Courtship Rite

by Donald Kingsbury

1

PRIME PREDICTOR TAE RAN-KAIEL was long dead but he lived in the bellies of his aggressive progeny. Even the youngest of them had shared his flesh at a Funeral Feast still remembered in clan chant around the rowdy gaming tables of the Kaiel temples.

An old man, Tae had been skinned and then marinated and stuffed with insect flavored bread before his body was spit-roasted. In the evening of the first high day of the week called Skull in the year of the Mantis, when the coals of the spit fire were as dull as Getasun caught by a sandstorm, he was carved to the monotonous voice of chanting and served in a spiced sauce that had been salted by a spoonful of blood from each of his eighty-three sons and seventy daughters. All night long, the mourning Kaiel had pledged their loyalty in song and in speech and gift-giving and even, at the height of the celebration, with wry jokes about the toughness of his flesh.

The three brothers Gaet, Hoemei, and Joesai had been among the sons of Tae ran-Kaiel who celebrated his Funeral. Boys then, wild comrades, they had felt more than camaraderie around the dull glow of the spit fire as the chanter, naked in the etched designs of his skin, carved up their father and sang the song of the Silent God of the Sky who waited for men strong enough to unify Geta.

That night they had been moved to take the vow of husbands, though they were only boys and knew no women they could share as wives. The drunken crowds, the drifting smoke mixed with incense, the emerging skeleton of the Prime Predictor fevered their souls. The three vowed to be husbands in a team that would bring honor to the Kaiel by carrying out the wishes of their father.

Since the Getan ideal was a balanced team, they decided that Hoemei should partake of his brains, Gaet should partake of his heart, and Joesai of his thighs. Thus they sealed their marriage as God passed overhead in the purpled sky.

“As God is my witness,” said Gaet, making the sign of loyalty.

“As God is my witness,” said Hoemei, his eyes on the moving God.

“As God is my witness,” said Joesai, watching their star-bright God pass among the stars.

A group of priests ambled through the crowd extolling Tae’s virtues in pithy shouts, throwing their arms to the sky for emphasis. Was not Tae the greatest leader of the Kaiel? Had he not earned for his genes the right to host in many bodies? Who had more kalothi than Tae ran-Kaiel?

“They are drunk,” said Hoemei, fascinated.

“Do you think we could get a crack at the whisky barrel?” mused Gaet. Men’s vows were oiled by drink.

“It is forbidden,” said Hoemei, reminding them that they were children.

“Wait till Aesoe makes his acceptance speech.” Joesai was grinning.

Some called Aesoe “the Shadow” because of his continuous proximity to Tae. Now he was sitting on a whisky barrel, laughing with friends. He would be the new Prime Predictor, not because he was Tae’s favorite, but because the predictions he had left in the Archives had proved more accurate than those of any other Kaiel.

Aesoe moved onto the stage. Even in those days he had loved to grip his audience with his booming oratory and waving arms. Joesai watched him, sometimes listening, sometimes sneaking toward the barrel.

“Since the epoch when God chose His Silence, priests have been isolating themselves from their people, and having lost contact, have been decimated when the underclans rebelled. New priest clans are legislated and are themselves overthrown. It was Tae who first analyzed the true nature of this falling.”

Joesai stole an empty mug from a rapt listener who stood smiling at the thousandth retelling of the reason Tae had laid down his law of Voting Weight. Their new clan leader waited serenely, savoring the hush his words created before breaking it. “Tae has decreed the rules by which we live and by which we have become strong.” He paused. “Are we strong?”

“All power to the Kaiel!” the crowd roared in the deep voices of men and the higher voices of women and the enthusiastic voices of children.

Joesai sipped the last drop of whisky in the mug, then pretended he was paying attention to the stage. Aesoe blazed now like Getasun in storm. “One: a Kaiel is to be allowed voting rights in the councils only in proportion to the size of his personal constituency.”

“All power to the Kaiel!” roared the massed clan in ritual.

“Two: the constituency of any Kaiel may consist only of loyal friends.”

“All power to the Kaiel!” Joesai was near the whisky now, and planning his tactics. Stealing in a crowd, even when it was dark, required thought.

“Three: no Kaiel may belong to the constituency of another Kaiel.”

“All power to the Kaiel!” If he could nudge it, the spigot would drip.

“Four: no non-Kaiel may belong to more than one constituency.”

“All power to the Kaiel!”

“Five: no one shall be forced into a constituency by either fear or place of domicile.”

“All power to the Kaiel!” The mug was on the ground, filling up drip by drip. Joesai stood nearby, innocently.

“Six: the councils may challenge any Kaiel at any time to recite the names of the pledge members of his constituency and to describe in detail the concerns of each. Any person he cannot remember is stricken from his list.”

“All power to the Kaiel!”

Aesoe gestured a pause. In one bound he was off the stage and whacking Joesai viciously across the mouth. He tipped over the mug, and shut off the dripping spigot. Then he climbed back to the stage, grinning while the commotion died down. He paused for half a dozen heartbeats.

“Seven: a Kaiel who can summon no friends remains voteless and is required to remain childless or leave the clan.”

His audience was back in the mood, Joesai forgotten. “All power to the Kaiel!”

“Your mouth is bleeding,” whispered Gaet.

“It is the soup pot for you,” whispered a frightened Hoemei.

Joesai just smiled with blood-stained teeth and produced a small wooden flask, half filled.

Gaet sniffed the heavy alcoholic fumes and shoved the flask under his coat.

“You stole it?” worried Hoemei.

“Couldn’t resist,” grinned Joesai. “The flask was just sitting there.”

Gaet tried to convince one of his sisters to take the first swig. She only smiled at him as if he were brave and foolish. After more joking the three brothers slipped away to the bushes and emptied the flask, spending the rest of the evening pretending they were sober.

That mischievous night had been long ago. They had left the creche, they had married twice more, they had made money and achieved a small fame. Though less brilliant than Hoemei who was favored by the high councils, and less terrible than Joesai who was favored by the Order of Hontokae, Gaet became the most powerful of the brothers in the lower councils with a voting weight of forty-three. He was the most suave, the most travelled, the subtle charmer of ladies; he smiled more than his mates and instantly befriended any human who served him. Now, fresh from an encounter with the aging Aesoe, Gaet felt surly, a scowl deepening the scars of his decorated face.