last of her glass.
The room begins to cool as the sun sinks towards the ocean, kicking up the evening breeze. One Ensheduana covers the Empress with a blanket, while another, who is known to be her closest companion, lays next to her and cuddles up close. A third places her hand on the stone wall, which creates a thin, translucent film of biosilk as a barrier over the skygate that allows in cool air, but keeps out bugs and debris.
Silvie walks back to the centre flame and throws the infant’s wings into the fire, where they flare briefly. One of the other Ensheduana gathers the herbs and flowers used in the ritual and tosses them in, as well.
Everyone gathered stands quietly and waits until the fire has extinguished itself and the Empress’ eyes drift shut. You silently wish her the sweetest dreams of a strong and beautiful baby girl, then gather your after-birth supply bag. Silvie has also gathered her things and makes her way to you.
“Walk with me,” she murmurs.
One quick glance back at the Empress reveals she is curled around her companion, chest slowly rising and falling. Peaceful.
The other Ensheduana are also gathering their belongings and silently preparing to return to their own chambers elsewhere in Corestone. One of them is holding the infant’s body. As they exit the birthing chamber, she gives it to the lioness, who takes it neatly from her hands.
Then, the lioness carries it between her teeth as she makes her way towards the beach at the foot of Corestone. She’s much too polite to consume her food inside.
“When our first Empress’s son was born thousands of annums ago, his body was given to a male lion, who ate the infant right here in the corridor. That’s why only lionesses are allowed inside Corestone now,” Silvie says.
“Ah, I hadn’t heard that,” you reply. “I don’t think I ever even wondered about it.”
“Well, why would you? Corestone isn’t for males of any species, unless invited. It’s something we’re so used to, we barely notice anymore,” she shrugs.
“True,” you agree.
You fall into step with her and leave the birthing-chamber behind.
“You did well today,” she says when you’ve gone a few dozen steps down the corridor.
“Thank you, Enshe Silvie,” you reply.
“I can’t remember the last time you called me Ensheduana Silvie,” she teases.
“Yes, I’ve gotten used to dropping the sacred part of your name,” you smile with amusement.
“As is right for your growth into your role,” Silvie nods. “Soon you will call all other Ensheduana simply Enshe, because we are all Mothers, whether we bear our own children or care for other Mothers. The Sacred part of our title simply becomes unspoken at some point,” she smiles gently at you, placing her hand in the crook of your arm.
Though she is not yet an elderess, you enjoy being her guide, of sorts, occasionally.
“Indeed,” you reply.
You feel a sense of comfort that you will never bear your own children. You’ve never wanted to. It’s why you’re an Ensheduana. Though some Ensheduana do excuse themselves from that role to bear children eventually, you have no such plans. You’re fully dedicated to the sacred path you’ve chosen and the responsibilities that come with it.
There’s a silence in the air between you, and you sense what she is about to say.
“Illan, have you considered whether to take on the assignment in Hagate?” Silvie asks.
“Yes, quite carefully.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re nothing if not thoughtful,” Silvie replies.
“The assignment is for two and a half annums?” You inquire, though you know the answer.
“Yes, to train three Ensheduana in the arts of birth. Then you will return here, to Corestone.”
“And you think I am ready to train others? I have only been in this role for a little over an annum,” you say. As if she needs reminding.
“Be that as it may, you’re skilled and careful. Your guide there will be a Sestra named Priande. I trained under her many annums ago, and I am certain she will be a good guide for you, too. And of course, almost every birth is uncomplicated. I can’t remember the last time we lost a Mother or her child,” she mused.
“Alright. I’ll go,” you say.
You feel a thrill rush through you. Hagate is on the northeastern side of the continent, just below the Kopu Range and Dar’kat Mounts, near the sea. Several small islands, desolate and wild, dot the coastline. The area has long been one of your favorite places. The winds blow strong there, giving you the opportunity for additional wing-strength building sessions. You’ve been craving more difficult winds, tougher currents to test your skills of flight.
Silvie catches the far-away look on your face and laughs.
“You can leave as soon as next week, if you’d like,” she offers, as you descend another flight of curving stone steps.
Like most Ensheduana, your chambers are several levels below those of the Empress. But the lower levels have the advantage of being closer to the ocean, which you love.
“Thank you, Silvie,” you reply.
The curling passage gives way to the long, winding set of stone steps that lead all the way to the beach below. On your left, there is a wide natural promontory jutting from the cliff-face that overlooks the ocean. It is a favorite spot for those who live at Corestone to watch the sunset, so a few servants are usually assigned here at the ready if needed.
The evening breeze has calmed a bit and the sun is nearly touching the horizon. You nod hello to one of Empress Ahurewah’s younger sisters, Eraema, as she walks past. She left the birthing chamber before you and Silvie, probably eager to find a Cloudweaver to retrieve her Fa’loom from the waiting area outside Corestone. He follows dutifully behind her, fully covered by his evening vestments. Only his eyes are visible. You remember Eraema choosing him at a recent Zaht’eve, but don’t recall his name.
Silvie guides you gently towards one of the lounging pods nestled into the surface of the natural promontory. Fondly called sunset hollows, they’re shallow stone basins that have been carved into the rock. They’re laden with pillows and surrounded by glowing honey-wax torches. Open to the sky and sea, they offer a serene spot to watch the sunset paint the horizon while remaining cradled within the ancient cliffs of Corestone. They also offer privacy, as any conversation cannot be heard beyond the edges of the hollow, since only the front of each faces open ocean. Some hollows can seat up to ten Sestras, but Silvie chooses one that is smaller. More intimate.
Even here on the rocky edges of Corestone, flowers bloom in riotous profusion, the scent flinging itself eagerly into the air.
“What’s on your mind, Silvie?” You inquire after you’ve both settled into the plush cushions. The sea is before you, deep and unknowable in all its wondrous ways.
“Empress Ahurewah’s next child must be a daughter,” she states, and you hear an unusual edge to her voice.
“Yes, of course that would be best,” you agree. “Have you and the other Elderess Ensheduanas discussed how to best facilitate that?”
“We’re bringing her Unbroken to choose from who have already sired at least two daughters,” she states.
“Unbroken who have already had a Keeper?” You try not to let surprise show in your voice, but it creeps in anyway.
“Actually, some have had two—or even three—Keepers thus far. One of the strongest candidates just finished with his fourth Keeper. He has sired seven girls total for his Keepers thus far, and no boys” she says briskly. “Though it’s rare for an Unbroken to have a Keeper before belonging to the Empress, it’s not unheard of. You know that.”
“Yes, I just— well, I’m sure Ahurewah won’t mind. She’s tired of useless pregnancies.”
“Indeed.”
You sit in silence as the sun sinks deeper into the ocean, casting a long sliver of golden light along the horizon as it slips entirely beneath the waves. The silken cushions curl around you, forming to your curves. Their texture and soft acceptance of your form is as calming as your Mother’s embrace when you were a youngling.
Silvie sighs, and you turn to her, startled.
“Are you quite all right?” You inquire. You cannot remember the last time you heard her be anything other than calm. Happy.
“I am. It’s— there is just so much happening, so much at stake,” the older woman speaks tiredly, as if she’s just flown from Isle Shivet to the lands of Danuē across the open sea. Her still-magnificently feathered wings are in repose, spread out on either side of her, the pale green and silver hues brilliant in the light of just-after-sunset and flitting flames of nearby honey-wax torches.
“How far from balance are we now?” You whisper, even though you know no one is near. You’ve placed one of the pillows just outside the hollow, a silent indication that whomever is within wishes privacy. And of course that will be respected. It’s not even a question.
“Three Ereshkigal.”
Her words are flat, inflectionless. You take a deep breath. That’s not really so bad—
“That number rose by one Ereshkigal today because the Empress had a boy child?” You ask.
“Correct. And worse yet, Predicta from the Conven is that if Empress Ahurewah does not birth a girl child next time, that number will raise to five.”
“Oh. I see… but does that mean more males have been—”
“In addition to that, in the past annum, we’ve sent more than thirty males to Ga’hueal,” Silvie added.
“That’s high, but not alarmingly so,” you are arguing the case for optimism and you both know it.
“True,” she agrees, “yet—”
“Three—or even five—Ereshkigal is nowhere close to how out of balance we were before the Bloodletting,” you continue, making your tone reassuring.
The older woman becomes quiet, contemplative. The breeze off the ocean flows past, running its fingers through your hair as a lover—as Halia—would. You shiver with delight. You’ve always loved the wind.
Presently, Silvie speaks again.
“You’ll need to let Halia know you’re going to Hagate,” she says, as if reading your thoughts.
The change is subject is abrupt, signaling an end to the previous topic of conversation. But you know Silvie isn’t frustrated with you. If she was, she would tell you.
“Yes. I’ve told her I may be taking a position there, and of course she knows it’s a few days’ flight away. I’ll miss her, but we can still see one another fairly regularly.”
“Her duties as a Temptress will continue to keep her quite busy at the duug,” Silvie’s tone is gentle, with almost no trace of her earlier worries. You wonder if she’s changed the subject for her sake, or yours.
“I know. But she and I will see one another again, of that I have no doubt. She enjoys taking to the skies nearly as much as I do,” you smile at the sudden memory of Halia, naked and laughing, pathoa-leaf colored wings outstretched, gliding on a current of wind next to you through the cool evening air. The Seven Sisters constellation had been unusually brilliant that night, their reassuring presence sparkling down upon all of Nuama.
“You’ll have other partners to comfort you while you’re away, as will she,” Silvie says.
“Just as we do here,” you agree.
“I must say, the two of you are quite stunning when you come together.”
“Thank you! Her touch lights my skin afire.”
“I am sure your embrace does the same for her,” Silvie nods knowingly.
“When did you see us pleasuring one another?” You’re curious, since you can think of several occasions when that may have occurred.
“I believe it was during Supplication last summer,” Silvie answers.
“Ah, yes! That was quite an evening,” you grin in remembrance.
“It was. The Fa’loom and Sestras who were chosen to show devotion performed excellently, and in so doing, ushered in desire for everyone in attendance.”
You nod your agreement. Supplication has become one of your favorite events. The wide array of edible delicacies, endless goblets of Fiera and honeywine, sensual delights of all kinds…
“Do you remember my first supplication, three annums ago?”
“I do,” Silvie replies, gazing out to the sea. The horizon still glows with the light of the sunken sun, and stars are beginning to appear in the darkening sky above. “What was your favorite part about it?”
You think for a moment. The food had been phenomenal, the guests bright, joyful, anticipatory. And then satiated, of course. But… one moment stood out above the others.
“It was after Empress Ahurewah had received everyone’s supplication. After her attendants bathed her and rubbed spiced oil on her skin. She took to the skies, so we could all hear what she was about to say. Her wings were stunning, the gemstones and golden shimmer woven into her feathers cast flames of light throughout the Clifftop Sanctum.”
“Yes. She was truly magnificent that night. You remember that was also her first Supplication,” Silvie says.
“I do. That moment was my favorite of the three Supplications I’ve attended, and will likely remain so for a long while,” you reply.
“Because it was her first, as well as yours?”
“No. Because I’ll never forget the sound of her voice when she told us the name she’d chosen for her first daughter—may she be conceived soon,” you lift the palms of both hands, briefly close your eyes and lift your chin in honor to the Goddesses.
“It is a name well chosen for a girl child who could be our next Empress,” Silvie says.
“Truly! And I love how it sounds,” you add, then speak the name aloud, as if to remind yourself of its beauty.
“Thelyrah.”
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