Saga - OT Moonwater Perfume: A Courtesan's Tale---FINISHED 9/16!!!!!!

I loved that they are plotting for Josym to get away and that she plans on remaining behind. Love is all the more unselfish for sacrifice. I loved that he was jealous, even knowing her circumstances and that he refused to see the future in that society, thinking he could keep her with him forever.

Loved this.


?How many of them?? This was the first occasion I had seen him look so uncomfortable. But more than uncomfortable. Jos was really bothered. He wasn?t looking at me, but stared at a worn spot on the carpet that looked almost like a spiral galaxy. His right hand was clenched against his thigh, and I wondered for all the worlds just what had him agitated.

I soon received my answer. ?How many other men have you been with besides my uncle??

Great job with the answer!

 

Poor Josym, poor Palai... (I think I've said that a million times by now, right?)

 

Another lovely update.

?I have to go where I?m called. There were others before you, and others shall follow once you?re married and decide to upgrade to a younger courtesan.?

?I would never do??

?Of course you will. No matter what your intentions are right now, the longer you stay here, your soul will be poisoned.?

?What if I don?t stay here? Then I would be a different person, according to your theory.?

?Most likely.?

?But I?m not like the others you?ve been with. Believe me. It burns my soul to realize you have to be what you are.?

?This is only a state of life. It has to be endured until it?s over.?

?Any state can be changed.?

?Not always.? Not always. ?Let?s worry about your future. Getting away from here is the best option for you right now.?

?What about you??

?It?s not in the flow, Jos. Accept the truth.? To be honest, I don?t want to accept the inevitability of my station. I won?t make a promise that cannot be kept.

But if I open myself to hope...

 

Oh, you don't know how much I want them to run off together, or something like that!

Your story is awesome!

Thanks, as always, for the PM.

 

They want something so similar, to be in charge of their own fates, but only Josym has any realistic chance of achieving it. Palai's dealing with it with grace, as usual, by resigning herself to the situation. But helping him achieve his goals is, in a way, a victory for her.

Lovely update!

 

leiamoody: I've only gotten through the first few chapters so far, but I'm loving this! Your world-building is exquisite, as is your technique of showing only slivers of life filtered through a character's highly specialized and limited experience. The gaps in the narrative help drive home exactly how much of the universe these characters have been denied, and makes what happiness they can find more poignant. Of course, you also made excellent choices about what to include in your "diary entries." No wasted words or meandering plotline here.

Truly a wonderful job!

 

EDIT: In light of recent events, I have decided to simply write all the installments, then post them at once when they were all done. That way, the story is completed, and the readers won't feel they've been caught in a cliffhanger about the ending. I'm so utterly disenchanted with the whole process of writing and everything else for that matter right now. It's not the best solution, but it's the only solution that makes sense.

When all the installments are up, I'll send out PM updates to those interested in reading the rest of the story. Just drop me a PM if that's good.

 

Written in the midst of unpacking
Sometimes you need a change of scenery.

We arrived two hours ago, just when Lisou arose from her slumber. Jos was curled up, briefly asleep, looking like an Iego cherub in the dawn light coming down into the limo. I couldn't write in my diary then, since I was too consumed with that divine vision seated next to me.

Right now, he is tucked under the covers, in the Candy Box Suite at the far end of the hall. I'm here in my accustomed bedchamber, in the window seat, with my indigo silk coverlet draped over my shoulders.

Here comes the wind, swimming through the window. The coral and aquamarine bed veils flutter outwards, only on the top since they're bound in canopy form to the four posts. Sometimes, the effect of wind-driven tapestries looks like a sky rising up to meet the ceiling. It reminds me of those times I've been blessed to ride through the clouds on Bespin. Three visits to the world made of Tibanna gas have given me the barest but tantalizing glimpse of the other worlds that lie far away from Deiu. Riding along with the thrantas while in a cloud car is definitely one of the most exhilarating experiences I will ever have in this lifetime.

Life is a contrast of contradictions. Take the homes of two brothers. The Quodris manse is ornate on the inside, grim on the outside. Gold, pink and acidic green predominate, interwoven into overly simplistic and puffy fancy ceiling paintings strewn with vaguely artistic nude females being utilized as accessories by muscular demigods. And the columns-blue Vourosi seastone, creamy aradicite, black obsidio, all towering like old growth redwoods, meant to impress the observer about the magnificence of he who inhabits and holds the keys to the place. But it also reflects the great insecurity that hides in the alcoves of a man who wields power.

The outside of Mtah Di'sallach's home is unlike the cushy and pompous interior rooms. It's big and brown, very masculine, cold, and forbidding.

Here at Lord Reunhan's manse, things are quite different. Start with the carmine brickwork paired with ivory marble on the outside. One could say this combination is gaudy. But that would be wrong. Think instead of it as exuberant.

The interior is grandiose and attractive. Unlike the rooms in the Prestat's house, the public parts of this mansion are different than the private spots where he and his family can relax. Bright shades of multiple colors in the shinosherie style are combined together in the music room, which adds an extra touch of giddiness when I sit down at the cantachord and do a few songs at one of the intimate affairs His Lordship holds every so often. There are the arches flowing up in curves over doorways, carved moldings brushed with coppery aurichalcum, and porcelain tiles painted with feathery brushstrokes...it's wonderful around here.

Then there are the bedrooms. Goddess All, each one is a treat for the eyes. The suite where Josym has taken up residence is a mixed spicy confection of scarlet and white, hence the nickname "The Candy Box Suite". My bedchamber is filled with jewel tones, all picked out by me when I first came here. The others are sumptuous and simple, unique but unified in providing comfortable spaces to rest a weary head at night.

This sojourn away from the manse of Quodris is what Josym needs to restore his spirit, turning it from bleak to bright however long he needs to stay. Even if part of the reason for him to spend the Season under the aegis of his uncle is to find him a wife. Is jealousy lingering in my heart? Perhaps. It makes no sense to feel envious of a woman who is inevitable for his future. One of the first lessons taught at the Cortigiamira is that a courtesan can never hope to marry her benefactor. I understand the truth...but it hurts.

 

Written at twilight
History and destiny have come to the manor. They are here to open the door for Josym to another life, a new road that isn't about the inheritance of power through wealth. No, this is about a bloodline of a mystical power that stands higher than the sorry concerns of the material world.

Lord Arcadin is here for an extended and unannounced visit. But it does explain the funny little smile Reunahn couldn't hide this morning. Like the proverbial man of the mountain, he kept the secret. A little surprise of great importance, especially now that we know the truth about the third important uncle in Josym's life.

Our visitor unwound a most complicated and tragic tale in the drawing room. Over endless cups of cha and kahve, he brought out some of the hidden antiques stored in the attic of familial history. What glorious, wondrous, tragic, secrets were unveiled over the course of several hours. How do I record these memories that I heard? Where do I begin? At the end, perhaps?

Josym Huranz was thirty-three at the time of his death on Tellanroaeg. The catastrophe of Order 66 took his life, as it did of those other Jedi swept aside during the First Purge. He was shot at point blank range, after he had tried to defend three padawans in his charge from slaughter...

To only focus upon the matter of his death is unjust to the years he was alive. So now I'll shift to those days instead, to provide a better understanding of this exalted son, the last Jedi in a long line that stretched back almost to infinity.

Lord Josym Huranz was the second child and son of his parents' marriage. (This was rare one union of convenience on Deiu where the respective spouses actually loved each other. Love is a real bond among the Novordoras clan). He was born late in the evening, in the midst of a thunderstorm. An odd portent that could have come straight from the screens of a melodramatic holonovel, but Arcadin remembered hiding under his bed while the tumult outside the maisone was taking place. His father discovered him under there several hours later when it was time for him to see his new brother.

Two sons for the Prestature, what is known as the "heir and spare" among stupid people. Such a blessing--until the Jedi came round. I still don't understand how that process worked, or why those strange monks felt compelled to take away children before they were old enough to even form memories in their brains. But Josym Huranz was less than a month old, and two knights arrived to pull him away from Deiu. No message was sent to the Prestat, or the Council of Ancients. Their prestige afforded rights not likely to be challenged in the courts. On Coruscant, far away at the center of the galaxy, the masters felt a new life form emerged into the Force continuum. By their terms, this infant belonged to their collective, and had to be raised by his kind. So he was taken away from one tribe, to be indoctrinated by another. Ah, the circle of growth in all its imperfect glory.

The Huranz clan had no contact with their precious scion until he reached his thirteenth birthday. It was standard practice for the Jedi to create a permanent separation between initiates and their birth cultures. Attachment to any material elements, people and things, was forbidden. Asceticism in many societies seemed the ideal way to pursue all matters of spirit. If this approach is the ultimate means to understanding the divine, I'll never know. But it was agreed upon throughout the ages, and maybe it worked for those groups, so it's useless to debate the merits and flaws of a religious system.

Josym Huranz broke that tradition, not just on his birthday, but also many times during the rest of his life. He wasn't the first padawan to reach out and contact his blood kin. There were very few repercussions from On High when the students discovered their backgrounds, though some elders felt this was an indulgence that should have been prohibited. But this son of Deiu was fortunate to have a permissive master, who encouraged him to restore contact with the kin who let their child join the Order thirteen years previously.

The first Josym grew into a typical offspring of the Novordoras line: strong, not tall, but well-muscled, a fine sportsman, robust, and possessed with excellent health. Like his future nephew, he was a coppery blond with blue eyes, and gifted with a great joy for life. (I can't imagine how a lively young sort could ever have survived within the constraints of the Temple. I suppose there's a certain kind of freedom for some in the restricted existence of the spiritual life. But from the perspective of one who has spent all her years in a confined role, I can't imagine freedom is possible within the tight swaddling of rules topped by restrictions).

Josym The First rose up through the ranks fairly quickly. From the Bear Clan, through the anxious days that passed until he was formally chosen by Master Roisine, and into the start of his career as a knight, he learned the arts of bravery and strength necessary to perform his duties. He went through the Knighting Ceremony at twenty-four, and spent his final nine years traveling from world to world, doing whatever the Council asked. Unfortunately, as he noted in the communiqués to his oldest brother and sister, he was also being sent to do tasks assigned by the Chancellor. He never questioned the dictums of the Code, or the orders passed down from the Dictator-In-Charge and his obedient flock of senators. But in the letters home, Josym revealed all his doubts and disagreements about the actions requested of him and the other knights and padawans in the name of a peaceful Republic. The Jedi weren't meant to be law officers, but Palpatine utilized their services in this capacity anyway.

He served as a General, a well-deserved achievement to be sure. But it was ultimately a promotion borne from necessity, since the ranks of experienced leaders were decimated. Relative youth and limited experience in combat didn't prove the drawbacks for him that might have been the case for another man thrust into the same role. Through almost two years of battles, skirmishes, and the oh-far-too-rare lulls, Josym Huranz proved to be a model soldier: fearless, patient, willing to take up both the lightsaber and blaster. Time passed, though, and chipped away at his essential self. His joy, resilience, especially his faith in the superiority of the Light Side, all seeped away. Only the animated shell of a man remained in name and body. He no longer believed in the Force, not after the Council ordered all among their ranks to participate in acts of legislated murder. His sister noticed the fullness of his devastated soul during the week leading up to her wedding.

Then, one day, it was over. Josym Huranz was cornered like a game animal with three padawans on Tellanroaeg---a single blaster pierce through the chest ended his life. The Novordoras clan lost a bright treasure, yet it was several years until the truth of his demise was revealed to them (through means not yet revealed, which is no doubt for the best at the present time). One curt message from the newly formed Office of Imperial Military Affairs, Internal Security Division was delivered over a standard comm channel. First there was the insincere opening: "It is with deepest regrets that our establishment must inform you of the death of..." Then came the shock---he was accused of murder and suicide. The poorly constructed legal nonsense was designed to put the family into a state of paranoia. Having a Jedi as part of their bloodline might be turned against them under the new regime. Treason has always been a capital offense, but the definition of what counted as a crime against the state includes almost everything under Imperial law. Being related to a known Force user no doubt ranks in the top five. So Lady Casana had every reason to beg for Lord Arcadin's intervention when her unborn child was threatened. Mtah Di'sallach was not making an idle threat that night---he truly wanted to kill his son. I briefly held some hope after the oubliette revelation that perhaps Josym's father was simply an evil-tongue man who was given to saying horrible things when under the influence of intoxicants. Which isn't to say that would be any excuse, but it would mean the Prestat is only a mean and petty ignorant fool. But no, he's a creature far more despicable, and to know that man would take the most traumatic experience of his wife's family and use it to solidify power in his marriage...it's beyond comprehension!! He was, and still is, prejudiced against sensitives, for what reason only his withered dead heart knows and would never reveal even past death.

Yet, in some tiny grace of fortune, he lacked the necessary influence to get rid of his spouse and future heir. If only he had chosen to participate in politics instead of being the typical apathetic aristocrat, then he might have become First Minister and leader of the Ancients' Council. Then it would have been legal for him to practice random acts of petty tyranny, and the freedom to enact revenge against those he despised. Fortunately, he's never been ambitious. Indolence can be a blessing, yes?

The night ended with the weight of past tragedies upon our shoulders; when Lord Arcadin finished his tale, no one seated in the drawing room spoke. What more than silence could be the proper conclusion to the revelations that had poured forth into our brains?

Now Josym can finally begin to fathom the origins of his gift, and the awareness of the truth behind his namesake's life and death. This latter pursuit shall become interesting now that he has inherited his uncle's signet ring. This token of days past will now be a permanent fixture on his right hand, littlest finger, as once dictated by ancient Jedi custom. This precious gift was received upon the first Josym's accession to Padawan. It's a simple circle made from burnished gold chromium, inset with a carving of Najahal in her full ascent regalia. His uncle wore it until he became a Knight. Eventually, it found a refuge at the Maisone Lyris when he came home for Lady Casana's wedding. It has remained in the possession of Lord Arcadin for all this time. He suspected that someday it might prove wise to pass along the heirloom. Now this ring is in the custody of a new and rightful owner. May the Deities grant the Empire shall cease to be a curse of the present, and soon become a cautionary lesson for the future consigned to history texts and memoirs. Then perhaps all that he's learned tonight can actually be used for a purpose.

Given what transpired this evening, I didn't get a chance to speak with Josym about other matters, especially the discs he's had custody of for the last few weeks. Ever since I passed them into his care while we stood in the closet, it's been a mystery what he thinks of the contents. Recent matters have prevented us from discussing it---but since the past is becoming relevant, perhaps we'll get an opportunity to talk.

 

Wow, this is good. I just love your writing style. It is so richly atmospheric, lyrical and (forgive the coincidence with your screen-name) moody, without being bombastic. The aesthetic tone reminds me strongly of Sei Shonagon's Pillow Book, or perhaps the Tale of Genji. And you are weaving a tale that I am just aching to read more of. I am completely enchanted with your characters, especially Josym as seen through Palai's eyes. Indeed, the whole world as told through Palai's voice is magical. Thank you for opening the thread, and continuing to post.

arigatai, arigatou.

 

Thanks, ratna.

The Pillow Book was actually one of the influences for this diary when I started the challenge last year. I love the style of writing, and the fact that it's not so much a diary as a document of daily life. There's a lyricism to Japanese literature that is evocative and rich, and it can make some Western literature look pale by comparison.

 

So nice to see this story up and running!

So Josym now knows most of his uncle's story... I'm with Palai there, they need to talk about his future. As always, this was a delight to read.

 

Yet two more lovely and lyrical chapters in a gorgeous story!

 

Yay! I'm glad you're back!

Keep sending me PMs!

Great two chapters. I love your narrator's voice.

 

This was so rich and delicious, like a chocolate box. I loved the descriptions of the rooms and how the outward appearance of the house reflected the inner owner.

And the second post was equally wonderful. I loved her disdain for the Jedi's ways and how they took children from their homes. The history of the first Josym was really well done.

Two sons for the Prestature, what is known as the "heir and spare" among stupid people. Such a blessing--until the Jedi came round. I still don't understand how that process worked, or why those strange monks felt compelled to take away children before they were old enough to even form memories in their brains. But Josym Huranz was less than a month old, and two knights arrived to pull him away from Deiu. No message was sent to the Prestat, or the Council of Ancients. Their prestige afforded rights not likely to be challenged in the courts. On Coruscant, far away at the center of the galaxy, the masters felt a new life form emerged into the Force continuum. By their terms, this infant belonged to their collective, and had to be raised by his kind. So he was taken away from one tribe, to be indoctrinated by another. Ah, the circle of growth in all its imperfect glory.

This was just great.

Don't worry how long it takes for the story to unfold. It takes as long as it takes. I'll still be around!

 

Elegant and beautiful. I'm so glad this story is back!

 

Written while watching a duel
No, this isn't a real act of combat between two opponents. What is taking place down there in the courtyard is yet another exercise between two young men of the nobility letting go of barely contained energy in a constructive fashion. One of those participants is Lord Sennes Huranz, the oldest son of Lord Arcadin. The other member of the dueling dyad is, of course, Josym.

For the past ninety minutes, they have gone through several rotations in a seven-linked pattern called The Heart of Eternity. It's one of the traditional exercises in Kishenua, the ancient martial art created by Ysonesse Jedi to begin training their students in armed combat. Over the centuries, this practice was taken out of its original and proper setting to be corrupted by the aristocracy; now it is yet another method to instill pointless chivalric tendencies in the sons of privilege. In those days when it was taught at the Chatos Academy, the lightfoil was utilized; an imitation lightsaber was the first step to train aspiring Jedi. Ancient Ysonesse lightfoils are highly prized among collectors of rare antiquities. Even those of more recent vintage still possess luster unto themselves that never fails to catch the attention of those drawn to beautiful objects. Of course, they are indeed to be cherished, since lightfoils and their more powerful cousins are illegal. Nothing that was associated with the Jedi should appear out in broad sight. Yet that doesn't stop two Huranz boys from practicing forms down there; we're all safe behind the gates of Lord Reunahn's manse. Everyone here is loyal to the highest degree, and would not be inclined to report Josym or Sennes for their actions to the constabulary. Which is fortunate, since they might resort to utilizing less civilized objects when their high spirits are truly let loose. I can imagine another night of Belinigransa overindulgence and scrolls unleashed on those poor suits of armor. Or they might have to settle for battle sticks, which are inferior to everything, and apt to splinter. The risk of bruises and worse injuries probably would not appeal to either of them. Well, certainly not to Josym. His exuberance in physical exercise doesn't mean he would enjoy the affliction of cracked bones. Many of Deiu's sons look upon scars and twisted limbs as badges of pride in coming out scathed yet alive from petty skirmishes. Brawls in the streets are taken for granted in the capital. Stupid, silly, and not the sort of thing anyone would find appealing.

In the courtyard, Josym swings around in a half circle, just a fraction behind his cousin, then brings up the foil in a grand arc. ANext maneuver comes from you, Sennes." Only a young man could find something within armed conflict that is enthralling. Sweating, with a smile that could bring The Lost out of Abysos...he's enticing, my dearest charge. Clad in a black sleeveless vest, and the standard third weave catan pants used by all warriors of The Ouroboros during their sessions, with only thin-soled training boots to keep his feet from touching the cobblestones. A boy playing at war, or some formalized ritual that mimics some act of battle.

For a moment, fear bubbles up from a hidden place in my psyche. If this war between the Empire and those opposed to it continues, the universal draft might force even the sons of Deiu's nobility into combat. Privilege is a gift that yields munificence to those blessed by its presence. The children of the lower classes are conscripted into the military, a most unfortunate reality written into the treaty created soon after Deiu formally joined with Palpatine's tyranny. Sons of merchants and innkeepers, even those boys whose fathers hold some form of leadership in the cities, all must leave home for training facilities that do nothing more than brainwash unfortunate children. It's well known how the common citizens feel about the government that rules the galaxy. The majority, both in the capital and every hamlet that lies around the valleys, hate the oppressors.

"So, what's the plan to get our last rotation started?" There's a gleam in his eye, at least judging by the luminescence of his smile. It's a wicked little grin, one I've seen more in the last few weeks, even in the midst of all the sadness that has plagued Josym. I'm awed by this resilience of his spirit, that he could maintain a thread of happiness and almost supernatural joy. It's a quality that rises up from a natural source, an inherent spring bubbling forth from the depths of his soul, a brilliant radiance that I have grown to love.

Love...yes, I did write that word. To be honest, I am not familiar with that feeling; twenty-five years I've been alive, and the emotion held sacred by all humanity is one that I know nothing about except through poetry. The golden words of Suiame have taught me about devotion...no, that's hardly adequate to describe such intensity. Love is devotion, yet it's bigger, stronger, intense, pure, so hard to describe with mere syllables. Suiame did her best with the vagaries of language to educate and illuminate all who read her texts. Eight thousand years ago, she composed odes to a mysterious paramour; sonnets written under the influence of moonlight, wine, and divine euphoria. So I could live vicariously through Suiame's interwoven narratives; days spent in the garden, intertwined together in her bed, and all their encounters suffused with passion and tenderness. She wrote of happiness, pain, anger, running up and down the spectrum of grand insanity that is part of the love experience. Now, I have to compare those feelings she described to what I've had run through my brain these past weeks. Have they been intense? Yes. Have those feelings transformed me? Well, there certainly has been a revolution within myself. Detachment is often required for any courtesan. But this attribute also serves to protect a cortigia against the rare yet sometimes inevitable reality of feeling something strong for her benefactor. Sometimes, particularly in those fresh out of the cortigiamira, attachments are formed between those who serve and the ones they must serve. I don't understand how this is possible; that kind of relationship has no future, even after the Prestatine gains a wife. Courtesans are routinely exchanged for younger models, so any girl who is foolish enough to lose herself in this exchange deserves her disappointment.

Yet, here I am, sliding towards a dilemma. Yes, a strong bond is growing between us. There is a mutual attraction that continues to grow, and I definitely consider myself devoted to him.

Perhaps it should be called love after all.

"I'll do the volto asundeo." So Lord Sennes shall make his move in the duel, as custom and practice dictates. The ascension trip step is one complete loop that Kishenua combatants perform as a transition between patterns.

Josym traces his foil along some imaginary line, inches above the dusty sand that serves as covering surface for any impromptu fancy steps. "Wonder how it feels to actually hold this in saber form?"
His cousin laughed. "Only you could think of something so unlikely."

"It doesnt have to be unlikely." The shimmering silver-blue of Josym' s lightfoil danced against the sky, just for a moment, as he moved the blade in a half arc over his head. That movement is third to last in the volto; it will be Lord Sennes' responsibility to complete the circle by performing the final two moves. He does this in a quick fashion: a forward thrust, then a spin with a flourish twirl from the left...and so ends another excursion into ancient fighting.

 

Eight thousand years ago, she composed odes to a mysterious paramour; sonnets written under the influence of moonlight, wine, and divine euphoria. So I could live vicariously through Suiame's interwoven narratives; days spent in the garden, intertwined together in her bed, and all their encounters suffused with passion and tenderness. She wrote of happiness, pain, anger, running up and down the spectrum of grand insanity that is part of the love experience. Now, I have to compare those feelings she described to what I've had run through my brain these past weeks.

*sigh* Haven't we all..?

A joy to see more of this story, as always.

 

Awesome update. I'm glad to see these entries.

 

So glad to see this updated.

Love...yes, I did write that word. Yes, there is a certain trait about him that strikes at the center of my heart. Should I call that love? To be honest, I am not familiar with that feeling; twenty-five years I've been alive, and the emotion held sacred by all humanity is one that I know nothing about except through poetry. The golden words of Suiame have taught me about devotion...no, that's hardly adequate to describe such intensity. Love is devotion, yet it's bigger, stronger, intense, pure, so hard to describe with mere syllables.

Gorgeous and powerful.

 

This is so beautiful, full of imagery and grand passion. I loved the duel even though she was thinking about love. She may know that it will do her no good but she still feels it.

Love is devotion, yet it's bigger, stronger, intense, pure, so hard to describe with mere syllables.

Exactly right.

Wonderful.

 

All that misery behind the elegant facades of the people, the places, their whole society. I sensed a little hope in the last installment, though it's heartbreaking to hear that after all she's been through, the poor girl is still so uncertain about love. Just like the rest of us I guess

 

Written past The Sixth Veiled Hour
Our evening started with a verbal joust on matters of philosophy. Within two hours, I finally got around to ridding Josym of that pesky virginity.

It was a most satisfactory endeavor; like any first time with a young man, nerves gave way to enthusiasm, and satisfaction was ultimately achieved.

But I'm jumping ahead in my narrative...I'm still quite giddy, even though we finished several hours ago. Ah, well, I shall go back to the cause...

The game was afoot right after Josym plucked one final nibble of soignet crumble off his dessert
plate and sent the flaky piece to its temporary resting place. One quick swallow, and then the most bizarre set of words passed forth from my beloved's mouth. "Love grows, love endures, beauty flourishes."

I almost choked on my claret. Had something hallucinogenic fallen into the pastry shell, or possibly the soigna berries were overly ripe?

Reassurance about Josym's mental stability came along with one of his smiles that will probably never cease to cause a flutter in my stomach. "Love and beauty are inseparable. That's what it says in the book."

"Oh, that makes sense." I knew he was talking about a wispy tome of general verse that we passed back and forth across the table. It seems unusual, reading poetry over dinner. But we've been here in the mountains for two weeks, and our meals here in The Candy Box Suite have escalated into excursions through our respective interests. Caught amidst the silky confections of spice red and milky white, sunlight gold and moonlight silver, on the bed covers, the chandelier, the portrait mirror high above the mantel...this room is a vibrant oasis to engage urges both intellectual and otherwise, as we realized tonight.

Obvious circumstances affected our inclinations toward sex. Disenchantment plus anguish brought about by the Prestat's declaration regarding the oubliette clung like choke vines to our psyches. Since we've been here, there's been time for relaxation, and the chance to deepen our relationship. We reached the apogee tonight with the help of poetry. Strange, yes, but why question a method if it works?

While Jos chased down the last of his fruit crumble with some leftover kahve that had gone cold, I placed our little volume on the table between two candlesticks for easier perusal. "Where in this stanza does it mention love and beauty as interconnected?"

"Look at the final line. 'Love grows, love endures, beauty flourishes.' It's glowing like ultraneon. You can't have love without beauty, or beauty without love."

How could love require the illusion of perfection in order to exist? Where did Josym pick up such an idea? The schoolrooms of the patricians have implanted many strange and often pathetic notions that only serve to poison their minds.

Love is pure, it elevates the dissolute, brings peace to those disturbed by loneliness...yet it can also be the agent of so much pain and grief. But this energy belongs to nothing other than itself-good and bad sides, joy sublime and pain divine... love doesn't require another element. Particularly beauty...at least, the mortal version of beauty. There is something intangible which exists within the universe that can be named "beauty". But it's transcendent, not imprisoned by misconceptions of artificial things like the impossibly perfect body that never ages or suffers flaws great and small.

So what does this mean about Josym? Is he that shallow to believe in the impermanence of physical appearance? Does his heart respond to nothing more than lust?

"All emotions belong to the soul." He reached across to point at the final line, and managed to trace one of those magnificent fingers across my wrist. Oh, why did that gesture confuse me?

I pulled my hand away from his grasp. "When did you come across such a funny idea?"

He looked hurt. "Where else would emotions be?"

"The brain. Emotions are biochemical in origin, influenced by hormones to create reactions that mimic actions rumored to be exalted." It wasn't like me to make a retreat into standard biology; the dry, lifeless sound of textbook language falling past my teeth was almost frightening. Was it necessary to pull inward and force myself into detachment?

"That doesn't sound romantic. Blood, tissue, and flesh, but nothing immaterial." Josym shook his head. "Love needs a spiritual basis to make it real."

Now I was confused. His words emanated from idealism, pure and sweet. The utterance of an innocent...maybe I was letting doubt cloud my judgement. How could I believe anything wrong about him?

"Is there anything good about a pairing based on intangibles?" This was a trick question, and perhaps unfair, but suspicion still lingered in my heart. I wanted him to say the right words; he needed to answer my question with "Yes".

Josym reached out again, and I didn't pull away. Whatever the response, I needed to feel his touch.

"The spirit's hard to understand." Practicing the slippery art of beating-round-the-hedgerow, now there's a trait he acquired from his paternal uncle. It's not born from deception, but nervousness. Some people might find this quirk unsettling, for the logical mind thirsts for truth in affairs of the heart. But I learned to enjoy this peculiarity with Reuhan, and now it was something meant to be treasured in his nephew. AWait, did that make any sense?" He frowned; it's always difficult stating one's intentions when feelings are strong but caught round each other like knotted spools of thread. AI mean, the soul is our center, what makes us better than plants." He cringed. AHere I am, rambling like an idiot."

All my defenses gave way after this valiant attempt. "Perhaps you mean to say that the best kind of love requires balance. Harmony between the spiritual and physical is what everyone should have in romance. Does that sound adequate?"

"Adequate is no way to describe this bond." He grabbed my hand. Josym's heart carries all the untapped virtues of brilliance and purity; anyone that will capture his fancy will know those affections as her...mine...eternal gift.

"Tell me you want something more than we're allowed by law." What an odd plea, in the midst of already jumbled circumstances. Yet, not really shocking, since I understand the depth of his nobility, that gentle righteousness which could inspire a great wave of reforms on this world if he decides to chase down a Council seat. Should he ever reach the lofty perch of Second or First, the opportunities for change will be astounding.

"I want anything that will make you happy."

"Funny, that's what I want for us." His thumb squeezed underneath my fingers; that determination shall carry this dear boy to every corner of the galaxy and back again if common sense doesn't inhibit his boldness.

"What sort of union shall we undertake?"

"Like I said, something that isn't legal on Deiu."

"The common law route, perhaps?"

"Second and third sons can get away with that arrangement, if they happen to be widowers or never had to continue the bloodline."

I nodded. It's not uncommon for younger sons of the Prestatures to remain unmarried, focusing their affections upon courtesans. Most of them go through companions like carafes of wine at a banquet, but some remain faithful to individual cortigia for many years. Personal experience is the best teacher in this case: Lord Reunahn always wished to buy me from the Cortigiamira so we could get married. Of course that isn't allowed, so we've lived in another way for seven years.

"I want everything."

"You have to wed a nice aristocratic girl and procreate like herd animals."

"Do you think I'm worried about what other people want me to pursue?"

"You don't have a choice."

"There's always multiple paths for anyone, from moment to moment, until the end."

"Now you're invoking fairy tales to justify twisted logic."

"That sentiment doesn't just show up in Forby's Venture. Remember when The Star had to escape from Alyms? He was trapped between five boulders, and didn't think he could find any way out of there." Josym plucked the last fresh napkin from a bread plate, then opened it with a twirling flourish. "There, bound against his will by a large stone quintet, his only hope of freedom prevented by treacherous happenstance, our poor celestial traveler knew only despair as the storm clouds gathered overhead and the heavens opened up with a deluge." His fingers traced across the napkin, then raised it above our heads like a miniature canopy. "Suddenly, down from the Outer World, falling slow, came a little slice of divine intervention. Salmere, the messenger, entered from stage left, the agent of mercy for our intrepid hero. One bolt of lightning from the messenger's palm struck the offensive rocks and sent them into oblivion. Henceforth, The Star was free to clamber down the hillside and back home to his dearest Maiden."

There is a storyteller tucked away in Josym's brain. Extracting a pivotal element from ancient mythology to illustrate a belief...well, that's my idea of romance.

After many weeks of gentle persuasion, especially after his evocation of the old stories, how could I resist the obvious pull from destiny? It was the perfect night for consummation. Of course it was my duty, but it was also my pleasure.

We threw aside those stupid rituals mandated for an heir's initiation. Seduction requires only two components: desire, and the opportunity to act upon that wish for mutual bodily satisfaction. Since both criteria were fulfilled back at our first meeting, the only requirement to bring Josym and I into bed was a pithy exchange of words.

I started the process by conceding defeat in our little debate. "Maybe you're right. Love and beauty are linked. Love is beauty's soul, and beauty is love's truth. Both halves of the equation must exist if we're going to do something unconventional."

"I thought my first time would be rather simple, at least until I've read some manuals." Saucy boy...indeed, he is my best student...hopefully, my last assignment...

So that matter now belongs to the immediate past. In the present, Josym is next to me, and looks utterly sublime in slumber. We've had a fabulous introduction to a realm that is new for him, and, in a peculiar way, feels unique for me. Many times I've been with a young man and brought him across that milestone threshold, but tonight was the first time I've felt alive...

Ah, interruption; my dear one is awake...here comes a hand over my right hip...then down along my stomach...

 

Ok, first of all I can't believe I missed replying to your June post last year .... I don't know how that happened, but it was delightful to read it again, and I love the descriptions and style. So much biting social commentary, yet set as if in a dream. Amazing.

And today's update. Wow.

But I learned to enjoy this peculiarity with Reuhan, and now it was something meant to be treasured in his nephew. ?Wait, did that make any sense??

I know that the ?Wait, did that make any sense?? was said by Josym, but it might just as well have been Palai's own thought about her musing on the uncle and nephew. I love that little bit of double entendre!

And this:

Love is beauty?s soul, and beauty is love?s truth.

That's really beautiful.

The story of Star, and the five boulders reminds me of the story of Monkey (The Journey Westward), who can't get outside the palm of the Buddha. The stone pillars at the end of space and time are the Buddha's fingers. It also reminds me of the Jataka tale, of Prince Five Weapons: http://www.sacred-texts.com/bud/j1/j1058.htm

So, wow, yeah, I really love this story and I am so glad that you have updated it. I for sure know how elusive the muse can be. So glad that he/she has visited you again!

 

Your writing as always is superb. I love the language of it, the emotion underneath the play of words. I could feel her wanting the relationship to last and knowing it couldn't be forever and yet still she wants it. Josym, too, seems to want it beyond his status requirements. I could just picture it all.

So very well done!